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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e11e54f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61308 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61308) diff --git a/old/61308-0.txt b/old/61308-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4e7075f..0000000 --- a/old/61308-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,20850 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of History of English Literature Volume 1 (of -3), by Hippolyte Taine - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: History of English Literature Volume 1 (of 3) - -Author: Hippolyte Taine - -Commentator: J. Scott Clark - -Translator: Henry Van Laun - -Release Date: February 2, 2020 [EBook #61308] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature in -memoriam of Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available -by The Internet Archive.) - - - - - - - -#THE WORLD'S# -GREAT CLASSICS - -LIBRARY -COMMITTE 1 - -TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D. LLD. -RICHARD HENRY STODDARD -ARTHUR RICHMOND MARSH. A.B. -PAVL VAN DYKE, D.D. -ALBERT ELLERY BERGH - -•ILLUSTRATED•WITH•NEARLY•TWO• -•HUNDRED•PHOTOGRAVURES•ETCHINGS• -•COLORED•PLATES•AND•FULL• -•PAGE•PORTRAITS•OF•GREAT•AUTHORS• - -CLARENCE COOK--ART EDITOR - -•THE•COLONIAL•PRESS• - -•NEW•YORK•MDCCCXCIX• - - - - -[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE BEFORE SIR THOMAS LUCY. -_Photogravure from a painting by T. Brooks._ - -This picture brings vividly before us an interesting incident of -Shakespeare's early days. He has just been caught red-handed in the -crime of poaching, and is now brought before Sir Thomas Lucy to answer -to the gamekeeper's charge. Though this incident seems well -authenticated, little is definitely known of this period of the great -dramatist's life. But we do know that that energy, which later achieved -so much, in his youth ran to waste in all kinds of lawless pleasures. -The artist here depicts Sir Thomas Lucy sitting stern and grave as he -listens to the constable's charge against Shakespeare. A slaughtered -deer has been brought in, as testimony against him. Shakespeare himself, -though seeming fully aware of the gravity of his offence, appears -nevertheless composed and prepared to answer the charge. Though the -magistrate may not be favorably impressed by the dauntless independence -of Shakespeare's bearing, we may be sure he excites the admiration of -the feminine members of the household, who are watching him with -interest. All the accessories of carved woodwork, leaded casements, and -tapestried walls interest us as depicting the interior of a typical -manor-house of the period.] - - -HISTORY OF -ENGLISH LITERATURE - -HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE - -TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY -HENRY VAN LAUN - -WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY - -J. SCOTT CLARK, A. M. - -PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AT NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY - -REVISED EDITION - -VOLUME I - - - - - -DEDICATION - -Even at the present day, the historian of Civilization in Europe and in -France is amongst us, at the head of those historical studies which he -formerly encouraged so much. I myself have experienced his kindness, -learned by his conversation, consulted his books, and profited by that -intellectual and impartial breadth, that active and liberal sympathy, -with which he receives the labors and thoughts of others, even when -these ideas are not like his own. I consider it a duty and an honor to -inscribe this work to M. Guizot. - -H. A. TAINE. - - - - -SPECIAL INTRODUCTION - - -The publication of M. Taine's "History of English Literature," in 1864, -and its translation into English, in 1872, mark an epoch in educational -history, especially in that of America. Prior to the appearance of this -work, the total knowledge of British writers gained in the school and -college life of the ordinary American youth was generally derived in the -form of blind memorization from one text-book. This book was a -combination of minute biographical detail with the generalities and -abstractions of criticism. The student, and the general reader as well, -did not really study the great writers at all; he simply memorized what -someone had written about them; and he tried, generally in vain, to -comprehend the real concrete significance of such critical terms as -"bald, nervous, sonorous," etc. But with the distribution of M. -Taine's great work came the beginning of better things. It was the first -step in an evolution by no means yet completed--a movement paralleled in -the development of methods of scientific study during the last four -decades. Forty years ago the pupil did not study oxygen, electricity, or -cellulose; he simply memorized what someone had written _about_ these -elements. He never touched and rarely saw the things themselves, and he -counted himself fortunate if his instructor had the energy and the -facilities to perform before the wondering class a few stock -experiments. But all this has been changed. It is now universally -recognized that the only sound method of studying any science is the -laboratory method; that is, the study of the thing itself in all its -manifestations. In methods of studying literature the progress towards a -true scientific, that is, a laboratory method, has been much slower, but -it seems almost equally sure. We are just now in the intermediate stage, -where we study "editions with notes." Our educators, as a rule, have yet -to learn that to memorize biographical data and the mere generalities -and negations of criticism, or to trace out obscure allusions and -doubtful meanings, is not to study a writer in any broad or fruitful -sense. But the movement towards a true scientific method is already well -begun; and, as we have said, to M. Taine belongs the honor of taking the -initial step. - -With Taine's work in hand the thoughtful reader may realize to a large -extent the significance of Leslie Stephen's memorable dictum: "The whole -art of criticism consists in learning to know the human being who is -partially revealed to us in his written and spoken words." M. Taine's -pages continually attest his deep conviction that "the style is the -man," in a very comprehensive sense. In his Introduction to his "History -of English Literature," we find such statements as these:--"You study -the document only to know the man, just as you study the fossil shell -only to know the animal behind it; Genuine history is brought into -existence only when the historian begins to unravel... the living man, -toiling, impassioned, entrenched in his customs, with his voice and -features, his gestures and dress, distinct and complete as he from whom -we have just parted in the street; Twenty select phrases from Plato -and Aristophanes will teach you much more than a multitude of -dissertations and commentaries; The true critic is present at the -drama which was enacted in the soul of the artist or the writer; the -choice of a word, the brevity or length of a sentence, the nature -of a metaphor, the accent of a verse, the development of an -argument--everything is a symbol to him;... in short he works out its -(the text's) psychology; there is a cause for ambition, for courage, for -truth, as there is for muscular movement or animal heat." To put M. -Taine's great and characteristic merit into a sentence, we may say that -he was the first writer on English literature to apply to it the -fundamental principle, patent to every person of reflection, that we -necessarily think in concrete terms, and that, therefore, a treatise -must be valuable just in proportion to the concreteness of its -presentation. - -In order to show how great was the advance made by M. Taine's work over -its predecessors, let us take a classic English writer at random and -compare the treatment given him by M. Taine with that given in the -text-book already mentioned. Suppose we open to the discussion of -Addison. In the latter work we are told that he was born in 1672 and -died in 1719; that he was a son of Lancelot Addison, a clergyman of some -reputation for learning; that Addison studied at the Charter House, -where he formed a friendship with Richard Steele; that he afterwards -entered Oxford; that he wrote various short poems and one long one, of -which six whole lines are given as a specimen. We are told, also, that -Addison held, in succession, certain political offices; that he -contributed one-sixth of the papers found in Steele's "Tatler," more -than one-half of those in the "Spectator," and one-third of those in the -"Guardian"; that he published a drama called "Cato," which, the book -informs us, is "cold, solemn, and pompous, written with scrupulous -regard for the classical unities." We learn, further, that Addison -married a countess, and died at the early age of forty-seven; that he -had a quarrel with Pope; that his papers published in the "Tatler," the -"Spectator," and the "Guardian" are marked by "fertility of invention -and singular felicity of treatment"; that their variety is wonderful, -and that everything is treated "with singular appropriateness and -unforced energy"; that "there is a singular harmony between the language -and the thought" (whatever that may mean); that Addison's delineations -of the characters of men are wonderfully delicate; that he possessed -humor in its highest and most delicate perfection; that his hymns -breathe a fervent and tender spirit of piety. Contrary to the usage of -its author, the text-book gives the whole sixteen lines of Addison's -most famous hymn--the longest illustrative quotation in the whole four -hundred pages--one blessed little oasis in a vast desert of dry -biographical minutiæ and the abstract generalities of criticism. In the -eight pages devoted to Addison there are not more than ten lines of real -criticism; and these consist, for the most part, of what, to the -ordinary reader, are meaningless adjectives or high-sounding epithets. -Yet this is one of the very best chapters in the book. It is certainly a -fair specimen of the barren method generally prevalent before the -appearance of M. Taine's work. - -Now let us compare his treatment of Addison. In the first place, -scattered through the eighteen pages devoted to that writer -(single-volume edition) we find no less than twenty-two illustrative -passages, varying in length from six to 176 lines of very fine print. In -his general treatment M. Taine begins by tracing the physical, social, -and moral environment of Addison, thus leading us up to the -consideration of the man and the writer by a natural process of -evolution. We are first shown what kind of a man to expect, and then we -are made acquainted with him. And all this is done with the most vivid -and brilliant touches. Mere biographical details are either ignored or -given incidental mention. The opening paragraph is a _tableau vivant_, -which we see Addison at Oxford, "studious, peaceful, loving solitary -walks under the elm avenues." We are told how, from boyhood, "his memory -is stuffed with Latin verses"; how "this limited culture, leaving him -weaker, made him more refined" how "he acquired a taste for the elegance -and refinement, the triumphs and the artifices, of style"; how he became -"an epicure in literature"; how "he naturally loved beautiful things"; how -"Addison, good and just himself, trusted in God, also a being good and -just"; how he writes his lay sermons; how "he cannot suffer languishing -or lazy habits"; how "he is full of epigrams against flirtations, -extravagant toilets, useless visits"; how "he explains God, reducing him -to a mere magnified man"; with what literal precision he describes -Heaven; how he "inserts prayers in his papers and forbids oaths"; how he -made morality fashionable. - -These illustrations of M. Taine's method might be multiplied -indefinitely, but enough have surely been quoted to demonstrate how -vastly more vivid and concrete is the idea of Addison, the man and the -writer, gained by this method in comparison with that which was in -general vogue before the publication of M. Taine's book. In the one case -the reader has come into contact with a mere abstraction--a man of -straw, with not a single feature that impresses itself on the -imagination or the memory. In the other, he has come into communion with -a real living soul--a man "of like passions with ourselves." - -But the very qualities of the great French critic which make his book so -helpful are the source of his defects as a writer. These qualities are -national quite as much as individual. It is a truism that the French -people lead the world in the field of criticism as applied to both -literature and art. This superiority is strikingly illustrated also in -St. Beuve, and is due to a certain quickness of perception, a certain -power of concrete illustration, that seems inherent in the race of -cultivated Frenchmen. M. Taine himself well defines this ethnic trait -when he speaks of "France, with her Parisian culture, with her -drawing-room manners, with her untiring analysis of characters and -actions, her irony so ready to hit upon a weakness, her _finesse_ so -practised in the discrimination of modes of thought." This national -talent is almost invariably associated with a nervous, sanguine -temperament, which easily tends to extremes of expression. We are -therefore compelled to read M. Taine with some degree of caution when we -are seeking exact statement and strict limitation. - -Again, M. Taine is sometimes inaccurate or unjust from a lack of -sympathy. He sometimes finds it impossible to rid himself of his Gallic -predilections and aversions, especially when treating of the Puritan -character or the stolid English morality. He cannot appreciate the -religious conditions that surround his subject. He is always the -Frenchman discussing the English writer. He cannot forbear to contrast -the effect or the reception accorded to an author's work in England with -that which it would have received in France; as when he says, concerning -Addison's lay sermons in the "Spectator": "I know very well what success -a newspaper full of sermons would have in France"; and again: "If a -Frenchman was forbidden to swear, he would probably laugh at the first -word of the admonition." A little farther on he objects to what he -calls, with certainly picturesque concreteness, "the sticky plaster of -his (Addison's) morality"--an expression that has led to Minto's sharp -retort that Addison's morality was something which it is quite -impossible for the Gallic conscience to conceive. Another illustration -of that bias which compels us to be somewhat on our guard in reading -Taine is found in his treatment of Milton. Although we may admit that -the great Puritan poet peopled his paradise with characters having -altogether too strong a British tinge, we are almost shocked to hear -Taine and his disciple, Edmond Scherer, dilate upon Milton's Adam as -"your true paterfamilias, with a vote; an M. P., an old Oxford man," -etc., etc., or to hear them exclaim, "What a great many votes she (Eve) -will gain among the country squires when Adam stands for Parliament!" -Quite as striking is M. Taine's inability to understand Wordsworth. - -But, after making these and all other due admissions concerning Taine's -work, the fact stands that his "History of English Literature" meets -fully Lowell's quaint definition of a classic, when he says, "After all, -to be delightful is a classic." In reading this work we never feel that -we have in our hands a text-book or even a history. It is rather a -living, moving panorama. We see again the old miracles and moralities, -with their queer shifts and their stark incongruities; we see the -drawing-rooms and hear the conversation of the reign of Queen Anne, and -walk through Fleet Street with Johnson. In a word, we realize in no -small degree the full meaning of Leslie Stephen's dictum, in that we -really feel that we know, in some degree at least, "the human being who -is partially revealed to us in his written and spoken words." - -Of course, no introduction to this work would be complete without some -reference to the psychological theory on which it is based. We have -reserved this point to the last because, for the general reader, what -Taine says and how he says it, are far more interesting considerations -than any theories on which the book may be based. In a word, the author -held that both the character and the style of a writer are the outgrowth -of his social and natural environment. And this environment, in Taine's -opinion, affects not only the individual but the national character as -manifested in the national literature. In discussing any literary -production he would first ask: To what race and nation does the author -belong? What is the influence of his geographical position and of his -nation's advance in civilization? What about the duration of the -literary phase represented by the writer in question? In developing this -theory of the influence of environment M. Taine doubtless sometimes -treats as permanent scientific factors influences and circumstances that -are in their very nature variable. Yet this application of the theory is -as consistent and plausible as it is everywhere apparent. A few -illustrations of his psychological theory will make more plain than much -abstract discussion the almost fatalistic nature of his method. For -example, after vividly portraying the political and social conditions -that had surrounded Milton from his birth, the French critic asks: "Can -we expect urbanity here?" Again, in tracing Dryden's beginnings, he -says: "Such circumstances announce and prepare, not an artist, but a man -of letters." Much might be written of the detailed application of M. -Taine's psychological theory. But the reader has already been too long -detained from a perusal of the riches that fill the following pages. -Charles Lamb once wrote: "I prefer the affections to the sciences." The -majority of the readers of M. Taine will doubtless find so much to enjoy -in his brilliant pages that they will care little for his theories, and -will not allow certain defects in his sympathies to mar their enjoyment -of this monumental work. - -J. SCOTT CLARK - - - - -CONTENTS - -INTRODUCTION - -I. Historical documents serve only as a clue to reconstruct the visible -individual - -II. The outer man is only a clue to study the inner, invisible man - -III. The state and the actions of the inner and invisible man have their -causes in certain general ways of thought and feeling - -IV. Chief causes of thought and feeling. Their historical effects - -V. The three primordial forces.--Race - -Surroundings - -Epoch - -VI. History is a mechanical and psychological problem. Within certain -limits man can foretell - -Primordial Causes - -VII. Law of formation of a group. Examples and indications - -VIII. General problem and future of history. Psychological method. -Value of literature. Purpose in writing this book - - -BOOK I.--THE SOURCE - -CHAPTER FIRST - -The Saxons - -SECTION I.--The Coast of the North Sea -SECTION II.--The Northern Barbarians -SECTION III.--Saxon Ideas -SECTION IV.--Saxon Heroes -SECTION V.--Pagan Poems -SECTION VI.--Christian Poems -SECTION VII.--Primitive Saxon Authors -SECTION VIII.--Virility of the Saxon Race - -CHAPTER SECOND - -The Normans - -SECTION I.--The Feudal Man -SECTION II.--Normans and Saxons Contrasted -SECTION III.--French Forms of Thought -SECTION IV.--The Normans in England -SECTION V.--The English Tongue--Early English Literary Impulses -SECTION VI.--Feudal Civilization -SECTION VII.--Persistence of Saxon Ideas -SECTION VIII.--The English Constitution -SECTION IX.--Piers Plowman and Wyclif - -CHAPTER THIRD - -The New Tongue - -SECTION I.--The First Great Poet -SECTION II.--The Decline of the Middle Ages -SECTION III.--The Poetry of Chaucer -SECTION IV.--Characteristics of the Canterbury Tales -SECTION V.--The Art of Chaucer -SECTION VI.--Scholastic Philosophy - - -BOOK II.--THE RENAISSANCE - -CHAPTER FIRST - -The Pagan Renaissance - -_PART I.--Manners of the Time_ - -SECTION I.--Ideas of the Middle Ages -SECTION II.--Growth of New Ideas -SECTION III.--Popular Festivals -SECTION IV.--Influence of Classic Literature - -_PART II.--Poetry_ - -SECTION I.--Renaissance of Saxon Genius -SECTION II.--The Earl of Surrey -SECTION III.--Surrey's Style -SECTION IV.--Development of Artistic Ideas -SECTION V.--Wherein Lies the Strength of the Poetry of this Period -SECTION VI--Edmund Spenser -SECTION VII.--Spenser in his Relation to the Renaissance - -_PART III.--Prose_ - -SECTION I.--The Decay of Poetry -SECTION II.--The Intellectual Level of the Renaissance -SECTION III.--Robert Burton -SECTION IV.--Sir Thomas Browne -SECTION V.--Francis Bacon - -CHAPTER SECOND - -The Theatre - -SECTION I.--The Public and the Stage -SECTION II.--Manners of the Sixteenth Century -SECTION III.--Some Aspects of the English Mind -SECTION IV.--The Poets of the Period -SECTION V.--Formation of the Drama -SECTION VI.--Furious Passions--Exaggerated Characters -SECTION VII.--Female Characters - -CHAPTER THIRD - -Ben Jonson - -SECTION I.--The Man--His Life -SECTION II.--His Freedom and Precision of Style -SECTION III.--The Dramas Catiline and Sejanus -SECTION IV.--Comedies -SECTION V.--Limits of Jonson's Talent--His Smaller Poems--His Masques -SECTION VI.--General Idea of Shakespeare - -CHAPTER FOURTH - -Shakespeare - -SECTION I.--Life and Character of Shakespeare -SECTION II.--Shakespeare's Style--Copiousness--Excesses -SECTION III.--Shakespeare's Language And Manners -SECTION IV.--Dramatis Personæ -SECTION V.--Men of Wit -SECTION VI.--Shakespeare's Women -SECTION VII.--Types of Villains -SECTION VIII.--Principal Characters -SECTION IX.--Characteristics of Shakespeare's Genius - -INDEX - - - - -[Illustration: HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE PAINE. -_Photogravure from an engraving._ - -This picture shows the eminent French critic as he appeared thirty years -ago. At that period his fame as a literary savant was spreading to the -four quarters of the world, and he was lecturing daily to the crowds of -students who had flocked to Paris to study literature under his -guidance. In personal appearance he was unlike the traditional scholar, -but resembled, in his quick, nervous energy and plain business-like -ways, a keen-witted man of affairs. He was simple in dress, as the -picture shows, and it is a noteworthy fact that the honors he received -never caused him to lose his self-poise, or to cease his severe studies, -which he carried on with diligence to the very day of his death. His -face denotes the cool, critical, and well-balanced scholar, with the -initiative to enter new fields of thought, and the will-power to impress -his opinions upon others.] - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - -SHAKESPEARE BEFORE SIR THOMAS LUCY -Photogravure from the original painting - -ADOLPHE HIPPOLYTE TAINE -Photogravure from an engraving - -GEOFFREY CHAUCER -Photogravure from an old engraving - -THE NEW PSALTER OF THE VIRGIN MARY -Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Fifteenth Century - -TITLE-PAGE OF THE HYPNEROTOMACHIA -Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Sixteenth Century - - - - -HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -I. Historical documents serve only as a clue to reconstruct the visible -individual - - -History, within a hundred years in Germany, and within sixty years in -France, has undergone a transformation, owing to a study of literatures. - -The discovery has been made that a literary work is not a mere play of -the imagination, the isolated caprice of an excited brain, but a -transcript of contemporary manners and customs and the sign of a -particular state of intellect. The conclusion derived from this is that, -through literary monuments, we can retrace the way in which men felt and -thought many centuries ago. This method has been tried and found -successful. - -We have meditated over these ways of feeling and thinking and have -accepted them as facts of prime significance. We have found that they -were dependent on most important events, that they explain these, and -that these explain them, and that henceforth it was necessary to give -them their place in history, and one of the highest. This place has been -assigned to them, and hence all is changed in history—the aim, the -method, the instrumentalities, and the conceptions of laws and of -causes. It is this change as now going on, and which must continue to go -on, that is here attempted to be set forth. - -On turning over the large stiff pages of a folio volume, or the yellow -leaves of a manuscript, in short, a poem, a code of laws, a confession -of faith, what is your first comment? You say to yourself that the work -before you is not of its own creation. It is simply a mold like a fossil -shell, an imprint similar to one of those forms embedded in a stone by -an animal which once lived and perished. Beneath the shell was an animal -and behind the document there was a man. Why do you study the shell -unless to form some idea of the animal? In the same way do you study the -document in order to comprehend the man; both shell and document are -dead fragments and of value only as indications of the complete living -being. The aim is to reach this being; this is what you strive to -reconstruct. It is a mistake to study the document as if it existed -alone by itself. That is treating things merely as a pedant, and you -subject yourself to the illusions of a book-worm. At bottom mythologies -and languages are not existences; the only realities are human beings -who have employed words and imagery adapted to their organs and to suit -the original cast of their intellects. A creed is nothing in itself. Who -made it? Look at this or that portrait of the sixteenth century, the -stern, energetic features of an archbishop or of an English martyr. -Nothing exists except through the individual; it is necessary to know -the individual himself. Let the parentage of creeds be established, or -the classification of poems, or the growth of constitutions, or the -transformations of idioms, and we have only cleared the ground. True -history begins when the historian has discerned beyond the mists of ages -the living, active man, endowed with passions, furnished with habits, -special in voice, feature, gesture, and costume, distinctive and -complete, like anybody that you have just encountered in the street. Let -us strive then, as far as possible, to get rid of this great interval of -time which prevents us from observing the man with our eyes, the eyes of -our own head. What revelations do we find in the calendered leaves of a -modern poem? A modern poet, a man like De Musset, Victor Hugo, -Lamartine, or Heine, graduated from a college and travelled, wearing a -dress-coat and gloves, favored by ladies, bowing fifty times and -uttering a dozen witticisms in an evening, reading daily newspapers, -generally occupying an apartment on the second story, not over-cheerful -on account of his nerves, and especially because, in this dense -democracy in which we stifle each other, the discredit of official rank -exaggerates his pretensions by raising his importance, and, owing to the -delicacy of his personal sensations, leading him to regard himself as a -Deity. Such is what we detect behind modern meditations and sonnets. - -Again, behind a tragedy of the seventeenth century there is a poet, one, -for example, like Racine, refined, discreet, a courtier, a fine talker, -with majestic perruque and ribboned shoes, a monarchist and zealous -Christian, "God having given him the grace not to blush in any society -on account of zeal for his king or for the Gospel," clever in -interesting the monarch, translating into proper French "the _gaulois_ -of Amyot," deferential to the great, always knowing how to keep his -place in their company, assiduous and respectful at Marly as at -Versailles, amid the formal creations of a decorative landscape and the -reverential bows, graces, intrigues, and finesses of the braided -seigniors who get up early every morning to obtain the reversion of an -office, together with the charming ladies who count on their fingers the -pedigrees which entitle them to a seat on a footstool. On this point -consult Saint-Simon and the engravings of Pérelle, the same as you have -just consulted Balzac and the water-color drawings of Eugène Lami. - -In like manner, on reading a Greek tragedy, our first care is to figure -to ourselves the Greeks, that is to say, men who lived half-naked in the -gymnasiums or on a public square under a brilliant sky, in full view of -the noblest and most delicate landscape, busy in rendering their bodies -strong and agile, in conversing together, in arguing, in voting, in -carrying out patriotic piracies, and yet idle and temperate, the -furniture of their houses consisting of three earthen jars and their -food of two pots of anchovies preserved in oil, served by slaves who -afford them the time to cultivate their minds and to exercise their -limbs, with no other concern than that of having the most beautiful -city, the most beautiful processions, the most beautiful ideas, and the -most beautiful men. In this respect, a statue like the "Meleager" or the -"Theseus" of the Parthenon, or again a sight of the blue and lustrous -Mediterranean, resembling a silken tunic out of which islands arise like -marble bodies, together with a dozen choice phrases selected from the -works of Plato and Aristophanes, teach us more than any number of -dissertations and commentaries. - -And so again, in order to understand an Indian Purana, one must begin by -imagining the father of a family who, "having seen a son on his son's -knees," follows the law and, with axe and pitcher, seeks solitude under -a banyan trees, talks no more, multiplies his fastings, lives naked with -four fires around him under the fifth fire, that terrible sun which -endlessly devours and resuscitates all living things; who fixes his -imagination in turn for weeks at a time on the foot of Brahma, then on -his knee, on his thigh, on his navel, and so on, until, beneath the -strain of this intense meditation, hallucinations appear, when all the -forms of being, mingling together and transformed into each other, -oscillate to and fro in this vertiginous brain until the motionless man, -with suspended breath and fixed eyeballs, beholds the universe melting -away like vapor over the vacant immensity of the Being in which he hopes -for absorption. In this case the best of teachings would be a journey in -India; but, for lack of a better one, take the narratives of travellers -along with works in geography, botany, and ethnology. In any event, -there must be the same research. A language, a law, a creed, is never -other than an abstraction; the perfect thing is found in the active man, -the visible corporeal figure which eats, walks, fights, and labors. Set -aside the theories of constitutions and their results, of religions and -their systems, and try to observe men in their workshops or offices, in -their fields along with their own sky and soil, with their own homes, -clothes, occupations and repasts, just as you see them when, on landing -in England or in Italy, you remark their features and gestures, their -roads and their inns, the citizen on his promenades and the workman -taking a drink. Let us strive as much as possible to supply the place of -the actual, personal, sensible observation that is no longer -practicable, this being the only way in which we can really know the -man; let us make the past present; to judge of an object it must be -present; no experience can be had of what is absent. Undoubtedly, this -sort of reconstruction is always imperfect; only an imperfect judgment -can be based on it; but let us do the best we can; incomplete knowledge -is better than none at all, or than knowledge which is erroneous, and -there is no other way of obtaining knowledge approximatively of bygone -times than by seeing approximatively the men of former times. - -Such is the first step in history. This, step was taken in Europe at the -end of the last century when the imagination took fresh flight under the -auspices of Lessing and Walter Scott, and a little later in France under -Chateaubriand, Augustin Thierry, Michelet, and others. We now come to -the second step. - - - - -II. The outer man is only a clue to study the inner, invisible man - - -On observing the visible man with your own eyes what do you try to find -in him? The invisible man. These words which your ears catch, those -gestures, those airs of the head, his attire and sensible operations of -all kinds, are, for you, merely so many expressions; these express -something, a soul. An inward man is hidden beneath the outward man, and -the latter simply manifests the former. You have observed the house in -which he lives, his furniture, his costume, in order to discover his -habits and tastes, the degree of his refinement or rusticity, his -extravagance or economy, his follies or his cleverness. You have -listened to his conversation and noted the inflections of his voice, the -attitudes he has assumed, so as to judge of his spirit, self-abandonment -or gayety, his energy or his rigidity. You consider his writings, works -of art, financial and political schemes, with a view to measure the -reach and limits of his intelligence, his creative power and -self-command, to ascertain the usual order, kind, and force of his -conceptions, in what way he thinks and how he resolves. All these -externals are so many avenues converging to one centre, and you follow -these only to reach that centre; here is the real man, namely, that -group of faculties and of sentiments which produces the rest. Behold a -new world, an infinite world; for each visible action involves an -infinite train of reasonings and emotions, new or old sensations which -have combined to bring this into light and which, like long ledges of -rock sunk deep in the earth, have cropped out above the surface and -attained their level. It is this subterranean world which forms the -second aim, the special object of the historian. If his critical -education suffices, he is able to discriminate under every ornament in -architecture, under every stroke of the brush in a picture, under each -phrase of literary composition, the particular sentiment out of which -the ornament, the stroke, and the phrase have sprung; he is a spectator -of the inward drama which has developed itself in the breast of the -artist or writer; the choice of words, the length or shortness of the -period, the species of metaphor, the accent of a verse, the chain of -reasoning--all are to him an indication; while his eyes are reading the -text his mind and soul are following the steady flow and ever-changing -series of emotions and conceptions from which this text has issued; he -is working out its psychology. Should you desire to study this -operation, regard the promoter and model of all the high culture of the -epoch, Goethe, who, before composing his "Iphigenia" spent days in -making drawings of the most perfect statues and who, at last, his eyes -filled with the noble forms of antique scenery and his mind penetrated -by the harmonious beauty of antique life, succeeded in reproducing -internally, with such exactness, the habits and yearnings of Greek -imagination as to provide us with an almost twin sister of the -"Antigone" of Sophocles and of the goddesses of Phidias. This exact and -demonstrated divination of bygone sentiments has, in our days, given a -new life to history. There was almost complete ignorance of this in the -last century; men of every race and of every epoch were represented as -about alike, the Greek, the barbarian, the Hindoo, the man of the -Renaissance and the man of the eighteenth century, cast in the same mold -and after the same pattern, and after a certain abstract conception -which served for the whole human species. There was a knowledge of man -but not of men. There was no penetration into the soul itself; nothing -of the infinite diversity and wonderful complexity of souls had been -detected; it was not known that the moral organization of a people or of -an age is as special and distinct as the physical structure of a family -of plants or of an order of animals. History to-day, like zoölogy, has -found its anatomy, and whatever branch of it is studied, whether -philology, languages or mythologies, it is in this way that labor must -be given to make it produce new fruit. Among so many writers who, since -Herder, Ottfried Müller, and Goethe have steadily followed and -rectified this great effort, let the reader take two historians and two -works, one "The Life and Letters of Cromwell" by Carlyle, and the other -the "Port Royal" of Sainte-Beuve. He will see how precisely, how -clearly, and how profoundly we detect the soul of a man beneath his -actions and works; how, under an old general and in place of an -ambitious man vulgarly hypocritical, we find one tormented by the -disordered reveries of a gloomy imagination, but practical in instinct -and faculties, thoroughly English and strange and incomprehensible to -whoever has not studied the climate and the race; how, with about a -hundred scattered letters and a dozen or more mutilated speeches, we -follow him from his farm and his team to his general's tent and to his -Protector's throne, in his transformation and in his development, in his -struggles of conscience and in his statesman's resolutions, in such a -way that the mechanism of his thought and action becomes visible and the -ever renewed and fitful tragedy, within which racked this great gloomy -soul, passes like the tragedies of Shakespeare into the souls of those -who behold them. We see how, behind convent disputes and the obstinacy -of nuns, we recover one of the great provinces of human psychology; how -fifty or more characters, rendered invisible through the uniformity of a -narration careful of the properties, come forth in full daylight, each -standing out clear in its countless diversities; how, underneath -theological dissertations and monotonous sermons, we discern the -throbbings of ever-breathing hearts, the excitements and depressions of -the religious life, the unforeseen reaction and pell-mell stir of -natural feeling, the infiltrations of surrounding society, the -intermittent triumphs of grace, presenting so many shades of difference -that the fullest description and most flexible style can scarcely garner -in the vast harvest which the critic has caused to germinate in this -abandoned field. And the same elsewhere. Germany, with its genius, so -pliant, so broad, so prompt in transformations, so fitted for the -reproduction of the remotest and strangest states of human thought; -England, with its matter-of-fact mind, so suited to the grappling with -moral problems, to making them clear by figures, weights, and measures, -by geography and statistics, by texts and common sense; France, at -length, with its Parisian culture and drawing-room habits, with its -unceasing analysis of characters and of works, with its ever ready irony -at detecting weaknesses, with its skilled finesse in discriminating -shades of thought--all have ploughed over the same ground, and we now -begin to comprehend that no region of history exists in which this deep -sub-soil should not be reached if we would secure adequate crops between -the furrows. - -Such is the second step, and we are now in train to follow it out. Such -is the proper aim of contemporary criticism. No one has done this work -so judiciously and on so grand a scale as Sainte-Beuve; in this respect, -we are all his pupils; literary, philosophic, and religious criticism in -books, and even in the newspapers, is to-day entirely changed by his -method. Ulterior evolution must start from this point. I have often -attempted to expose what this evolution is; in my opinion, it is a new -road open to history and which I shall strive to describe more in -detail. - - - - -III. The state and the actions of the inner and invisible man have their -causes in certain general ways of thought and feeling - - -After having observed in a man and noted down one, two, three, and then -a multitude of, sentiments, do these suffice and does your knowledge of -him seem complete? Does a memorandum book constitute a psychology? It is -not a psychology, and here, as elsewhere, the search for causes must -follow the collection of facts. It matters not what the facts may be, -whether physical or moral, they always spring from causes; there are -causes for ambition, for courage, for veracity, as well as for -digestion, for muscular action, and for animal heat. Vice and virtue are -products like vitriol and sugar; every complex fact grows out of the -simple facts with which it is affiliated and on which it depends. We -must therefore try to ascertain what simple facts underlie moral -qualities the same as we ascertain those that underlie physical -qualities, and, for example, let us take the first fact that comes to -hand, a religious system of music, that of a Protestant church. A -certain inward cause has inclined the minds of worshippers towards these -grave, monotonous melodies, a cause much greater than its effect; that -is to say, a general conception of the veritable outward forms of -worship which man owes to God; it is this general conception which has -shaped the architecture of the temple, cast out statues, dispensed with -paintings, effaced ornaments, shortened ceremonies, confined the members -of a congregation to high pews which cut off the view, and governed the -thousand details of decoration, posture, and all other externals. This -conception itself again proceeds from a more general cause, an idea of -human conduct in general, inward and outward, prayers, actions, -dispositions of every sort that man is bound to maintain toward the -Deity; it is this which has enthroned the doctrine of grace, lessened -the importance of the clergy, transformed the sacraments, suppressed -observances, and changed the religion of discipline into one of -morality. This conception, in its turn, depends on a third one, still -more general, that of moral perfection as this is found in a perfect -God, the impeccable judge, the stern overseer, who regards every soul as -sinful, meriting punishment, incapable of virtue or of salvation, except -through a stricken conscience which He provokes and the renewal of the -heart which He brings about. Here is the master conception, consisting -of duty erected into the absolute sovereign of human life, and which -prostrates all other ideals at the feet of the moral ideal. Here we -reach what is deepest in man; for, to explain this conception, we must -consider the race he belongs to, say the German, the Northman, the -formation and character of his intellect, his ways in general of -thinking and feeling, that tardiness and frigidity of sensation which -keeps him from rashly and easily falling under the empire of sensual -enjoyments, that bluntness of taste, that irregularity and those -outbursts of conception which arrest in him the birth of refined and -harmonious forms and methods; that disdain of appearances, that yearning -for truth, that attachment to abstract, bare ideas which develop -conscience in him at the expense of everything else. Here the search -comes to an end. We have reached a certain primitive disposition, a -particular trait belonging to sensations of all kinds, to every -conception peculiar to an age or to a race, to characteristics -inseparable from every idea and feeling that stir in the human breast. -Such are the grand causes, for these are universal and permanent causes, -present in every case and at every moment, everywhere, and always -active, indestructible, and inevitably dominant in the end, since, -whatever accidents cross their path, being limited and partial, end in -yielding to the obscure and incessant repetition of their energy; so -that the general structure of things and all the main features of events -are their work, all religions and philosophies, all poetic and -industrial systems, all forms of society and of the family, all, in -fine, being imprints bearing the stamp of their seal. - - - - -IV. Chief causes of thought and feeling. Their historical effects - - -There is, then, a system in human ideas and sentiments, the prime motor -of which consists in general traits, certain characteristics of thought -and feeling common to men belonging to a particular race, epoch, or -country. Just as crystals in mineralogy, whatever their diversity, -proceed from a few simple physical forms, so do civilizations in -history, however these may differ, proceed from a few spiritual forms. -One is explained by a primitive geometrical element as the other is -explained by a primitive psychological element. In order to comprehend -the entire group of mineralogical species we must first study a regular -solid in the general, its facets and angles, and observe in this -abridged form the innumerable transformations of which it is -susceptible. In like manner, if we would comprehend the entire group of -historic varieties we must consider beforehand a human soul in the -general, with its two or three fundamental faculties, and, in this -abridgment, observe the principal forms it may present. This sort of -ideal tableau, the geometrical as well as psychological, is not very -complex, and we soon detect the limitations of organic conditions to -which civilizations, the same as crystals, are forcibly confined. What -do we find in man at the point of departure? Images or representations -of objects, namely, that which floats before him internally, lasts a -certain time, is effaced, and then returns after contemplating this or -that tree or animal, in short, some sensible object. This forms the -material basis of the rest and the development of this material basis is -twofold, speculative or positive, just as these representations end in a -general conception or in an active resolution. Such is man, summarily -abridged. It is here, within these narrow confines, that human -diversities are encountered, now in the matter itself and again in the -primordial twofold development. However insignificant in the elements -they are of vast significance in the mass, while the slightest change in -the factors leads to gigantic changes in the results. According as the -representation is distinct, as if stamped by a coining-press, or -confused and blurred; according as it concentrates in itself a larger or -smaller number of the characters of an object; according as it is -violent and accompanied with impulsions or tranquil and surrounded with -calmness, so are all the operations and the whole running-gear of the -human machine entirely transformed. In like manner again, according as -the ulterior development of the representation varies, so does the whole -development of the man vary. If the general conception in which this -ends is merely a dry notation in Chinese fashion, language becomes a -kind of algebra, religion and poetry are reduced to a minimum, -philosophy is brought down to a sort of moral and practical common -sense, science to a collection of recipes, classifications, and -utilitarian mnemonics, the mind itself taking a wholly positive turn. -If, on the contrary, the general conception in which the representation -culminates is a poetic and figurative creation, a living symbol, as with -the Aryan races, language becomes a sort of shaded and tinted epic in -which each word stands as a personage, poesy and religion assume -magnificent and inexhaustible richness, and metaphysics develops with -breadth and subtlety without any consideration of positive bearings; the -whole intellect, notwithstanding the deviation and inevitable weaknesses -of the effort, is captivated by the beautiful and sublime, thus -conceiving an ideal type which, through its nobleness and harmony, -gathers to itself all the affections and enthusiasms of humanity. If, on -the other hand, the general conception in which the representation -culminates is poetic but abrupt, is reached not gradually but by sudden -intuition, if the original operation is not a regular development but a -violent explosion--then, as with the Semitic races, metaphysical power -is wanting; the religious conception becomes that of a royal God, -consuming and solitary; science cannot take shape, the intellect grows -rigid and too headstrong to reproduce the delicate ordering of nature; -poetry cannot give birth to aught but a series of vehement, grandiose -exclamations, while language no longer renders the concatenation of -reasoning and eloquence, man being reduced to lyric enthusiasm, to -ungovernable passion, and to narrow and fanatical action. It is in this -interval between the particular representation and the universal -conception that the germs of the greatest human differences are found. -Some races, like the classic, for example, pass from the former to the -latter by a graduated scale of ideas regularly classified and more and -more general; others, like the Germanic, traverse the interval in leaps, -with uniformity and after prolonged and uncertain groping. Others, like -the Romans and the English, stop at the lowest stages; others, like the -Hindoos and Germans, mount to the uppermost. If, now, after considering -the passage from the representation to the idea, we regard the passage -from the representation to the resolution, we find here elementary -differences of like importance and of the same order, according as the -impression is vivid, as in Southern climes, or faint, as in Northern -climes, as it ends in instantaneous action as with barbarians, or -tardily as with civilized nations, as it is capable or not of growth, of -inequality, of persistence and of association. The entire system of -human passion, all the risks of public peace and security, all labor and -action, spring from these sources. It is the same with the other -primordial differences; their effects embrace an entire civilization, -and may be likened to those algebraic formulæ which, within narrow -bounds, describe beforehand the curve of which these form the law. Not -that this law always prevails to the end; sometimes, perturbations -arise, but, even when this happens, it is not because the law is -defective, but because it has not operated alone. New elements have -entered into combination with old ones; powerful foreign forces have -interfered to oppose primitive forces. The race has emigrated, as with -the ancient Aryans, and the change of climate has led to a change in the -whole intellectual economy and structure of society. A people has been -conquered like the Saxon nation, and the new political structure has -imposed on it customs, capacities, and desires which it did not possess. -The nation has established itself permanently in the midst of -downtrodden and threatening subjects, as with the ancient Spartans, -while the necessity of living, as in an armed encampment, has violently -turned the whole moral and social organization in one unique direction. -At all events, the mechanism of human history is like this. We always -find the primitive mainspring consisting of some widespread tendency of -soul and intellect, either innate and natural to the race or acquired by -it and due to some circumstance forced upon it. These great given -mainsprings gradually produce their effects, that is to say, at the end -of a few centuries they place the nation in a new religious, literary, -social, and economic state; a new condition which, combined with their -renewed effort, produces another condition, sometimes a good one, -sometimes a bad one, now slowly, now rapidly, and so on; so that the -entire development of each distinct civilization may be considered as -the effect of one permanent force which, at every moment, varies its -work by modifying the circumstances where it acts. - - - - -V. The three primordial forces.--Race - - -Three different sources contribute to the production of this elementary -moral state, race, environment, and epoch. What we call race consists of -those innate and hereditary dispositions which man brings with him into -the world and which are generally accompanied with marked differences of -temperament and of bodily structure. They vary in different nations. -Naturally, there are varieties of men as there are varieties of cattle -and horses, some brave and intelligent, and others timid and of limited -capacity; some capable of superior conceptions and creations, and others -reduced to rudimentary ideas and contrivances; some specially fitted for -certain works, and more richly furnished with certain instincts, as we -see in the better endowed species of dogs, some for running and others -for fighting, some for hunting and others for guarding houses and -flocks. We have here a distinct force; so distinct that, in spite of the -enormous deviations which both the other motors impress upon it, we -still recognize, and which a race like the Aryan people, scattered from -the Ganges to the Hebrides, established under all climates, ranged along -every degree of civilization, transformed by thirty centuries of -revolutions, shows nevertheless in its languages, in its religions, in -its literatures, and in its philosophies, the community of blood and of -intellect which still to-day binds together all its offshoots. However -they may differ, their parentage is not lost; barbarism, culture and -grafting, differences of atmosphere and of soil, fortunate or -unfortunate occurrences, have operated in vain; the grand -characteristics of the original form have lasted, and we find that the -two or three leading features of the primitive imprint are again -apparent under the subsequent imprints with which time has overlaid -them. There is nothing surprising in this extraordinary tenacity. -Although the immensity of the distance allows us to catch only a glimpse -in a dubious light of the origin of species,[1] the events of history -throw sufficient light on events anterior to history to explain the -almost unshaken solidity of primordial traits. At the moment of -encountering them, fifteen, twenty, and thirty centuries before our era, -in an Aryan, Egyptian, or Chinese, they represent the work of a much -greater number of centuries, perhaps the work of many myriads of -centuries. For, as soon as an animal is born it must adapt itself to its -[surroundings]; it breathes in another way, it renews itself differently, -it is otherwise stimulated according as the atmosphere, the food, and -the temperature are different. A different climate and situation create -different necessities and hence activities of a different kind; and -hence, again, a system of different habits, and, finally a system of -different aptitudes and instincts. Man, thus compelled to put himself in -equilibrium with circumstances, contracts a corresponding temperament -and character, and his character, like his temperament, are acquisitions -all the more stable because of the outward impression being more deeply -imprinted in him by more frequent repetitions and transmitted to his -offspring by more ancient heredity. So that at each moment of time, the -character of a people may be considered as a summary of all antecedent -actions and sensations; that is to say, as a quantity and as a weighty -mass, not infinite,[2] since all things in nature are limited, but -disproportionate to the rest and almost impossible to raise, since each -minute of an almost infinite past has contributed to render it heavier, -and, in order to turn the scale, it would require, on the other side, a -still greater accumulation of actions and sensations. Such is the first -and most abundant source of these master faculties from which historic -events are derived; and we see at once that if it is powerful it is -owing to its not being a mere source, but a sort of lake, and like a -deep reservoir wherein other sources have poured their waters for a -multitude of centuries. - -When we have thus verified the internal structure of a race we must -consider the environment in which it lives. For man is not alone in the -world; nature envelops him and other men surround him; accidental and -secondary folds come and overspread the primitive and permanent fold, -while physical or social circumstances derange or complete the natural -groundwork surrendered to them. At one time climate has had its effect. -Although the history of Aryan nations can be only obscurely traced from -their common country to their final abodes, we can nevertheless affirm -that the profound difference which is apparent between the Germanic -races on the one hand, and the Hellenic and Latin races on the other, -proceeds in great part from the differences between the countries in -which they have established themselves--the former in cold and moist -countries, in the depths of gloomy forests and swamps, or on the borders -of a wild ocean, confined to melancholic or rude sensations, inclined to -drunkenness and gross feeding, leading a militant and carnivorous life; -the latter, on the contrary, living amidst the finest scenery, alongside -of a brilliant, sparkling sea inviting navigation and commerce, exempt -from the grosser cravings of the stomach, disposed at the start to -social habits and customs, to political organization, to the sentiments -and faculties which develop the art of speaking, the capacity for -enjoyment and invention in the sciences, in art, and in literature. At -another time, political events have operated, as in the two Italian -civilizations: the first one tending wholly to action, to conquest, to -government, and to legislation, through the primitive situation of a -city of refuge, a frontier emporium, and of an armed aristocracy which, -importing and enrolling foreigners and the vanquished under it, sets two -hostile bodies facing each other, with no outlet for its internal -troubles and rapacious instincts but systematic warfare; the second one, -excluded from unity and political ambition on a grand scale by the -permanency of its municipal system, by the cosmopolite situation of its -pope and by the military intervention of neighboring states, and -following the bent of its magnificent and harmonious genius, is wholly -carried over to the worship of voluptuousness and beauty. Finally, at -another time, social conditions have imposed their stamp as, eighteen -centuries ago, by Christianity, and twenty-five centuries ago by -Buddhism, when, around the Mediterranean as in Hindostan, the extreme -effects of Aryan conquest and organization led to intolerable -oppression, the crushing of the individual, utter despair, the whole -world under the ban of a curse, with the development of metaphysics and -visions, until man, in this dungeon of despondency, feeling his heart -melt, conceived of abnegation, charity, tender love, gentleness, -humility, human brotherhood, here in the idea of universal nothingness, -and there under that of the fatherhood of God. Look around at the -regulative instincts and faculties implanted in a race; in brief, the -turn of mind according to which it thinks and acts at the present day; -we shall find most frequently that its work is due to one of these -prolonged situations, to these enveloping circumstances, to these -persistent gigantic pressures brought to bear on a mass of men who, one -by one, and all collectively, from one generation to another, have been -unceasingly bent and fashioned by them, in Spain a crusade of eight -centuries against the Mohammedans, prolonged yet longer even to the -exhaustion of the nation through the expulsion of the Moors, through the -spoliation of the Jews, through the establishment of the Inquisition, -through the Catholic wars; in England, a political establishment of -eight centuries which maintains man erect and respectful, independent -and obedient, all accustomed to struggling together in a body under the -sanction of law; in France, a Latin organization which, at first imposed -on docile barbarians, then levelled to the ground under the universal -demolition, forms itself anew under the latent workings of national -instinct, developing under hereditary monarchs and ending in a sort of -equalized, centralized, administrative republic under dynasties exposed -to revolutions. Such are the most efficacious among the observable -causes which mold the primitive man; they are to nations what education, -pursuit, condition, and abode are to individuals, and seem to comprise -all, since the external forces which fashion human matter, and by which -the outward acts on the inward, are comprehended in them. - -There is, nevertheless, a third order of causes, for, with the forces -within and without, there is the work these have already produced -together, which work itself contributes towards producing the ensuing -work; beside the permanent impulsion and the given environment there is -the acquired momentum. When national character and surrounding -circumstances operate it is not on a _tabula rasa_, but on one already -bearing imprints. According as this _tabula_ is taken at one or at -another moment so is the imprint different, and this suffices to render -the total effect different. Consider, for example, two moments of a -literature or of an art, French tragedy under Corneille and under -Voltaire, and Greek drama under Æschylus and under Euripides, Latin -poetry under Lucretius and under Claudian, and Italian painting under Da -Vinci and under Guido. Assuredly, there is no change of general -conception at either of these two extreme points; ever the same human -type must be portrayed or represented in action; the cast of the verse, -the dramatic structure, the physical form have all persisted. But there -is this among these differences, that one of the artists is a precursor -and the other a successor, that the first one has no model and the -second one has a model; that the former sees things face to face, and -that the latter sees them through the intermediation of the former, that -many departments of art have become more perfect, that the simplicity -and grandeur of the impression have diminished, that what is pleasing -and refined in form has augmented--in short, that the first work has -determined the second. In this respect, it is with a people as with a -plant; the same sap at the same temperature and in the same soil -produces, at different stages of its successive elaborations, different -developments, buds, flowers, fruits, and seeds, in such a way that the -condition of the following is always that of the preceding and is born -of its death. Now, if you no longer regard a brief moment, as above, but -one of those grand periods of development which embraces one or many -centuries like the Middle Ages, or our last classic period, the -conclusion is the same. A certain dominating conception has prevailed -throughout; mankind, during two hundred years, during five hundred -years, have represented to themselves a certain ideal figure of man, in -mediæval times the knight and the monk, in our classic period the -courtier and refined talker; this creative and universal conception has -monopolized the entire field of action and thought, and, after spreading -its involuntarily systematic works over the world, it languished and -then died out, and now a new idea has arisen, destined to a like -domination and to equally multiplied creations. Note here that the -latter depends in part on the former, and that it is the former, which, -combining its effect with those of national genius and surrounding -circumstances, will impose their bent and their direction on new-born -things. It is according to this law that great historic currents are -formed, meaning by this, the long rule of a form of intellect or of a -master idea, like that period of spontaneous creations called the -Renaissance, or that period of oratorical classifications called the -Classic Age, or that series of mystic systems called the Alexandrine and -Christian [epoch], or that series of mythological efflorescences found at -the origins of Germany, India, and Greece. Here as elsewhere, we are -dealing merely with a mechanical problem: the total effect is a compound -wholly determined by the grandeur and direction of the forces which -produce it. The sole difference which separates these moral problems -from physical problems lies in this, that in the former the directions -and grandeur cannot be estimated by or stated in figures with the same -precision as in the latter. If a want, a faculty, is a quantity capable -of degrees, the same as pressure or weight, this quantity is not -measurable like that of the pressure or weight. We cannot fix it in an -exact or approximative formula; we can obtain or give of it only a -literary impression; we are reduced to noting and citing the prominent -facts which make it manifest and which nearly, or roughly, indicate -about what grade on the scale it must be ranged at. And yet, -notwithstanding the methods of notation are not the same in the moral -sciences as in the physical sciences, nevertheless, as matter is the -same in both, and is equally composed of forces, directions and -magnitudes, we can still show that in one as in the other, the final -effect takes place according to the same law. This is great or small, -according as the fundamental forces are great or small and act more or -less precisely in the same sense, according as the distinct effects of -race, environment and epoch combine to enforce each other or combine to -neutralize each other. Thus are explained the long impotences and the -brilliant successes which appear irregularly and with no apparent reason -in the life of a people; the causes of these consist in internal -concordances and contrarieties. There was one of these concordances -when, in the seventeenth century, the social disposition and -conversational spirit innate in France encountered drawing-room -formalities and the moment of oratorical analysis; when, in the -nineteenth century, the flexible, profound genius of Germany encountered -the age of philosophic synthesis and of cosmopolite criticism. One of -these contrarieties happened when, in the seventeenth century, the -blunt, isolated genius of England awkwardly tried to don the new polish -of urbanity, and when, in the sixteenth century, the lucid, prosaic -French intellect tried to gestate a living poesy. It is this secret -concordance of creative forces which produced the exquisite courtesy and -noble cast of literature under Louis XIV and Bossuet, and the grandiose -metaphysics and broad critical sympathy under Hegel and Goethe. It is -this secret contrariety of creative forces which produced the literary -incompleteness, the licentious plays, the abortive drama of Dryden and -Wycherly, the poor Greek importations, the gropings, the minute beauties -and fragments of Ronsard and the Pleiad. We may confidently affirm that -the unknown creations toward which the current of coming ages is bearing -us will spring from and be governed by these primordial forces; that, if -these forces could be measured and computed we might deduce from them, -as from a formula, the characters of future civilization; and that if, -notwithstanding the evident rudeness of our notations, and the -fundamental inexactitude of our measures, we would nowadays form some -idea of our general destinies, we must base our conjectures on an -examination of these forces. For, in enumerating them, we run through -the full circle of active forces; and when the race, the environment, -and the moment have been considered--that is to say the inner -mainspring, the pressure from without, and the impulsion already -acquired--we have exhausted not only all real causes but again all -possible causes of movement. - - - - -VI. History is a mechanical and psychological problem. Within certain -limits man can foretell - - -There remains to be ascertained in what way these causes, applied to a -nation or to a century, distribute their effects. Like a spring issuing -from an elevated spot and diffusing its waters, according to the height, -from ledge to ledge, until it finally reaches the low ground, so does -the tendency of mind or of soul in a people, due to race, epoch, or -environment, diffuse itself in different proportions, and by regular -descent, over the different series of facts which compose its -civilization.[3] In preparing the geographical map of a country, -starting at its watershed, we see the slopes, just below this common -point, dividing themselves into five or six principal basins, and then -each of the latter into several others, and so on until the whole -country, with its thousands of inequalities of surface, is included in -the ramifications of this network. In like manner, in preparing the -psychological map of the events and sentiments belonging to a certain -human civilization, we find at the start five or six well determined -provinces--religion, art, philosophy, the state, the family, and -industries; next, in each of these provinces, natural departments, and -then finally, in each of these departments, still smaller territories -until we arrive at those countless details of life which we observe -daily in ourselves and around us. If, again, we examine and compare -together these various groups of facts we at once find that they are -composed of parts and that all have parts in common. Let us take first -the three principal products of human intelligence--religion, art, and -philosophy. What is a philosophy but a conception of nature and of its -[primordial causes] under the form of abstractions and formulas? What -underlies a religion and an art if not a conception of this same nature, -and of these same primordial causes, under the form of more or less -determinate symbols, and of more or less distinct personages, with this -difference, that in the first case we believe that they exist, and in -the second case that they do not exist. Let the reader consider some of -the great creations of the intellect in India, in Scandinavia, in -Persia, in Rome, in Greece, and he will find that art everywhere is a -sort of philosophy become sensible, religion a sort of poem regarded as -true, and philosophy a sort of art and religion, desiccated and reduced -to pure abstractions. There is, then, in the centre of each of these -groups a common element, the conception of the world and its origin, and -if they differ amongst each other it is because each combines with the -common element a distinct element; here the power of abstraction, there -the faculty of personifying with belief, and, finally, the talent for -personifying without belief. Let us now take the two leading products of -human association, the Family and the State. What constitutes the State -other than the sentiment of obedience by which a multitude of men -collect together under the authority of a chief? And what constitutes -the Family other than the sentiment of obedience by which a wife and -children act together under the direction of a father and husband? The -Family is a natural, primitive, limited state, as the State is an -artificial, ulterior, and expanded Family, while beneath the differences -which arise from the number, origin, and condition of its members, we -distinguish, in the small as in the large community, a like fundamental -disposition of mind which brings them together and unites them. Suppose, -now, that this common element receives from the environment, the epoch, -and the race peculiar characteristics, and it is clear that all the -groups into which it enters will be proportionately modified. If the -sentiment of obedience is merely one of fear,[4] you encounter, as in -most of the Oriental states, the brutality of despotism, a prodigality -of vigorous punishments, the exploitation of the subject, servile -habits, insecurity of property, impoverished production, female slavery, -and the customs of the harem. If the sentiment of obedience is rooted in -the instinct of discipline, sociability, and honor, you find, as in -France, a complete military organization, a superb administrative -hierarchy, a weak public spirit with outbursts of patriotism, the -unhesitating docility of the subject along with the hotheadedness of the -revolutionist, the obsequiousness of the courtier along with the reverse -of the gentleman, the charm of refined conversation along with home and -family bickerings, conjugal equality together with matrimonial -incompatibilities under the necessary constraints of the law. If, -finally, the sentiment of obedience is rooted in the instinct of -subordination and in the idea of duty, you perceive, as in Germanic -nations, the security and contentment of the household, the firm -foundations of domestic life, the slow and imperfect development of -worldly matters, innate respect for established rank, superstitious -reverence for the past, maintenance of social inequalities, natural and -habitual deference to the law. Similarly in a race, just as there is a -difference of aptitude for general ideas, so will its religion, art, and -philosophy be different. If man is naturally fitted for broader -universal conceptions and inclined at the same time to their -derangement, through the nervous irritability of an overexcited -organization, we find, as in India, a surprising richness of gigantic -religious creations, a splendid bloom of extravagant transparent epics, -a strange concatenation of subtle, imaginative philosophic systems, all -so intimately associated and so interpenetrated with a common sap, that -we at once recognize them, by their amplitude, by their color, and by -their disorder, as productions of the same climate and of the same -spirit. If, on the contrary, the naturally sound and well-balanced man -is content to restrict his conceptions to narrow bounds in order to cast -them in more precise forms, we see, as in Greece, a theology of artists -and narrators, special gods that are soon separated from objects and -almost transformed at once into substantial personages, the sentiment of -universal unity nearly effaced and scarcely maintained in the vague -notion of destiny, a philosophy, rather than subtle and compact, -grandiose and systematic, narrow metaphysically[5] but incomparable in -its logic, sophistry, and morality, si poesy and arts superior to -anything we have seen in lucidity, naturalness, proportion, truth, and -beauty. If, finally, man is reduced to narrow conceptions deprived of -any speculative subtlety, and at the same time finds that he is absorbed -and completely hardened by practical interests, we see, as in Rome, -rudimentary deities, mere empty names, good for denoting the petty -details of agriculture, generation, and the household, veritable -marriage and farming labels, and, therefore, a null or borrowed -mythology, philosophy, and poesy. Here, as elsewhere, comes in the law -of mutual dependencies.[6] A civilization is a living unit, the parts of -which hold together the same as the parts of an organic body. Just as in -an animal, the instincts, teeth, limbs, bones, and muscular apparatus -are bound together in such a way that a variation of one determines a -corresponding variation in the others, and out of which a skilful -naturalist, with a few bits, imagines and reconstructs an almost -complete body, so, in a civilization, do religion, philosophy, the -family scheme, literature and the arts form a system in which each local -change involves a general change, so that an experienced historian, who -studies one portion apart from the others, sees beforehand and partially -predicts the characteristics of the rest. There is nothing vague in this -dependence. The regulation of all this in the living body consists, -first, of the tendency to manifest a certain primordial type, and, next, -the necessity of its possessing organs which can supply its wants and -put itself in harmony with itself in order to live. The regulation in a -civilization consists in the presence in each great human creation of an -elementary producer equally present in other surrounding creations, that -is, some faculty and aptitude, some efficient and marked disposition, -which, with its own peculiar character, introduces this with that into -all operations in which it takes part, and which, according to its -variations, causes variation in all the works in which it cooperates. - - - - -VII. Law of formation of a group. Examples and indications - - -Having reached this point, we can obtain a glimpse of the principal -features of human transformation, and can now search for the general -laws which regulate not only events, but classes of events; not only -this religion or that literature, but the whole group of religions or of -literatures. If, for example, it is admitted that a religion is a -metaphysical poem associated with belief; if it is recognized, besides, -that there are certain races and certain environments in which belief, -poetic faculty, and metaphysical faculty display themselves in common -with unwonted vigor; if we consider that Christianity and Buddhism were -developed at periods of grand systematizations and in the midst of -sufferings like the oppression which stirred up the fanatics of -Cevennes; if, on the other hand, it is recognized that primitive -religions are born at the dawn of human reason, during the richest -expansion of human imagination, at times of the greatest _naïveté_ and -of the greatest credulity; if we consider, again, that Mohammedanism -appeared along with the advent of poetic prose and of the conception of -material unity, amongst a people destitute of science and at the moment -of a sudden development of the intellect--we might conclude that -religion is born and declines, is reformed and transformed, according as -circumstances fortify and bring together, with more or less precision -and energy, its three generative instincts; and we would then comprehend -why religion is endemic in India among specially exalted imaginative and -philosophic intellects; why it blooms out so wonderfully and so grandly -in the Middle Ages, in an oppressive society, amongst new languages and -literatures; why it develops again in the sixteenth century with a new -character and an heroic enthusiasm, at the time of an universal -renaissance and at the awakening of the Germanic races; why it swarms -out in so many bizarre sects in the rude democracy of America and under -the bureaucratic despotism of Russia; why, in fine, it is seen spreading -out in the Europe of to-day in such different proportions and with such -special traits, according to such differences of race and of -civilizations. And so for every kind of human production, for letters, -music, the arts of design, philosophy, the sciences, state industries, -and the rest. Each has some moral tendency for its direct cause, or a -concurrence of moral tendencies; given the cause, it appears; the cause -withdrawn, it disappears; the weakness or intensity of the cause is the -measure of its own weakness or intensity. It is bound to that like any -physical phenomenon to its condition, like dew to the chilliness of a -surrounding atmosphere, like dilatation to heat. Couples exist in the -moral world as they exist in the physical world, as rigorously linked -together and as universally diffused. Whatever in one case produces, -alters, or suppresses the first term, produces, alters, and suppresses -the second term as a necessary consequence. Whatever cools the -surrounding atmosphere causes the fall of dew. Whatever develops -credulity, along with poetic conceptions of the universe, engenders -religion. Thus have things come about, and thus will they continue to -come about. As soon as the adequate and necessary condition of one of -these vast apparitions becomes known to us our mind has a hold on the -future as well as on the past. We can confidently state under what -circumstances it will reappear, foretell without rashness many portions -of its future history, and sketch with precaution some of the traits of -its ulterior development. - - - - -VIII. General problem and future of history. Psychological method. -Value of literature. Purpose in writing this book - - -History has reached this point at the present day, or rather it is -nearly there, on the threshold of this inquest. The question as now -stated is this: Given a literature, a philosophy, a society, an art, a -certain group of arts, what is the moral state of things which produces -it? And what are the conditions of race, epoch, and environment the best -adapted to produce this moral state? There is a distinct moral state for -each of these formations and for each of their branches; there is one -for art in general as well as for each particular art; for architecture, -painting, sculpture, music, and poetry, each with a germ of its own in -the large field of human psychology; each has its own law, and it is by -virtue of this law that we see each shoot up, apparently haphazard, -singly and alone, amidst the miscarriages of their neighbors, like -painting in Flanders and Holland in the seventeenth century, like poetry -in England in the sixteenth century, like music in Germany in the -eighteenth century. At this moment, and in these countries, the -conditions for one art and not for the others are fulfilled, and one -branch only has bloomed out amidst the general sterility. It is these -laws of human vegetation which history must now search for; it is this -special psychology of each special formation which must be got at; it is -the composition of a complete table of these peculiar conditions that -must now be worked out. There is nothing more delicate and nothing more -difficult. Montesquieu undertook it, but in his day the interest in -history was too recent for him to be successful; nobody, indeed, had any -idea of the road that was to be followed, and even at the present day we -scarcely begin to obtain a glimpse of it. Just as astronomy, at bottom, -is a mechanical problem, and physiology, likewise, a chemical problem, -so is history, at bottom, a problem of psychology. There is a particular -system of inner impressions and operations which fashions the artist, -the believer, the musician, the painter, the nomad, the social man; for -each of these, the filiation, intensity, and interdependence of ideas -and of emotions are different; each has his own moral history, and his -own special organization, along with some master tendency and with some -dominant trait. To explain each of these would require a chapter devoted -to a profound internal analysis, and that is a work that can scarcely be -called sketched out at the present day. But one man, Stendhal, through a -certain turn of mind and a peculiar education, has attempted it, and -even yet most of his readers find his works paradoxical and obscure. His -talent and ideas were too premature. His admirable insight, his profound -sayings carelessly thrown out, the astonishing precision of his notes -and logic, were not understood; people were not aware that, under the -appearances and talk of a man of the world, he explained the most -complex of internal mechanisms; that his finger touched the great -mainspring, that he brought scientific processes to bear in the history -of the heart, the art of employing figures, of decomposing, of deducing; -that he was the first to point out fundamental causes such as -nationalities, climates, and temperaments; in short, that he treated -sentiments as they should be treated, that is to say, as a naturalist -and physicist, by making classifications and estimating forces. On -account of all this he was pronounced dry and eccentric and allowed to -live in isolation, composing novels, books of travel and taking notes, -for which he counted upon, and has obtained, about a dozen or so of -readers. And yet his works are those in which we of the present day may -find the most satisfactory efforts that have been made to clear the road -I have just striven to describe. Nobody has taught one better how to -observe with one's own eyes, first, to regard humanity around us and -life as it is, and next, old and authentic documents; how to read more -than merely the black and white of the page; how to detect under old -print and the scrawl of the text the veritable sentiment and the train -of thought, the mental state in which the words were penned. In his -writings, as in those of Sainte-Beuve and in those of the German -critics, the reader will find how much is to be derived from a literary -document; if this document is rich and we know how to interpret it, we -will find in it the psychology of a particular soul, often that of an -age, and sometimes that of a race. In this respect, a great poem, a good -novel, the confessions of a superior man, are more instructive than a -mass of historians and histories; I would give fifty volumes of charters -and a hundred diplomatic files for the memoirs of Cellini, the epistles -of Saint Paul, the table-talk of Luther, or the comedies of -Aristophanes. Herein lies the value of literary productions. They are -instructive because they are beautiful; their usefulness increases with -their perfection; and if they provide us with documents, it is because -they are monuments. The more visible a book renders sentiments the more -literary it is, for it is the special office of literature to take note -of sentiments. The more important the sentiments noted in a book the -higher its rank in literature, for it is by representing what sort of a -life a nation or an epoch leads, that a writer rallies to himself the -sympathies of a nation or of an epoch. Hence, among the documents which -bring before our eyes the sentiments of preceding generations, a -literature, and especially a great literature, is incomparably the best. -It resembles those admirable instruments of remarkable sensitiveness -which physicists make use of to detect and measure the most profound and -delicate changes that occur in a human body. There is nothing -approaching this in constitutions or religions; the articles of a code -or of a catechism do no more than depict mind in gross and without -finesse; if there are documents which show life and spirit in politics -and in creeds, they are the eloquent discourses of the pulpit and the -tribune, memoirs and personal confessions, all belonging to literature, -so that, outside of itself, literature embodies whatever is good -elsewhere. It is mainly in studying literatures that we are able to -produce moral history, and arrive at some knowledge of the psychological -laws on which events depend. - -I have undertaken to write a history of a literature and to ascertain -the psychology of a people; in selecting this one, it is not without a -motive. A people had to be taken possessing a vast and complete -literature, which is rarely found. There are few nations which, -throughout their existence, have thought and written well in the full -sense of the word. Among the ancients, Latin literature is null at the -beginning, and afterward borrowed and an imitation. Among the moderns, -German literature is nearly a blank for two centuries.[7] Italian and -Spanish literatures come to an end in the middle of the seventeenth -century. Ancient Greece, and modern France and England, alone offer a -complete series of great and expressive monuments. I have chosen the -English because, as this still exists and is open to direct observation, -it can be better studied than that of an extinct civilization of which -fragments only remain; and because, being different, it offers better -than that of France very marked characteristics in the eyes of a -Frenchman. Moreover, outside of what is peculiar to English -civilization, apart from a spontaneous development, it presents a forced -deviation due to the latest and most effective conquest to which the -country was subject; the three given conditions out of which it -issues--race, climate, and the Norman conquest--are clearly and -distinctly visible in its literary monuments; so that we study in this -history the two most potent motors of human transformation, namely, -nature and constraint, and we study them, without any break or -uncertainty, in a series of authentic and complete monuments. I have -tried to define these primitive motors, to show their gradual effects, -and explain how their insensible operation has brought religions and -literary productions into full light, and how the inward mechanism is -developed by which the barbarous Saxon became the Englishman of the -present day. - - - - -[Footnote 1: Darwin, "The Origin of Species." Prosper Lucas, "De -l'Hérédité."] - -[Footnote 2: Spinosa, "Ethics," part IV., axiom.] - -[Footnote 3: For this scale of coordinate effects consult, "Langues -Sémitiques," by Renan, ch. I; "Comparison des civilisations Grecque -et Romaine," vol. I., ch. I., 3d ed., by Mommsen; "Conséquences -de la démocratie," vol. III., by De Tocqueville.] - -[Footnote 4: "L'Esprit des Lois," by Montesquieu; the essential -principles of the three governments.] - -[Footnote 5: The birth of the Alexandrine philosophy is due to contact -with the Orient. Aristotle's metaphysical views stand alone. Moreover, -with him as with Plato, they afford merely a glimpse. By way of -contrast see systematic power in Plotinus, Proclus, Schelling, and -Hegel, or again in the admirable boldness of Brahmanic and Buddhist -speculation.] - -[Footnote 6: I have very often made attempts to state this law, -especially in the preface to "Essais de Critique et d'Histoire."] - -[Footnote 7: From 1550 to 1750.] - - - - -BOOK I.--THE SOURCE - - - - -CHAPTER FIRST - - -The Saxons - - -SECTION I.--The Coast of the North Sea - - -As you coast the North Sea from the Scheldt to Jutland, you will mark in -the first place that the characteristic feature is the want of slope; -marsh, waste, shoal; the rivers hardly drag themselves along, swollen -and sluggish, with long, black-looking waves; the flooding stream oozes -over the banks, and appears further on in stagnant pools. In Holland the -soil is but a sediment of mud; here and there only does the earth cover -it with a crust, shallow and brittle, the mere alluvium of the river, -which the river seems ever about to destroy. Thick clouds hover above, -being fed by ceaseless exhalations. They lazily turn their violet -flanks, grow black, suddenly descend in heavy showers; the vapor, like a -furnace-smoke, crawls forever on the horizon. Thus watered, plants -multiply; in the angle between Jutland and the continent, in a fat muddy -soil, "the verdure is as fresh as that of England."[8] Immense forests -covered the land even after the eleventh century. The sap of this humid -country, thick and potent, circulates in man as in the plants; man's -respiration, nutrition, sensations and habits affect also his faculties -and his frame. - -The land produced after this fashion has one enemy, to wit, the sea. -Holland maintains its existence only by virtue of its dykes. In 1654 -those in Jutland burst, and fifteen thousand of the inhabitants were -swallowed up. One need only see the blast of the North swirl down upon -the low level of the soil, wan and ominous:[9] the vast yellow sea -dashes against the narrow belt of flat coast which seems incapable of a -moment's resistance; the wind howls and bellows; the sea-mews cry; the -poor little ships flee as fast as they can, bending almost to the -gunwale, and endeavor to find a refuge in the mouth of the river, which -seems as hostile as the sea. A sad and precarious existence, as it were -face to face with a beast of prey. The Frisians, in their ancient laws, -speak already of the league they have made against "the ferocious -ocean." Even in a calm this sea is unsafe. "Before me rolleth a waste of -water... and above me go rolling the storm-clouds, the formless dark -gray daughters of air, which from the sea, in cloudy buckets scoop up -the water, ever wearied lifting and lifting, and then pour it again in -the sea, a mournful, wearisome business. Over the sea, flat on his face, -lies the monstrous terrible North wind, sighing and sinking his voice as -in secret, like an old grumbler, for once in good humor, unto the ocean -he talks, and he tells her wonderful stories."[10] Rain, wind, and surge -leave room for naught but gloomy and melancholy thoughts. The very joy -of the billows has in it an inexplicable restlessness and harshness. -From Holland to Jutland, a string of small deluged islands[11] bears -witness to their ravages; the shifting sands which the tide drifts up -obstruct and impede the banks and entrance of the rivers.[12] The first -Roman fleet, a thousand sail, perished there; to this day ships wait a -month or more in sight of port, tossed upon the great white waves, not -daring to risk themselves in the shifting winding channel, notorious for -its wrecks. In winter a breast-plate of ice covers the two streams; the -sea drives back the frozen masses as they descend; they pile themselves -with a crash upon the sandbanks, and sway to and fro; now and then you -may see a vessel, seized as in a vice, split in two beneath their -violence. Picture, in this foggy clime, amid hoar-frost and storm, in -these marshes and forests, half-naked savages, a kind of wild beasts, -fishers and hunters, but especially hunters of men; these are they, -Saxons, Angles, Jutes, Frisians;[13] later on, Danes, who during the -fifth and the ninth centuries, with their swords and battle-axes, took -and kept the island of Britain. - -A rude and foggy land, like their own, except in the depth of its sea -and the safety of its coasts, which one day will call up real fleets and -mighty vessels; green England--the word rises to the lips and expresses -all. Here also moisture pervades everything; even in summer the mist -rises; even on clear days you perceive it fresh from the great -sea-girdle, or rising from vast but ever slushy meadows, undulating with -hill and dale, intersected with hedges to the limit of the horizon. Here -and there a sunbeam strikes on the higher grasses with burning flash, -and the splendor of the verdure dazzles and almost blinds you. The -overflowing water straightens the flabby stems; they grow up, rank, -weak, and filled with sap; a sap ever renewed, for the gray mists creep -under a stratum of motionless vapor, and at distant intervals the rim of -heaven is drenched by heavy showers. "There are yet commons as at the -time of the Conquest, deserted, abandoned,[14] wild, covered with furze -and thorny plants, with here and there a horse grazing in solitude. -Joyless scene, unproductive soil![15] What a labor it has been to -humanize it! What impression it must have made on the men of the South, -the Romans of Cæsar! I thought, when I saw it, of the ancient Saxons, -wanderers from West and North, who came to settle in this land of marsh -and fogs, on the border of primeval forests, on the banks of these great -muddy streams, which roll down their slime to meet the waves.[16] They -must have lived as hunters and swineherds; growing, as before, brawny, -fierce, gloomy. Take civilization from this soil, and there will remain -to the inhabitants only war, the chase, gluttony, drunkenness. Smiling -love, sweet poetic dreams, art, refined and nimble thought, are for the -happy shores of the Mediterranean. Here the barbarian, ill housed in his -mud-hovel, who hears the rain pattering whole days among the oak -leaves--what dreams can he have, gazing upon his mud-pools and his -sombre sky?" - - - - -SECTION II.--The Northern Barbarians - - -Huge white bodies, cool-blooded, with fierce blue eyes, reddish flaxen -hair; ravenous stomachs, filled with meat and cheese, heated by strong -drinks; of a cold temperament, slow to love,[17] home-stayers, prone to -brutal drunkenness: these are to this day the features which descent and -climate preserve in the race, and these are what the Roman historians -discovered in their former country. There is no living, in these lands, -without abundance of solid food; bad weather keeps people at home; -strong drinks are necessary to cheer them; the senses become blunted, -the muscles are braced, the will vigorous. In every country the body of -man is rooted deep into the soil of nature; and in this instance still -deeper, because, being uncultivated, he is less removed from nature. In -Germany storm-beaten, in wretched boats of hide, amid the hardships and -dangers of seafaring life, they were pre-eminently adapted for endurance -and enterprise, inured to misfortune, scorners of danger. Pirates at -first: of all kinds of hunting the man-hunt is most profitable and most -noble; they left the care of the land and flocks to the women and -slaves; seafaring, war, and pillage[18] was their whole idea of a -freeman's work. They dashed to sea in their two-sailed barks, landed -anywhere, killed everything; and having sacrificed in honor of their -gods the tithe of their prisoners, and leaving behind them the red light -of their burnings, went farther on to begin again. "Lord," says a -certain litany, "deliver us from the fury of the Jutes. Of all -barbarians[19] these are strongest of body and heart, the most -formidable,"--we may add, the most cruelly ferocious. When murder -becomes a trade, it becomes a pleasure. About the eighth century, the -final decay of the great Roman corpse which Charlemagne had tried to -revive, and which was settling down into corruption, called them like -vultures to the prey. Those who had remained in Denmark, with their -brothers of Norway, fanatical pagans, incensed against the Christians, -made a descent on all the surrounding coasts. Their sea-kings,[20] "who -had never slept under the smoky rafters of a roof, who had never drained -the ale-horn by an inhabited hearth," laughed at wind and storms, and -sang: "The blast of the tempest aids our oars; the bellowing of heaven, -the howling of the thunder, hurt us not; the hurricane is our servant, -and drives us whither we wish to go. We hewed with our swords," says a -song attributed to Ragnar Lodbrog; "was it not like that hour when my -bright bride I seated by me on the couch?" One of them, at the monastery -of Peterborough, kills with his own hand all the monks, to the number of -eighty-four; others, having taken King Ælla, divided his ribs from the -spine, drew his lungs out, threw salt into his wounds. Harold Harefoot, -having seized his rival Alfred, with six hundred men, had them maimed, -blinded, hamstrung, scalped, or embowelled.[21] Torture and carnage, -greed of danger, fury of destruction, obstinate and frenzied bravery of -an over-strong temperament, the unchaining of the butcherly -instincts--such traits meet us at every step in the old Sagas. The -daughter of the Danish Jarl, seeing Egil taking his seat near her, -repels him with scorn, reproaching him with "seldom having provided the -wolves with hot meat, with never having seen for the whole autumn a -raven croaking over the carnage." But Egil seized her and pacified her -by singing: "I have marched with my bloody sword, and the raven has -followed me. Furiously we fought, the fire passed over the dwellings of -men; we have sent to sleep in blood those who kept the gates." From such -table-talk, and such maidenly tastes, we may judge of the rest.[22] - -Behold them now in England, more settled and wealthier: do you expect to -find them much changed? Changed it may be, but for the worse, like the -Franks, like all barbarians who pass from action to enjoyment. They are -more gluttonous, carving their hogs, filling themselves with flesh, -swallowing down deep draughts of mead, ale, spiced wines, all the -strong, coarse drinks which they can procure, and so they are cheered -and stimulated. Add to this the pleasure of the fight. Not easily with -such instincts can they attain to culture; to find a natural and ready -culture, we must look amongst the sober and sprightly populations of the -south. Here the sluggish and heavy[23] temperament remains long buried -in a brutal life; people of the Latin race never at a first glance see -in them aught but large gross beasts, clumsy and ridiculous when not -dangerous and enraged. Up to the sixteenth century, says an old -historian, the great body of the nation were little else than herdsmen, -keepers of cattle and sheep; up to the end of the eighteenth drunkenness -was the recreation of the higher ranks; it is still that of the lower; -and all the refinement and softening influence of civilization have not -abolished amongst them the use of the rod and the fist. If the -carnivorous, warlike, drinking savage, proof against the climate, still -shows beneath the conventions of our modern society and the softness of -our modern polish, imagine what he must have been when, landing with his -band upon a wasted or desert country, and becoming for the first time a -settler, he saw extending to the horizon the common pastures of the -border country, and the great primitive forests which furnished stags -for the chase and acorns for his pigs. The ancient histories tell us -that they had a great and a coarse appetite.[24] Even at the time of the -Conquest the custom of drinking to excess was a common vice with men of -the highest rank, and they passed in this way whole days and nights -without intermission. Henry of Huntingdon, in the twelfth century, -lamenting the ancient hospitality, says that the Norman kings provided -their courtiers with only one meal a day, while the Saxon kings used to -provide four. One day, when Athelstan went with his nobles to visit his -relative Ethelfleda, the provision of mead was exhausted at the first -salutation, owing to the copiousness of the draughts; but Dunstan, -forecasting the extent of the royal appetite, had furnish the house so -that the cup-bearers, as is the custom at royal feasts, were able the -whole day to serve it out in horns and other vessels, and the liquor was -not found to be deficient. When the guests were satisfied, the harp -passed from hand to hand, and the rude harmony of their deep voices -swelled under the vaulted roof. The monasteries themselves in Edgard's -time kept up games, songs, and dances till midnight. To shout, to drink, -to gesticulate, to feel their veins heated and swollen with wine, to -hear and see around them the riotous orgies, this was the first need of -the barbarians.[25] The heavy human brute gluts himself with sensations -and with noise. - -For such appetites there was a stronger food--I mean blows and battle. -In vain they attached themselves to the soil, became tillers of the -ground, in distinct communities and distinct regions, shut[26] in their -march with their kindred and comrades, bound together, separated from -the mass, enclosed by sacred landmarks, by primeval oaks on which they -cut the figures of birds and beasts, by poles set up in the midst of the -marsh, which whosoever removed was punished with cruel tortures. In vain -these Marches and Ga's[27] were grouped into states, and finally formed -a half-regulated society, with assemblies and laws, under the lead of a -single king; its very structure indicates the necessities to supply -which it was created. They united in order to maintain peace; treaties -of peace occupy their Parliaments; provisions for peace are the matter -of their laws. War was waged daily and everywhere; the aim of life was, -not to be slain, ransomed, mutilated, pillaged, hanged, and of course, -if it was a woman, violated.[28] Every man was obliged to appear armed, -and to be ready, with his burgh or his township, to repel marauders, who -went about in bands.[29] The animal was yet too powerful, too impetuous, -too untamed. Anger and covetousness in the first place brought him upon -his prey. Their history, I mean that of the Heptarchy, is like a history -of "kites and crows."[30] They slew the Britons or reduced them to -slavery, fought the remnant of the Welsh, Irish, and Picts, massacred -one another, were hewn down and cut to pieces by the Danes. In a hundred -years, out of fourteen kings of Northumbria, seven were slain and six -deposed. Penda of Mercia killed five kings, and in order to take the -town of Bamborough, demolished all the neighboring villages, heaped -their ruins into an immense pile, sufficient to burn all the -inhabitants, undertook to exterminate the Northumbrians, and perished -himself by the sword at the age of eighty. Many amongst them were put to -death by the thanes; one thane was burned alive; brothers slew one -another treacherously. With us civilization has interposed, between the -desire and its fulfilment, the counteracting and softening preventive of -reflection and calculation; here, the impulse is sudden, and murder and -every kind of excess spring from it instantaneously. King Edwy[31] -having married Elgiva, his relation within the prohibited degrees, -quitted the hall where he was drinking on the very day of his -coronation, to be with her. The nobles thought themselves insulted, and -immediately Abbot Dunstan went himself to seek the young man. "He found -the adulteress," says the monk Osbern, "her mother, and the king -together on the bed of debauch. He dragged the king thence violently, -and setting the crown upon his head, brought him back to the nobles." -Afterwards Elgiva sent men to put out Dunstan's eyes, and then, in a -revolt, saved herself and the king by hiding in the country; but the men -of the North having seized her, "hamstrung her, and then subjected her -to the death which she deserved."[32] Barbarity follows barbarity. At -Bristol, at the time of the Conquest, as we are told by a historian of -the time,[33] it was the custom to buy men and women in all parts of -England, and to carry them to Ireland for sale in order to make money. -The buyers usually made the young women pregnant, and took them to -market in that condition, in order to insure a better price. "You might -have seen with sorrow long files of young people of both sexes and of -the greatest beauty, bound with ropes, and daily exposed for sale. ... -They sold in this manner as slaves their nearest relatives, and even -their own children." And the chronicler adds that, having abandoned this -practice, they "thus set an example to all the rest of England." Would -you know the manners of the highest ranks, in the family of the last -king?[34] At a feast in the king's hall, Harold was serving Edward the -Confessor with wine, when Tostig, his brother, moved by envy, seized him -by the hair. They were separated. Tostig went to Hereford, where Harold -had ordered a royal banquet to be prepared. There he seized his -brother's attendants, and cutting off their heads and limbs, he placed -them in the vessels of wine, ale, mead, and cider, and sent a message to -the king: "If you go to your farm, you will find there plenty of salt -meat, but you will do well to carry some more with you." Harold's other -brother, Sweyn, had violated the abbess Elgiva, assassinated Beorn the -thane, and being banished from the country had turned pirate. When we -regard their deeds of violence, their ferocity, their cannibal jests, we -see that they were not far removed from the sea-kings, or from the -followers of Odin, who ate raw flesh, hung men as victims on the sacred -trees of Upsala, and killed themselves to make sure of dying as they had -lived, in blood. A score of times the old ferocious instinct reappears -beneath the thin crust of Christianity. In the eleventh century, -Siward,[35] the great Earl of Northumberland, was afflicted with a -dysentery; and feeling his death near, exclaimed, "What a shame for me -not to have been permitted to die in so many battles, and to end thus by -a cow's death! At least put on my breastplate, gird on my sword, set my -helmet on my head, my shield in my left hand, my battle-axe in my right, -so that a stout warrior, like myself, may die as a warrior." They did as -he bade, and thus died he honorably in his armor. They had made one -step, and only one, from barbarism. - - - - -SECTION III.--Saxon Ideas - - -Under this native barbarism there were noble dispositions, unknown to -the Roman world, which were destined to produce a better people out of -its ruins. In the first place, "a certain earnestness, which leads them -out of frivolous sentiments to noble ones."[36] From their origin in -Germany this is what we find them, severe in manners, with grave -inclinations and a manly dignity. They live solitary, each one near the -spring or the wood which has taken his fancy.[37] Even in villages the -cottages were detached; they must have independence and free air. They -had no taste for voluptuousness; love was tardy, education severe, their -food simple; all the recreation they indulged in was the hunting of the -aurochs, and a dance amongst naked swords. Violent intoxication and -perilous wagers were their weakest points; they sought in preference not -mild pleasures, but strong excitement. In everything, even in their rude -and masculine instincts, they were men. Each in his own home, on his -land and in his hut, was his own master, upright and free, in no wise -restrained or shackled. If the commonweal received anything from him, it -was because he gave it. He gave his vote in arms in all great -conferences, passed judgment in the assembly, made alliances and wars on -his own account, moved from place to place, showed activity and -daring.[38] The modern Englishman existed entire in this Saxon. If he -bends, it is because he is quite willing to bend; he is no less capable -of self-denial than of independence; self-sacrifice is not uncommon, a -man cares not for his blood or his life. In Homer the warrior often -gives way, and is not blamed if he flees. In the Sagas, in the Edda, he -must be over-brave; in Germany the coward is drowned in the mud, under a -hurdle. Through all outbreaks of primitive brutality gleams obscurely -the grand idea of duty, which is, the self-constraint exercised in view -of some noble end. Marriage was pure amongst them, chastity instinctive. -Amongst the Saxons the adulterer was punished by death; the adulteress -was obliged to hang herself, or was stabbed by the knives of her -companions. The wives of the Cimbrians, when they could not obtain from -Marius assurance of their chastity, slew themselves with their own -hands. They thought there was something sacred in a woman; they married -but one, and kept faith with her. In fifteen centuries the idea of -marriage is unchanged amongst them. The wife, on entering her husband's -home, is aware that she gives herself altogether,[39] "that she will -have but one body, one life with him; that she will have no thought, no -desire beyond; that she will be the companion of his perils and labors; -that she will suffer and dare as much as he, both in peace and war." And -he, like her, knows that he gives himself. Having chosen his chief, he -forgets himself in him, assigns to him his own glory, serves him to the -death. "He is infamous as long as he lives, who returns from the field -of battle without his chief."[40] It was on this voluntary subordination -that feudal society was based. Man in this race can accept a superior, -can be capable of devotion and respect. Thrown back upon himself by the -gloom and severity of his climate, he has discovered moral beauty while -others discover sensuous beauty. This kind of naked brute, who lies all -day by his fireside, sluggish and dirty, always eating and drinking,[41] -whose rusty faculties cannot follow the clear and fine outlines of -happily created poetic forms, catches a glimpse of the sublime in his -troubled dreams. He does not see it, but simply feels it; his religion -is already within, as it will be in the sixteenth century, when he will -cast off the sensuous worship imported from Rome, and hallow the faith -of the heart.[42] His gods are not enclosed in walls; he has no idols. -What he designates by divine names is something invisible and grand, -which floats through nature, and is conceived beyond nature,[43] a -mysterious infinity which the sense cannot touch, but which "reverence -alone can feel"; and when, later on, the legends define and alter this -vague divination of natural powers, one idea remains at the bottom of -this chaos of giant-dreams, namely, that the world is a warfare, and -heroism the highest good. - -In the beginning, say the old Icelandic legends,[44] there were two -worlds, Niflheim the frozen, and Muspell the burning. From the falling -snow-flakes was born the giant Ymir. "There was in times of old, where -Ymir dwelt, nor sand nor sea, nor gelid waves; earth existed not, nor -heaven above; 'twas a chaotic chasm, and grass nowhere." There was but -Ymir, the horrible frozen Ocean, with his children, sprung from his feet -and his armpits; then their shapeless progeny, Terrors of the abyss, -barren Mountains, Whirlwinds of the North, and other malevolent beings, -enemies of the sun and of life; then the cow Andhumbla, born also of -melting snow, brings to light, whilst licking the hoar-frost from the -rocks, a man Bur, whose grandsons kill the giant Ymir. "From his flesh -the earth was formed, and from his bones the hills, the heaven from the -skull of that ice-cold giant, and from his blood the sea; but of his -brains the heavy clouds are all created." Then arose war between the -monsters of winter and the luminous fertile gods, Odin the founder, -Baldur the mild and benevolent, Thor the summer-thunder, who purifies -the air, and nourishes the earth with showers. Long fought the gods -against the frozen Jötuns, against the dark bestial powers, the Wolf -Fenrir, the great Serpent, whom they drown in the sea, the treacherous -Loki, whom they bind to the rocks, beneath a viper whose venom drops -continually on his face. Long will the heroes who by a bloody death -deserve to be placed "in the halls of Odin, and there wage a combat -every day," assist the gods in their mighty war. A day will, however, -arrive when gods and men will be conquered. Then - - -"trembles Yggdrasil's ash yet standing; groans that ancient tree, and -the Jötun Loki is loosed. The shadows groan on the ways of Hel,[45] -until the fire of Surt has consumed the tree. Hrym steers from the east, -the waters rise, the mundane snake is coiled in jötun-rage. The worm -beats the water, and the eagle screams; the pale of beak tears -carcasses; (the ship) Naglfar is loosed. Surt from the South comes with -flickering flame; shines from his sword the Val-god's sun. The stony -hills are dashed together, the giantesses totter; men tread the path of -Hel, and heaven is cloven. The sun darkens, earth in ocean sinks, fall -from heaven the bright stars, fire's breath assails the all-nourishing -tree, towering fire plays against heaven itself."[46] - - -The gods perish, devoured one by one by the monsters; and the celestial -legend, sad and grand now like the life of man, bears witness to the -hearts of warriors and heroes. - -There is no fear of pain, no care for life; they count it as dross when -the idea has seized upon them. The trembling of the nerves, the -repugnance of animal instinct which starts back before wounds and death, -are all lost in an irresistible determination. See how in their epic[47] -the sublime springs up amid the horrible, like a bright purple flower -amid a pool of blood. Sigurd has plunged his sword into the dragon -Fafnir, and at that very moment they looked on one another; and Fafnir -asks, as he dies, "Who art thou? and who is thy father? and what thy -kin, that thou wert so hardy as to bear weapons against me? A hardy -heart urged me on thereto, and a strong hand and this sharp sword.... -Seldom hath hardy eld a faint-heart youth." After this triumphant -eagle's cry Sigurd cuts out the worm's heart; but Regin, brother of -Fafnir, drinks blood from the wound, and falls asleep. Sigurd, who was -roasting the heart, raises his finger thoughtlessly to his lips. -Forthwith he understands the language of the birds. The eagles scream -above him in the branches. They warn him to mistrust Regin. Sigurd cuts -off the latter's head, eats of Fafnir's heart, drinks his blood and his -brother's. Amongst all these murders their courage and poetry grow. -Sigurd has subdued Brynhild, the untamed maiden, by passing through the -flaming fire; they share one couch for three nights, his naked sword -betwixt them. "Nor the damsel did he kiss, nor did the Hunnish king to -his arm lift her. He the blooming maid to Giuki's son delivered," -because, according to his oath, he must send her to her betrothed -Gunnar. She, setting her love upon him, "Alone she sat without, at eve -of day, began aloud with herself to speak: 'Sigurd must be mine; I must -die, or that blooming youth clasp in my arms.'" But seeing him married, -she brings about his death. "Laughed then Brynhild, Budli's daughter, -once only, from her whole soul, when in her bed she listened to the loud -lament of Giuki's daughter." She put on her golden corslet, pierced -herself with the sword's point, and as a last request said: - - -"Let in the plain be raised a pile so spacious, that for us all like -room may be; let them burn the Hun (Sigurd) on the one side of me, on -the other side my household slaves, with collars splendid, two at our -heads, and two hawks; let also lie between us both the keen-edged sword, -as when we both one couch ascended; also five female thralls, eight male -slaves of gentle birth fostered with me."[48] - - -All were burnt together; yet Gudrun the widow continued motionless by -the corpse, and could not weep. The wives of the jarls came to console -her, and each of them told her own sorrows, all the calamities of great -devastations and the old life of barbarism. - - -"Then spoke Giaflang, Giuki's sister: 'Lo, up on earth I live most -loveless, who of five mates must see the ending, of daughters twain and -three sisters, of brethren eight, and abide behind lonely.' Then spake -Herborg, Queen of Hunland: 'Crueller tale have I to tell of my seven -sons, down in the Southlands, and the eight man, my mate, felled in the -death-mead. Father and mother, and four brothers on the wide sea the -winds and death played with; the billows beat on the bulwark boards. -Alone must I sing o'er them, alone must I array them, alone must my -hands deal with their departing; and all this was in one season's -wearing, and none was left for love or solace. Then was I bound a prey -of the battle when that same season wore to its ending; as a tiring may -must I bind the shoon of the duke's high dame, every day at dawning. -From her jealous hate gat I heavy mocking, cruel lashes she laid upon -me."[49] - - -All was in vain; no word could draw tears from those dry eyes. They were -obliged to lay the bloody corpse before her, ere her tears would come. -Then tears flowed through the pillow; as "the geese withal that were in -the home-field, the fair fowls the may owned, fell a-screaming." She -would have died, like Sigrun, on the corpse of him whom alone she had -loved, if they had not deprived her of memory by a magic potion. Thus -affected, she departs in order to marry Atli, king of the Huns; and yet -she goes against her will, with gloomy forebodings: for murder begets -murder; and her brothers, the murderers of Sigurd, having been drawn to -Atli's court, fall in their turn into a snare like that which they had -themselves laid. Then Gunnar was bound, and they tried to make him -deliver up the treasure. He answers with a barbarian's laugh: - - -"'Högni's heart in my hand shall lie, cut bloody from the breast of the -valiant chief, the king's son, with a dull-edged knife.' They the heart -cut out from Hialli's breast; on a dish, bleeding, laid it, and it to -Gunnar bare. Then said Gunnar, lord of men: 'Here have I the heart of -the timid Hialli, unlike the heart of the bold Högni; for much it -trembles as in the dish it lies; it trembled more by half while in his -breast it lay.' Högni laughed when to his heart they cut the living -crest-crasher; no lament uttered he. All bleeding on a dish they laid -it, and it to Gunnar bare. Calmly said Gunnar, the warrior Niflung: -'Here have I the heart of the bold Högni, unlike the heart of the timid -Hialli; for it little trembles as in the dish it lies: it trembled less -while in his breast it lay. So far shalt thou, Atli! be from the eyes of -men as thou wilt from the treasures be. In my power alone is all the -hidden Niflung's gold, now that Högni lives not. Ever was I wavering -while we both lived: now am I so no longer, as I alone survive.'"[50] - - -It was the last insult of the self-confident man, who values neither his -own life nor that of another, so that he can satiate his vengeance. They -cast him into the serpent's den, and there he died, striking his harp -with his foot. But the inextinguishable flame of vengeance passed from -his heart to that of his sister. Corpse after corpse fall on each other; -a mighty fury hurls them open-eyed to death. She killed the children she -had by Atli, and one day on his return from the carnage, gave him their -hearts to eat, served in honey, and laughed coldly as she told him on -what he had fed. "Uproar was on the benches, portentous the cry of men, -noise beneath the costly hangings. The children of the Huns wept; all -wept save Gudrun, who never wept or for her bear-fierce brothers, or for -her dear sons, young, simple."[51] Judge from this heap of ruin and -carnage to what excess the will is strung. There were men amongst them, -Berserkirs,[52] who in battle seized with a sort of madness, showed a -sudden and superhuman strength, and ceased to feel their wounds. This is -the conception of a hero as engendered by this race in its infancy. Is -it not strange to see them place their happiness in battle, their beauty -in death? Is there any people, Hindoo, Persian, Greek, or Gallic, which -has formed so tragic a conception of life? Is there any which has -peopled its infantine mind with such gloomy dreams? Is there any which -has so entirely banished from its dreams the sweetness of enjoyment, and -the softness of pleasure? Endeavors, tenacious and mournful endeavors, -an ecstasy of endeavors--such was their chosen condition. Carlyle said -well, that in the sombre obstinacy of an English laborer still survives -the tacit rage of the Scandinavian warrior. Strife for strife's -sake--such is their pleasure. With what sadness, madness, destruction, -such a disposition breaks its bonds, we shall see in Shakespeare and -Byron; with what vigor and purpose it can limit and employ itself when -possessed by moral ideas, we shall see in the case of the Puritans. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Saxon Heroes - - -They have established themselves in England; and however disordered the -society which binds them together, it is founded, as in Germany, on -generous sentiment. War is at every door, I am aware, but warlike -virtues are within every house; courage chiefly, then fidelity. Under -the brute there is a free man, and a man of spirit. There is no man -amongst them who, at his own risk,[53] will not make alliance, go forth -to fight, undertake adventures. There is no group of free men amongst -them, who, in their Witenagemote, is not forever concluding alliances -one with another. Every clan, in its own district, forms a league of -which all the members, "brothers of the sword," defend each other, and -demand revenge for the spilling of blood, at the price of their own. -Every chief in his hall reckons that he has friends, not mercenaries, in -the faithful ones who drink his beer, and who, having received as marks -of his esteem and confidence, bracelets, swords, and suits of armor, -will cast themselves between him and danger on the day of battle.[54] -Independence and boldness rage amongst this young nation with violence -and excess; but these are of themselves noble things; and no less noble -are the sentiments which serve them for discipline--to wit, an -affectionate devotion, and respect for plighted faith. These appear in -their laws, and break forth in their poetry. Amongst them greatness of -heart gives matter for imagination. Their characters are not selfish and -shifty, like those of Homer. They are brave hearts, simple and strong, -faithful to their relatives, to their master in arms, firm and steadfast -to enemies and friends, abounding in courage, and ready for sacrifice. -"Old as I am," says one, "I will not budge hence. I mean to die by my -lord's side, near this man I have loved so much. He kept his word, the -word he had given to his chief, to the distributor of gifts, promising -him that they should return to the town, safe and sound to their homes, -or that they would fall both together, in the thick of the carnage, -covered with wounds. He lies by his master's side, like a faithful -servant." Though awkward in speech, their old poets find touching words -when they have to paint these manly friendships. We cannot without -emotion hear them relate how the old "king embraced the best of his -thanes, and put his arms about his neck, how the tears flowed down the -cheeks of the gray-haired chief.... The valiant man was so dear to him. -He could not stop the flood which mounted from his breast. In his heart, -deep in the chords of his soul, he sighed in secret after the beloved -man." Few as are the songs which remain to us, they return to this -subject again and again. The wanderer in a reverie dreams about his -lord:[55] It seems to him in his spirit as if he kisses and embraces -him, and lays head and hands upon his knees, as oft before in the olden -time, when he rejoiced in his gifts. Then he wakes--a man without -friends. He sees before him the desert tracks, the seabirds dipping in -the waves, stretching wide their wings, the frost and the snow, mingled -with falling hail. Then his heart's wounds press more heavily. The exile -says: - - -"In blithe habits full oft we, too, agreed that nought else should -divide us except death alone; at length this is changed, and as if it -had never been is now our friendship. To endure enmities man orders me -to dwell in the bowers of the forest, under the oak-tree in this earthy -cave. Cold is this earth-dwelling: I am quite wearied out. Dim are the -dells, high up are the mountains, a bitter city of twigs, with briars -overgrown, a joyless abode.... My friends are in the earth; those loved -in life, the tomb holds them. The grave is guarding, while I above alone -am going. Under the oak-tree, beyond this earth-cave, there I must sit -the long summer-day." - - -Amid their perilous mode of life, and the perpetual appeal to arms, -there exists no sentiment more warm than friendship, nor any virtue -stronger than loyalty. - -Thus supported by powerful affection and trysted word, society is kept -wholesome. Marriage is like the state. We find women associating with -the men, at their feasts, sober and respected.[56] She speaks, and they -listen to her; no need for concealing or enslaving her, in order to -restrain or retain her. She is a person and not a thing. The law demands -her consent to marriage, surrounds her with guarantees, accords her -protection. She can inherit, possess, bequeath, appear in courts of -justice, in county assemblies, in the great congress of the elders. -Frequently the name of the queen and of several other ladies is -inscribed in the proceedings of the Witenagemote. Law and tradition -maintain her integrity, as if she were a man, and side by side with men. -Her affections captivate her, as if she were a man, and side by side -with men. In Alfred[57] there is a portrait of the wife, which for -purity and elevation equals all that we can devise with our modern -refinements. "Thy wife now lives for thee--for thee alone. She has -enough of all kind of wealth for this present life, but she scorns them -all for thy sake alone. She has forsaken them all, because she had not -thee with them. Thy absence makes her think that all she possesses is -nought. Thus, for love of thee, she is wasted away, and lies near death -for tears and grief." Already, in the legends of the Edda, we have seen -the maiden Sigrun at the tomb of Helgi, "as glad as the voracious hawks -of Odin, when they of slaughter know, of warm prey," desiring to sleep -still in the arms of death, and die at last on his grave. Nothing here -like the love we find in the primitive poetry of France, Provence, -Spain, and Greece. There is an absence of gayety, of delight; outside of -marriage it is only a ferocious appetite, an outbreak of the instinct of -the beast. It appears nowhere with its charm and its smile; there is no -love-song in this ancient poetry. The reason is, that with them love is -not an amusement and a pleasure, but a promise and a devotion. All is -grave, even sombre, in civil relations as well as in conjugal society. -As in Germany, amid the sadness of a melancholic temperament and the -savagery of a barbarous life, the most tragic human faculties, the deep -power of love and the grand power of will, are the only ones that sway -and act. - -This is why the hero, as in Germany, is truly heroic. Let us speak of -him at length; we possess one of their poems, that of Beowulf, almost -entire. Here are the stories, which the thanes, seated on their stools, -by the light of their torches, listened to as they drank the ale of -their king: we can glean thence their manners and sentiments, as in the -Iliad and the Odyssey those of the Greeks. Beowulf is a hero, a -knight-errant before the days of chivalry, as the leaders of the German -bands were feudal chiefs before the institution of feudalism.[58] He has -"rowed upon the sea, his naked sword hard in his hand, amidst the fierce -waves and coldest of storms, and the rage of winter hurtled over the -waves of the deep." The sea-monsters, "the many-colored foes, drew him -to the bottom of the sea, and held him fast in their gripe." But he -reached "the wretches with his point and with his war-bill. The mighty -sea-beast received the war-rush through his-hands," and he slew nine -Nicors (sea-monsters). And now behold him, as he comes across the waves -to succor the old King Hrothgar, who with his vassals sits afflicted in -his great mead-hall, high and curved with pinnacles. For "a grim -stranger, Grendel, a mighty haunter of the marshes," had entered his -hall during the night, seized thirty of the thanes who were asleep, and -returned in his war-craft with their carcasses; for twelve years the -dreadful ogre, the beastly and greedy creature, father of Orks and -Jötuns, devoured men and emptied the best of houses. Beowulf, the great -warrior, offers to grapple with the fiend, and foe to foe contend for -life, without the bearing of either sword or ample shield, for he has -"learned also that the wretch for his cursed hide recketh not of -weapons," asking only that if death takes him, they will bear forth his -bloody corpse and bury it; mark his fen-dwelling, and send to Hygelác, -his chief, the best of war-shrouds that guards his breast. - -He is lying in the hall, "trusting in his proud strength; and when the -mists of night arose, lo, Grendel comes, tears open the door," seized a -sleeping warrior: "he tore him unawares, he bit his body, he drank the -blood from the veins, he swallowed him with continual tearings." But -Beowulf seized him in turn, and "raised himself upon his elbow." - - -"The lordly hall thundered, the ale was spilled,... both were enraged; -savage and strong warders; the house resounded; then was it a great -wonder that the wine-hall withstood the beasts of war, that it fell not -upon the earth, the fair palace; but it was thus fast.... The noise -arose, new enough; a fearful terror fell on the North Danes, on each of -those who from the wall heard the outcry, God's denier sing his dreadful -lay, his song of defeat, lament his wound.[59]... The foul wretch -awaited the mortal wound; a mighty gash was evident upon his shoulder; -the sinews sprung asunder, the junctures of the bones burst; success in -war was given to Beowulf. Thence must Grendel fly sick unto death, among -the refuges of the fens, to seek his joyless dwelling. He all the better -knew that the end of his life, the number of his days was gone by."[60] - - -For he had left on the ground, "hand, arm, and shoulder"; and "in the -lake of Nicors, where he was driven, the rough wave was boiling with -blood, the foul spring of waves all mingled, hot with poison; the dye, -discolored with death, bubbled with warlike gore." There remained a -female monster, his mother, who, like him, "was doomed to inhabit the -terror of waters, the cold streams," who came by night, and amidst drawn -swords tore and devoured another man, Æschere, the king's best friend. -A lamentation arose in the palace, and Beowulf offered himself again. -They went to the den, a hidden land, the refuge of the wolf, near the -windy promontories, where a mountain stream rusheth downwards under the -darkness of the hills, a flood beneath the earth; the wood fast by its -roots overshadoweth the water; there may one by night behold a marvel, -fire upon the flood; the stepper over the heath, when wearied out by the -hounds, sooner will give up his soul, his life upon the brink, than -plunge therein to hide his head. Strange dragons and serpents swam -there; "from time to time the horn sang a dirge, a terrible song." -Beowulf plunged into the wave, descended, passed monsters who tore his -coat of mail, to the ogress, the hateful manslayer, who, seizing him in -her grasp, bore him off to her dwelling. A pale gleam shone brightly, -and there, face to face, the good champion perceived - - -"the she-wolf of the abyss, the mighty sea-woman; he gave the war-onset -with his battle-bill; he held not back the swing of the sword, so that -on her head the ring-mail sang aloud a greedy war-song.... The beam of -war would not bite. Then caught the prince of the War-Geáts Grendel's -mother by the shoulders... twisted the homicide, so that she bent upon -the floor... She drew her knife broad, brown-edged (and tried to -pierce), the twisted breast-net which protected his life.... Then saw he -among the weapons a bill fortunate in victory, an old gigantic sword, -doughty of edge, ready for use, the work of giants. He seized the belted -hilt; the warrior of the Scyldings, fierce and savage whirled the -ring-mail; despairing of life, he struck furiously, so that it grappled -hard with her about the neck; it broke the bone-rings, the bill passed -through all the doomed body; she sank upon the floor; the sword was -bloody, the man rejoiced in his deed; the beam shone, light stood -within, even as from heaven mildly shines the lamp of the -firmament."[61] - - -Then he saw Grendel dead in a corner of the hall; and four of his -companions, having with difficulty raised the monstrous head, bore it by -the hair to the palace of the king. - -That was his first labor; and the rest of his life was similar. When he -had reigned fifty years on earth, a dragon, who had been robbed of his -treasure, came from the hill and burned men and houses "with waves of -fire. Then did the refuge of earls command to make for him a -variegated shield, all of iron; he knew well enough that a shield of -wood could not help him, lindenwood opposed to fire.... The prince of -rings was then too proud to seek the wide flier with a troop, with a -large company; he feared not for himself that battle, nor did he make -any account of the dragon's war, his laboriousness and valor." And yet -he was sad, and went unwillingly, for he was "fated to abide the end." -Then "he was ware of a cavern, a mound under the earth, nigh to the sea -wave, the clashing of waters, which cave was full within of embossed -ornaments and wires. ... Then the king, hard in war, sat upon the -promontory, whilst he, the prince of the Geáts, bade farewell to his -household comrades. ... I, the old guardian of my people, seek a feud." -He "let words proceed from his breast," the dragon came, vomiting fire; -the blade bit not his body, and the king "suffered painfully, involved -in fire." His comrades had "turned to the wood, to save their lives," -all save Wiglaf, who "went through the fatal smoke," knowing well "that -it was not the old custom" to abandon relation and prince, "that he -alone... shall suffer distress, shall sink in battle. The worm came -furious, the foul insidious stranger, variegated with waves of fire,... -hot and warlike fierce, he clutched the whole neck with bitter banes; he -was bloodied with life-gore, the blood boiled in waves."[62] They, with -their swords, carved the worm in the midst. Yet the wound of the king -became burning and swelled; "he soon discovered that poison boiled in -his breast within, and sat by the wall upon a stone"; "he looked upon -the work of giants, how the eternal cavern held within stone arches fast -upon pillars." Then he said-- - - -"I have held this people fifty years; there was not any king of my -neighbors, who dared to greet me with warriors, to oppress me with -terror.... I held mine own well, I sought not treacherous malice, nor -swore unjustly many oaths; on account of all this, I, sick with mortal -wounds, may have joy.... Now do thou go immediately to behold the hoard -under the hoary stone, my dear Wiglaf.... Now, I have purchased with my -death a hoard of treasures; it will be yet of advantage at the need of -the people.... I give thanks... that I might before my dying day obtain -such for my peoples... longer may I not here be."[63] - - -This is thorough and real generosity, not exaggerated and pretended, as -it will be later on in the romantic imaginations of babbling clerics, -mere composers of adventure. Fiction as yet is not far removed from -fact; the man breathes manifest beneath the hero. Rude as the poetry is, -its hero is grand; he is so, simply by his deeds. Faithful, first to his -prince, then to his people, he went alone, in a strange land, to venture -himself for the delivery of his fellow-men; he forgets himself in death, -while thinking only that it profits others. "Each one of us," he says in -one place, "must abide the end of his present life." Let, therefore, -each do justice, if he can, before his death. Compare with him the -monsters whom he destroys, the last traditions of the ancient wars -against inferior races, and of the primitive religion; think of his life -of danger, nights upon the waves, man grappling with the brute creation; -man's indomitable will crushing the breasts of beasts; man's powerful -muscles which, when exerted, tear the flesh of the monsters; you will -see reappear through the mist of legends, and under the light of poetry, -the valiant men who, amid the madness of war and the raging of their own -mood, began to settle a people and to found a state. - - - - -SECTION V.--Pagan Poems - - -One poem nearly whole and two or three fragments are all that remain of -this lay-poetry of England. The rest of the pagan current, German and -barbarian, was arrested or overwhelmed, first by the influx of the -Christian religion, then by the conquest of the Norman-French. But what -remains more than suffices to show the strange and powerful poetic -genius of the race, and to exhibit beforehand the flower in the bud. - -If there has ever been anywhere a deep and serious poetic sentiment, it -is here. They do not speak, they sing, or rather they shout. Each little -verse is an acclamation, which breaks forth like a growl; their strong -breasts heave with a groan of anger or enthusiasm, and a vehement or -indistinct phrase or expression rises suddenly, almost in spite of them, -to their lips. There is no art, no natural talent, for describing singly -and in order the different parts of an object or an event. The fifty -rays of light which every phenomenon emits in succession to a regular -and well-directed intellect, come to them at once in a glowing and -confused mass, disabling them by their force and convergence. Listen to -their genuine war-chants, unchecked and violent, as became their -terrible voices. To this day, at this distance of time, separated as -they are by manners, speech, ten centuries, we seem to hear them still: - - -"The army goes forth: the birds sing, the cricket chirps, the -war-weapons sound, the lance clangs against the shield. Now shineth the -moon, wandering under the sky. Now arise deeds of woe, which the enmity -of this people prepares to do.... Then in the court came the tumult of -war-carnage. They seized with their hands the hollow wood of the shield. -They smote through the bones of the head. The roofs of the castle -resounded, until Garulf fell in battle, the first of earth-dwelling men, -son of Guthlaf. Around him lay many brave men dying. The raven whirled -about, dark and sombre, like a willow leaf. There was a sparkling of -blades, as if all Finsburg were on fire. Never have I heard of a more -worthy battle in war."[64] - - -This is the song on Athelstan's victory at Brunanburh: - - -"Here Athelstan king, of earls the lord, the giver of the bracelets of -the nobles, and his brother also, Edmund the ætheling, the Elder a -lasting glory won by slaughter in battle, with the edges of swords, at -Brunanburh. The wall of shields they cleaved, they hewed the noble -banners: with the rest of the family, the children of Edward.... -Pursuing, they destroyed the Scottish people and the ship-fleet.... The -field was colored with the warriors' blood! After that the sun on -high,... the greatest star! glided over the earth, God's candle bright! -till the noble creature hastened to her setting. There lay soldiers many -with darts struck down, Northern men over their shields shot. So were -the Scots; weary of ruddy battle.... The screamers of war they left -behind; the raven to enjoy, the dismal kite, and the black raven with -horned beak, and the hoarse toad; the eagle, afterwards to feast on the -white flesh; the greedy battle-hawk, and the grey beast, the wolf in the -wood."[65] - - -Here all is imagery. In their impassioned minds events are not bald, -with the dry propriety of an exact description; each fits in with its -pomp of sound, shape, coloring; it is almost a vision which is raised, -complete, with its accompanying emotions, joy, fury, excitement. In -their speech, arrows are "the serpents of Hel, shot from bows of horn"; -ships are "great sea-steeds," the sea is "a chalice of waves," the -helmet is "the castle of the head"; they need an extraordinary speech to -express their vehement sensations, so that after a time, in Iceland, -where this kind of poetry was carried on to excess, the earlier -inspiration failed, art replaced nature, the Skalds were reduced to a -distorted and obscure jargon. But whatever be the imagery, here, as in -Iceland, though unique, it is too feeble. The poets have not satisfied -their inner emotion, if it is only expressed by a single word. Time -after time they return to and repeat their idea. "The sun on high, the -great star, God's brilliant candle, the noble creature!" Four times -successively they employ the same thought, and each time under a new -aspect. All its different aspects rise simultaneously before the -barbarian's eyes, and each word was like a fit of the semi-hallucination -which possessed him. Verily, in such a condition, the regularity of -speech and of ideas is disturbed at every turn. The succession of -thought in the visionary is not the same as in a reasoning mind. One -color induces another; from sound he passes to sound; his imagination is -like a diorama of unexplained pictures. His phrases recur and change; he -emits the word that comes to his lips without hesitation; he leaps over -wide intervals from idea to idea. The more his mind is transported, the -quicker and wider the intervals traversed. With one spring he visits the -poles of his horizon, and touches in one moment objects which seemed to -have the world between them. His ideas are entangled without order; -without notice, abruptly, the poet will return to the idea he has -quitted, and insert it in the thought to which he is giving expression. -It is impossible to translate these incongruous ideas, which quite -disconcert our modern style. At times they are unintelligible.[66] -Articles, particles, everything capable of illuminating thought, of -marking the connection of terms, of producing regularity of ideas, all -rational and logical artifices, are neglected.[67] Passion bellows forth -like a great shapeless beast; and that is all. It rises and starts in -little abrupt lines; it is the acme of barbarism. Homer's happy poetry -is copiously developed, in full narrative, with rich and extended -imagery. All the details of a complete picture are not too much for him; -he loves to look at things, he lingers over them, rejoices in their -beauty, dresses them in splendid words; he is like the Greek girls, who -thought themselves ugly if they did not bedeck arms and shoulders with -all the gold coins from their purse, and all the treasures from their -caskets; his long verses flow by with their cadences, and spread out -like a purple robe under an Ionian sun. Here the clumsy-fingered poet -crowds and clashes his ideas in a narrow measure; if measure there be, -he barely observes it; all his ornament is three words beginning with -the same letter. His chief care is to abridge, to imprison thought in a -kind of mutilated cry.[68] The force of the internal impression, which, -not knowing how to unfold itself, becomes condensed and doubled by -accumulation; the harshness of the outward expression, which, -subservient to the energy and shocks of the inner sentiment, seek only -to exhibit it intact and original, in spite of and at the expense of all -order and beauty—such are the characteristics of their poetry, and -these also will be the characteristics of the poetry which is to follow. - - - - -SECTION VI.--Christian Poems - - -A race so constituted was predisposed to Christianity, by its gloom, its -aversion to sensual and reckless living, its inclination for the serious -and sublime. When their sedentary habits had reconciled their souls to a -long period of ease, and weakened the fury which fed their sanguinary -religion, they readily inclined to a new faith. The vague adoration of -the great powers of nature, which eternally fight for mutual -destruction, and, when destroyed, rise up again to the combat, had long -since disappeared in the dim distance. Society, on its formation, -introduced the idea of peace and the need for justice, and the war-gods -faded from the minds of men, with the passions which had created them. A -century and a half after the invasion by the Saxons,[69] Roman -missionaries, bearing a silver cross with a picture of Christ, came in -procession chanting a litany. Presently the high priest of the -Northumbrians declared in presence of the nobles that the old gods were -powerless, and confessed that formerly "he knew nothing of that which he -adored"; and he among the first, lance in hand, assisted to demolish -their temple. Then a chief rose in the assembly, and said: - - -"You remember, it may be, O king, that which sometimes happens in winter -when you are seated at table with your earls and thanes. Your fire is -lighted, and your hall warmed, and without is rain and snow and storm. -Then comes a swallow flying across the hall; he enters by one door, and -leaves by another. The brief moment while he is within is pleasant to -him; he feels not rain nor cheerless winter weather; but the moment is -brief--the bird flies away in the twinkling of an eye, and he passes -from winter to winter. Such, methinks, is the life of man on earth, -compared with the uncertain time beyond. It appears for a while; but -what is the time which comes after—the time which was before? We know -not. If, then, this new doctrine may teach us somewhat of greater -certainty, it were well that we should regard it." - - -This restlessness, this feeling of the infinite and dark beyond, this -sober, melancholy eloquence, were the harbingers of spiritual life.[70] -We find nothing like it amongst the nations of the south, naturally -pagan, and preoccupied with the present life. These utter barbarians -embrace Christianity straightway, through sheer force of mood and clime. -To no purpose are they brutal, heavy, shackled by infantine -superstitions, capable, like King Canute, of buying for a hundred golden -talents the arm of Augustine. They possess the idea of God. This grand -God of the Bible, omnipotent and unique, who disappears almost entirely -in the Middle Ages,[71] obscured by His court and His family, endures -amongst them in spite of absurd or grotesque legends. They do not blot -Him out under pious romances, by the elevation of the saints, or under -feminine caresses, to benefit the infant Jesus and the Virgin. Their -grandeur and their severity raise them to His high level; they are not -tempted, like artistic and talkative nations, to replace religion by a -fair and agreeable narrative. More than any race in Europe, they -approach, by the simplicity and energy of their conceptions, the old -Hebraic spirit. Enthusiasm is their natural condition; and their new -Deity fills them with admiration, as their ancient deities inspired them -with fury. They have hymns, genuine odes, which are but a concrete of -exclamations. They have no development; they are incapable of -restraining or explaining their passion; it bursts forth, in raptures, -at the vision of the Almighty. The heart alone speaks here--a strong, -barbarous heart. Cædmon, their old poet,[72] says Bede, was a more -ignorant man than the others, who knew no poetry; so that in the hall, -when they handed him the harp, he was obliged to withdraw, being unable -to sing like his companions. Once, keeping night-watch over the stable, -he fell asleep. A stranger appeared to him, and asked him to sing -something, and these words came into his head: "Now we ought to praise -the Lord of heaven, the power of the Creator, and His skill, the deeds -of the Father of glory; how he, being eternal God, is the author of all -marvels; who, almighty guardian of the human race, created first for the -sons of men the heavens as the roof of their dwelling, and then the -earth." Remembering this when he woke,[73] he came to the town, and they -brought him before the learned men, before the abbess Hilda, who, when -they had heard him, thought that he had received a gift from heaven, and -made him a monk in the abbey. There he spent his life listening to -portions of Holy Writ, which were explained to him in Saxon, "ruminating -over them like a pure animal, turned them into most sweet verse." Thus -is true poetry born. These men pray with all the emotion of a new soul; -they kneel; they adore; the less they know the more they think. Someone -has said that the first and most sincere hymn is this one word O! Theirs -were hardly longer; they only repeated time after time some deep -passionate word, with monotonous vehemence. "In heaven art Thou, our aid -and succor, resplendent with happiness! All things bow before Thee, -before the glory of Thy Spirit. With one voice they call upon Christ; -they all cry: Holy, holy art Thou, King of the angels of heaven, our -Lord! and Thy judgments are just and great; they reign forever and in -all places, in the multitude of Thy works." We are reminded of the songs -of the servants of Odin, tonsured now, and clad in the garments of -monks. Their poetry is the same; they think of God, as of Odin, in a -string of short, accumulated, passionate images, like a succession of -lightning-flashes; the Christian hymns are a sequel to the pagan. One of -them, Adhelm, stood on a bridge leading to the town where he lived, and -repeated warlike and profane odes as well as religious poetry, in order -to attract and instruct the men of his time. He could do it without -changing his key. In one of them, a funeral song, Death speaks. It was -one of the last Saxon compositions, containing a terrible Christianity, -which seems at the same time to have sprung from the blackest depths of -the Edda. The brief metre sounds abruptly, with measured stroke, like -the passing bell. It is as if we hear the dull resounding responses -which roll through the church, while the rain beats on the dim glass, -and the broken clouds sail mournfully in the sky; and our eyes, glued to -the pale face of a dead man feel beforehand the horror of the damp grave -into which the living are about to cast him. - - -"For thee was a house built ere thou wert born; for thee was a mould -shapen ere thou of thy mother earnest. Its height is not determined, nor -its depth measured; nor is it closed up (however long it may be) until I -thee bring where thou shalt remain; until I shall measure thee and the -sod of the earth. Thy house is not highly built; it is unhigh and low. -When thou art in it, the heel-ways are low, the sideways unhigh. The -roof is built thy breast full high; so thou shalt in earth dwell full -cold, dim, and dark. Doorless is that house, and dark it is within. -There thou art fast detained, and Death holds the key. Loathly is that -earth-house, and grim to dwell in. There thou shalt dwell, and worms -shall share thee. Thus thou art laid, and leavest thy friends. Thou hast -no friend that will come to thee, who will ever inquire how that house -liketh thee, who shall ever open for thee the door, and seek thee, for -soon thou becomest loathly and hateful to look upon."[74] - - -Has Jeremy Taylor a more gloomy picture? The two religious poetries, -Christian and pagan, are so like, that one might mingle their -incongruities, images, and legends. In Beowulf, altogether pagan, the -Deity appears as Odin, more mighty and serene, and differs from the -other only as a peaceful Bretwalda[75] differs from an adventurous and -heroic bandit-chief. The Scandinavian monsters, Jötuns, enemies of the -Æsir,[76] have not vanished; but they descend from Cain, and the giants -drowned by the flood.[77] Their new hell is nearly the ancient -Nástrand,[78] "a dwelling deadly cold, full of bloody eagles and pale -adders"; and the dreadful last day of judgment, when all will crumble -into dust, and make way for a purer world, resembles the final -destruction of Edda, that "twilight of the gods," which will end in a -victorious regeneration, an everlasting joy "under a fairer sun." - -By this natural conformity they were able to make their religious poems -indeed poems. Power in spiritual productions arises only from the -sincerity of personal and original sentiment. If they can relate -religious tragedies, it is because their soul was tragic, and in a -degree biblical. They introduce into their verses, like the old prophets -of Israel, their fierce vehemence, their murderous hatreds, their -fanaticism, all the shudderings of their flesh and blood. One of them, -whose poem is mutilated, has related the history of Judith--with what -inspiration we shall see. It needed a barbarian to display in such -strong light excesses, tumult, murder, vengeance, and combat. - - -"Then was Holofernes exhilarated with wine; in the halls of his guests -he laughed and shouted, he roared and dinned. Then might the children of -men afar off hear how the stern one stormed and clamored, animated and -elated with wine. He admonished amply that they should bear it well to -those sitting on the bench. So was the wicked one over all the day, the -lord and his men, drunk with wine, the stern dispenser of wealth; till -that they swimming lay over drunk, all his nobility, as they were -death-slain."[79] - - -The night having arrived, he commands them to bring into his tent "the -illustrious virgin"; then, going to visit her, he falls drunk on his -bed. The moment was come for "the maid of the Creator, the holy woman." - - -"She took the heathen man fast by his hair; she drew him by his limbs -towards her disgracefully; and the mischiefful odious man at her -pleasure laid; so as the wretch she might the easiest well command. She -with the twisted locks struck the hateful enemy, meditating hate, with -the red sword, till she had half cut off his neck; so that he lay in a -swoon, drunk and mortally wounded. He was not then dead, not entirely -lifeless. She struck then earnest, the woman illustrious in strength, -another time the heathen hound, till that his head rolled forth upon the -floor. The foul one lay without a coffer; backward his spirit turned -under the abyss, and there was plunged below, with sulphur fastened; -forever afterward wounded by worms. Bound in torments, hard imprisoned, -in hell he burns. After his course he need not hope, with darkness -overwhelmed, that he may escape from that mansion of worms; but there he -shall remain; ever and ever, without end, henceforth in that -cavern-house, void of the joys of hope."[80] - - -Had anyone ever heard a sterner accent of satisfied hate? When Clovis -listened to the Passion play, he cried, "Why was I not there with my -Franks!" So here the old warrior instinct swelled into flame over the -Hebrew wars. As soon as Judith returned, - - -"Men under helms (went out) from the holy city at the dawn itself. They -dinned shields; men roared loudly. At this rejoiced the lank wolf in the -wood, and the wan raven, the fowl greedy of slaughter, both from the -west, that the sons of men for them should have thought to prepare their -fill on corpses. And to them flew in their paths the active devourer, -the eagle, hoary in his feathers. The willowed kite, with his horned -beak, sang the song of Hilda. The noble warriors proceeded, they in -mail, to the battle, furnished with shields, with swelling banners. ... -They then speedily let fly forth showers of arrows, the serpents of -Hilda, from their horn bows; the spears on the ground hard stormed. Loud -raged the plunderers of battle; they sent their darts into the throng of -the chiefs.... They that awhile before the reproach of the foreigners, -the taunts of the heathen endured."[81] - - -Amongst all these unknown poets[82] there is one whose name we know, -Cædmon, perhaps the old Cædmon who wrote the first hymn; like him, at -all events, who, paraphrasing the Bible with a barbarian's vigor and -sublimity, has shown the grandeur and fury of the sentiment with which -the men of these times entered into their new religion. He also sings -when he speaks; when he mentions the ark, it is with a profusion of -poetic names, "the floating house, the greatest of floating chambers, -the wooden fortress, the moving roof, the cavern, the great sea-chest," -and many more. Every time he thinks of it, he sees it with his mind, -like a quick luminous vision, and each time under a new aspect, now -undulating on the muddy waves, between two ridges of foam, now casting -over the water its enormous shadow, black and high like a castle, "now -enclosing in its cavernous sides" the endless swarm of caged beasts. -Like the others, he wrestles with God in his heart; triumphs like a -warrior over destruction and victory; and in relating the death of -Pharaoh, can hardly speak from anger, or see, because the blood mounts -to his eyes. - - -"The folk was affrighted, the flood-dread seized on their sad souls; -ocean wailed with death, the mountain heights were with blood -be-steamed, the sea foamed gore, crying was in the waves, the water full -of weapons, a death-mist rose; the Egyptians were turned back; trembling -they fled, they felt fear: would that host gladly find their homes; -their vaunt grew sadder: against them, as a cloud, rose the fell rolling -of the waves; there came not any of that host to home, but from behind -enclosed them fate with the wave. Where ways ere lay sea raged. Their -might was merged, the streams stood, the storm rose high to heaven; the -loudest army-cry the hostile uttered; the air above was thickened with -dying voices.... Ocean raged, drew itself up on high, the storms rose, -the corpses rolled."[83] - - -Is the song of the Exodus more abrupt, more vehement, or more savage? -These men can speak of the creation like the Bible, because they speak -of destruction like the Bible. They have only to look into their own -hearts in order to discover an emotion sufficiently strong to raise -their souls to the height of their Creator. This emotion existed already -in their pagan legends; and Cædmon, in order to recount the origin of -things, has only to turn to the ancient dreams, such as have been -preserved in the prophecies of the Edda. - - -"There had not here as yet, save cavern-shade, aught been; but this wide -abyss stood deep and dim, strange to its Lord, idle and useless; on -which looked with his eyes the King firm of mind, and beheld these -places void of joys; saw the dark cloud lower in eternal night, swart -under heaven, dark and waste, until this worldly creation through the -word existed of the Glory-King.... The earth as yet was not green with -grass; ocean cover'd, swart in eternal night, far and wide the dusky -ways."[84] - - -In this manner will Milton hereafter speak, the descendant of the Hebrew -seers, last of the Scandinavian seers, but assisted in the development -of his thought by all the resources of Latin culture and civilization. -And yet he will add nothing to the primitive sentiment. Religious -instinct is not acquired; it belongs to the blood, and is inherited with -it. So it is with other instincts; pride in the first place, indomitable -self-conscious energy, which sets man in opposition to all domination, -and inures him against all pain. Milton's Satan exists already in -Cædmon's, as the picture exists in the sketch; because both have their -model in the race; and Caedmon found his originals in the northern -warriors, as Milton did in the Puritans: - - -"Why shall I for his favor serve, bend to him in such vassalage? I may -be a god as he. Stand by me, strong associates, who will not fail me in -the strife. Heroes stern of mood, they have chosen me for chief, -renowned warriors! with such may one devise counsel, with such capture -his adherents; they are my zealous friends, faithful in their thoughts; -I may be their chieftain, sway in this realm; thus to me it seemeth not -right that I in aught need cringe to God for any good; I will no longer -be his vassal."[85] - - -He is overcome: shall he be subdued? He is cast into the place "where -torment they suffer, burning heat intense, in midst of hell, fire, and -broad flames; so also the bitter seeks smoke and darkness"; will he -repent? At first he is astonished, he despairs; but it is a hero's -despair. - - -"This narrow place is most unlike that other that we ere knew,[86] high -in heaven's kingdom, which my master bestow'd on me.... Oh, had I power -of my hands, and might one season be without, be one winter's space, -then with this host I--But around me lie iron bonds, presseth this cord -of chain: I am powerless! me have so hard the clasps of hell, so firmly -grasped! Here is a vast fire above and underneath, never did I see a -loathlier landskip; the flame abateth not, hot over hell. Me hath the -clasping of these rings, this hard-polish'd band, impeded in my course, -debarr'd me from my way; my feet are bound, my hands manacled,... so -that with aught I cannot from these limb-bonds escape."[87] - - -As there is nothing to be done against God, it is His new creature, man, -whom he must attack. To him who has lost everything, vengeance is left; -and if the conquered can enjoy this, he will find himself happy; "he -will sleep softly, even under his chains." - - - - -SECTION VII.--Primitive Saxon Authors - - -Here the foreign culture ceased. Beyond Christianity it could not graft -upon this barbarous stock any fruitful or living branch. All the -circumstances which elsewhere mellowed the wild sap, failed here. The -Saxons found Britain abandoned by the Romans; they had not yielded, like -their brothers on the Continent, to the ascendancy of a superior -civilization; they had not become mingled with the inhabitants of the -land; they had always treated them like enemies or slaves, pursuing like -wolves those who escaped to the mountains of the west, treating like -beasts of burden those whom they had conquered with the land. While the -Germans of Gaul, Italy, and Spain became Romans, the Saxons retained -their language, their genius and manners, and created in Britain a -Germany outside of Germany. A hundred and fifty years after the Saxon -invasion, the introduction of Christianity and the dawn of security -attained by a society inclining to peace, gave birth to a kind of -literature; and we meet with the venerable Bede, and later on, Alcuin, -John Scotus Erigena, and some others, commentators, translators, -teachers of barbarians, who tried not to originate but to compile, to -pick out and explain from the great Greek and Latin encyclopædia -something which might suit the men of their time. But the wars with the -Danes came and crushed this humble plant, which, if left to itself, -would have come to nothing.[88] When Alfred[89] the Deliverer became -king, "there were very few ecclesiastics," he says, "on this side of the -Humber, who could understand in English their own Latin prayers, or -translate any Latin writing into English. On the other side of the -Humber I think there were scarce any; there were so few that, in truth, -I cannot remember a single man south of the Thames, when I took the -kingdom, who was capable of it." He tried, like Charlemagne, to instruct -his people, and turned into Saxon for their use several works, above all -some moral books, as the "de Consolatione" of Boethius; but this very -translation bears witness to the barbarism of his audience. He adapts -the text in order to bring it down to their intelligence; the pretty -verses of Boethius, somewhat pretentious, labored, elegant, crowded with -classical allusions of a refined and compact style worthy of Seneca, -become an artless, long-drawn-out and yet desultory prose, like a -nurse's fairy tale, explaining everything, recommencing and breaking off -its phrases, making ten turns about a single detail; so low was it -necessary to stoop to the level of this new intelligence, which had -never thought or known anything. Here follows the Latin of Boethius, so -affected, so pretty, with the English translation affixed: - - -"Quondam funera conjugis -Vates Threicius gemens, -Postquam flebilibus modis -Silvas currere, mobiles -Amnes stare coegerat, -Junxitque intrepidum latus -Sævis cerva leonibus, -Nec visum timuit lepus -Jam cantu placidum canem; -Cum flagrantior intima -Fervor pectoris ureret, -Nec qui cuncta subegerant -Mulcerent dominum modi; -Immites superos querens, -Infernas adiit domos. -Illic blanda sonantibus -Chordis carmina temperans, -Quidquid praecipuis Deæ -Matris fontibus hauserat, -Quod luctus dabat impotens, -Quod luctum geminans amor, -Deflet Tartara commovens, -Et dulci veniam prece -Umbrarum dominos rogat. -Stupet tergeminus novo -Captus carmine janitor; -Quæ sontes agitant metu -Ultrices scelerum Deæ -Jam mœstæ lacrymis madent. -Non Ixionium caput -Velox præcipitat rota, -Et longa site perditus -Spernit flumina Tantalus. -Vultur dum satur est modis -Non traxit Tityi jecur. -Tandem, vincimur, arbiter -Umbrarum miserans ait. -Donemus comitem viro, -Emptam carmine conjugem. -Sed lex dona coerceat, -Nec, dum Tartara liquerit, -Fas sit lumina flectere. -Quis legem det amantibus! -Major lex fit amor sibi. -Heu! noctis prope terminos -Orpheus Eurydicem suam -Vidit, perdidit, occidit. -Vos hæc fabula respicit, -Quicunque in superum diem -Mentem ducere quæritis. -Nam qui tartareum in specus -Victus lumina flexerit, -Quidquid præcipuum trahit -Perdit, dum videt inferos." - ---_Book III. Metre 12._ - - -The English translation follows: - - -"It happened formerly that there was a harper in the country called -Thrace, which was in Greece. The harper was inconceivably good. His name -was Orpheus. He had a very excellent wife, called Eurydice. Then began -men to say concerning the harper, that he could harp so that the wood -moved, and the stones stirred themselves at the sound, and wild beasts -would run thereto, and stand as if they were tame; so still, that though -men or hounds pursued them, they shunned them not. Then said they, that -the harper's wife should die, and her soul should be led to hell. Then -should the harper become so sorrowful that he could not remain among the -men, but frequented the wood, and sat on the mountains, both day and -night, weeping and harping, so that the woods shook, and the rivers -stood still, and no hart shunned any lion, nor hare any hound; nor did -cattle know any hatred, or any fear of others, for the pleasure of the -sound. Then it seemed to the harper that nothing in this world pleased -him. Then thought he that he would seek the gods of hell, and endeavor -to allure them with his harp, and pray that they would give him back his -wife. When he came thither, then should there come towards him the dog -of hell, whose name was Cerberus--he should have three heads—and began -to wag his tail, and play with him for his harping. Then was there also -a very horrible gatekeeper, whose name should be Charon. He had also -three heads, and he was very old. Then began the harper to beseech him -that he would protect him while he was there, and bring him thence again -safe. Then did he promise that to him, because he was desirous of the -unaccustomed sound. Then went he further until he met the fierce -goddesses, whom the common people call Parcæ, of whom they say, that -they know no respect for any man, but punish every man according to his -deeds; and of whom they say, that they control every man's fortune. Then -began he to implore their mercy. Then began they to weep with him. Then -went he farther, and all the inhabitants of hell ran towards him, and -led him to their king: and all began to speak with him, and to pray that -which he prayed. And the restless wheel which Ixion, the king of the -Lapithæ, was bound to for his guilt, that stood still for his harping. -And Tantalus the king, who in this world was immoderately greedy, and -whom that same vice of greediness followed there, he became quiet. And -the vulture should cease, so that he tore not the liver of Tityus the -king, which before therewith tormented him. And all the punishments of -the inhabitants of hell were suspended, whilst he harped before the -king. When he long and long had harped, then spoke the king of the -inhabitants of hell, and said, Let us give the man his wife, for he has -earned her by his harping. He then commanded him that he should well -observe that he never looked backwards after he departed hence; and -said, if he looked backwards, that he should lose the woman. But men can -with great difficulty, if at all, restrain love! Wellaway! What! Orpheus -then led his wife with him till he came to the boundary of light and -darkness. Then went his wife after him. When he came forth into the -light, then looked be behind his back towards the woman. Then was she -immediately lost to him. This fable teaches every man who desires to fly -the darkness of hell, and to come to the light of the true good, that he -look not about him to his old vices, so that he practise them again as -fully as he did before. For whosoever with full will turns his mind to -the vices which he had before forsaken, and practises them, and they -then fully please him, and he never thinks of forsaking them; then loses -he all his former good unless he again amend it."[90] - - -A man speaks thus when he wishes to impress upon the mind of his hearers -an idea which is not clear to them. Boethius had for his audience -senators, men of culture, who understood as well as we the slightest -mythological allusion. Alfred is obliged to take them up and develop -them, like a father or a master, who draws his little boy between his -knees, and relates to him names, qualities, crimes and their -punishments, which the Latin only hints at. But the ignorance is such -that the teacher himself needs correction. He takes the Parcæ for the -Erinyes, and gives Charon three heads like Cerberus. There is no -adornment in his version; no delicacy as in the original. Alfred has -hard work to make himself understood. What, for instance, becomes of the -noble Platonic moral, the apt interpretation after the style of -Iamblichus and Porphyry? It is altogether dulled. He has to call -everything by its name, and turn the eyes of his people to tangible and -visible things. It is a sermon suited to his audience of thanes; the -Danes whom he had converted by the sword needed a clear moral. If he had -translated for them exactly the last words of Boethius, they would have -opened wide their big stupid eyes and fallen asleep. - -For the whole talent of an uncultivated mind lies in the force and -oneness of its sensations. Beyond that it is powerless. The art of -thinking and reasoning lies above it. These men lost all genius when -they lost their fever-heat. They lisped awkwardly and heavily dry -chronicles, a sort of historical almanacs. You might think them -peasants, who, returning from their toil, came and scribbled with chalk -on a smoky table the date of a year of scarcity, the price of corn, the -changes in the weather, a death. Even so, side by side with the meagre -Bible chronicles, which set down the successions of kings, and of Jewish -massacres, are exhibited the exaltation of the psalms and the transports -of prophecy. The same lyric poet can be alternately a brute and a -genius, because his genius comes and goes like a disease, and instead of -having it he simply is ruled by it. - - -"AD. 611. This year Cynegils succeeded to the government in Wessex, and -held it one-and-thirty winters. Cynegils was the son of Ceol, Ceol of -Cutha, Cutha of Cynric. - -"614. This year Cynegils and Cnichelm fought at Bampton, and slew two -thousand and forty-six of the Welsh. - -"678. This year appeared the comet-star in August, and shone every -morning during three months like a sunbeam. Bishop Wilfrid being driven -from his bishopric by King Everth, two bishops were consecrated in his -stead. - -"901. This year died Alfred, the son of Ethelwulf, six nights before the -mass of All Saints. He was king over all the English nation, except that -part that was under the power of the Danes. He held the government one -year and a half less than thirty winters; and then Edward his son took -to the government. - -"902. This year there was the great fight at the Holme, between the men -of Kent and the Danes. - -"1077. This year were reconciled the King of the Franks, and William, -King of England. But it was continued only a little while. This year was -London burned, one night before the Assumption of St. Mary, so terribly -as it never was before since it was built."[91] - - -It is thus the poor monks speak, with monotonous dryness, who, after -Alfred's time, gather up and take note of great visible events; sparsely -scattered we find a few moral reflections, a passionate emotion, nothing -more. In the tenth century we see King Edgar give a manor to a bishop, -on condition that he will put into Saxon the monastic regulation written -in Latin by Saint Benedict. Alfred himself was almost the last man of -culture; he, like Charlemagne, became so only by dint of determination -and patience. In vain the great spirits of this age endeavor to link -themselves to the relics of the fine, ancient civilization, and to raise -themselves above the chaotic and muddy ignorance in which the others -flounder. They rise almost alone, and on their death the rest sink again -into the mire. It is the human beast that remains master; the mind -cannot find a place amidst the outbursts and the desires of the flesh, -gluttony and brute force. Even in the little circle where he moves, his -labor comes to nought. The model which he proposed to himself oppresses -and enchains him in a cramping imitation; he aspires but to be a good -copyist; he produces a gathering of centos which he calls Latin verses; -he applies himself to the discovery of expressions, sanctioned by good -models; he succeeds only in elaborating an emphatic, spoiled Latin, -bristling with incongruities. In place of ideas, the most profound -amongst them serve up the defunct doctrines of defunct authors. They -compile religious manuals and philosophical manuals from the Fathers. -Erigena, the most learned, goes to the extent of reproducing the old -complicated dreams of Alexandrian metaphysics. How far these -speculations and reminiscences soar above the barbarous crowd which -howls and bustles in the depths below, no words can express. There was a -certain king of Kent in the seventh century who could not write. Imagine -bachelors of theology discussing before an audience of wagoners, not -Parisian wagoners, but such as survive in Auvergne or in the Vosges. -Among these clerks, who think like studious scholars in accordance with -their favorite authors, and are doubly separated from the world as -scholars and monks, Alfred alone, by his position as a layman and a -practical man, descends in his Saxon translations and his Saxon verses -to the common level; and we have seen that his effort, like that of -Charlemagne, was fruitless. There was an impassable wall between the old -learned literature and the present chaotic barbarism. Incapable, yet -compelled, to fit into the ancient mould, they gave it a twist. Unable -to reproduce ideas, they reproduced a metre. They tried to eclipse their -rivals in versification by the refinement of their composition, and the -prestige of a difficulty overcome. So, in our own colleges, the good -scholars imitate the clever divisions and symmetry of Claudian rather -than the ease and variety of Vergil. They put their feet in irons, and -showed their smartness by running in shackles; they weighted themselves -with rules of modern rhyme and rules of ancient metre; they added the -necessity of beginning each verse with the same letter that began the -last. A few, like Adhelm, wrote square acrostics, in which the first -line, repeated at the end, was found also to the left and right of the -piece. Thus made up of the first and last letters of each verse, it -forms a border to the whole piece, and the morsel of verse is like a -piece of tapestry. Strange literary tricks, which changed the poet into -an artisan. They bear witness to the difficulties which then impeded -culture and nature, and spoiled at once the Latin form and the Saxon -genius. - -Beyond this barrier, which drew an impassable line between civilization -and barbarism, there was another, no less impassable, between the Latin -and Saxon genius. The strong German imagination, in which glowing and -obscure visions suddenly meet and abruptly overflow, was in contrast -with the reasoning spirit, in which ideas gather and are developed only -in a regular order; so that if the barbarian, in his classical attempts, -retained any part of his primitive instincts, he succeeded only in -producing a grotesque and frightful monster. One of them, this very -Adhelm, a relative of King Ina, who sang on the town-bridge profane and -sacred hymns alternately, too much imbued with Saxon poesy, simply to -imitate the antique models, adorned his Latin prose and verse with all -the "English magnificence."[92] You might compare him to a barbarian who -seizes a flute from the skilled hands of a player of Augustus's court, -in order to blow on it with inflated lungs, as if it were the bellowing -horn of an aurochs. The sober speech of the Roman orators and senators -becomes in his hands full of exaggerated and incoherent images; he -violently connects words, uniting them in a sudden and extravagant -manner; he heaps up his colors, and utters extraordinary and -unintelligible nonsense, like that of the later Skalds; in short, he is -a latinized Skald, dragging into his new tongue the ornaments of -Scandinavian poetry, such as alliteration, by dint of which he -congregates in one of his epistles fifteen consecutive words, all -beginning with the same letter; and in order to make up his fifteen, he -introduces a barbarous Græcism amongst the Latin words.[93] Amongst the -others, the writers of legends, you will meet many times with -deformation of Latin, distorted by the outburst of a too vivid -imagination; it breaks out even in their scholastic and scientific -writing. Here is part of a dialogue between Alcuin and prince Pepin, a -son of Charlemagne, and he uses like formulas the little poetic and bold -phrases which abound in the national poetry. "What is winter? the -banishment of summer. What is spring? the painter of the earth. What is -the year? the world's chariot. What is the sun? the splendor of the -world, the beauty of heaven, the grace of nature, the honor of day, the -distributor of the hours. What is the sea? the path of audacity, the -boundary of the earth, the receptacle of the rivers, the fountain of -showers." More, he ends his instructions with enigmas, in the spirit of -the Skalds, such as we still find in the old manuscripts with the -barbarian songs. It was the last feature of the national genius, which, -when it labors to understand a matter, neglects dry, clear, consecutive -deduction, to employ grotesque, remote, oft-repeated imagery, and -replaces analysis by intuition. - - - - -SECTION VIII.--Virility of the Saxon Race - - -Such was this race, the last born of the sister races, which, in the -decay of the other two, the Latin and the Greek, brings to the world a -new civilization, with a new character and genius. Inferior to these in -many respects, it surpasses them in not a few. Amidst the woods and mire -and snows, under a sad, inclement sky, gross instincts have gained the -day during this long barbarism. The German has not acquired gay humor, -unreserved facility, the feeling for harmonious beauty; his great -phlegmatic body continues savage and stiff, greedy and brutal; his rude -and unpliable mind is still inclined to savagery, and restive under -culture. Dull and congealed, his ideas cannot expand with facility and -freedom, with a natural sequence and an instinctive regularity. But this -spirit, void of the sentiment of the beautiful, is all the more apt for -the sentiment of the true. The deep and incisive impression which he -receives from contact with objects, and which as yet he can only express -by a cry, will afterwards liberate him from the Latin rhetoric, and will -vent itself on things rather than on words. Moreover, under the -constraint of climate and solitude, by the habit of resistance and -effort, his ideal is changed. Manly and moral instincts have gained the -empire over him; and amongst them the need of independence, the -disposition for serious and strict manners, the inclination for devotion -and veneration, the worship of heroism. Here are the foundations and the -elements of a civilization, slower but sounder, less careful of what is -agreeable and elegant, more based on justice and truth.[94] Hitherto at -least the race is intact, intact in its primitive coarseness; the Roman -cultivation could neither develop nor deform it. If Christianity took -root, it was owing to natural affinities, but it produced no change in -the native genius. Now approaches a new conquest, which is to bring this -time men, as well as ideas. The Saxons, meanwhile, after the wont of -German races, vigorous and fertile, have within the past six centuries -multiplied enormously. They were now about two millions, and the Norman -army numbered sixty thousand.[95] In vain these Normans become -transformed, gallicized; by their origin, and substantially in -themselves they are still the relatives of those whom they conquered. In -vain they imported their manners and their poesy, and introduced into -the language a third part of its words; this language continues -altogether German in element and in substance.[96] Though the grammar -changed, it changed integrally, by an internal action, in the same sense -as its continental cognates. At the end of three hundred years the -conquerors themselves were conquered; their speech became English; and -owing to frequent intermarriage, the English blood ended by gaining the -predominance over the Norman blood in their veins. The race finally -remains Saxon. If the old poetic genius disappears after the Conquest, -it is as a river disappears, and flows for a while underground. In five -centuries it will emerge once more. - - - - -[Footnote 8: Malte-Brun, IV. 398. Not counting bays, gulfs, and canals, -the sixteenth part of the country is covered by water. The dialect -of Jutland bears still a great resemblance to English.] - -[Footnote 9: See Ruysdaal's painting in Mr. Baring's collection. -Of the three Saxon islands, North Strandt, Busen, and Heligoland, -North Strandt was inundated by the sea in 1300, 1483, 1532, 1615, -and almost destroyed in 1634. Busen is a level plain, beaten by -storms, which it has been found necessary to surround by a dyke. -Heligoland was laid waste by the sea in 800, 1300, 1500, 1649, the -last time so violently that only a portion of it remained.--Turner, -"History of Anglo-Saxons," 1852, I. 97.] - -[Footnote 10: Heine, "The North Sea," translated by Charles G. -Leland. See Tacitus, "Annals," book 2, for the impressions of the -Romans, "truculentia cœli."] - -[Footnote 11: Watten, Platen, Sande, Düneninseln.] - -[Footnote 12: Nine or ten miles out near Heligoland, are the -nearest soundings of about fifty fathoms.] - -[Footnote 13: Palgrave, "Saxon Commonwealth," vol. I.] - -[Footnote 14: "Notes of a Journey in England."] - -[Footnote 15: Léonce de Lavergne, "De l'Agriculture anglaise." -"The soil is much worse than that of France."] - -[Footnote 16: There are at least four rivers in England passing -by the name of "Ouse," which is only another form of "ooze."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 17: Tacitus, "De moribus Germanorum," passim: Diem -noctemque continuare potando, nulli proborum.--Sera juvenum -Venus.--Totos dies juxta focum atque ignem agunt. Dargaud, "Voyage -en Danemark. They take six meals per day, the first at five -o'clock in the morning. One should see the faces and meals at -Hamburg and at Amsterdam."] - -[Footnote 18: Bede, v. 10. Sidonius, VIII. 6. Lingard, "History -of England," 1854, I. chap. 2.] - -[Footnote 19: Zozimos, III. 147. Amm. Marcellinus, XXVIII. 526.] - -[Footnote 20: Aug. Thierry, "Hist. S. Edmundi," VI. 441. See -Ynglingasaga, and especially Egil's Saga.] - -[Footnote 21: Lingard, "History of England," I. 164, says, however, -"Every tenth man out of the six hundred received his liberty, -and of the rest a few were selected for slavery."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 22: Franks, Frisians, Saxons, Danes, up the gaps that -exist in the history of Norwegians, Icelanders are one and the -same people. Their language, laws, religion, poetry, differ -but little. The more northern continue longest in their primitive -manners. Germany in the fourth and fifth centuries, Denmark and -Norway in the seventh and eighth. Iceland in the tenth and eleventh -centuries, present the same condition, and the muniments of each -country will fill up the gaps that exist in the history of the others.] - -[Footnote 23: Tacitus, De moribus Germanotum, XXII: Gens nec -astuta nec callida.] - -[Footnote 24: William of Malmesbury. Henry of Huntingdon, VI. 365.] - -[Footnote 25: Tacitus, "De moribus Germanorum," XXII., XXIII.] - -[Footnote 26: Kemble, "Saxons in England," 1849, I. 70, II. 184. -"The Acts of an Anglo-Saxon parliament are a series of treaties -of peace between all the associations which make up the State; -a continual revision and renewal of the alliances offensive and -defensive of all the free men. They are universally mutual contracts -for the maintenance of the frid or peace."] - -[Footnote 27: A large district; the word is still existing in -German, as Rheingau, Breiasgau.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 28: Turner, "History of the Anglo-Saxons," II. 440, -Laws of Ina.] - -[Footnote 29: Such a band consisted of thirty-five men or more.] - -[Footnote 30: Milton's expression. Lingard's History, I. chap. 3. -This history bears much resemblance to that of the Franks in Gaul. -See Gregory of Tours. The Saxons, like the Franks, somewhat softened, -but rather degenerated, were pillaged and massacred by those of their -Northern brothers who still remained in a savage state.] - -[Footnote 31: Vita S. Dunstani, "Anglia Sacra," II.] - -[Footnote 32: It is amusing to compare the story of Edwy and Elgiva -in Turner, II. 216, etc., and then Lingard, I. 132, etc. The -first accuses Dunstan, the other defends him.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 33: "Life of Bishop Wolstan."] - -[Footnote 34: Tantæ sævitiæ erant fratres illi quod, cum alicujus -nitidam villam conspicerent, dominatorem de nocte interfici juberent, -totamque progeniem illius possessionemque defuncti obtinerent. -Turner, III. 27. Henry of Huntingdon, VI. 367.] - -[Footnote 35: "Pene gigas statura," says the chronicler. Henry of -Huntingdon, VI. 367. Kemble, I. 393. Turner, II. 318.] - -[Footnote 36: Grimm, "Mythology," 53, Preface.] - -[Footnote 37: Tacitus, XX. XXIII., XI., XII. et passim. We may -still see the traces of this taste in English dwellings.] - -[Footnote 38: Ibid. XIII.] - -[Footnote 39: Tacitus, XIX., VIII., XVI. Kemble, I. 232.] - -[Footnote 40: Tacitus, XIV.] - -[Footnote 41: "In omni domo, nudi et sordidi... Plus per otium -transigunt, dediti somno, ciboque, otos dies juxta focum atque -ignem agunt."] - -[Footnote 42: Grimm, 53, Preface. Tacitus, X.] - -[Footnote 43: "Deorum nominibus appellant secretum illud, quod -sola reverentia vident." Later on, at Upsala for instance, they -had images (Adam of Bremen, "Historia Ecclesiastica"). Wuotan (Odin), -signifies etymologically the All-Powerful, him who penetrates -and circulates through everything (Grimm, "Mythology").] - -[Footnote 44: "Sæmundar Edda, Snorra Edda," ed. Copenhagen, three -vols., passim. Mr. Bergmann has translated several of these poems -into French, which Mr. Taine quotes. The translator has generally -made use of the edition of Mr. Thorpe, London, 1866.] - -[Footnote 45: Hel, the goddess of death, born of Loki and Angrboda.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 46: Thorpe, "The Edda of Sæmund, the Vala's Prophecy," -str. 48-56, p. 9 et passim.] - -[Footnote 47: "Fafnismâl Edda." This epic is common to the Northern -races, as is the Iliad to the Greek populations, and is found almost -entire in Germany in the Nibelungen Lied. The translator has also -used Magnusson and Morris's poetical version of the "Völsunga -Saga," and certain songs of the "Elder Edda," London, 1870.] - -[Footnote 48: "Thorpe, The Edda of Sæmund, Third Lay of Sigurd -Fafnicide," str. 62-64, p. 83.] - -[Footnote 49: Magnusson and Morris, "Story of the Volsungs and -Nibelungs, Lamentation of Guaran," p. 118 et passim.] - -[Footnote 50: Thorpe, "The Edda of Sæmund, Lay of Atli," str. -21-27, p. 117.] - -[Footnote 51: Ibid., str. 38, p. 119.] - -[Footnote 52: This word signifies men who fought without a breastplate, -perhaps in shirts only; Scottice, "Baresarks."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 53: See the "Life of Sweyn," of Hereward, etc., even up -to the time of the Conquest.] - -[Footnote 54: Beowulf, passim. Death of Byrhtnoth.] - -[Footnote 55: "The Wanderer, the Exile's Song, Codex Exoniensis," -published by Thorpe.] - -[Footnote 56: Turner, "History of the Anglo-saxons", III. 63.] - -[Footnote 57: Alfred borrows his portrait from Boethius, but -almost entirely rewrites it.] - -[Footnote 58: Kemble thinks that the origin of this poem is very -ancient, perhaps contemporary with the invasion of the Angles -and Saxons, but that the version we possess is later than the -seventh century.--Kemble's "Beowulf," text and translation, 1833. -The characters are Danish.] - -[Footnote 59: Kemble's "Beowulf," XI. p. 32.] - -[Footnote 60: Ibid. XII. p. 34.] - -[Footnote 61: "Beowulf," XXII., XXIII. p. 62 et passim.] - -[Footnote 62: "Beowulf," XXXIII., XXXVI. p. 94 et passim.] - -[Footnote 63: Ibid, XXXVII., XXXVIII. p. 110 et passim. I have -throughout always used the very words of Kemble's translation.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 64: Conybeare's "Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry," -1826, "Battle of Finsborough," p. 175. The complete collection of -Anglo-Saxon poetry has been published by M. Grein.] - -[Footnote 65: Turner, "History of Anglo-Saxons," III. book 9, -ch. I. p. 245.] - -[Footnote 66: The cleverest Anglo-Saxon scholars, Turner, Conybeare, -Thorpe, recognize this difficulty.] - -[Footnote 67: Turner, III. 231 et passim. The translations in French, -however literal, do injustice to the text; that language is too clear, -too logical. No Frenchman can understand this extraordinary phase of -intellect, except by taking a dictionary, and deciphering some pages -of Anglo-Saxon for a fortnight.] - -[Footnote 68: Turner remarks that the same idea expressed by King -Alfred, in prose and then in verse takes in the first case seven -words, in the second five.--"History of the Anglo-Saxons," III. 235.] - -[Footnote 69: 596-625. Aug. Thierry, I. 81; Bede, XII. 2.] - -[Footnote 70: Jouffroy, "Problem of Human Destiny."] - -[Footnote 71: Michelet, preface to "La Renaissance"; Didron, -"Histoire de Dieu."] - -[Footnote 72: About 630. See "Codex Exoniensis," Thorpe.] - -[Footnote 73: Bede, IV. 24.] - -[Footnote 74: Conybeare's "Illustrations," p. 271.] - -[Footnote 75: Bretwalda was a species of warking, or temporary and -elective chief of all the Saxons.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 76: The Æsir (sing. As) are the gods of the Scandinavian -nations, of whom Odin was the chief.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 77: Kemble, I. I. XII. In this chapter he has collected -many features which show the endurance of the ancient mythology.] - -[Footnote 78: Nástrand is the strand or shore of the dead.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 79: Turner, "History of Anglo-Saxons," III. book 9, ch. 3, -p. 271.] - -[Footnote 80: Ibid. III. book o, ch. 3, p. 272.] - -[Footnote 81: Turner, "History of Anglo-Saxons," III. book 9, ch. 3, -p. 274.] - -[Footnote 82: Grein, "Bibliothek der Angelsæchsischen poesie."] - -[Footnote 83: Thorpe, "Cædmon," 1832, XLVII. p. 206.] - -[Footnote 84: Ibid. II. p. 7. A likeness exists between this song -and corresponding portions of the Edda.] - -[Footnote 85: Ibid. IV. p. 18.] - -[Footnote 86: This is Milton's opening also. (See "Paradise Lost," -book I. verse 242, etc.) One would think that he must have had some -knowledge of Cædmon from the translation of Junius.] - -[Footnote 87: Thorpe, "Cædmon," IV. p. 23.] - -[Footnote 88: They themselves feel their impotence and decrepitude. -Bede, dividing the history of the world into six periods, says that -the fifth, which stretches from the return out of Babylon to the -birth of Christ, is the senile period; the sixth is the present, -"ætas decrepita, totius morte sæculi consummanda."] - -[Footnote 89: Died in 901; Adhelm died 709, Bede died 735, Alcuin -lived under Charlemagne, Erigena under Charles the Bald (843-877).] - -[Footnote 90: Fox's "Alfred's Boethius," chap. 35, sec. 6, 1864.] - -[Footnote 91: All these extracts are taken from Ingram's "Saxon -Chronicle," 1823.] - -[Footnote 92: William of Malmesbury's expression.] - -[Footnote 93: Primitus (pantorum procerum prætorumque pio potissimum -paternoque præsertim privilegio) panegyricum poemataque passim -prosatori sub polo promulgantes, stridula vocum symphonia ac melodiæ -cantilenæque carmine modulaturi hymnizemus.] - -[Footnote 94: In Iceland, the country of the fiercest sea-kings, -crimes are unknown; prisons have been turned to other uses; -fines are the only punishment.] - -[Footnote 95: Following Doomsday Book, Mr. Turner reckons at -three hundred thousand the heads of families mentioned. If each -family consisted of five persons, that would make one million -five hundred thousand people. He adds five hundred thousand -for the four northern counties, for London and several large -towns, for the monks and provincial clergy not enumerated.... -We must accept these figures with caution. Still they agree -with those of Mackintosh, George Chalmers, and several others. -Many facts show that the Saxon population was very numerous, -and quite out of proportion to the Norman population.] - -[Footnote 96: Warton, "History of English Poetry," 1840, 3 vols., -Preface.] - - - - -CHAPTER SECOND - - -The Normans - - -SECTION I.--The Feudal Man - - -A century and a half had passed on the Continent since, amid the -universal decay and dissolution, a new society had been formed, and new -men had risen up. Brave men had at length made a stand against the -Norsemen and the robbers. They had planted their feet in the soil, and -the moving chaos of the general subsidence had become fixed by the -effort of their great hearts and of their arms. At the mouths of the -rivers, in the defiles of the mountains, on the margin of the waste -borders, at all perilous passes, they had built their forts, each for -himself, each on his own land, each with his faithful band; and they had -lived like a scattered but watchful army, encamped and confederate in -their castles, sword in hand in front of the enemy. Beneath this -discipline a formidable people had been formed, fierce hearts in strong -bodies,[97] intolerant of restraint, longing for violent deeds, born for -constant warfare because steeped in permanent warfare, heroes and -robbers, who, as an escape from their solitude, plunged into adventures, -and went, that they might conquer a country or win Paradise, to Sicily, -to Portugal, to Spain, to Palestine, to England. - - - - -SECTION II.--Normans and Saxons Contrasted - - -On September 27, 1066, at the mouth of the Somme, there was a great -sight to be seen; four hundred large sailing vessels, more than a -thousand transports, and sixty thousand men, were on the point of -embarking.[98] The sun shone splendidly after long rain; trumpets -sounded, the cries of this armed multitude rose to heaven; as far as the -eye could see, on the shore, in the wide-spreading river, on the sea -which opens out thence broad and shining, masts and sails extended like -a forest; the enormous fleet set out wafted by the south wind.[99] The -people which it carried were said to have come from Norway, and they -might have been taken for kinsmen of the Saxons, with whom they were to -fight; but there were with them a multitude of adventurers, crowding -from all quarters, far and near, from north and south, from Maine and -Anjou, from Poitou and Brittany, from Ile-de-France and Flanders, from -Aquitaine and Burgundy;[100] and, in short, the expedition itself was -French. - -How comes it that, having kept its name, it had changed its nature? and -what series of renovations had made a Latin out of a German people? The -reason is, that this people, when they came to Neustria, were neither a -national body, nor a pure race. They were but a band; and as such, -marrying the women of the country, they introduced foreign blood into -their children. They were a Scandinavian band, but swelled by all the -bold knaves and all the wretched desperadoes who wandered about the -conquered country;[101] and as such they received foreign blood into -their veins. Moreover, if the nomadic band was mixed, the settled band -was much more so; and peace by its transfusions, like war by its -recruits, had changed the character of the primitive blood. When Rollo, -having divided the land amongst his followers, hung the thieves and -their abettors, people from every country gathered to him. Security, -good stern justice, were so rare, that they were enough to repeople a -land.[102] He invited strangers, say the old writers, "and made one -people out of so many folk of different natures." This assemblage of -barbarians, refugees, robbers, immigrants, spoke Romance or French so -quickly, that the second Duke, wishing to have his son taught Danish, -had to send him to Bayeux, where it was still spoken. The great masses -always form the race in the end, and generally the genius and language. -Thus this people, so transformed, quickly became polished; the composite -race showed itself of a ready genius, far more wary than the Saxons -across the Channel, closely resembling their neighbors of Picardy, -Champagne, and Ile-de-France. "The Saxons," says an old writer,[103] -"vied with each other in their drinking feats, and wasted their income -by day and night in feasting, whilst they lived in wretched hovels; the -French and Normans, on the other hand, living inexpensively in their -fine, large houses, were besides refined in their food and studiously -careful in their dress." The former, still weighted by the German -phlegm, were gluttons and drunkards, now and then aroused by poetical -enthusiasm; the latter, made sprightlier by their transplantation and -their alloy, felt the cravings of the mind already making themselves -manifest. "You might see amongst them churches in every village, and -monasteries in the cities, towering on high, and built in a style -unknown before," first in Normandy, and later in England.[104] Taste had -come to them at once--that is, the desire to please the eye, and to -express a thought by outward representation, which was quite a new idea: -the circular arch was raised on one or on a cluster of columns; elegant -mouldings were placed about the windows; the rose window made its -appearance, simple, yet, like the flower which gives it its name "_rose -des buissons_"; and the Norman style unfolded itself, original yet -proportioned between the Gothic, whose richness it foreshadowed, and the -Romance, whose solidity it recalled. - -With taste, just as natural and just as quickly, was developed the -spirit of inquiry. Nations are like children; with some the tongue is -readily loosened, and they comprehend at once; with others it is -loosened with difficulty, and they are slow of comprehension. The men we -are here speaking of had educated themselves nimbly, as Frenchmen do. -They were the first in France who unravelled the language, regulating it -and writing it so well, that to this day we understand their codes and -their poems. In a century and a half they were so far cultivated as to -find the Saxons "unlettered and rude."[105] That was the excuse they -made for banishing them from the abbeys and all valuable ecclesiastical -offices. And, in fact, this excuse was rational, for they instinctively -hated gross stupidity. Between the Conquest and the death of King John, -they established five hundred and fifty-seven schools in England. Henry -Beauclerk, son of the Conqueror, was trained in the sciences; so were -Henry II and his three sons; Richard, the eldest of these, was a poet. -Lanfranc, first Norman Archbishop of Canterbury, a subtle logician, ably -argued the Real Presence; Anselm, his successor, the first thinker of -the age, thought he had discovered a new proof of the existence of God, -and tried to make religion philosophical by adopting as his maxim, -"_Crede ut intelligas._" The notion was doubtless grand, especially in -the eleventh century; and they could not have gone more promptly to -work. Of course the science I speak of was but scholastic, and these -terrible folios slay more understandings than they confirm. But people -must begin as they can; and syllogism, even in Latin, even in theology, -is yet an exercise of the mind and a proof of the understanding. Among -the continental priests who settled in England, one established a -library; another, founder of a school, made the scholars perform the -play of Saint Catherine; a third wrote in polished Latin, "epigrams as -pointed as those of Martial." Such were the recreations of an -intelligent race, eager for ideas, of ready and flexible genius, whose -clear thought was not clouded, like that of the Saxon brain, by drunken -hallucinations and the vapors of a greedy and well-filled stomach. They -loved conversations, tales of adventure. Side by side with their Latin -chroniclers, Henry of Huntingdon, William of Malmesbury, thoughtful men -already, who could not only relate, but criticise here and there, there -were rhyming chronicles in the vulgar tongue, as those of Geoffroy -Gaimar, Bénoît de Sainte-Maure, Robert Wace. Do not imagine that their -verse-writers were sterile of words or lacking in details. They were -talkers, tale-tellers, speakers above all, ready of tongue, and never -stinted in speech. Not singers by any means; they speak--this is their -strong point, in their poems as in their chronicles. They were the -earliest who wrote the "Song of Roland"; upon this they accumulated a -multitude of songs concerning Charlemagne and his peers, concerning -Arthur and Merlin, the Greeks and Romans, King Horn, Guy of Warwick, -every prince and every people. Their minstrels (_trouvères_), like -their knights, draw in abundance from Welsh, Franks, and Latins, and -descend upon East and West in the wide field of adventure. They address -themselves to a spirit of inquiry, as the Saxons to enthusiasm, and -dilute in their long, clear, and flowing narratives the lively colors of -German and Breton traditions; battles, surprises, single combats, -embassies, speeches, processions, ceremonies, huntings, a variety of -amusing events, employ their ready and wandering imaginations. At first, -in the "Song of Roland," it is still kept in check; it walks with long -strides, but only walks. Presently its wings have grown; incidents are -multiplied; giants and monsters abound, the natural disappears, the song -of the jongleur grows a poem under the hands of the _trouvère_; he -would speak, like Nestor of old, five, even six years running, and not -grow tired or stop. Forty thousand verses are not too much to satisfy -their gabble; a facile mind, copious, inquisitive, descriptive, such is -the genius of the race. The Gauls, their fathers, used to delay -travellers on the road to make them tell their stories, and boasted, -like these, "of fighting well and talking with ease." - -With chivalric poetry, they are not wanting in chivalry; principally, it -may be, because they are strong, and a strong man loves to prove his -strength by knocking down his neighbors; but also from a desire of fame, -and as a point of honor. By this one word honor the whole spirit of -warfare is changed. Saxon poets painted war as a murderous fury, as a -blind madness which shook flesh and blood, and awakened the instincts of -the beast of prey; Norman poets describe it as a tourney. The new -passion which they introduce is that of vanity and gallantry; Guy of -Warwick dismounts all the knights in Europe, in order to deserve the -hand of the prude and scornful Félice. The tourney itself is but a -ceremony, somewhat brutal I admit, since it turns upon the breaking of -arms and limbs, but yet brilliant and French. To show skill and courage, -display the magnificence of dress and armor, be applauded by and please -the ladies--such feelings indicate men of greater sociality, more under -the influence of public opinion, less the slaves of their own passions, -void both of lyric inspiration and savage enthusiasm, gifted by a -different genius, because inclined to other pleasures. - -Such were the men who at this moment were disembarking in England to -introduce their new manners and a new spirit, French at bottom, in mind -and speech, though with special and provincial features; of all the most -matter-of-fact, with an eye to the main chance, calculating, having the -nerve and the dash of our own soldiers, but with the tricks and -precautions of lawyers; heroic undertakers of profitable enterprises; -having gone to Sicily and Naples, and ready to travel to Constantinople -or Antioch, so it be to take a country or bring back money; subtle -politicians, accustomed in Sicily to hire themselves to the highest -bidder, and capable of doing a stroke of business in the heat of the -Crusade, like Bohémond, who, before Antioch, speculated on the dearth -of his Christian allies, and would only open the town to them under -condition of their keeping it for himself; methodical and persevering -conquerors, expert in administration, and fond of scribbling on paper, -like this very William, who was able to organize such an expedition, and -such an army, and kept a written roll of the same, and who proceeded to -register the whole of England in his Domesday Book. Sixteen days after -the disembarkation, the contrast between the two nations was manifested -at Hastings by its visible effects. - -The Saxons "ate and drank the whole night. You might have seen them -struggling much, and leaping and singing," with shouts of laughter and -noisy joy.[106] In the morning they packed behind their palisades the -dense masses of their heavy infantry, and with battle-axe hung round -their neck awaited the attack. The wary Normans weighed the chances of -heaven and hell, and tried to enlist God upon their side. Robert Wace, -their historian and compatriot, is no more troubled by poetical -imagination than they were by warlike inspiration; and on the eve of the -battle his mind is as prosaic and clear as theirs.[107] The same spirit -showed itself in the battle. They were for the most part bowmen and -horsemen, well skilled, nimble, and clever. Taillefer, the _jongleur_, -who asked for the honor of striking the first blow, went singing, like a -true French volunteer, performing tricks all the while.[108] Having -arrived before the English, he cast his lance three times in the air, -then his sword, and caught them again by the handle; and Harold's clumsy -foot-soldiers, who only knew how to cleave coats of mail by blows from -their battle-axes, "were astonished, saying to one another that it was -magic." As for William, amongst a score of prudent and cunning actions, -he performed two well-calculated ones, which, in this sore -embarrassment, brought him safe out of his difficulties. He ordered his -archers to shoot into the air; the arrows wounded many of the Saxons in -the face and one of them pierced Harold in the eye. After this he -simulated flight; the Saxons, intoxicated with joy and wrath, quitted -their entrenchments, and exposed themselves to the lances of his -horsemen. During the remainder of the contest they only make a stand by -small companies, fight with fury, and end by being slaughtered. The -strong, mettlesome, brutal race threw themselves on the enemy like a -savage bull; the dexterous Norman hunters wounded them adroitly, knocked -them down, and placed them under the yoke. - - - - -SECTION III.--French Forms of Thought - - -What then is this French race, which by arms and letters make such a -splendid entrance upon the world, and is so manifestly destined to rule, -that in the East, for example, their name of Franks will be given to all -the nations of the West? Wherein consists this new spirit, this -precocious pioneer, this key of all Middle-Age civilization? There is in -every mind of the kind a fundamental activity which, when incessantly -repeated, moulds its plan, and gives it its direction; in town or -country, cultivated or not, in its infancy and its age, it spends its -existence and employs its energy in conceiving an event or an object. -This is its original and perpetual process; and whether it change its -region, return, advance, prolong, or alter its course, its whole motion -is but a series of consecutive steps; so that the least alteration in -the size, quickness, or precision of its primitive stride transforms and -regulates the whole course, as in a tree the structure of the first -shoot determines the whole foliage, and governs the whole growth.[109] -When the Frenchman conceives an event or an object, he conceives quickly -and distinctly; there is no internal disturbance, no previous -fermentation of confused and violent ideas, which, becoming concentrated -and elaborated, end in a noisy outbreak. The movement of his -intelligence is nimble and prompt, like that of his limbs; at once and -without effort he seizes upon his idea. But he seizes that alone; he -leaves on one side all the long entangling off-shoots whereby it is -entwined and twisted amongst its neighboring ideas; he does not -embarrass himself with nor think of them; he detaches, plucks, touches -but slightly, and that is all. He is deprived, or if you prefer it, he -is exempt from those sudden half-visions which disturb a man, and open -up to him instantaneously vast deeps and far perspectives. Images are -excited by internal commotion; he, not being so moved, imagines not. He -is only moved superficially; he is without large sympathy; he does not -perceive an object as it is, complex and combined, but in parts, with a -discursive and superficial knowledge. That is why no race in Europe is -less poetical. Let us look at their epics; none are more prosaic. They -are not wanting in number: "The Song of Roland, Garin le Loherain," -"Ogier le Danois,"[110] "Berthe aux grands Pieds." There is a library of -them. Though their manners are heroic and their spirit fresh, though -they have originality, and deal with grand events, yet, spite of this, -the narrative is as dull as that of the babbling Norman chroniclers. -Doubtless when Homer relates he is as clear as they are, and he develops -as they do: but his magnificent titles of rosy-fingered Morn, the -wide-bosomed Air, the divine and nourishing Earth, the earth-shaking -Ocean, come in every instant and expand their purple bloom over the -speeches and battles, and the grand abounding similes which interrupt -the narrative tell of a people more inclined to enjoy beauty than to -proceed straight to fact. But here we have facts, always facts, nothing -but facts; the Frenchman wants to know if the hero will kill the -traitor, the lover wed the maiden; he must not be delayed by poetry or -painting. He advances nimbly to the end of the story, not lingering for -dreams of the heart or wealth of landscape. There is no splendor, no -color, in his narrative; his style is quite bare, and without figures; -you may read ten thousand verses in these old poems without meeting one. -Shall we open the most ancient, the most original, the most eloquent, at -the most moving point, the "Song of Roland," when Roland is dying? The -narrator is moved, and yet his language remains the same, smooth, -accentless, so penetrated by the prosaic spirit, and so void of the -poetic! He gives an abstract of motives, a summary of events, a series -of causes for grief, a series of causes for consolation.[111] Nothing -more. These men regard the circumstance or the action by itself, and -adhere to this view. Their idea remains exact, clear, and simple, and -does not raise up a similar image to be confused with the first, to -color or transform itself. It remains dry; they conceive the divisions -of the object one by one, without ever collecting them, as the Saxons -would, in an abrupt, impassioned, glowing semi-vision. Nothing is more -opposed to their genius than the genuine songs and profound hymns, such -as the English monks were singing beneath the low vaults of their -churches. They would be disconcerted by the unevenness and obscurity of -such language. They are not capable of such an access of enthusiasm and -such excess of emotion. They never cry out, they speak, or rather they -converse, and that at moments when the soul, overwhelmed by its trouble, -might be expected to cease thinking and feeling. Thus Amis, in a -mystery-play, being leprous, calmly requires his friend Amille to slay -his two sons, in order that their blood may heal him of his leprosy; and -Amille replies still more calmly.[112] If ever they try to sing, even in -heaven, "a roundelay high and clear," they will produce little rhymed -arguments, as dull as the dullest talk.[113] Pursue this literature to -its conclusion; regard it, like that of the Skalds, at the time of its -decadence, when its vices, being exaggerated, display, like those of the -Skalds, only still more strongly the kind of mind which produced it. The -Skalds fall off into nonsense; it loses itself into babble and -platitude. The Saxon could not master his craving for exaltation; the -Frenchman could not restrain the volubility of his tongue. He is too -diffuse and too clear; the Saxon is too obscure and brief. The one was -excessively agitated and carried away; the other explains and develops -without measure. From the twelfth century the Gestes spun out degenerate -into rhapsodies and psalmodies of thirty or forty thousand verses. -Theology enters into them; poetry becomes an interminable, intolerable -litany, where the ideas, expounded, developed, and repeated _ad -infinitum_, without one outburst of emotion or one touch of originality, -flow like a clear and insipid stream, and send off their reader, by dint -of their monotonous rhymes, into a comfortable slumber. What a -deplorable abundance of distinct and facile ideas! We meet with it again -in the seventeenth century, in the literary gossip which took place at -the feet of men of distinction; it is the fault and the talent of the -race. With this involuntary art of perceiving, and isolating -instantaneously and clearly each part of every object, people can speak, -even for speaking's sake, and forever. - -Such is the primitive process; how will it be continued? Here appears a -new trait in the French genius, the most valuable of all. It is -necessary to comprehension that the second idea shall be contiguous to -the first; otherwise that genius is thrown out of its course and -arrested; it cannot proceed by irregular bounds; it must walk step by -step, on a straight road; order is innate in it; without study, and in -the first place, it disjoints and decomposes the object or event, -however complicated and entangled it may be, and sets the parts one by -one in succession to each other, according to their natural connection. -True, it is still in a state of barbarism; yet its intelligence is a -reasoning faculty, which spreads, though unwittingly. Nothing is more -clear than the style of the old French narratives and of the earliest -poems: we do not perceive that we are following a narrator, so easy is -the gait, so even the road he opens to us, so smoothly and gradually -every idea glides into the next; and this is why he narrates so well. -The chroniclers Villehardouin, Joinville, Froissart, the fathers of -prose, have an ease and clearness approached by none, and beyond all, a -charm, a grace, which they had not to go out of their way to find. Grace -is a national possession in France, and springs from the native delicacy -which has a horror of incongruities; the instinct of Frenchmen avoids -violent shocks in works of taste as well as in works of argument; they -desire that their sentiments and ideas shall harmonize, and not clash. -Throughout they have this measured spirit, exquisitely refined.[114] -They take care, on a sad subject, not to push emotion to its limits; -they avoid big words. Think how Joinville relates in six lines the death -of the poor sick priest who wished to finish celebrating the mass, and -"nevermore did sing, and died." Open a mystery-play, "Théophilus," or -that of the "Queen of Hungary," for instance: when they are going to -burn her and her child, she says two short lines about "this gentle dew -which is so pure an innocent," nothing more. Take a fabliau, even a -dramatic one: when the penitent knight, who has undertaken to fill a -barrel with his tears, dies in the hermit's company, he asks from him -only one last gift: "Do but embrace me, and then I'll die in the arms of -my friend." Could a more touching sentiment be expressed in more sober -language? We must say of their poetry what is said of certain pictures: -This is made out of nothing. Is there in the world anything more -delicately graceful than the verses of Guillaume de Lorris? Allegory -clothes his ideas so as to dim their too great brightness; ideal, -figures, half transparent, float about the lover, luminous, yet in a -cloud, and lead him amidst all the delicate and gentle-hued ideas to the -rose, whose "sweet odor embalms all the plain." This refinement goes so -far, that in Thibaut of Champagne and in Charles of Orleans it turns to -affectation and insipidity. In them all impressions grow more slender; -the perfume is so weak that one often fails to catch it; on their knees -before their lady they whisper their waggeries and conceits; they love -politely and wittily, they arrange ingeniously in a bouquet their -"painted words," all the flowers of "fresh and beautiful language"; they -know how to mark fleeting ideas in their flight, soft melancholy, vague -reverie; they are as elegant as talkative, and as charming as the most -amiable abbés of the eighteenth century. This lightness of touch is -proper to the race, and appears as plainly under the armor and amid the -massacres of the Middle Ages as mid the courtesies and the musk-scented, -wadded coats of the last court. You will find it in their coloring as in -their sentiments. They are not struck by the magnificence of nature, -they see only her pretty side; they paint the beauty of a woman by a -single feature, which is only polite, saying, "She is more gracious than -the rose in May." They do not experience the terrible emotion, ecstasy, -sudden oppression of heart which is displayed in the poetry of -neighboring nations; they say discreetly, "She began to smile, which -vastly became her." They add, when they are in a descriptive humor, -"that she had a sweet and perfumed breath," and a body "white as -new-fallen snow on a branch." They do not aspire higher; beauty pleases, -but does not transport them. They enjoy agreeable emotions, but are not -fitted for deep sensations. The full rejuvenescence of being, the warm -air of spring which renews and penetrates all existence, suggests but a -pleasing couplet; they remark in passing, "Now is winter gone, the -hawthorn blossoms, the rose expands," and so pass on about their -business. It is a light gladsomeness, soon gone, like that which an -April landscape affords. For an instant the author glances at the mist -of the streams rising about the willow trees, that pleasant vapor which -imprisons the brightness of the morning; then, humming a burden of a -song, he returns to his narrative. He seeks amusement, and herein lies -his power. - -In life, as in literature, it is pleasure he aims at, not sensual -pleasure or emotion. He is lively, not voluptuous; dainty, not a -glutton. He takes love for a pastime, not for an intoxication. It is a -pretty fruit which he plucks, tastes, and leaves. And we must remark yet -further, that the best of the fruit in his eyes is the fact of its being -forbidden. He says to himself that he is duping a husband, that "he -deceives a cruel woman, and thinks he ought to obtain a pope's -indulgence for the deed."[115] He wishes to be merry--it is the state he -prefers, the end and aim of his life; and especially to laugh at other -people. The short verse of his fabliaux gambols and leaps like a -schoolboy released from school, over all things respected or -respectable; criticising the Church, women, the great, the monks. -Scoffers, banterers, our fathers have abundance both of expression and -matter; and the matter comes to them so naturally, that without culture, -and surrounded by coarseness, they are as delicate in their raillery as -the most refined. They touch upon ridicule lightly, they mock without -emphasis, as it were innocently; their style is so harmonious, that at -first sight we make a mistake, and do not see any harm in it. They seem -artless; they look so very demure; only a word shows the imperceptible -smile: it is the ass, for example, which they call the high priest, by -reason of his padded cassock and his serious air, and who gravely begins -"to play the organ." At the close of the history, the delicate sense of -comicality has touched you, though you cannot say how. They do not call -things by their names, especially in love matters; they let you guess -it; they assume that you are as sharp and knowing as themselves.[116] A -man might discriminate, embellish at times, perhaps refine upon them, -but their first traits are incomparable. When the fox approaches the -raven to steal the cheese, he begins as a hypocrite, piously and -cautiously, and as one of the family. He calls the raven his "good -father Don Rohart, who sings so well"; he praises his voice, "so sweet -and fine. You would be the best singer in the world if you kept clear -of nuts." Reynard is a rogue, an artist in the way of invention, not a -mere glutton; he loves roguery for its own sake; he rejoices in his -superiority, and draws out his mockery. When Tibert, the cat, by his -counsel hung himself at the bell-rope, wishing to ring it, he uses -irony, enjoys and relishes it, pretends to wax impatient with the poor -fool whom he has caught, calls him proud, complains because the other -does not answer, and because he wishes to rise to the clouds-and visit -the saints. And from beginning to end this long epic of Reynard the Fox -is the same; the raillery never ceases, and never fails to be agreeable. -Reynard has so much wit that he is pardoned for everything. The -necessity for laughter is national--so indigenous to the French, that a -stranger cannot understand, and is shocked by it. This pleasure does not -resemble physical joy in any respect, which is to be despised for its -grossness; on the contrary, it sharpens the intelligence, and brings to -light many a delicate or ticklish idea. The fabliaux are full of truths -about men, and still more about women, about people of low rank, and -still more about those of high rank; it is a method of philosophizing by -stealth and boldly, in spite of conventionalism, and in opposition to -the powers that be. This taste has nothing in common either with open -satire, which is offensive because it is cruel; on the contrary, it -provokes good humor. We soon see that the jester is not ill-disposed, -that he does not wish to wound: if he stings, it is as a bee, without -venom; an instant later he is not thinking of it; if need be, he will -take himself as an object of his pleasantry; all he wishes is to keep up -in himself and in us sparkling and pleasing ideas. Do we not see here in -advance an abstract of the whole French literature, the incapacity for -great poetry, the sudden and durable perfection of prose, the excellence -of all the moods of conversation and eloquence, the reign and tyranny of -taste and method, the art and theory of development and arrangement, the -gift of being measured, clear, amusing, and piquant? We have taught -Europe how ideas fall into order, and which ideas are agreeable; and -this is what our Frenchmen of the eleventh century are about to teach -their Saxons during five or six centuries, first with the lance, next -with the stick, next with the birch. - - - - -SECTION IV.--The Normans in England - - -Consider, then, this Frenchman or Norman, this man from Anjou or Maine, -who in his well-knit coat of mail, with sword and lance, came to seek -his fortune in England. He took the manor of some slain Saxon, and -settled himself in it with his soldiers and comrades, gave them land, -houses, the right of levying taxes, on condition of their fighting under -him and for him, as men-at-arms, marshals, standard-bearers; it was a -league in case of danger. In fact, they were in a hostile and conquered -country, and they have to maintain themselves. Each one hastened to -build for himself a place of refuge, castle or fortress,[117] well -fortified, of solid stone, with narrow windows, strengthened with -battlements, garrisoned by soldiers, pierced with loopholes. Then these -men went to Salisbury, to the number of sixty thousand, all holders of -land, having at least enough to maintain a man with horse or arms. -There, placing their hands in William's they promised him fealty and -assistance; and the king's edict declared that they must be all united -and bound together like brothers in arms, to defend and succor each -other. They are an armed colony, stationary, like the Spartans amongst -the Helots; and they make laws accordingly. When a Frenchman is found -dead in any district, the inhabitants are to give up the murderer, or -failing to do so, they must pay forty-seven marks as a fine; if the dead -man is English, it rests with the people of the place to prove it by the -oath of four near relatives of the deceased. They are to beware of -killing a stag, boar, or fawn; for an offence against the forest-laws -they will lose their eyes. They have nothing of all their property -assured to them except as alms, or on condition of paying tribute, or by -taking the oath of allegiance. Here a free Saxon proprietor is made a -body-slave on his own estate.[118] Here a noble and rich Saxon lady -feels on her shoulder the weight of the hand of a Norman valet, who is -become by force her husband or her lover. There were Saxons of one sol, -or of two sols, according to the sum which they gained for their -masters; they sold them, hired them, worked them on joint account, like -an ox or an ass. One Norman abbot has his Saxon predecessors dug up, -their bones thrown without the gates. Another keeps men-at-arms, who -bring his recalcitrant monks to reason by blows of their swords. -Imagine, if you can, the pride of these new lords, conquerors, -strangers, masters, nourished by habits of violent activity, and by the -savagery, ignorance, and passions of feudal life. "They thought they -might do whatsoever they pleased," say the old chroniclers. "They shed -blood indiscriminately, snatched the morsel of bread from the mouth of -the wretched, and seized upon all the money, the goods, the land."[119] -Thus "all the folk in the low country were at great pains to seem humble -before Ivo Taillebois, and only to address him with one knee on the -ground; but although they made a point of paying him every honor, and -giving him all and more than all which they owed him in the way of rent -and service, he harassed, tormented, tortured, imprisoned them, set his -dogs upon their cattle, ... broke the legs and backbones of their beasts -of burden, ... and sent men to attack their servants on the road with -sticks and swords."[120] The Normans would not and could not borrow any -idea or custom from such boors;[121] they despised them as coarse and -stupid. They stood amongst them, as the Spaniards amongst the Americans -in the sixteenth century, superior in force and culture, more versed in -letters, more expert in the arts of luxury. They preserved their manners -and their speech. England, to all outward appearance--the court of the -king, the castles of the nobles, the palaces of the bishops, the houses -of the wealthy--was French; and the Scandinavian people, of whom sixty -years ago the Saxon kings used to have poems sung to them, thought that -the nation had forgotten its language, and treated it in their laws as -though it were no longer their sister. - -It was a French literature, then, which was at this time domiciled -across the channel,[122] and the conquerors tried to make it purely -French, purged from all Saxon alloy. They made such a point of this that -the nobles in the reign of Henry II sent their sons to France, to -preserve them from barbarisms. "For two hundred years," says -Higden,[123] "children in scole, agenst the usage and manir of all other -nations beeth compelled for to leve hire own langage, and for to -construe hir lessons and hire thynges in Frensche." The statutes of the -universities obliged the students to converse either in French or Latin. -"Gentilmen children beeth taught to speke Frensche from the tyme that -they bith rokked in hire cradell; and uplondissche men will likne -himself to gentylmen, and fondeth with greet besynesse for to speke -Frensche." Of course the poetry is French. The Norman brought his -minstrel with him; there was Taillefer, the _jongleur_, who sang the -"Song of Roland" at the battle of Hastings; there was Adeline, the -_jongleuse_, received an estate in the partition which followed the -Conquest. The Norman who ridicules the Saxon kings, who dug up the Saxon -saints and cast them without the walls of the church, loved none but -French ideas and verses. It was into French verse that Robert Wace -rendered the legendary history of the England which was conquered, and -the actual history of the Normandy in which he continued to live. Enter -one of the abbeys where the minstrels come to sing, "where the clerks -after dinner and supper read poems, the chronicles of kingdoms, the -wonders of the world,"[124] you will only find Latin or French verses, -Latin or French prose. What becomes of English? Obscure, despised, we -hear it no more, except in the mouths of degraded franklins, outlaws of -the forest, swineherds, peasants, the lowest orders. It is no longer, or -scarcely written; gradually we find in the Saxon Chronicle that the -idiom alters, is extinguished; the Chronicle itself ceases within a -century after the Conquest.[125] The people who have leisure or security -enough to read or write are French; for them authors devise and compose; -literature always adapts itself to the taste of those who can appreciate -and pay for it. Even the English[126] endeavor to write in French: thus -Robert Grostête, in his allegorical poem on Christ; Peter Langtoft, in -his "Chronicle of England," and in his "Life of Thomas à Becket"; Hugh -de Rotheland, in his poem of "Hippomedon"; John Hoveden, and many -others. Several write the first half of the verse in English, and the -second in French; a strange sign of the ascendancy which is moulding and -oppressing them. Even in the fifteenth century[127] many of these poor -folk are employed in this task; French is the language of the court, -from it arose all poetry and elegance; he is but a clodhopper who is -inapt at that style. They apply themselves to it as our old scholars did -to Latin verses; they are gallicized as those were latinized, by -constraint, with a sort of fear, knowing well that they are but -schoolboys and provincials. Gower, one of their best poets, at the end -of his French works, excuses himself humbly for not having "_de -Français la faconde. Pardonnez moi_," he says, "_que de ce je forsvoie; -je suis Anglais._" - -And yet, after all, neither the race nor the tongue has perished. It is -necessary that the Norman should learn English, in order to command his -tenants; his Saxon wife speaks it to him, and his sons receive it from -the lips of their nurse; the contagion is strong, for he is obliged to -send them to France, to preserve them from the jargon which on his -domain threatens to overwhelm and spoil them. From generation to -generation the contagion spreads; they breathe it in the air, with the -foresters in the chase, the farmers in the field, the sailors on the -ships: for these coarse people, shut in by their animal existence, are -not the kind to learn a foreign language; by the simple weight of their -dullness they impose their idiom on their conquerors, at all events such -words as pertain to living things. Scholarly speech, the language of -law, abstract and philosophical expressions--in short, all words -depending on reflection and culture may be French, since there is -nothing to prevent it. This is just what happens; these kind of ideas -and this kind of speech are not understood by the commonalty, who, not -being able to touch them, cannot change them. This produces a French, a -colonial French, doubtless perverted, pronounced with closed mouth, with -a contortion of the organs of speech, "after the school of -Stratford-atte-Bow"; yet it is still French. On the other hand, as -regards the speech employed about common actions and visible objects, it -is the people, the Saxons, who fix it; these living words are too firmly -rooted in his experience to allow of being parted with, and thus the -whole substance of the language comes from him. Here, then, we have the -Norman who, slowly and constrainedly, speaks and understands English, a -deformed, gallicized English, yet English, in sap and root; but he has -taken his time about it, for it has required two centuries. It was only -under Henry III that the new tongue is complete, with the new -constitution; and that, after the like fashion, by alliance and -intermixture; the burgesses come to take their seats in Parliament with -the nobles, at the same time that Saxon words settle down in the -language side by side with French words. - - - - -SECTION V.--The English Tongue--Early English Literary Impulses - - -So was modern English formed, by compromise, and the necessity of being -understood. But we can well imagine that these nobles, even while -speaking the rising dialect, have their hearts full of French tastes and -ideas; France remains the home of their mind, and the literature which -now begins, is but translation. Translators, copyists, imitators--there -is nothing else. England is a distant province, which is to France what -the United States were, thirty years ago, to Europe: she exports her -wool, and imports her ideas. Open the "Voyage and Travaile of Sir John -Maundeville,"[128] the oldest prose-writer, the Villehardouin of the -country: his book is but the translation of a translation.[129] He -writes first in Latin, the language of scholars; then in French, the -language of society; finally he reflects, and discovers that the barons, -his compatriots, by governing the Saxon churls, have ceased to speak -their own Norman, and that the rest of the nation never knew it; he -translates his manuscript into English, and, in addition, takes care to -make it plain, feeling that he speaks to less expanded understandings. -He says in French: "_Il advint une fois que Mahomet allait dans une -chapelle où il y avait un saint ermite. Il entra en la chapelle où il y -avait une petite huisserie et basse, et était bien petite la chapelle; -et alors devint la porte si grande qu'il semblait que ce fut la porte -d'un palais._" - -He stops, corrects himself, wishes to explain himself better for his -readers across the Channel, and says in English: "And at the Desertes of -Arabye, he wente into a Chapelle where a Eremyte duelte. And whan he -entred in to the Chapelle that was but a lytille and a low thing, and -had but a lytill Dore and a low, than the Entree began to wexe so gret -and so large, and so highe, as though it had ben of a gret Mynstre, or -the Zate of a Paleys."[130] You perceive that he amplifies, and thinks -himself bound to clinch and drive in three or four times in succession -the same idea, in order to get it into an English brain; his thought is -drawn out, dulled, spoiled in the process. Like every copy, the new -literature is mediocre, and repeats what it imitates, with fewer merits -and greater faults. - -Let us see, then, what our Norman baron gets translated for him; first, -the chronicles of Geoffroy Gaimar and Robert Wace, which consist of the -fabulous history of England continued up to their day, a dull-rhymed -rhapsody, turned into English in a rhapsody no less dull. The first -Englishman who attempts it is Layamon,[131] a monk of Ernely, still -fettered in the old idiom, who sometimes happens to rhyme, sometimes -fails, altogether barbarous and childish, unable to develop a continuous -idea, babbling in little confused and incomplete phrases, after the -fashion of the ancient Saxons; after him a monk, Robert of -Gloucester,[132] and a canon, Robert of Brunne, both as insipid and -clear as their French models, having become gallicized, and adopted the -significant characteristics of the race, namely, the faculty and habit -of easy narration, of seeing moving spectacles without deep emotion, of -writing prosaic poetry, of discoursing and developing, of believing that -phrases ending in the same sounds form real poetry. Our honest English -versifiers, like their preceptors in Normandy and Ile-de-France, -garnished with rhymes their dissertations and histories, and called them -poems. At this epoch, in fact, on the Continent, the whole learning of -the schools descends into the street; and Jean de Meung, in his poem of -"La Rose," is the most tedious of doctors. So in England, Robert of -Brunne transposes into verse the "Manuel des péchés" of Bishop -Grostête; Adam Davie,[133] certain Scripture histories; Hampole[134] -composes the "Pricke of Conscience." The titles alone make one yawn: -what of the text? - - -"Mankynde mad ys do Goddus wylle, -And alle Hys byddyngus to fulfille; -For of al Hys makyng more and les, -Man most principal creature es. -Al that He made for man hit was done, -As ye schal here after sone."[135] - - -There is a poem! You did not think so; call it a sermon, if you will -give it its proper name. It goes on, well divided, well prolonged, -flowing, but void of meaning; the literature which surrounds and -resembles it bears witness of its origin by its loquacity and its -clearness. - -It bears witness to it by other and more agreeable features. Here and -there we find divergences more or less awkward into the domain of -genius; for instance, a ballad full of quips against Richard, King of -the Romans, who was taken at the battle of Lewes. Sometimes, charm is -not lacking, nor sweetness either. No one has ever spoken so bright and -so well to the ladies as the French of the Continent, and they have not -quite forgotten this talent while settling in England. You perceive it -readily in the manner in which they celebrate the Virgin. Nothing could -be more different from the Saxon sentiment, which is altogether -biblical, than the chivalric adoration of the sovereign Lady, the -fascinating Virgin and Saint, who was the real deity of the Middle Ages. -It breathes in this pleasing hymn: - - -"Blessed beo thu, lavedi, -Ful of hovene blisse; -Swete flur of parais, -Moder of milternisse.... -I-blessed beo thu, Lavedi, -So fair and so briht; -Al min hope is uppon the, -Bi day and bi nicht.... -Bricht and scene quen of storre, -So me liht and lere. -In this false fikele world, -So me led and steore."[136] - - -There is but a short and easy step between this tender worship of the -Virgin and the sentiments of the court of love. The English rhymesters -take it; and when they wish to praise their earthly mistresses, they -borrow, here as elsewhere, the ideas and the very form of French verse. -One compares his lady to all kinds of precious stones and flowers; -others sing truly amorous songs, at times sensual. - - -"Bytuene Mershe and Aueril, -When spray biginneth to springe. -The lutel foul hath hire wyl -On hyre lud to synge, -Ich libbe in loue longinge -For semlokest of alle thynge. -He may me blysse bringe, -Icham in hire baundoun. -An hendy hap ich abbe yhent, -Ichot from heuene it is me sent. -From alle wymmen my love is lent, -And lyht on Alisoun."[137] - - -Another sings: - - -"Suete lemmon, y preye the, of loue one speche, -Whil y lyue in world so wyde other nulle y seche. -With thy loue, my suete leof, mi bliss thou mihtes eche -A suete cos of thy mouth mihte be my leche."[138] - - -Is not this the lively and warm imagination of the south? they speak of -springtime and of love, "the fine and lovely weather" like _trouvères_, -even like _troubadours._ The dirty, smoke-grimed cottage, the black -feudal castle, where all but the master lie higgledy-piggledy on the -straw in the great stone hall, the cold rain, the muddy earth, make the -return of the sun and the warm air delicious. - - -"Sumer is i-cumen in, -Lhude sing cuccu: -Groweth sed, and bloweth med, -And springeth the wde nu. -Sing cuccu, cuccu. -Awe bleteth after lomb, -Llouth after calue cu, -Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth: -Murie sing cuccu, -Cuccu, cuccu. -Wel singes thu cuccu; -Ne swik thu nauer nu. -Sing, cuccu nu, -Sing, cuccu."[139] - - -Here are glowing pictures, such as Guillaume de Lorris was writing at -the same time, even richer and more lifelike, perhaps because the poet -found here for inspiration that love of country life which in England is -deep and national. Others, more imitative, attempt pleasantries like -those of Rutebeuf and the fabliaux, frank quips,[140] and even -satirical, loose waggeries. Their true aim and end is to hit out at the -monks. In every French country or country which imitates France, the -most manifest use of convents is to furnish material for sprightly and -scandalous stories. One writes, for instance, of the kind of life the -monks lead at the abbey of Cocagne: - - -"There is a wel fair abbei, -Of white monkes and of grei. -Ther beth bowris and halles: -Al of pasteiis beth the wallis, -Of fleis, of fisse, and rich met, -The likfullist that man may et. -Fluren cakes beth the schingles alle. -Of cherche, cloister, boure, and halle. -The pinnes beth fat podinges -Rich met to princes and kinges.... -Though paradis be miri and bright -Cokaign is of fairir sight,... -Another abbei is ther bi, -Forsoth a gret fair nunnerie.... -When the someris dai is hote -The young nunnes takith a bote... -And doth ham forth in that river -Both with ores and with stere.... -And each monk him takith on, -And snellich berrith forth har prei -To the mochil grei abbei, -And techith the nunnes an oreisun, -With iamblene up and down." - - -This is the triumph of gluttony and feeding. Moreover many things could -be mentioned in the Middle Ages which are now unmentionable. But it was -the poems of chivalry, which represented to him the bright side of his -own mode of life, that the baron preferred to have translated. He -desired that his _trouvère_ should set before his eyes the magnificence -which he displayed, and the luxury and enjoyments which he has -introduced from France. Life at that time, without and even during war, -was a great pageant, a brilliant and tumultuous kind of fête. When -Henry II travelled, he took with him a great number of horsemen, -foot-soldiers, baggage-wagons, tents, pack-horses, comedians, courtesans -and their overseers, cooks, confectioners, posture-makers, dancers, -barbers, go-betweens, hangers-on.[141] In the morning when they start, -the assemblage begins to shout, sing, hustle each other, make racket and -rout, "as if hell were let loose." William Longchamps, even in time of -peace, would not travel without a thousand horses by way of escort. When -Archbishop à Becket came to France, he entered the town with two -hundred knights, a number of barons and nobles, and an army of servants, -all richly armed and equipped, he himself being provided with -four-and-twenty suits; two hundred and fifty children walked in front, -singing national songs; then dogs, then carriages, then a dozen -pack-horses, each ridden by an ape and a man; then equerries with -shields and war-horses; then more equerries, falconers, a suit of -domestics, knights, priests; lastly, the archbishop himself, with his -private friends. Imagine these processions, and also these -entertainments; for the Normans, after the Conquest, "borrowed from the -Saxons the habit of excess in eating and drinking."[142] At the marriage -of Richard Plantagenet, Earl of Cornwall, they provided thirty thousand -dishes.[143] They also continued to be gallant, and punctiliously -performed the great precept of the love courts; for in the Middle Ages -the sense of love was no more idle than the others. Moreover, -tournaments were plentiful; a sort of opera prepared for their own -entertainment. So ran their life, full of adventure and adornment, in -the open air and in the sunlight, with show of cavalcades and arms; they -act a pageant, and act it with enjoyment. Thus the King of Scots, having -come to London with a hundred knights, at the coronation of Edward I, -they all dismounted, and made over their horses and superb caparisons to -the people; as did also five English lords, imitating their example. In -the midst of war they took their pleasure. Edward III, in one of his -expeditions against the King of France, took with him thirty falconers, -and made his campaign alternately hunting and fighting.[144] Another -time, says Froissart, the knights who joined the army carried a plaster -over one eye, having vowed not to remove it until they had performed an -exploit worthy of their mistresses. Out of the very exuberancy of spirit -they practised the art of poetry; out of the buoyancy of their -imagination they made a sport of life. Edward III built at Windsor a -hall and a round table; and at one of his tourneys in London, sixty -ladies, seated on palfreys, led, as in a fairy tale, each her knight by -a golden chain. Was not this the triumph of the gallant and frivolous -French fashions? Edward's wife Philippa sat as a model to the artists -for their Madonnas. She appeared on the field of battle; listened to -Froissart, who provided her with moral-plays, love-stories, and "things -fair to listen to." At once goddess, heroine, and scholar, and all this -so agreeably, was she not a true queen of refined chivalry? Now, as also -in France under Louis of Orleans and the Dukes of Burgundy, this most -elegant and romanesque civilization came into full bloom, void of common -sense, given up to passion, bent on pleasure, immoral and brilliant, -but, like its neighbors of Italy and Provence, for lack of serious -intention, it could not last. - -Of all these marvels the narrators make display in their stories. Here -is a picture of the vessel which took the mother of King Richard into -England: - - -"Swlk on ne seygh they never non; -All it was whyt of huel-bon, -And every nayl with gold begrave: -Off pure gold was the stave. -Her mast was of yvory; -Off samyte the sayl wytterly. -Her ropes wer off tuely sylk, -Al so whyt as ony mylk. -That noble schyp was al withoute, -With clothys of golde sprede aboute; -And her loof and her wyndas, -Off asure forsothe it was."[145] - - -On such subjects they never run dry. When the King of Hungary wishes to -console his afflicted daughter, he proposes to take her to the chase in -the following style: - - -"To-morrow ye shall in hunting fare: -And ride, my daughter, in a chair; -It shall be covered with velvet red, -And cloths of fine gold all about your head, -With damask white and azure blue, -Well diapered with lilies new. -Your pommels shall be ended with gold, -Your chains enamelled many a fold, -Your mantle of rich degree, -Purple pall and ermine free. -Jennets of Spain that ben so light, -Trapped to the ground with velvet bright. -Ye shall have harp, sautry, and song, -And other mirths you among. -Ye shall have Rumney and Malespine, -Both hippocras and Vernage wine; -Montrese and wine of Greek, -Both Algrade and despice eke, -Antioch and Bastarde, -Pyment also and garnarde; -Wine of Greek and Muscadel, -Both clare, pyment, and Rochelle, -The reed your stomach to defy, -And pots of osey set you by. -You shall have venison ybake, -The best wild fowl that may be take; -A leish of harehound with you to streek, -And hart, and hind, and other like. -Ye shall be set at such a tryst, -That hart and hynd shall come to you fist, -Your disease to drive you fro, -To hear the bugles there yblow. -Homeward thus shall ye ride, -On hawking by the river's side, -With gosshawk and with gentle falcon, -With bugle-horn and merlion. -When you come home your menie among, -Ye shall have revel, dance, and song; -Little children, great and small, -Shall sing as does the nightingale. -Then shall ye go to your evensong, -With tenors and trebles among. -Threescore of copes of damask bright, -Full of pearls they shall be pight. -Your censors shall be of gold, -Indent with azure many a fold; -Your quire nor organ song shall want, -With contre-note and descant. -The other half on organs playing, -With young children full fain singing. -Then shall ye go to your supper, -And sit in tents in green arber, -With cloth of arras pight to the ground, -With sapphires set of diamond. -A hundred knights, truly told, -Shall play with bowls in alleys cold, -Your disease to drive away; -To see the fishes in pools play, -To a drawbridge then shall ye, -Th' one half of stone, th' other of tree; -A barge shall meet you full right, -With twenty-four oars full bright, -With trumpets and with clarion, -The fresh water to row up and down.... -Forty torches burning bright -At your bridge to bring you light. -Into your chamber they shall you bring, -With much mirth and more liking. -Your blankets shall be of fustian, -Your sheets shall be of cloth of Rennes. -Your head sheet shall be of pery pight, -With diamonds set and rubies bright. -When you are laid in bed so soft, -A cage of gold shall hang aloft, -With long paper fair burning, -And cloves that be sweet smelling. -Frankincense and olibanum, -That when ye sleep the taste may come; -And if ye no rest can take, -All night minstrels for you shall wake."[146] - - -Amid such fancies and splendors the poets delight and lose themselves, -and the woof, like the embroideries of their canvas, bears the mark of -this love of decoration. They weave it out of adventures, of -extraordinary and surprising events. Now it is the life of King Horn, -who, thrown into a boat when a lad, is wrecked upon the coast of -England, and, becoming a knight, reconquers the kingdom of his father. -Now it is the history of Sir Guy, who rescues enchanted knights, cuts -down the giant Colbrand, challenges and kills the Sultan in his tent. It -is not for me to recount these poems, which are not English, but only -translations; still, here as in France, there are many of them; they -fill the imagination of the young society, and they grow in -exaggeration, until, falling to the lowest depth of insipidity and -improbability, they are buried forever by Cervantes. What would people -say of a society which had no literature but the opera with its -unrealities? Yet it was a literature of this kind which formed the -intellectual food of the Middle Ages. People then did not ask for truth, -but entertainment, and that vehement and hollow, full of glare and -startling events. They asked for impossible voyages, extravagant -challenges, a racket of contests, a confusion of magnificence and -entanglement of chances. For introspective history they had no liking, -cared nothing for the adventures of the heart, devoted their attention -to the outside. They remained children to the last, with eyes glued to a -series of exaggerated and colored images, and, for lack of thinking, did -not perceive that they had learnt nothing. - -What was there beneath this fanciful dream? Brutal and evil human -passions, unchained at first by religious fury, then delivered up to -their own devices, and, beneath a show of external courtesy, as vile as -ever. Look at the popular king, Richard Cœur de Lion, and reckon up his -butcheries and murders: "King Richard," says a poem, "is the best king -ever mentioned in song."[147] I have no objection; but if he has the -heart of a lion, he has also that brute's appetite. One day, under the -walls of Acre, being convalescent, he had a great desire for some pork. -There was no pork. They killed a young Saracen, fresh and tender, cooked -and salted him, and the king ate him and found him very good; whereupon -he desired to see the head of the pig. The cook brought it in trembling. -The king falls a-laughing, and says the army has nothing to fear from -famine, having provisions ready at hand. He takes the town, and -presently Saladin's ambassadors come to sue for pardon for the -prisoners. Richard has thirty of the most noble beheaded, and bids his -cook boil the heads, and serve one to each ambassador, with a ticket -bearing the name and family of the dead man. Meanwhile, in their -presence, he eats his own with a relish, bids them tell Saladin how the -Christians make war, and ask him if it is true that they fear him. Then -he orders the sixty thousand prisoners to be led into the plain: - - -"They were led into the place full even. -There they heard angels of heaven; -They said: 'Seigneures, tuez, tuez! -Spares hem nought, and beheadeth these!' -King Richard heard the angels' voice, -And thanked God and the holy cross." - - -Thereupon they behead them all. When he took a town, it was his wont to -murder everyone, even children and women. Such was the devotion of the -Middle Ages, not only in romances, as here, but in history. At the -taking of Jerusalem the whole population, seventy thousand persons, were -massacred. - -Thus even in chivalrous stories the fierce and unbridled instincts of -the bloodthirsty brute break out. The authentic narratives show it. -Henry II, irritated at a page, attempted to tear out his eyes.[148] John -Lackland let twenty-three hostages die in prison of hunger. Edward II -caused at one time twenty-eight nobles to be hanged and disemboweled, -and was himself put to death by the insertion of a red-hot iron into his -bowels. Look in Froissart for the debaucheries and murders in France as -well as in England, of the Hundred Years' War, and then for the -slaughters of the Wars of the Roses. In both countries feudal -independence ended in civil war, and the Middle Age founders under its -vices. Chivalrous courtesy, which cloaked the native ferocity, -disappears like some hangings suddenly consumed by the breaking out of a -fire; at that time in England they killed nobles in preference, and -prisoners, too, even children, with insults, in cold blood. What, then, -did man learn in this civilization and by this literature? How was he -humanized? What precepts of justice, habits of reflection, store of true -judgments, did this culture interpose between his desires and his -actions, in order to moderate his passion? He dreamed, he imagined a -sort of elegant ceremonial in order the better to address lords and -ladies; he discovered the gallant code of little Jehan de Saintré. But -where is the true education? Wherein has Froissart profited by all his -vast experience? He was a fine specimen of a babbling child; what they -called his poesy, the _poèsie neuve_, is only a refined gabble, a -senile puerility. Some rhetoricians, like Christine de Pisan, try to -round their periods after an ancient model; but all their literature -amounts to nothing. No one can think. Sir John Maundeville, who -travelled all over the world a hundred and fifty years after -Villehardouin, is as contracted in his ideas as Villehardouin himself. -Extraordinary legends and fables, every sort of credulity and ignorance, -abound in his book. When he wishes to explain why Palestine has passed -into the hands of various possessors instead of continuing under one -government, he says that it is because God would not that it should -continue longer in the hands of traitors and sinners, whether Christians -or others. He has seen at Jerusalem, on the steps of the temple, the -footmarks of the ass which our Lord rode on Palm Sunday. He describes -the Ethiopians as a people who have only one foot, but so large that -they can make use of it as a parasol. He instances one island "where be -people as big as gyants, of 28 feet long, and have no clothing but -beasts' skins"; then another island "where there are many evil and foul -women, but have precious stones in their eyes, and have such force that -if they behold any man with wrath, they slay him with beholding, as the -basilisk doth." The good man relates; that is all: doubt and -common-sense scarcely exist in the world he lives in. He has neither -judgment nor reflection; he piles facts one on top of another, with no -further connection; his book is simply a mirror which reproduces -recollections of his eyes and ears. "And all those who will say a Pater -and an Ave Maria in my behalf, I give them an interest and a share in -all the holy pilgrimages I ever made in my life." That is his farewell, -and accords with all the rest. Neither public morality nor public -knowledge has gained anything from these three centuries of culture. -This French culture, copied in vain throughout Europe, has but -superficially adorned mankind, and the varnish with which it decked them -is already tarnished everywhere or scales off. It was worse in England, -where the thing was more superficial and the application worse than in -France, where foreign hands laid it on, and where it could only half -cover the Saxon crust, where that crust was worn away and rough. That is -the reason why, during three centuries, throughout the whole first -feudal age, the literature of the Normans in England, made up of -imitations, translations, and clumsy copies, ends in nothing. - - - - -SECTION VI.--Feudal Civilization - - -Meantime, what has become of the conquered people? Has the old stock, on -which the brilliant Continental flowers were grafted, engendered no -literary shoot of its own? Did it continue barren during all this time -under the Norman axe, which stripped it of all its buds? It grew very -feebly, but it grew nevertheless. The subjugated race is not a -dismembered nation, dislocated, uprooted, sluggish, like the populations -of the Continent, which, after the long Roman oppression, were given up -to the unrestrained invasion of barbarians; it increased, remained fixed -in its own soil, full of sap: its members were not displaced; it was -simply lopped in order to receive on its crown a cluster of foreign -branches. True, it had suffered, but at last the wound closed, the saps -mingled. Even the hard, stiff ligatures with which the Conqueror bound -it, henceforth contributed to its fixity and vigor. The land was mapped -out; every title verified, defined in writing;[149] every right or -tenure valued; every man registered as to his locality, and also his -condition, duties, descent, and resources, so that the whole nation was -enveloped in a network of which not a mesh would break. Its future -development had to be within these limits. Its constitution was settled, -and in this positive and stringent enclosure men were compelled to -unfold themselves and to act. Solidarity and strife; these were the two -effects of the great and orderly establishment which shaped and held -together, on one side the aristocracy of the conquerors, on the other -the conquered people; even as in Rome the systematic fusing of conquered -peoples into the plebs, and the constrained organization of the -patricians in contrast with the plebs, enrolled the private individuals -in two orders, whose opposition and union formed the state. Thus, here -as in Rome, the national character was moulded and completed by the -habit of corporate action, the respect for written law, political and -practical aptitude, the development of combative and patient energy. It -was the Domesday Book which, binding this young society in a rigid -discipline, made of the Saxon the Englishman of our own day. - -Gradually and slowly, amidst the gloomy complainings of the chroniclers, -we find the new man fashioned by action, like a child who cries because -steel stays, though they improve his figure, give him pain. However -reduced and downtrodden the Saxons were, they did not all sink into the -populace. Some,[150] almost in every county, remained lords of their -estates, on the condition of doing homage for them to the king. Many -became vassals of Norman barons, and remained proprietors on this -condition. A greater number became socagers, that is, free proprietors, -burdened with a tax, but possessed of the right of alienating their -property; and the Saxon villeins found patrons in these, as the plebs -formerly did in the Italian nobles who were transplanted to Rome. The -patronage of the Saxons who preserved their integral position was -effective, for they were not isolated: marriages from the first united -the two races, as it had the patricians and plebeians of Rome;[151] a -Norman brother-in-law to a Saxon, defended himself in defending him. In -those turbulent times, and in an armed community, relatives and allies -were obliged to stand shoulder to shoulder in order to keep their -ground. After all, it was necessary for the new-comers to consider their -subjects, for these subjects had the heart and courage of men: the -Saxons, like the plebeians at Rome, remembered their native rank and -their original independence. We can recognize it in the complaints and -indignation of the chroniclers, in the growling and menaces of popular -revolt, in the long bitterness with which they continually recalled -their ancient liberty, in the favor with which they cherished the daring -and rebellion of outlaws. There were Saxon families at the end of the -twelfth century who had bound themselves by a perpetual vow to wear long -beards from father to son in memory of the national custom and of the -old country. Such men, even though fallen to the condition of socagers, -even sunk into villeins, had a stiffer neck than the wretched colonists -of the Continent, trodden down and moulded by four centuries of Roman -taxation. By their feelings as well as by their condition, they were the -broken remains, but also the living elements, of a free people. They did -not suffer the extremities of oppression. They constituted the body of -the nation, the laborious, courageous body which supplied its energy. -The great barons felt that they must rely upon them in their resistance -to the king. Very soon, in stipulating for themselves, they stipulated -for all freemen,[152] even for merchants and villeins. Thereafter "No -merchant shall be dispossessed of his merchandise, no villein of the -instruments of his labor; no freeman, merchant, or villein shall be -taxed unreasonably for a small crime; no freeman shall be arrested, or -imprisoned, or disseized of his land, or outlawed, or destroyed in any -manner, but by the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the -land." Thus protected they raise themselves and act. In each county -there was a court, where all freeholders, small or great, came to -deliberate about the municipal affairs, administer justice, and appoint -tax-assessors. The red-bearded Saxon, with his clear complexion and -great white teeth, came and sat by the Norman's side; these were -franklins like the one whom Chaucer describes: - - -"A Frankelein was in this compagnie; -White was his herd, as is the dayesie. -Of his complexion he was sanguin, -Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in win. -To liven in delit was ever his wone, -For he was Epicures owen sone, -That held opinion that plein delit -Was veraily felicite parfite. -An housholder, and that a grete was he, -Seint Julian he was in his contree. -His brede, his ale, was alway after on; -A better envyned man was no wher non. -Withouten bake mete never his hous, -Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous, -It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke, -Of all deintees that men coud of thinke; -After the sondry sesons of the yere, -So changed he his mete and his soupere. -Ful many a fat partrich had he in mewe, -And many a breme, and many a luce in stewe. -Wo was his coke but if his sauce were -Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere. -His table, dormant in his halle alway -Stode redy covered alle the longe day. -At sessions ther was he lord and sire. -Ful often time he was knight of the shire. -An anelace and a gipciere all of silk, -Heng at his girdle, white as morwe milk. -A shereve hadde he ben, and a contour. -Was no wher swiche a worthy vavasour."[153] - - -With him occasionally in the assembly, oftenest among the audience, were -the yeomen, farmers, foresters, tradesmen, his fellow-countrymen, -muscular and resolute men, not slow in the defence of their property, -and in supporting him who would take their cause in hand, with voice, -fist and weapons. Is it likely that the discontent of such men to whom -the following description applies could be overlooked? - - -"The Miller was a stout carl for the nones, -Ful bigge he was of braun and eke of bones; -That proved wel, for over all ther he came, -At wrastling he wold bere away the ram. -He was short shuldered brode, a thikke gnarre, -Ther n'as no dore, that he n'olde heve of barre, -Or breke it at a renning with his hede. -His berd as any sowe or fox was rede, -And therto brode, as though it were a spade. -Upon the cop right of his nose he hade -A wert, and thereon stode a tufte of heres, -Rede as the bristles of a sowes eres: -His nose-thirles blacke were and wide. -A swerd and bokeler bare he by his side. -His mouth as wide was as a forneis, -He was a jangler and a goliardeis, -And that was most of sinne, and harlotries. -Wel coude he stelen corne and tollen thries. -And yet he had a thomb of gold parde. -A white cote and a blew hode wered he. -A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and soune, -And therwithall he brought us out of toune."[154] - - -Those are the athletic forms, the square build, the jolly John Bulls of -the period, such as we yet find them, nourished by meat and porter, -sustained by bodily exercise and boxing. These are the men we must keep -before us, if we will understand how political liberty has been -established in this country. Gradually they find the simple knights, -their colleagues in the county court, too poor to be present with the -great barons at the royal assemblies, coalescing with them. They become -united by community of interests, by similarity of manners, by nearness -of condition; they take them for their representatives, they elect -them.[155] They have now entered upon public life, and the advent of a -new reinforcement gives them a perpetual standing in their changed -condition. The towns laid waste by the Conquest are gradually repeopled. -They obtain or exact charters; the townsmen buy themselves out of the -arbitrary taxes that were imposed on them; they get possession of the -land on which their houses are built; they unite themselves under mayors -and aldermen. Each town now, within the meshes of the great feudal net, -is a power. The Earl of Leicester, rebelling against the king, summons -two burgesses from each town to Parliament,[156] to authorize and -support him. From that time the conquered race, both in country and -town, rose to political life. If they were taxed, it was with their -consent; they paid nothing which they did not agree to. Early in the -fourteenth century their united deputies composed the House of Commons; -and already, at the close of the preceding century, the Archbishop of -Canterbury, speaking in the name of the king, said to the pope, "It is -the custom of the kingdom of England, that in all affairs relating to -the state of this kingdom, the advice of all who are interested in them -should be taken." - - - - -SECTION VII.--Persistence of Saxon Ideas - - -If they have acquired liberties, it is because they have obtained them -by force; circumstances have assisted, but character has done more. The -protection of the great barons and the alliance of the plain knights -have strengthened them; but it was by their native roughness and energy -that they maintained their independence. Look at the contrast they offer -at this moment to their neighbors. What occupies the mind of the French -people? The fabliaux, the naughty tricks of Reynard, the art of -deceiving Master Isengrin, of stealing his wife, of cheating him out of -his dinner, of getting him beaten by a third party without danger to -one's self; in short, the triumph of poverty and cleverness over power -united to folly. The popular hero is already the artful plebeian, -chaffing, light-hearted, who, later on, will ripen into Panurge and -Figaro, not apt to withstand you to your face, too sharp to care for -great victories and habits of strife, inclined by the nimbleness of his -wit to dodge round an obstacle; if he but touch a man with the tip of -his finger, that man tumbles into the trap. But here we have other -customs: it is Robin Hood, a valiant outlaw, living free and bold in the -green forest, waging frank and open war against sheriff and law.[157] If -ever a man was popular in his country, it was he. "It is he," says an -old historian, "whom the common people love so dearly to celebrate in -games and comedies, and whose history, sung by fiddlers, interests them -more than any other." In the sixteenth century he still had his -commemoration day, observed by all the people in the small towns and in -the country. Bishop Latimer, making his pastoral tour, announced one day -that he would preach in a certain place. On the morrow, proceeding to -the church, he found the doors closed, and waited more than an hour -before they brought him the key. At last a man came and said to him, -"Syr, thys ys a busye day with us; we cannot heare you: it is Robyn -Hoodes Daye. The parishe are gone abrode to gather for Robyn Hoode.... I -was fayne there to geve place to Robyn Hoode."[158] The bishop was -obliged to divest himself of his ecclesiastical garments and proceed on -his journey, leaving his place to archers dressed in green, who played -on a rustic stage the parts of Robin Hood, Little John, and their band. -In fact, he was the national hero. Saxon in the first place and waging -war against the men of law, against bishops and archbishops, whose sway -was so heavy; generous, moreover, giving to a poor ruined knight -clothes, horse, and money to buy back the land he had pledged to a -rapacious abbot; compassionate too, and kind to the poor, enjoining his -men not to injure yeomen and laborers; but above all, rash, bold, proud, -who would go and draw his bow before the sheriff's eyes and to his face; -ready with blows, whether to give or take. He slew fourteen out of -fifteen foresters who came to arrest him; he slays the sheriff, the -judge, the town gatekeeper; he is ready to slay as many more as like to -come; and all this joyously, jovially, like an honest fellow who eats -well, has a hard skin, lives in the open air, and revels in animal life. - - -"In somer when the shawes be sheyne, -And leves be large and long, -Hit is fulle mery in feyre foreste -To here the foulys song." - - -That is how many ballads begin; and the fine weather, which makes the -stags and oxen butt with their horns, inspires them with the thought of -exchanging blows with sword or stick. Robin dreamed that two yeomen were -thrashing him, and he wants to go and find them, angrily repelling -Little John, who offers to go first: - - -"Ah John, by me thou settest noe store, -And that I farley finde: -How offt send I my men before, -And tarry myselfe behinde? - -"It is no cunnin a knave to ken, -An a man but heare him speake; -An it were not for bursting of my bowe, -John, I thy head wold breake."[159]... - - -He goes alone, and meets the robust yeoman, Guy of Gisborne, - - -"He that had neyther beene kythe nor kin, -Might have seen a full fayre fight, -To see how together these yeomen went -With blades both browne and bright, - -"To see how these yeomen together they fought -Two howres of a summer's day; -Yett neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy -Them fettled to flye away."[160] - - -You see Guy the yeoman is as brave as Robin Hood; he came to seek him in -the wood, and drew the bow almost as well as he. This old popular poetry -is not the praise of a single bandit, but of an entire class, the -yeomanry. "God haffe mersy on Robin Hodys solle, and saffe all god -yemanry." That is how many ballads end. The brave yeoman, inured to -blows, a good archer, clever at sword and stick, is the favorite. There -were also, redoubtable, armed townsfolk, accustomed to make use of their -arms. Here they are at work: - - -"'O that were a shame,' said jolly Robin, -'We being three, and thou but one,' -The pinder[161] leapt back then thirty good foot, -'Twas thirty good foot and one. - -"He leaned his back fast unto a thorn, -And his foot against a stone, -And there he fought a long summer's day, -A summer's day so long. - -"Till that their swords on their broad bucklers -Were broke fast into their hands."[162] - - -Often even Robin does not get the advantage: - - -"'I pass not for length,' bold Arthur reply'd, -'My staff is of oke so free; -Eight foot and a half, it will knock down a calf, -And I hope it will knock down thee.' - -"Then Robin could no longer forbear, -He gave him such a knock, -Quickly and soon the blood came down -Before it was ten a clock. - -"Then Arthur he soon recovered himself, -And gave him such a knock on the crown, -That from every side of bold Robin Hood's head -The blood came trickling down. - -"Then Robin raged like a wild boar, -As soon as he saw his own blood: -Then Bland was in hast, he laid on so fast, -As though he had been cleaving of wood. - -"And about and about and about they went, -Like two wild bores in a chase, -Striving to aim each other to maim, -Leg, arm, or any other place. - -"And knock for knock they lustily dealt, -Which held for two hours and more, -Till all the wood rang at every bang, -They ply'd their work so sore. - -"Hold thy hand, hold thy hand,' said Robin Hood, -'And let thy quarrel fall; -For here we may thrash our bones all to mesh, -And get no coyn at all. - -"And in the forrest of merry Sherwood, -Hereafter thou shalt be free.' -'God a mercy for nought, my freedom I bought, -I may thank my staff, and not thee.'"[163]... - - -"Who are you, then?" says Robin: - - -"'I am a tanner,' bold Arthur reply'd, -'In Nottingham long I have wrought; -And if thou'lt come there, I vow and swear, -I will tan thy hide for nought.' - -"'God a mercy, good fellow,' said jolly Robin, -'Since thou art so kind and free; -And if thou wilt tan my hide for nought, -I will do as much for thee.'"[164] - - -With these generous offers, they embrace; a free exchange of honest -blows always prepares the way for friendship. It was so Robin Hood tried -Little John, whom he loved all his life after. Little John was seven -feet high, and being on a bridge, would not give way. Honest Robin would -not use his bow against him, but went and cut a stick seven feet long; -and they agreed amicably to fight on the bridge until one should fall -into the water. They fall to so merrily that "their bones ring." In the -end Robin falls, and he feels only the more respect for Little John. -Another time, having a sword with him, he was thrashed by a tinker who -had only a stick. Full of admiration, he gives him a hundred pounds. -Again he was thrashed by a potter, who refused him toll; then by a -shepherd. They fight to amuse themselves. Even nowadays boxers give each -other a friendly grip before setting to; they knock one another about in -this country honorably, without malice, fury, or shame. Broken teeth, -black eyes, smashed ribs, do not call for murderous vengeance: it would -seem that the bones are more solid and the nerves less sensitive in -England than elsewhere. Blows once exchanged, they take each other by -the hand, and dance together on the green grass: - - -"Then Robin took them both by the hands, -And danc'd round about the oke tree. -'For three merry men, and three merry men, -And three merry men we be.'" - - -Moreover, these people, in each parish, practised the bow every Sunday, -and were the best archers in the world; from the close of the fourteenth -century the general emancipation of the villeins multiplied their number -greatly, and you can now understand how, amidst all the operations and -changes of the great central powers, the liberty of the subject -survived. After all, the only permanent and unalterable guarantee, in -every country and under every constitution, is this unspoken declaration -in the heart of the mass of the people, which is well understood on all -sides: "If any man touches my property, enters my house, obstructs or -molests me, let him beware. I have patience, but I have also strong -arms, good comrades, a good blade, and, on occasion, a firm resolve, -happen what may, to plunge my blade up to its hilt in his throat." - - - - -SECTION VIII.--The English Constitution - - -Thus thought Sir John Fortescue, Chancellor of England under Henry VI, -exiled in France during the Wars of the Roses, one of the oldest -prose-writers, and the first who weighed and explained the constitution -of his country.[165] He says: - - -"It is cowardise and lack of hartes and corage that kepeth the Frenchmen -from rysyng, and not povertye;[166] which corage no Frenche man hath -like to the English man. It hath ben often seen in Englond that iij or -iv thefes, for povertie, hath sett upon vij or viij true men, and robbyd -them al. But it hath not ben seen in Fraunce, that vij or viij thefes -have ben hardy to robbe iij or iv true men. Wherfor it is right seld -that Frenchmen be hangyd for robberye, for that they have no hertys to -do so terryble an acte. There be therfor mo men hangyd in Englond, in a -yere, for robberye and manslaughter, than ther be hangid in Fraunce for -such cause of crime in vij yers."[167] - - -This throws a startling and terrible light on the violent condition of -this armed community, where sudden attacks are an every-day matter, and -everyone, rich and poor, lives with his hand on his sword. There were -great bands of malefactors under Edward I, who infested the country, and -fought with those who came to seize them. The inhabitants of the towns -were obliged to gather together with those of the neighboring towns, -with hue and cry, to pursue and capture them. Under Edward III there -were barons who rode about with armed escorts and archers, seizing the -manors, carrying off ladies and girls of high degree, mutilating, -killing, extorting ransoms from people in their own houses, as if they -were in an enemy's land, and sometimes coming before the judges at the -sessions in such guise and in so great force that the judges were afraid -and dared not administer justice.[168] Read the letters of the Paston -family, under Henry VI and Edward IV, and you will see how private war -was at every door, how it was necessary for a man to provide himself -with men and arms, to be on the alert for defence of his property, to be -self-reliant, to depend on his own strength and courage. It is this -excess of vigor and readiness to fight which, after their victories in -France, set them against one another in England, in the butcheries of -the Wars of the Roses. The strangers who saw them were astonished at -their bodily strength and courage, at the great pieces of beef "which -feed their muscles, at their military habits, their fierce obstinacy, as -of savage beasts."[169] They are like their bulldogs, an untamable race, -who in their mad courage "cast themselves with shut eyes into the den of -a Russian bear, and get their head broken like a rotten apple." This -strange condition of a militant community, so full of danger, and -requiring so much effort, does not make them afraid. King Edward having -given orders to send disturbers of the peace to prison without legal -proceedings, and not to liberate them, on bail or otherwise, the Commons -declared the order "horribly vexatious"; resist it, refuse to be too -much protected. Less peace, but more independence. They maintain the -guarantees of the subject at the expense of public security, and prefer -turbulent liberty to arbitrary order. Better suffer marauders whom they -could fight, than magistrates under whom they would have to bend. - -This proud and persistent notion gives rise to, and fashions Fortescue's -whole work: - - -"Ther be two kynds of kyngdomys, of the which that one ys a lordship -callid in Latyne Dominium regale, and that other is callid Dominium -politicum et regale." - - -The first is established in France, and the second in England. - - -"And they dyversen in that the first may rule his people by such lawys -as he makyth hymself, and therefor, he may set upon them talys, and -other impositions, such as he wyl hymself, without their assent. The -secund may not rule hys people by other laws than such as they assenten -unto; and therfor he may set upon them non impositions without their own -assent."[170] - - -In a state like this, the will of the people is the prime element of -life. Sir John Fortescue says further: - - -"A king of England cannot at his pleasure make any alterations in the -laws of the land, for the nature of his government is not only regal, -but political." - -"In the body politic, the first thing which lives and moves is the -intention of the people, having in it the blood, that is, the prudential -care and provision for the public good, which it transmits and -communicates to the head, as to the principal part, and to all the rest -of the members of the said body politic, whereby it subsists and is -invigorated. The law under which the people is incorporated may be -compared to the nerves or sinews of the body natural.... And as the -bones and all the other members of the body preserve their functions and -discharge their several offices by the nerves, so do the members of the -community by the law. And as the head of the body natural cannot change -its nerves or sinews, cannot deny to the several parts their proper -energy, their due proportion and aliment of blood, neither can a king -who is the head of the body politic change the laws thereof, nor take -from the people what is theirs by right, against their consents.... For -he is appointed to protect his subjects in their lives, properties, and -laws, for this very end and purpose he has the delegation of power from -the people." - - -Here we have all the ideas of Locke in the fifteenth century, so -powerful is practice to suggest theory! so quickly does man discover, in -the enjoyment of liberty, the nature of liberty! Fortescue goes further; -he contrasts, step by step, the Roman law, that inheritance of all Latin -peoples, with the English law, that heritage of all Teutonic peoples: -one the work of absolute princes, and tending altogether to the -sacrifice of the individual; the other the work of the common will, -tending altogether to protect the person. He contrasts the maxims of the -imperial jurisconsults, who accord "force of law to all which is -determined by the prince," with the statutes of England, which "are not -enacted by the sole will of the prince,... but with the concurrent -consent of the whole kingdom, by their representatives in Parliament,... -more than three hundred select persons." He contrasts the arbitrary -nomination of imperial officers with the election of the sheriff, and -says: - - -"There is in every county a certain officer, called the king's sheriff, -who, amongst other duties of his office, executes within his county all -mandates and judgments of the king's courts of justice: he is an annual -officer; and it is not lawful for him, after the expiration of his year, -to continue to act in his said office, neither shall he be taken in -again to execute the said office within two years thence next ensuing. -The manner of his election is thus: Every year, on the morrow of -All-Souls, there meet in the King's Court of Exchequer all the king's -counsellors, as well lords spiritual and temporal, as all other the -king's justices, all the barons of the Exchequer, the Master of the -Rolls, and certain other officers, when all of them, by common consent, -nominate three of every county knights or esquires, persons of -distinction, and such as they esteem fittest qualified to bear the -office of sheriff of that county for the year ensuing. The king only -makes choice of one out of the three so nominated and returned, who, in -virtue of the king's letters patent, is constituted High Sheriff of that -county." - - -He contrasts the Roman procedure, which is satisfied with two witnesses -to condemn a man, with the jury, the three permitted challenges, the -admirable guarantees of justice with which the uprightness, number, -repute, and condition of the juries surround the sentence. About the -juries he says: - - -"Twelve good and true men being sworn, as in the manner above related, -legally qualified, that is, having, over and besides their movables, -possessions in land sufficient, as was said, wherewith to maintain their -rank and station; neither inspected by, nor at variance with either of -the parties; all of the neighborhood; there shall be read to them, in -English, by the Court, the record and nature of the plea."[171] - - -Thus protected, the English commons cannot be other than flourishing. -Consider, on the other hand, he says to the young prince whom he is -instructing, the condition of the commons in France. By their taxes, tax -on salt, on wine, billeting of soldiers, they are reduced to great -misery. You have seen them on your travels.... - - -"The same Commons be so impoverishid and distroyyd, that they may unneth -lyve. Thay drink water, thay eate apples, with bred right brown made of -rye. They eate no fleshe, but if it be selden, a litill larde, or of the -entrails or heds of bests sclayne for the nobles and merchants of the -land. They weryn no wollyn, but if it be a pore cote under their -uttermost garment, made of grete convass, and cal it a frok. Their hosyn -be of like canvas, and passen not their knee, wherfor they be gartrid -and their thyghs bare. Their wifs and children gone bare fote. ... For -sum of them, that was wonte to pay to his lord for his tenement which he -hyrith by the year a scute payth now to the kyng, over that scute, fyve -skuts. Wher thrugh they be artyd by necessite so to watch, labour and -grub in the ground for their sustenance, that their nature is much -wasted, and the kynd of them brought to nowght. Thay gone crokyd and ar -feeble, not able to fight nor to defend the realm; nor they have wepon, -nor monye to buy them wepon withal.... This is the frute first of hyre -Jus regale.... But blessed be God, this land ys rulid under a better -lawe, and therfor the people thereof be not in such penurye, nor therby -hurt in their persons, but they be wealthie and have all things -necessarie to the sustenance of nature. Wherefore they be myghty and -able to resyste the adversaries of the realms that do or will do them -wrong. Loo, this is the fruit of Jus politicum et regale, under which we -lyve."[172] "Everye inhabiter of the realme of England useth and -enjoyeth at his pleasure all the fruites that his land or cattel -beareth, with al the profits and commodities which by his owne travayle, -or by the labour of others, hae gaineth; not hindered by the iniurie or -wrong deteinement of anye man, but that hee shall bee allowed a -reasonable recompence.[173]... Hereby it commeth to passe that the men -of that lande are riche, havying aboundaunce of golde and silver, and -other thinges necessarie for the maintenaunce of man's life. They drinke -no water, unless it be so, that some for devotion, and uppon a zeale of -penaunce, doe abstaine from other drinks. They eate plentifully of all -kindes of fleshe and fishe. They weare fine woolen cloth in all their -apparel; they have also aboundaunce of bed-coveringes in their houses, -and of all other woolen stuffe. They have greate store of all -hustlementes and implementes of householde, they are plentifully -furnished with al instruments of husbandry, and all other things that -are requisite to the accomplishment of a quiet and wealthy lyfe, -according to their estates and degrees. Neither are they sued in the -lawe, but onely before ordinary iudges, where by the lawes of the lande -they are iustly intreated. Neither are they arrested or impleaded for -their moveables or possessions, or arraigned of any offence, bee it -never so great and outragious, but after the lawes of the land, and -before the iudges aforesaid."[174] - - -All this arises from the constitution of the country and the -distribution of the land. Whilst in other countries we find only a -population of paupers, with here and there a few lords, England is -covered and filled with owners of lands and fields; so that "therein so -small a thorpe cannot bee founde, wherein dwelleth not a knight, an -esquire, or suche a housholder as is there commonly called a franklayne, -enryched with greate possessions. And also other freeholders, and many -yeomen able for their livelodes to make a jurye in fourme -afore-mentioned. For there bee in that lande divers yeomen, which are -able to dispend by the yeare above a hundred poundes."[175] Harrison -says:[176] - - -"This sort of people, have more estimation than labourers and the common -sort of artificers, and these commonlie live wealthilie, keepe good -houses, and travell to get riches. They are for the most part farmers to -gentlemen," and keep servants of their own. "These were they that in -times past made all France afraid. And albeit they be not called master, -as gentlemen are, or sir, as to knights apperteineth, but onelie John -and Thomas, etc., yet have they beene found to have done verie good -service; and the kings of England, in foughten battels, were wont to -remaine among them (who were their footmen) as the French kings did -among their horssemen: the prince thereby showing where his chiefe -strength did consist." - - -Such men, says Fortescue, might form a legal jury, and vote, resist, be -associated, do everything wherein a free government consists; for they -were numerous in every district; they were not down-trodden like the -timid peasants of France; they had their honor and that of their family -to maintain; "they be well provided with arms; they remember that they -have won battles in France."[177] Such is the class, still obscure, but -more rich and powerful every century, which, founded by the down-trodden -Saxon aristocracy, and sustained by the surviving Saxon character, -ended, under the lead of the inferior Norman nobility and under the -patronage of the superior Norman nobility, in establishing and settling -a free constitution, and a nation worthy of liberty. - - - - -SECTION IX.--Piers Plowman and Wyclif - - -When, as here, men are endowed with a serious character, have a resolute -spirit, and possess independent habits, they deal with their conscience -as with their daily business, and end by laying hands on church as well -as state. Already for a long time the exactions of the Roman See had -provoked the resistance of the people,[178] and the higher clergy became -unpopular. Men complained that the best livings were given by the pope -to non-resident strangers; that some Italian, unknown in England, -possessed fifty or sixty benefices in England; that English money poured -into Rome; and that the clergy, being judged only by clergy, gave -themselves up to their vices, and abused their state of immunity. In the -first years of Henry III's reign there were nearly a hundred murders -committed by priests then alive. At the beginning of the fourteenth -century the ecclesiastical revenue was twelve times greater than the -civil; about half the soil was in the hands of the clergy. At the end of -the century the commons declared that the taxes paid to the church were -five times greater than the taxes paid to the crown; and some years -afterwards,[179] considering that the wealth of the clergy only served -to keep them in idleness and luxury, they proposed to confiscate it for -the public benefit. Already the idea of the Reformation had forced -itself upon them. They remembered how in the ballads Robin Hood ordered -his folk to spare the yeomen, laborers, even knights, if they are good -fellows, but never to let abbots or bishops escape. The prelates were -grievously oppressing the people by means of their privileges, -ecclesiastical courts, and tithes; when suddenly, amid the pleasant -banter or the monotonous babble of the Norman versifiers, we hear the -indignant voice of a Saxon, a man of the people and a victim of -oppression, thundering against them. - -It is the vision of Piers Plowman, written, it is supposed, by a secular -priest of Oxford.[180] Doubtless the traces of French taste are -perceptible. It could not be otherwise; the people from below can never -quite prevent themselves from imitating the people above, and the most -unshackled popular poets, Burns and Béranger, too often preserve an -academic style. So here a fashionable machinery, the allegory of the -Roman de la Rose, is pressed into service. We have Do-well, -Covetousness, Avarice, Simony, Conscience, and a whole world of talking -abstractions. But, in spite of these vain foreign phantoms, the body of -the poem is national, and true to life. The old language reappears in -part; the old metre altogether; no morer rhymes, but barbarous -alliterations; no more jesting, but a harsh gravity, a sustained -invective, a grand and sombre imagination, heavy Latin texts, hammered -down as by a Protestant hand. Piers Plowman went to sleep on the Malvern -hills, and there had a wonderful dream: - - -"Thanne gan I meten--a merveillous swevene, -That I was in a wildernesse--wiste I nevere where; -And as I biheeld into the eest,--an heigh to the sonne, -I seigh a tour on a toft,--trieliche y-maked, -A deep dale bynethe--a dongeon thereinne -With depe diches and derke--and dredfulle of sighte. -A fair feeld ful of folk--fond I ther bitwene, -Of alle manere of men,--the meene and the riche, -Werchynge and wandrynge--as the world asketh. -Some putten hem to the plough,--pleiden ful selde, -In settynge and sowynge--swonken ful harde, -And wonnen that wastours--with glotonye dystruyeth."[181] - - -A gloomy picture of the world, like the frightful dreams which occur so -often in Albert Durer and Luther. The first reformers were persuaded -that the earth was given over to evil; that the devil had on it his -empire and his officers; that Antichrist, seated on the throne of Rome, -displayed ecclesiastical pomps to seduce souls and cast them into the -fire of hell. So here Anti-christ, with raised banner, enters a convent; -bells are rung; monks in solemn procession go to meet him, and receive -with congratulations their lord and father.[182] With seven great -giants, the seven deadly sins, he besieges Conscience; and the assault -is led by Idleness, who brings with her an army of more than a thousand -prelates: for vices reign, more hateful from being in holy places, and -employed in the church of God in the devil's service. - - -"Ac now is Religion a rydere--a romere aboute, -A ledere of love-dayes--and a lond-buggere, -A prikere on a palfrey--fro manere to manere.... -And but if his knave knele--that shal his coppe brynge, -He loureth on hym, and asketh hym--who taughte hym curteisie."[183] - - -But this sacrilegious show has its day, and God puts His hand on men in -order to warn them. By order of Conscience, Nature sends forth a host of -plagues and diseases from the planets: - - -"Kynde Conscience tho herde,--and cam out of the planetes, -And sente forth his forreyours--feveres and fluxes, -Coughes and cardiaclescrampes and tooth-aches, -Reumes and radegundes,--and roynous scabbes, -Biles and bocches,--and brennynge agues, -Frenesies and foule yveles,--forageres of kynde.... -There was 'Harrow! and Help!--Here cometh Kynde! -With Deeth that is dredful--to undo us alle!' -The lord that lyved after lust--tho aloud cryde.... -Deeth cam dryvynge after,--and al to duste passhed -Kynges and knyghtes,--kaysers and popes,... -Manye a lovely lady--and lemmans of knyghtes, -Swowned and swelted for sorwe of hise dyntes."[184] - - -Here is a crowd of miseries, like those which Milton has described in -his vision of human life; tragic pictures and emotions, such as the -reformers delight to dwell upon. There is a like speech delivered by -John Knox, before the fair ladies of Mary Stuart, which tears the veil -from the human corpse just as coarsely, in order to exhibit its shame. -The conception of the world, proper to the people of the north, all sad -and moral, shows itself already. They are never comfortable in their -country; they have to strive continually against cold or rain. They -cannot live there carelessly, lying under a lovely sky, in a sultry and -clear atmosphere, their eyes filled with the noble beauty and happy -serenity of the land. They must work to live; be attentive, exact, keep -their houses wind and water tight, trudge doggedly through the mud -behind their plough, light their lamps in their shops during the day. -Their climate imposes endless inconvenience, and exacts endless -endurance. Hence arise melancholy and the idea of duty. Man naturally -thinks of life as of a battle, oftener of black death which closes this -deadly show, and leads so many plumed and disorderly processions to the -silence and the eternity of the grave. All this visible world is vain; -there is nothing true but human virtue--the courageous energy with which -man attains to self-command, the generous energy with which he employs -himself in the service of others. On this view, then, his eyes are -fixed; they pierce through worldly gauds, neglect sensual joys, to -attain this. By such inner thoughts and feelings the ideal model is -displaced; a new source of action springs up--the idea of righteousness. -What sets them against ecclesiastical pomp and insolence is neither the -envy of the poor and low, nor the anger of the oppressed, nor a -revolutionary desire to experimentalize abstract truth, but conscience. -They tremble lest they should not work out their salvation if they -continue in a corrupt church; they fear the menaces of God, and dare not -embark on the great journey with unsafe guides. "What is righteousness?" -asked Luther, anxiously, "and how shall I obtain it?" With like anxiety -Piers Plowman goes to seek Dowell, and asks each one to show him where -he shall find him. "With us," say the friars. "Contra quath ich, -_Septies in die cadit justus_, and ho so syngeth certys doth nat wel;" -so he betakes himself to "study and writing," like Luther; the clerks at -table speak much of God and of the Trinity, "and taken Bernarde to -witnesse, and putteth forth presompcions... ac the carful mai crie and -quaken atte gate, bothe a fyngred and a furst, and for defaute spille ys -non so hende to have hym yn. Clerkus and knyghtes carpen of God ofte, -and haveth hym muche in hure mouthe, ac mene men in herte;" and heart, -inner faith, living virtue, are what constitute true religion. This is -what these dull Saxons had begun to discover. The Teutonic conscience, -and English good-sense, too, had been aroused, as well as individual -energy, the resolution to judge and decide alone, by and for one's self. -"Christ is our hede that sitteth on hie, Heddis ne ought we have no mo," -says a poem, attributed to Chaucer, and which, with others, claims -independence for Christian consciences.[185] - - -"We ben his membres bothe also, -Father he taught us call him all, -Maisters to call forbad he tho; -Al maisters ben wickid and fals." - - -No other mediator between man and God. In vain the doctors state that -they have authority for their words; there is a word of greater -authority, to wit, God's. We hear it in the fourteenth century, this -grand "word of God." It quitted the learned schools, the dead languages, -the dusty shelves on which the clergy suffered it to sleep, covered with -a confusion of commentators and Fathers.[186] Wycliff appeared and -translated it like Luther, and in a spirit similar to Luther's. "Cristen -men and wymmen, olde and yonge, shulden studie fast in the Newe -Testament, for it is of ful autorite, and opyn to undirstonding of -simple men, as to the poyntis that be moost nedeful to salvacioun."[187] -Religion must be secular, in order to escape from the hands of the -clergy, who monopolize it; each must hear and read for himself the word -of God; he will then be sure that it has not been corrupted; he will -feel it better, and, more, he will understand it better, for - - -"ech place of holy writ, both opyn and derk, techit mekenes and charite; -and therfore he that kepith mekenes and charite hath the trewe -undirstondyng and perfectioun of al holi writ.... Therfore no simple man -of wit be aferd unmesurabli to studie in the text of holy writ... and no -clerk be proude of the verrey undirstondyng of holy writ, for whi -undirstonding of hooly writ with outen charite that kepith Goddis -heestis, makith a man depper dampned... and pride and covetise of -clerkis is cause of her blindees and eresie, and priveth them fro verrey -undirstondyng of holy writ."[188] - - -These are the memorable words that began to circulate in the markets and -in the schools. They read the translated Bible, and commented on it; -they judged the existing Church after it. What judgments these serious -and untainted minds passed upon it, with what readiness they pushed on -to the true religion of their race, we may see from their petition to -Parliament.[189] One hundred and thirty years before Luther, they said -that the pope was not established by Christ, that pilgrimages and -image-worship were akin to idolatry, that external rites are of no -importance, that priests ought not to possess temporal wealth, that the -doctrine of transubstantiation made a people idolatrous, that priests -have not the power of absolving from sin. In proof of all this they -brought forward texts of Scripture. Fancy these brave spirits, simple -and strong souls, who began to read at night in their shops, by -candle-light; for they were shopkeepers--tailors, skinners, and -bakers--who, with some men of letters, began to read, and then to -believe, and finally got themselves burned.[190] What a sight for the -fifteenth century, and what a promise! It seems as though, with liberty -of action, liberty of mind begins to appear; that these common folk will -think and speak; that under the conventional literature, imitated from -France, a new literature is dawning; and that England, genuine England, -half-mute since the Conquest, will at last find a voice. - -She had not yet found it. King and peers ally themselves to the Church, -pass terrible statutes, destroy books, burn heretics alive, often with -refinement of torture--one in a barrel, another hung by an iron chain -around his waist. The temporal wealth of the clergy had been attacked, -and therewith the whole English constitution; and the great -establishment above crushed out with its whole weight the revolutionists -from below. Darkly, in silence, while the nobles were destroying each -other in the Wars of the Roses, the commons went on working and living, -separating themselves from the established Church, maintaining their -liberties, amassing wealth, but not going further.[191] Like a vast rock -which underlies the soil, yet crops up here and there at distant -intervals, they barely show themselves. No great poetical or religious -work displays them to the light. They sang; but their ballads, first -ignored, then transformed, reach us only in a late edition. They prayed; -but beyond one or two indifferent poems, their incomplete and repressed -doctrine bore no fruit. We may well see from the verse, tone, and drift -of their ballads that they are capable of the finest poetic -originality,[192] but their poetry is in the hands of yeomen and -harpers. We perceive, by the precocity and energy of their religious -protests, that they are capable of the most severe and impassioned -creeds; but their faith remains hidden in the shop-parlors of a few -obscure sectaries. Neither their faith nor their poetry has been able to -attain its end or issue. The Renaissance and the Reformation, those two -national outbreaks, are still far off; and the literature of the period -retains to the end, like the highest ranks of English society, almost -the perfect stamp of its French origin and its foreign models. - - - - -[Footnote 97: See, amidst other delineations of their manners, -the first accounts of the first Crusade. Godfrey clove a Saracen -down to his waist. In Palestine, a widow was compelled, up to the -age of sixty, to marry again, because no fief could remain without -a defender. A Spanish leader said to his exhausted soldiers after -a battle, "You are too weary and too much wounded, but come and -fight with me against this other band; the fresh wounds which we -shall receive will make us forget those which we have." At this -time, says the General Chronicle of Spain, kings, counts, and -nobles, and all the knights, that they might be ever ready, kept -their horses in the chamber where they slept with their wives.] - -[Footnote 98: For difference in numbers of the fleet and men -see Freeman, "History of the Norman Conquest," 3 vols., 1867, -III. 381, 387.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 99: For all the details see "Anglo-Norman Chronicles," -III. 4, as quoted by Aug. Thierry. I have myself seen the locality -and the country.] - -[Footnote 100: Of three columns of attack at Hastings, two were -composed of auxiliaries. Moreover, the chroniclers are not at -fault upon this critical point; they agree in stating that England -was conquered by Frenchmen.] - -[Footnote 101: It was a Rouen fisherman, a soldier of Rollo, who -killed the Duke of France at the mouth of the Eure. Hastings, the -famous' sea-king, was a laborer's son from the neighborhood of Troyes.] - -[Footnote 102: "In the tenth century," says Stendhal, "a man wished -for two things: First, not to be slain; second, to have a good -leather coat." See Fontenelle's "Chronicle."] - -[Footnote 103: William of Malmesbury.] - -[Footnote 104: Churches in London, Sarum, Norwich, Durham, Chichester -Peterborough, Rochester, Hereford, Gloucester, Oxford, etc.--William -of Malmesbury.] - -[Footnote 105: Ordericus Vitalis.] - -[Footnote 106: Robert Wace, "Roman du Rou."] - -[Footnote 107: Ibid. -Et li Normanz et li Franfceiz -Tote nuit firent oreisons, -Et furent en aflicions. -De lor péchiés confèz se firent -As proveires les regehirent, -Et qui n'en out proveires prèz, -A son veizin se fist confèz, -Pour ço ke samedi esteit -Ke la bataille estre debveit. -Unt Normanz a pramis e voé, -Si com li cler l'orent loé, -Ke à ce jor mez s'il veskeient, -Char ni saunc ne mangereient -Giffrei, éveske de Coustances. -A plusors joint lor pénitances. -Cli reçut li confessions -Et dona l' béneiçons.] - -[Footnote 108: Robert Wace, "Roman du Rou" -Taillefer ki moult bien cantout -Sur un roussin qui tot alout -Devant li dus alout cantant -De Kalermaine e de Rolant, -E d'Oliver et des vassals -Ki moururent à Roncevals. -Quant ils orent chevalchié tant -K'as Engleis vindrent aprismant: -"Sires! dist Taillefer, merci! -Je vos ai languement servi. -Tut mon servise me debvez, -Hui, si vos plaist, me le rendez -Por tout guerredun vos requier, -Et si vos voil forment preier, -Otreiez-mei, ke jo n'i faille, -Li primier colp de la bataille." -Et li dus répont: "Je l'otrei." -Et Taillefer point à desrei; -Devant toz li altres se mist, -Un Englez féri, si l'ocist. -De sos le pis, parmie la pance, -Li fist passer ultre la lance, -A terre estendu l'abati. -Poiz trait l'espée, altre féri. -Poiz a crié: "Venez, venez! -Ke fetes-vos? Férez, férez!" -Done l'unt Englez avironé, -Al secund colp k'il ou doné.] - -[Footnote 109: The idea of types is applicable throughout all -physical and moral nature.] - -[Footnote 110: Danois is a contraction of le d'Ardennois, from -the Ardennes.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 111: Genin, "Chanson de Roland": -Co sent Rollans que la mort le trespent, -Devers la teste sur le quer li descent; -Desuz un pin i est alet curant, -Sur l'herbe verte si est culchet adenz; -Desuz lui met l'espée et l'olifan; -Turnat sa teste vers la paîene gent, -Pour ço l'at fait que il voelt veirement -Que Carles diet e trestute sa gent; -Li gentilz quens, qu'il fut mort cunquérant. -Cleimet sa culpe, e menut e suvent, -Pur ses pecchez en puroffrid lo guant. -Li quens Rollans se iut desuz un pin, -Envers Espaigne en ad turnet sun vis, -De plusurs choses a remembrer le prist. -De tantes terres cume li bers cunquist, -De dulce France des humes de sun lign, -De Carlemagne sun seignor ki l'nurrit. -Ne poet muer n'en plurt et ne susprit. -Mais lui meisme ne volt mettre en ubli. -Cleimet sa culpe, si priet Dieu mercit: -"Veire paterne, ki unques ne mentis, -Seint Lazaron de mort resurrexis, -Et Daniel des lions guaresis, -Guaris de mei l'arome de tuz perilz, -Pur les pecchez que en ma vie fis." -Sun destre guant à Deu en puroffrit. -Seint Gabriel de sa main l'ad pris. -Desur sun bras teneit le chef enclin, -Juntes ses mains est alet à sa fin. -Deus i tramist sun angle cherubin, -Et seint Michel qu'on cleimet del péril -Ensemble ad els seint Gabriel i vint, -L'anme del cunte portent en pareis.] - -[Footnote 112: Mon trés-chier ami débonnaire, -Vous m'avez une chose ditte -Oui n'est pas à faire petite -Mais que l'on doit moult rersongnier. -Et nonpourquant, sanz eslongnier, -Puisque garison autrement -Ne povez avoir vraiement, -Pour vostre amour les occiray, -Et le sang vous apporteray.] - -[Footnote 113: Vraiz Diex, moult est excellente, -Et de grant charité plaine, -Vostre bonté souveraine. -Car vostre grâce présente, -A toute personne humaine, -Vraix Diex, moult est excellente, -Puisqu'elle a cuer et entente, -Et que a ce desir l'amaine -Que de vous servir se paine.] - -[Footnote 114: See H. Taine, "La Fontaine and His Fables," p. 15.] - -[Footnote 115: La Fontaine, "Contes, Richard Minutolo."] - -[Footnote 116: Parler lui veut d'une besogne -Où crois que peu conquerrérois -Si la besogne vous nommois.] - -[Footnote 117: At King Stephen's death there were 1,115 castles.] - -[Footnote 118: A. Thierry, "Histoire de la Conquête de l'Angleterre," II.] - -[Footnote 119: William of Malmesbury. A. Thierry, II. 20, 122-203.] - -[Footnote 120: A. Thierry.] - -[Footnote 121: "In the year 652," says Warton, I. 3, "it was the common -practice of the Anglo-Saxons to send their youth to the monasteries of -France for education; and not only the language but the manners of the -French were esteemed the most polite accomplishments."] - -[Footnote 122: Warton, I. 5.] - -[Footnote 123: Trevisa's translation of the Polycronycon.] - -[Footnote 124: Statutes of foundation of New College, Oxford. In the -abbey of Glastonbury, in 1247: Liber de excidio Trojæ, gesta Ricardi -regis, gesta Alexandri Magni, etc. In the abbey of Peterborough: Amys -et Amelion, Sir Tristam, Guy de Bourgogne, gesta Otuclis les prophéties -de Merlin, le Charlemagne de Turpin, la destruction de Troie, etc. -Warton, ibid.] - -[Footnote 125: In 1154.] - -[Footnote 126: Warton, I. 72-78.] - -[Footnote 127: In 1400. Warton, II. 248. Gower died in 1408; his -French ballads belong to the end of the fourteenth century.] - -[Footnote 128: He wrote in 1356, and died in 1372.] - -[Footnote 129: "And for als moche as it is longe time passed that -ther was no generalle Passage ne Vyage over the See, and many Men -desiren for to here speke of the holy Lond, and han thereof gret -Solace and Comfort, I, John Maundevylle, Knyght, alle be it I be -not worthi, that was born in Englond, in the town of Seynt-Albones, -passed the See in the Zeer of our Lord Jesu-Crist 1322, in the -Day of Seynt Michelle, and hidreto have been longe tyme over the -See, and have seyn and gon thorghe manye dyverse londes, and many -Provynces, and Kingdomes, and Iles." - -"And zee shulle undirstonde that I have put this Boke out of Latyn -into Frensche, and translated it azen out of Frensche, into Englyssche, -that every Man of my Nacioun may undirstonde it."--Sir John Maundeville's -"Voyage and Travaile," ed. Halliwell, 1866, prologue, p. 4.] - -[Footnote 130: Sir John Maundeville's "Voyage and Travaile," ed. -Halliwell, 1866, XII., p. 139. It is confessed that the original -on which Wace depended for his ancient "History of England" -is the Latin compilation of Geoffrey of Monmouth.] - -[Footnote 131: Extract from the account of the proceedings at Arthur's -coronation given by Layamon, in his translation of Wace, executed about -1180. Madden's "Layamon," 1847, II. p. 625 et passim: -Tha the king igeten hafde -And al his mon-weorede, -Tha bugen ut of burhge -Theines swithe balde. -Alle tha kinges, -And heore here-thringes. -Alle tha biscopes, -And alle tha clærckes, -All the eorles, -And alle tha beornes. -Alle the theines, -Alle the sweines, -Feire iscrudde, -Helde geond felde. -Summe heo gunnen æruen, -Summe heo gunnen urnen, -Summe heo gunnen lepen, -Summe heo gunnen sceoten, -Summe heo wræstleden -And wither-gome makeden, -Summe heo on uelde -Pleouweden under scelde, -Summe heo driven balles -Wide geond tha feldes. -Monianes kunnes gomen -Ther heo gunnen driuen. -And wha swa mihte iwinne -Wurthscipe of his gomene, -Hine me ladde mid songe -At foren than leod kinge; -And the king, for his gomene, -Gaf him geven gode. -Alle tha quene -The icumen weoren there. -And alle tha lafdies, -Leoneden geond walles. -To bihalden the dugethen. -And that folc plæie. -This ilæste threo dæges, -Swulc gomes and swulc plæges, -Tha, at than veorthe dæie -The king gon to spekene -And agæf his goden cnihten -All heore rihten; -He gef seolver, he gæf gold, -He gef hors, he gef lond, -Castles, and clœthes eke; -His monnen he iquende.] - -[Footnote 132: After 1297.] - -[Footnote 133: About 1312.] - -[Footnote 134: About 1349.] - -[Footnote 135: Warton, II. 36.] - -[Footnote 136: Time of Henry III., "Reliquiae Antiquæ," edited by -Messrs. Wright and Halliwell, I. 102.] - -[Footnote 137: About 1278. Warton, I. 28.] - -[Footnote 138: Ibid., I. 31.] - -[Footnote 139: Ibid. I. 30.] - -[Footnote 140: "Poem of the Owl and Nightingale," who dispute -as to which has the finest voice.] - -[Footnote 141: Letter of Peter of Blois.] - -[Footnote 142: William of Malmesbury.] - -[Footnote 143: At the installation feast of George Nevill, Archbishop -of York, the brother of Guy of Warwick, there were consumed 104 -oxen and 6 wild bulls, 1000 sheep, 304 calves, as many hogs, 2000 -swine, 500 stags, bucks, and does, 204 kids, 22,802 wild or tame -fowl, 300 quarters of corn, 300 tuns of ale, 100 of wine, a pipe -of hypocras, 12 porpoises and seals.] - -[Footnote 144: These prodigalities and refinements grew to excess -under his grandson Richard II.] - -[Footnote 145: Warton, I. 156.] - -[Footnote 146: Warton, I. 176, spelling modernized.] - -[Footnote 147: Warton, I. 123: -"In Fraunce these rhymes were wroht, -Every Englyshe ne knew it not."] - -[Footnote 148: See Lingard's "History," II. 55, note 4.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 149: Domesday Book. Froude's "History England", 1858, 1. 13: -"Through all these arrangements a single aim is visible, that every -man in England should have his definite place and definite duty -assigned to him, and that no human being should be at liberty to -lead at his own pleasure an unaccountable existence. The discipline -of an army was transferred to the details of social life."] - -[Footnote 150: Domesday Book, "tenants-in-chief."] - -[Footnote 151: According to Ailred (temp. Hen. II), "a king, many -bishops and abbots, many great earls and noble knights descended -both from English and Norman blood, constituted a support to the -one and an honor to the other. At present," says another author -of the same period, "as the English and Normans dwell together, -and have constantly intermarried, the two nations are so completely -mingled together, that at least as regards freemen, one can scarcely -distinguish who is Norman and who English.... The villeins attached -to the soil," he says again, "are alone of pure Saxon blood."] - -[Footnote 152: Magna Charta, 1215.] - -[Footnote 153: "Chaucer's Works," ed. Sir H. Nicholas, 6 vols., -1845, "Prologue to the Canterbury Tales," II. p. 11, line 333.] - -[Footnote 154: Prologue to "The Canterbury Tales," II. p. 17, -line 547.] - -[Footnote 155: From 1214, and also in 1225 and 1254. Guizot, "Origin -of the Representative System in England," pp. 297-299.] - -[Footnote 156: In 1264.] - -[Footnote 157: Aug. Thierry, IV. 56. Ritson's "Robin Hood," 1832.] - -[Footnote 158: Latimer's "Sermons," ed. Arber, 6th Sermon, 1869, p. 173.] - -[Footnote 159: Ritson, "Robin Hood Ballads," I. IV. verses 41-48.] - -[Footnote 160: Ibid, verses 145-152.] - -[Footnote 161: A pinder's task was to pin the sheep in the fold, cattle -in the penfold or pound (Richardson).--Tr.] - -[Footnote 162: Ritson, II. 3, verses 17-26.] - -[Footnote 163: Ibid. II. 6, verses 58-89.] - -[Footnote 164: Ritson, verses 94-101.] - -[Footnote 165: "The Difference between an Absolute and Limited -Monarchy--A learned Commendation of the Politic Laws of England" -(Latin). I frequently quote from the second work, which is more -full and complete.] - -[Footnote 166: The courage which finds utterance here is coarse; -the English instincts are combative and independent. The French -race, and the Gauls generally, are perhaps the most reckless of -life of any.] - -[Footnote 167: "The Difference," etc., 3d ed. 1724, ch. XIII. p. 98. -There are nowadays in France 42 highway robberies as against 738 in -England. In 1843, there were in England four times as many accusations -of crimes and offences as in France, having regard to the number of -inhabitants (Moreau de Jonnès).] - -[Footnote 168: Statute of Winchester, 1285; Ordinance of 1378.] - -[Footnote 169: Benvenuto Cellini, quoted by Froude, I. 20, "History -of England." Shakespeare, "Henry V," conversation of French lords -before the battle of Agincourt.] - -[Footnote 170: "The Difference." etc.] - -[Footnote 171: The original of this very famous treatise, "de Laudibus -Legum Angliæ," was written in Latin between 1464 and 1470, first -published in 1537, and translated into English in 1775 by Francis -Gregor. I have taken these extracts from the magnificent edition of Sir -John Fortescue's works published in 1869 for private distribution, and -edited by Thomas Fortescue, Lord Clermont. Some of the pieces quoted, -left in the old spelling, are taken from an older edition, translated -by Robert Mulcaster in 1567.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 172: "Of an Absolute and Limited Monarchy," 3d ed. 1724, -ch. III. p. 15.] - -[Footnote 173: Commines bears the same testimony.] - -[Footnote 174: "De Laudibus," etc., ch. XXXVI.] - -[Footnote 175: "The might of the realme most stondyth upon archers -which be not rich men." Compare Hallam, II. 482. All this takes us -back as far as the Conquest, and farther. "It is reasonable to suppose -that the greater part of those who appear to have possessed small -freeholds or parcels of manors were no other than the original nation.... -A respectable class of free socagers, having in general full right of -alienating their lands, and holding them probably at a small certain -rent from the lord of the manor, frequently occurs in the Domesday Book." -At all events, there were in Domesday Book Saxons "perfectly exempt -from villenage." This class is mentioned with respect in the treatises -of Glanvil and Bracton. As for the villeins, they were quickly liberated -in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, either by their own energies -or by becoming copyholders. The Wars of the Roses still further raised -the commons; orders were frequently issued, previous to a battle, -to slay the nobles and spare the commoners.] - -[Footnote 176: "Description of England," 275.] - -[Footnote 177: The following is a portrait of a yeoman, by Latimer, in -the first sermon preached before Edward VI, March 8, 1549: "My father -was a yeoman, and had no lands of his own; only he had a farm of £3 or -£4 by year at the uttermost, and hereupon he tilled so much as kept -half-a-dozen men. He had walk for a hundred sheep, and my mother -milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king a harness, with -himself and his horse; while he came to the place that he should receive -the king's wages. I can remember that I buckled his harness when he went -unto Blackheath field. He kept me to school, or else I had not been able -to have preached before the King's Majesty now. He married my sisters -with £5 or 20 nobles a-piece, so that he brought them up in godliness -and fear of God; he kept hospitality for his poor neighbours, and some -alms he gave to the poor; and all this did he of the said farm. Where -he that now hath it payeth £16 by the year, or more, and is not able -to do anything for his prince, for himself, nor for his children, or -give a cup of drink to the poor." - -This is from the sixth sermon, preached before the young king, April -12, 1549: "In my time my poor father was as diligent to teach me to -shoot as to learn (me) any other thing; and so, I think, other men did -their children. He taught me how to draw, how to lay my body in my bow, -and not to draw with strength of arms, as other nations do, but with -strength of the body. I had my bows bought me according to my age and -strength; as I increased in them, so my bows were made bigger and -bigger; for men shall never shoot well except they be brought up -in it. It is a goodly art, a wholesome kind of exercise, and much -commended in physic."] - -[Footnote 178: In 1246, 1376. Thierry, III. 79.] - -[Footnote 179: 1404-1409. The commons declared that with these -revenues the king would be able to maintain 15 earls, 1500 knights, -6,200 squires, and 100 hospitals; each earl receiving annually 300 -marks; each knight 100 marks, and the produce of four ploughed lands; -each squire 40 marks, and the produce of two ploughed lands.] - -[Footnote 180: About 1362.] - -[Footnote 181: "Piers Ploughman's Vision and Creed," ed. T. Wright, -1856, I. p. 2, lines 21-44.] - -[Footnote 182: The Archdeacon of Richmond, on his tour in 1216, -came to the priory of Bridlington with ninety-seven horses, -twenty-one dogs, and three falcons.] - -[Footnote 183: "Piers Ploughman's Vision," I. p. 191, lines -6,217-6,228.] - -[Footnote 184: Ibid. II. Last book, p. 430, lines 14,084-14,135.] - -[Footnote 185: "Piers Plowman's Crede; the Plowman's Tale," first printed -in 1550. There were three editions in one year, it was so manifestly -Protestant.] - -[Footnote 186: Knighton, about 1400, wrote thus of Wyclif: "Transtulit -de Latino in anglicam linguam, non angelicam. Unde per ipeum fit vulgare, -et magis apertum laicis et mulieribus legere scientibus quam solet esse -clericis admodum litteratis, et bene intelligentibus. Et sic evangelica -margerita spargitur et a porcis conculcatur... (ita) ut laicis commune -æternum quod ante fuerat clericis et ecolesiæ doctoribus talentum -supernum."] - -[Footnote 187: Wyclif's Bible, ed. Forshall and Madden, 1850, preface to -Oxford edition, p. 2.] - -[Footnote 188: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 189: In 1395.] - -[Footnote 190: 1401, William Sawtré, the first Lollard burned alive.] - -[Footnote 191: Commines, v. ch. 19 and 20: "In my opinion, of all kingdoms -of the world of which I have any knowledge, where the public weal is best -observed, and least violence is exercised on the people, and where no -buildings are overthrown or demolished in war, England is the best; and -the ruin and misfortune falls on them who wage the war.... The kingdom -of England has this advantage beyond other nations, that the people and -the country are not destroyed or burnt, nor the buildings demolished; -and ill-fortune falls on men of war, and especially on the nobles."] - -[Footnote 192: See the ballads of "Chevy Chase, The Nut-Brown -Maid," etc. Many of them are admirable little dramas.] - - - - -CHAPTER THIRD - - -The New Tongue - - -SECTION I.--The First Great Poet - - -Amid so many barren endeavors, throughout the long impotence of Norman -literature, which was content to copy, and of Saxon literature, which -bore no fruit, a definite language was nevertheless formed, and there -was room for a great writer. Geoffrey Chaucer appeared, a man of mark, -inventive though a disciple, original though a translator, who by his -genius, education, and life, was enabled to know and to depict a whole -world, but above all to satisfy the chivalric world and the splendid -courts which shone upon the heights.[193] He belonged to it, though -learned and versed in all branches of scholastic knowledge; and he took -such a share in it that his life from beginning to end was that of a man -of the world, and a man of action. We find him by turns in King Edward's -army, in the king's train, husband of a maid of honor to the queen, a -pensioner, a placeholder, a member of Parliament, a knight, founder of a -family which was hereafter to become allied to royalty. Moreover, he was -in the king's council, brother-in-law of John of Gaunt, employed more -than once in open embassies or secret missions at Florence, Genoa, -Milan, Flanders, commissioner in France for the marriage of the Prince -of Wales, high up and low down on the political ladder, disgraced, -restored to place. This experience of business, travel, war, and the -court, was not like a book-education. He was at the Court of Edward III, -the most splendid in Europe, amidst tourneys, grand receptions, -magnificent displays; he took part in the pomps of France and Milan; -conversed with Petrarch, perhaps with Boccaccio and Froissart; was actor -in, and spectator of, the finest and most tragical of dramas. In these -few words, what ceremonies and cavalcades are implied! what processions -in armor, what caparisoned horses, bedizened ladies! what display of -gallant and lordly manners! what a varied and brilliant world, well -suited to occupy the mind and eyes of a poet! Like Froissart, and better -than he, Chaucer could depict the castles of the nobles, their -conversations, their talk of love, and anything else that concerned -them, and please them by his portraiture. - - - - -SECTION II.--The Decline of the Middle Ages - - -Two notions raised the Middle Ages above the chaos of barbarism: one -religious, which had fashioned the gigantic cathedrals, and swept the -masses from their native soil to hurl them upon the Holy Land; the other -secular, which had built feudal fortresses, and set the man of courage -erect and armed, within his own domain: the one had produced the -adventurous hero, the other the mystical monk; the one, to wit, the -belief in God, the other the belief in self. Both, running to excess, -had degenerated by the violence of their own strength: the one had -exalted independence into rebellion, the other had turned piety into -enthusiasm: the first made man unfit for civil life, the second drew him -back from natural life: the one, sanctioning disorder, dissolved -society; the other, enthroning infatuation, perverted intelligence. -Chivalry had need to be repressed because it issued in brigandage; -devotion restrained because it induced slavery. Turbulent feudalism grew -feeble, like oppressive theocracy; and the two great master passions, -deprived of their sap and lopped of their stem, gave place by their -weakness to the monotony of habit and the taste for worldliness, which -shot forth in their stead and flourished under their name. - -Gradually, the serious element declined, in books as in manners, in -works of art as in books. Architecture, instead of being the handmaid of -faith, became the slave of fantasy. It was exaggerated, became too -ornamental, sacrificing general effect to detail, shot up its steeples -to unreasonable heights, decorated its churches with canopies, -pinnacles, trefoiled gables, open-work galleries. "Its whole aim was -continually to climb higher, to clothe the sacred edifice with a gaudy -bedizenment, as if it were a bride on her wedding morning."[194] Before -this marvellous lacework, what emotion could one feel but a pleased -astonishment? What becomes of Christian sentiment before such scenic -ornamentations? In like manner literature sets itself to play. In the -eighteenth century, the second age of absolute monarchy, we saw on one -side finials and floriated cupolas, on the other pretty _vers de -societé_, courtly and sprightly tales, taking the place of severe -beauty-lines and noble writings. Even so in the fourteenth century, the -second age of feudalism, they had on one side the stone fretwork and -slender efflorescence of aërial forms, and on the other finical verses -and diverting stories, taking the place of the old grand architecture -and the old simple literature. It is no longer the overflowing of a true -sentiment which produces them, but the craving for excitement. Consider -Chaucer, his subjects, and how he selects them. He goes far and wide to -discover them, to Italy, France, to the popular legends, the ancient -classics. His readers need diversity, and his business is to "provide -fine tales": it was in those days the poet's business.[195] The lords at -table have finished dinner, the minstrels come and sing, the brightness -of the torches falls on the velvet and ermine, on the fantastic figures, -the motley, the elaborate embroidery of their long garments; then the -poet arrives, presents his manuscript, "richly illuminated, bound in -crimson velvet, embellished with silver clasps and bosses, roses of -gold": they ask him what his subject is, and he answers "Love." - - - - -SECTION III.--The Poetry of Chaucer - - -In fact, it is the most agreeable subject, fittest to make the evening -hours pass sweetly, amid the goblets filled with spiced wine and the -burning perfumes. Chaucer translated first that great storehouse of -gallantry, the "Roman de la Rose." There is no pleasanter entertainment. -It is about a rose which the lover wished to pluck: the pictures of the -May months, the groves, the flowery earth, the green hedgerows, abound -and display their bloom. Then come portraits of the smiling ladies, -Richesse, Fraunchise, Gaiety, and by way of contrast, the sad -characters, Daunger and Travail, all fully and minutely described, with -detail of features, clothing, attitude; they walk about, as on a piece -of tapestry, amid landscapes, dances, castles, among allegorical groups, -in lively sparkling colors, displayed, contrasted, ever renewed and -varied so as to entertain the sight. For an evil has arisen, unknown to -serious ages--_ennui_; novelty and brilliancy followed by novelty and -brilliancy are necessary to withstand it; and Chaucer, like Boccaccio -and Froissart, enters into the struggle with all his heart. He borrows -from Boccaccio his history of Palamon and Arcite, from Lollius his -history of Troilus and Cressida, and rearranges them. How the two young -Theban knights, Arcite and Palamon, both fall in love with the beautiful -Emily, and how Arcite, victorious in tourney, falls and dies, -bequeathing Emily to his rival; how the fine Trojan knight Troilus wins -the favor of Cressida, and how Cressida abandons him for Diomedes--these -are still tales in verse, tales of love. A little tedious they may be; -all the writings of this age, French, or imitated from French, are born -of too prodigal minds; but how they glide along! A winding stream, which -flows smoothly on level sand, and sparkles now and again in the sun, is -the only image we can compare it to. The characters speak too much, but -then they speak so well! Even when they dispute we like to listen, their -anger and offences are so wholly based on a happy overflow of unbroken -converse. Remember Froissart, how slaughters, assassinations, plagues, -the butcheries of the Jacquerie, the whole chaos of human misery, -disappears in his fine ceaseless humor, so that the furious and grinning -figures seem but ornaments and choice embroideries to relieve the skein -of shaded and colored silk which forms the groundwork of his narrative! -but, in particular, a multitude of descriptions spread their gilding -over all. Chaucer leads you among arms, palaces, temples, and halts -before each beautiful thing. Here: - - -"The statue of Venus glorious for to see -Was naked fleting in the large see, -And fro the navel doun all covered was -With wawes grene, and bright as any glas. -A citole in hire right hand hadde she, -And on hire hed, ful semely for to see, -A rose gerlond fressh, and wel smelling, -Above hire hed hire doves fleckering."[196] - - -Further on, the temple of Mars: - - -"First on the wall was peinted a forest, -In which ther wonneth neyther man ne best, -With knotty knarry barrein trees old -Of stubbes sharpe and hidous to behold; -In which ther ran a romble and a swough -As though a storme shuld bresten every bough: -And dounward from an hill under a bent. -Ther stood the temple of Mars armipotent, -Wrought all of burned stele, of which th' entree -Was longe and streite, and gastly for to see. -Aud therout came a rage and swiche a vise, -That it made all the gates for to rise. -The northern light in at the dore shone, -For window on the wall ne was ther none, -Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne. -The dore was all of athamant eterne, -Yclenched overthwart and endelong -With yren tough, and for to make it strong, -Every piler the temple to sustene -Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene."[197] - - -Everywhere on the wall were representations of slaughter; and in the -sanctuary - - -"The statue of Mars upon a carte stood -Armed, and loked grim as he were wood,... -A wolf ther stood beforne him at his fete -With eyen red, and of a man he ete."[198] - - -Are not these contrasts well designed to rouse the imagination? You will -meet in Chaucer a succession of similar pictures. Observe the train of -combatants who come to joust in the tilting field for Arcite and -Palamon: - - -"With him ther wenten knightes many on. -Som wol ben armed in an habergeon -And in a brestplate, and in a gipon; -And som wol have a pair of plates large; -And som wol have a Pruce sheld, or a targe, -Som wol ben armed on his legges wele, -And have an axe, and som a mace of stele.... -Ther maist thou se coming with Palamon -Licurge himself, the grete king of Trace: -Blake was his berd, and manly was his face. -The cercles of his eyen in his hed -They gloweden betwixen yelwe and red, -And like a griffon loked he about, -With kemped heres on his browes stout; -His limmes gret, his braunes hard and stronge, -His shouldres brode, his armes round and longe. -And as the guise was in his contree, -Ful highe upon a char of gold stood he, -With foure white bolles in the trais. -Instede of cote-armure on his harnais, -With nayles yelwe, and bright as any gold, -He hadde a beres skin, cole-blake for old. -His longe here was kempt behind his bak, -As any ravenes fether it shone for blake. -A wreth of gold arm-gret, of huge weight, -Upon his hed sate ful of stones bright, -Of fine rubins and of diamants. -About his char ther wenten white alauns, -Twenty and mo, as gret as any stere, -To hunten at the leon or the dere, -And folwed him, with mosel fast ybound, -Colered with gold, and torettes filed round. -An hundred lordes had he in his route, -Armed ful wel, with hertes sterne and stoute. -With Arcita, in stories as men find, -The gret Emetrius the king of Inde, -Upon a stede bay, trapped in stele, -Covered with cloth of gold diapred wele, -Came riding like the god of armes Mars. -His cote-armure was of a cloth of Tars, -Couched with perles, white, and round and grete. -His sadel was of brent gold new ybete; -A mantelet upon his shouldres hanging -Bret-ful of rubies red, as fire sparkling. -His crispe here like ringes was yronne, -And that was yelwe, and glitered as the sonne. -His nose was high, his eyen bright citrin, -His lippes round, his color was sanguin.... -And as a leon he his loking caste. -Of five and twenty yere his age I caste. -His berd was well begonnen for to spring; -His vois was a trompe thondering. -Upon his hed he wered of laurer grene -A gerlond fresshe and lusty for to sene. -Upon his hond he bare for his deduit -An egle tame, as any lily whit. -An hundred lordes had he with him there, -All armed save hir hedes in all hir gere, -Ful richely in alle manere things.... -About this king ther ran on every part -Ful many a tame leon and leopart."[199] - - -A herald would not describe them better nor more fully. The lords and -ladies of the time would recognize here their tourneys and masquerades. - -There is something more pleasant than a fine narrative, and that is a -collection of fine narratives, especially when the narratives are all of -different colorings. Froissart gives us such under the name of -Chronicles; Boccaccio still better; after him the lords of the _Cent -Nouvelles Nouvelles_; and, later still, Marguerite of Navarre. What more -natural among people who meet, talk and wish to amuse themselves? The -manners of the time suggest them; for the habits and tastes of society -had begun, and fiction thus conceived only brings into books the -conversations which are heard in the hall and by the wayside. Chaucer -describes a troop of pilgrims, people of every rank, who are going to -Canterbury; a knight, a sergeant of law, an Oxford clerk, a doctor, a -miller, a prioress, a monk, who agree to tell a story all round: - - -"For trewely comfort ne mirthe is non, -To riden by the way domb as the ston." - - -They tell their stories accordingly; and on this slender and flexible -thread all the jewels of feudal imagination, real or false, contribute -one after another their motley shapes to form a necklace, side by side -with noble and chivalrous stories: we have the miracle of an infant -whose throat was cut by Jews, the trials of patient Griselda, Canace and -marvellous fictions of Oriental fancy, obscene stories of marriage and -monks, allegorical or moral tales, the fable of the cock and hen, a list -of great unfortunate persons: Lucifer, Adam, Samson, Nebuchadnezzar, -Zenobia, Crœsus, Ugolino, Peter of Spain. I leave out some, for I must -be brief. Chaucer is like a jeweller with his hands full: pearls and -glass beads, sparkling diamonds and common agates, black jet and ruby -roses, all that history and imagination had been able to gather and -fashion during three centuries in the East, in France, in Wales, in -Provence, in Italy, all that had rolled his way, clashed together, -broken or polished by the stream of centuries, and by the great jumble -of human memory, he holds in his hand, arranges it, composes therefrom a -long sparkling ornament, with twenty pendants, a thousand facets, which -by its splendor, variety, contrasts, may attract and satisfy the eyes of -those most greedy for amusement and novelty. - - - - -[Illustration: GEOFFREY CHAUCER. -_Photogravure from an old engraving._] - - - - -He does more. The universal outburst of unchecked curiosity demands a -more refined enjoyment: reverie and fantasy alone can satisfy it; not -profound and thoughtful fantasy as we find it in Shakespeare, nor -impassioned and meditative reverie as we find it in Dante, but the -reverie and fantasy of the eyes, ears, external senses, which in poetry -as in architecture call for singularity, wonders, accepted challenges, -victories gained over the rational and probable, and which are satisfied -only by what is crowded and dazzling. When we look at a cathedral of -that time, we feel a sort of fear. Substance is wanting; the walls are -hollowed out to make room for windows, the elaborate work of the -porches, the wonderful growth of the slender columns, the thin curvature -of arches--everything seems to menace us; support has been withdrawn to -give way to ornament. Without external prop or buttress, and artificial -aid of iron clamp-work, the building would have crumbled to pieces on -the first day; as it is, it undoes itself; we have to maintain on the -spot a colony of masons continually to ward off the continual decay. But -our sight grows dim in following the wavings and twistings of the -endless fretwork; the dazzling rose-window of the portal and the painted -glass throw a checkered light on the carved stalls of the choir, the -gold-work of the altar, the long array of damascened and glittering -copes, the crowd of statues, tier above tier; and amid this violet -light, this quivering purple, amid these arrows of gold which pierce the -gloom, the entire building is like the tail of a mystical peacock. So -most of the poems of the time are barren of foundation; at most a trite -morality serves them for mainstay: in short, the poet thought of nothing -else than displaying before us a glow of colors and a jumble of forms. -They are dreams or visions; there are five or six in Chaucer, and you -will meet more on your advance to the Renaissance. But the show is -splendid. Chaucer is transported in a dream to a temple of glass,[200] -on the walls of which are figured in gold all the legends of Ovid and -Vergil, an infinite train of characters and dresses, like that which, on -the painted glass in the churches, occupied then the gaze of the -faithful. Suddenly a golden eagle, which soars near the sun, and -glitters like a carbuncle, descends with the swiftness of lightning, and -carries him off in his talons above the stars, dropping him at last -before the House of Fame, splendidly built of beryl, with shining -windows and lofty turrets, and situated on a high rock of almost -inaccessible ice. All the southern side was graven with the names of -famous men, but the sun was continuously melting them. On the northern -side, the names, better protected, still remained. On the turrets -appeared the minstrels and "gestiours," with Orpheus, Arion, and the -great harpers, and behind them myriads of musicians, with horns, flutes, -bagpipes, and reeds, on which they played, and which filled the air; -then all the charmers, magicians, and prophets. He enters, and in a high -hall, plated with gold, embossed with pearls, on a throne of carbuncle, -he sees a woman seated, a "noble quene," amidst an infinite number of -heralds, whose embroidered cloaks bore the arms of the most famous -knights in the world, and heard the sounds of instruments, and the -celestial melody of Calliope and her sisters. From her throne to the -gate was a row of pillars, on which stood the great historians and -poets; Josephus on a pillar of lead and iron; Statius on a pillar of -iron stained with tiger's blood; Ovid, "Venus's clerk," on a pillar of -copper; then, on one higher than the rest, Homer and Livy, Dares the -Phrygian, Guido Colonna, Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the other historians -of the war of Troy. Must I go on copying this phantasmagoria, in which -confused erudition mars picturesque invention, and frequent banter shows -signs that the vision is only a planned amusement? The poet and his -reader have imagined for half-an-hour decorated halls and bustling -crowds; a slender thread of common-sense has ingeniously crept along the -transparent golden mist which they amuse themselves with following. That -suffices; they are pleased with their fleeting fancies, and ask no more. - -Amid this exuberancy of mind, amid these refined cravings, and this -insatiate exaltation of imagination and the senses, there was one -passion, that of love, which, combining all, was developed in excess, -and displayed in miniature the sickly charm, the fundamental and fatal -exaggeration, which are the characteristics of the age, and which, -later, the Spanish civilization exhibits both in its flower and its -decay. Long ago, the courts of love in Provence had established the -theory. "Each one who loves," they said, "grows pale at the sight of her -whom he loves; each action of the lover ends in the thought of her whom -he loves. Love can refuse nothing to love."[201] This search after -excessive sensation had ended in the ecstasies and transports of Guido -Cavalcanti, and of Dante; and in Languedoc a company of enthusiasts had -established themselves, love-penitents, who, in order to prove the -violence of their passion, dressed in summer in furs and heavy garments, -and in winter in light gauze, and walked thus about the country, so that -several of them fell ill and died. Chaucer, in their wake, explained in -his verses the craft of love,[202] the Ten Commandments, the twenty -statutes of love; and praised his lady, his "daieseye," his "Margarite," -his "vermeil rose"; depicted love in ballads, visions, allegories, -didactic poems, in a hundred guises. This is chivalrous, lofty love, as -it was conceived in the Middle Ages; above all, tender love. Troilus -loves Cressida like a troubadour; without Pandarus, her uncle, he would -have languished, and ended by dying in silence. He will not reveal the -name of her he loves. Pandarus has to tear it from him, perform all the -bold actions himself, plan every kind of stratagem. Troilus, however, -brave and strong in battle, can but weep before Cressida, ask her -pardon, and faint. Cressida, on her side, has every delicate feeling. -When Pandarus brings her Troilus's first letter, she begins by refusing -it, and is ashamed to open it: she opens it only because she is told the -poor knight is about to die. At the first words "all rosy hewed tho woxe -she"; and though the letter is respectful, she will not answer it. She -yields at last to the importunities of her uncle, and answers Troilus -that she will feel for him the affection of a sister. As to Troilus, he -trembles all over, grows pale when he sees the messenger return, doubts -his happiness, and will not believe the assurance which is given him: - - -"But right so as these holtes and these hayis -That han in winter dead ben and dry, -Revesten hem in grene, whan that May is.... -Right in that selfe wise, sooth for to sey, -Woxe suddainly his herte full of joy."[203] - - -Slowly, after many troubles, and thanks to the efforts of Pandarus, he -obtains her confession; and in this confession what a delightful charm! - - -"And as the newe abashed nightingale, -That stinteth first, whan she beginneth sing, -Whan that she heareth any heerdes tale, -Or in the hedges any wight stearing, -And after siker doeth her voice outring: -Right so Creseide, whan that her drede stent, -Opened her herte and told him her entent."[204] - - -He, as soon as he perceived a hope from afar, - - -"In chaunged voice, right for his very drede, -Which voice eke quoke, and thereto his manere, -Goodly abasht, and now his hewes rede, -Now pale, unto Cresseide his ladie dere, -With looke doun cast, and humble iyolden chere, -Lo, the alderfirst word that him astart -Was twice: 'Mercy, mercy, O my sweet herte!'"[205] - - -This ardent love breaks out in impassioned accents, in bursts of -happiness. Far from being regarded as a fault, it is the source of all -virtue. Troilus becomes braver, more generous, more upright, through it; -his speech runs now on love and virtue; he scorns all villany; he honors -those who possess merit, succors those who are in distress; and -Cressida, delighted, repeats all day, with exceeding liveliness, this -song, which is like the warbling of a nightingale: - - -"Whom should I thanken but you, god of love, -Of all this blisse, in which to bathe I ginne? -And thanked be ye, lorde for that I love, -This is the right life that I am inne, -To flemen all maner vice and sinne: -This doeth me so to vertue for to entende -That daie by daie I in my will amende. -And who that saieth that for to love is vice,... -He either is envious, or right nice, -Or is unmightie for his shreudnesse -To loven.... -But I with all mine herte and all my might, -As I have saied, woll love unto my last, -My owne dere herte, and all mine owne knight, -In whiche mine herte growen is so fast, -And his in me, that it shall ever last."[206] - - -But misfortune comes. Her father Calchas demands her back, and the -Trojans decide that they will give her up in exchange for prisoners. At -this news she swoons, and Troilus is about to slay himself. Their love -at this time seems imperishable; it sports with death, because it -constitutes the whole of life. Beyond that better and delicious life -which it created, it seems there can be no other: - - -"But as God would, of swough she abraide, -And gan to sighe, and Troilus she cride, -And he answerde: 'Lady mine, Creseide, -Live ye yet?' and let his swerde doun glide: -'Ye herte mine, that thanked be Cupide,' -(Quod she), and therwithal she sore sight, -And he began to glade her as he might. - -"Took her in armes two and kist her oft, -And her to glad, he did al his entent, -For which her gost, that flikered aie a loft, -Into her wofull herte ayen it went: -But at the last, as that her eye glent -Aside, anon she gan his sworde aspie, -As it lay bare, and gan for feare crie. - -"And asked him why had he it out draw, -And Troilus anon the cause her told, -And how himself therwith he wold have slain, -For which Creseide upon him gan behold, -And gan him in her armes faste fold, -And said: 'O mercy God, lo which a dede! -Alas, how nigh we weren bothe dede!'"[207] - - -At last they are separated, with what vows and what tears! and Troilus, -alone in his chamber, murmurs: - - -"'Where is mine owne lady lefe and dere? -Where is her white brest, where is it, where? -Where been her armes, and her eyen clere -That yesterday this time with me were?'... -Nor there nas houre in al the day or night, -Whan he was ther as no man might him here, -That he ne sayd: 'O lovesome lady bright, -How have ye faren sins that ye were there? -Welcome ywis mine owne lady dere!'... -Fro thence-forth he rideth up and doune, -And every thing came him to remembraunce, -As he rode forth by the places of the toune, -In which he whilom had all his pleasaunce: -'Lo, yonder saw I mine owne lady daunce, -And in that temple with her eien clere, -Me caught first my right lady dere. -And yonder have I herde full lustely -My dere herte laugh, and yonder play -Saw her ones eke ful blisfully, -And yonder ones to me gan she say, -"Now, good sweete, love me well I pray." -And yonde so goodly gan she me behold, -That to the death mine herte is to her hold, -And at the corner in the yonder house -Herde I mine alderlevest lady dere, -So womanly, with voice melodiouse, -Singen so wel, so goodly, and so clere, -That in my soule yet me thinketh I here -The blissful sowne, and in that yonder place, -My lady first me toke unto her grace.'"[208] - - -None has since found more true and tender words. These are the charming -"poetic branches" which flourished amid gross ignorance and pompous -parades. Human intelligence in the Middle Age had blossomed on that side -where it perceived the light. - -But mere narrative does not suffice to express his felicity and fancy; -the poet must go where "shoures sweet of rain descended soft." - - -"And every plaine was clothed faire -With new greene, and maketh small floures -To springen here and there in field and in mede, -So very good and wholsome be the shoures, -That it renueth that was old and dede, -In winter time; and out of every sede -Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight -Of this season wexeth glad and light.... -In which (grove) were okes great, streight as a line, -Under, the which the grasse so fresh of hew -Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine -Every tree well fro his fellow grew." - - -He must forget himself in the vague felicity of the country, and, like -Dante, lose himself in ideal light and allegory. The dreams love, to -continue true, must not take too visible a form, nor enter into a too -consecutive history; they must float in a misty distance; the soul in -which they hover can no longer think of the laws of existence; it -inhabits another world; it forgets itself in the ravishing emotion which -troubles it, and sees its well-loved visions rise, mingle, come and go, -as in summer we see the bees on a hill-slope flutter in a haze of light, -and circle round and round the flowers. - -"One morning,"[209] a lady sings, "at the dawn of day, I entered an -oak-grove" - - -"With branches brode, laden with leves new, -That sprongen out ayen the sunne-shene, -Some very red, and some a glad light grenc....[210] - -"And I, that all this pleasaunt sight sie, -Thought sodainly I felt so sweet and aire -Of the eglentere, that certainely -There is no hert, I deme, in such dispaire, -Ne with thoughts froward and contraire, -So overlaid, but it should soone have bote, -If it had ones felt this savour sote. - -"And as I stood, and cast aside mine eie, -I was ware of the fairest medler tree -That ever yet in all my life I sie, -As full of blossomes as it might be; -Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile -Fro bough to bough; and, as him list, he eet -Here and there of buds and floures sweet.... - -"And as I sat, the birds harkening thus, -Methought that I heard voices sodainly, -The most sweetest and most delicious -That ever any wight, I trow truly, -Heard in their life, for the armony -And sweet accord was in so good musike, -That the voice to angels most was like."[211] - - -Then she sees arrive "a world of ladies... in surcotes white of -velvet... set with emerauds... as of great pearles round and orient, and -diamonds fine and rubies red." And all had on their head "a rich fret of -gold... full of stately riche stones set," with "a chapelet of branches -fresh and grene... some of laurer, some of woodbind, some of agnus -castus"; and at the same time came a train of valiant knights in -splendid array, with harness of red gold, shining in the sun, and noble -steeds, with trappings "of cloth of gold, and furred with ermine." These -knights and ladies were the servants of the Leaf, and they sate under a -great oak, at the feet of their queen. - -From the other side came a bevy of ladies as resplendent as the first, -but crowned with fresh flowers. These were the servants of the Flower. -They alighted, and began to dance in the meadow. But heavy clouds -appeared in the sky, and a storm broke out. They wished to shelter -themselves under the oak, but there was no more room; they ensconced -themselves as they could in the hedges and among the brushwood; the rain -came down and spoiled their garlands, stained their robes, and washed -away their ornaments; when the sun returned, they went to ask succor -from the queen of the Leaf; she, being merciful, consoled them, repaired -the injury of the rain, and restored their original beauty. Then all -disappears as in a dream. - -The lady was astonished, when suddenly a fair dame appeared and -instructed her. She learned that the servants of the Leaf had lived like -brave knights, and those of the Flower had loved idleness and pleasure. -She promises to serve the Leaf, and came away. - -Is this an allegory? There is at least a lack of wit. There is no -ingenious enigma; it is dominated by fancy, and the poet thinks only of -displaying in quiet verse the fleeting and brilliant train which had -amused his mind, and charmed his eyes. - -Chaucer himself, on the first of May, rises and goes out into the -meadows. Love enters his heart with the balmy air; the landscape is -transfigured, and the birds begin to speak: - - -"There sate I downe among the faire flours, -And saw the birds trip out of hir bours, -There as they rested them all the night, -They were so joyfull of the dayes light, -They began of May for to done honours. - -"They coud that service all by rote, -There was many a lovely note, -Some song loud as they had plained, -And some in other manner voice yfained -And some all out with the ful throte. - -"The proyned hem and made hem right gay, -And daunceden, and lepten on her spray, -And evermore two and two in fere, -Right so as they had chosen hem to yere, -In Feverere upon saint Valentines day. - -"And the river that I sate upon, -It made such a noise as it ron, -Accordaunt with the birdes armony, -Methought it was the best melody -That might ben yheard of any mon."[212] - - -This confused harmony of vague noises troubles the sense; a secret -languor enters the soul. The cuckoo throws his monotonous voice like a -mournful and tender sigh between the white ash-tree boles; the -nightingale makes his triumphant notes roll and ring above the leafy -canopy; fancy breaks in unsought, and Chaucer hears them dispute of -Love. They sing alternately an antistrophic song, and the nightingale -weeps for vexation to hear the cuckoo speak in depreciation of Love. He -is consoled, however, by the poet's voice, seeing that he also suffers -with him: - - -"'For love and it hath doe me much wo.' -'Ye use' (quod she) 'this medicine -Every day this May or thou dine -Go looke upon the fresh daisie, -And though thou be for wo in point to die, -That shall full greatly lessen thee of thy pine. - -"'And looke alway that thou be good and trew, -And I wol sing one of the songes new, -For love of thee, as loud as I may crie:' -And than she began this song full hie, -'I shrewe all hem that been of love untrue.'"[213] - - -To such exquisite delicacies love, as with Petrarch, had carried poetry; -by refinement even, as with Petrarch, it is lost now and then in its -wit, conceits, clinches. But a marked characteristic at once separates -it from Petrarch. If over-excited, it is also graceful, polished, full -of archness, banter, fine sensual gayety, somewhat gossipy, as the -French always paint love. Chaucer follows his true masters, and is -himself an elegant speaker, facile, ever ready to smile, loving choice -pleasures, a disciple of the "Roman de la Rose," and much less Italian -than French.[214] The bent of French character makes of love not a -passion, but a gay banquet, tastefully arranged, in which the service is -elegant, the food exquisite, the silver brilliant, the two guests in -full dress, in good humor, quick to anticipate and please each other, -knowing how to keep up the gayety, and when to part. In Chaucer, without -doubt, this other altogether worldly vein runs side by side with the -sentimental element. If Troilus is a weeping lover, Pandarus is a lively -rascal, who volunteers for a singular service with amusing urgency, -frank immorality, and carries it out carefully, gratuitously, -thoroughly. In these pretty attempts Chaucer accompanies him as far as -possible, and is not shocked. On the contrary, he makes fun out of it. -At the critical moment, with transparent hypocrisy, he shelters himself -behind his "author." If you find the particulars free, he says, it is -not my fault; "so writen clerks in hir bokes old," and "I mote, aftir -min auctour, telle...." Not only is he gay, but he jests throughout the -whole tale. He sees clearly through the tricks of feminine modesty; he -laughs at it archly, knowing full well what is behind; he seems to be -saying, finger on lip: "Hush! let the grand words roll on, you will be -edified presently." We are, in fact, edified; so is he, and in the nick -of time he goes away, carrying the light: "For ought I can aspies, this -light nor I ne serven here of nought. Troilus," says uncle Pandarus, -"if ye be wise, sweveneth not now, lest more folke arise." Troilus takes -care not to swoon; and Cressida at last, being alone with him, speaks -wittily and with prudent delicacy; there is here an exceeding charm, no -coarseness. Their happiness covers all, even voluptuousness, with a -profusion and perfume of its heavenly roses. At most a slight spice of -archness flavors it: "and gode thrift he had full oft." Troilus holds -his mistress in his arms: "with worse hap God let us never mete." The -poet is almost as well pleased as they: for him, as for the men of his -time, the sovereign good is love, not damped, but satisfied; they ended -even by thinking such love a merit. The ladies declared in their -judgments, that when people love, they can refuse nothing to the -beloved. Love has become law; it is inscribed in a code; they combine it -with religion; and there is a sacrament of love, in which the birds in -their anthems sing matins.[215] Chaucer curses with all his heart the -covetous wretches, the business men, who treat is as a madness: - - -"As would God, tho wretches that despise -Service of love had eares al so long -As had Mida, ful of covetise,... -To teachen hem, that they been in the vice -And lovers not, although they hold hem nice, -... God yeve hem mischaunce, -And every lover in his trouth avaunce."[216] - - -He clearly lacks severity, so rare in southern literature. The Italians -in the Middle Ages made a virtue of joy; and you perceive that the world -of chivalry, as conceived by the French, expanded morality so as to -confound it with pleasure. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Characteristics of the Canterbury Tales - - -There are other characteristics still more gay. The true Gallic -literature crops up; obscene tales, practical jokes on one's neighbor, -not shrouded in the Ciceronian style of Boccaccio, but related lightly -by a man in good humor;[217] above all, active roguery, the trick of -laughing at your neighbor's expense. Chaucer displays it better than -Rutebeuf, and sometimes better than La Fontaine. He does not knock his -men down; he pricks them as he passes, not from deep hatred or -indignation, but through sheer nimbleness of disposition, and quick -sense of the ridiculous; he throws his gibes at them by handfuls. His -man of law is more a man of business than of the world: - - -"No wher so besy a man as he ther n'as, -And yet he semed besier than he was."[218] - - -His three burgesses: - - -"Everich, for the wisdom that he can -Was shapelich for to ben an alderman. -For catel hadden they ynough and rent, -And eke hir wives wolde it wel assent."[219] - - -Of the mendicant Friar he says: - - -"His wallet lay beforne him in his lappe, -Bret-ful of pardon come from Rome al hote."[220] - - -The mockery here comes from the heart, in the French manner, without -effort, calculation, or vehemence. It is so pleasant and so natural to -banter one's neighbor! Sometimes the lively vein becomes so copious that -it furnishes an entire comedy, indelicate certainly, but so free and -life-like! Here is the portrait of the Wife of Bath, who has buried five -husbands: - - -"Bold was hire face, and fayre and rede of hew, -She was a worthy woman all hire live; -Housbondes at the chirche dore had she had five, -Withouten other compagnie in youthe.... -In all the parish wif ne was ther non, -That to the offring before hire shulde gon, -And if ther did, certain so wroth was she. -That she was out of alle charitee."[221] - - -What a tongue she has! Impertinent, full of vanity, bold, chattering, -unbridled, she silences everybody, and holds forth for an hour before -coming to her tale. We hear her grating, high-pitched, loud, clear -voice, wherewith she deafened her husbands. She continually harps upon -the same ideas, repeats her reasons, piles them up and confounds them, -like a stubborn mule who runs along shaking and ringing his bells, so -that the stunned listeners remain open-mouthed, wondering that a single -tongue can spin out so many words. The subject was worth the trouble. -She proves that she did well to marry five husbands, and she proves it -clearly, like a woman who knew it, because she had tried it: - - -"God bad us for to wex and multiplie; -That gentil text can I wel understond; -Eke wel I wot, he sayd, that min husbond -Shuld leve fader and moder, and take to me; -But of no noumbre mention made he, -Of bigamie or of octogamie; -Why shuld men than speke of it vilanie? -Lo here the wise king dan Solomon, -I trow he hadde wives mo than on, -(As wolde God it leful were to me -To be refreshed half so oft as he,) -Which a gift of God had he for alle his wives?... -Blessed be God that I have wedded five. -Welcome the sixthe whan that ever he shall.... -He (Christ) spake to hem that wold live parfitly, -And lordings (by your leve), that am nat I; -I wol bestow the flour of all myn age -In th' actes and the fruit of mariage.... -An husbond wol I have, I wol not lette, -Which shal be both my dettour and my thrall, -And have his tribulation withall -Upon his flesh, while that I am his wif."[222] - - -Here Chaucer has the freedom of Molière, and we possess it no longer. -His good wife justifies marriage in terms just as technical as -Sganarelle. It behooves us to turn the pages quickly, and follow in the -lump only this Odyssey of marriages. The experienced wife, who has -journeyed through life with five husbands, knows the art of taming them, -and relates how she persecuted them with jealousy, suspicion, grumbling, -quarrels, blows given and received; how the husband, checkmated by the -continuity of the tempest, stooped at last, accepted the halter, and -turned the domestic mill like a conjugal and resigned ass: - - -"For as an hors, I coude bite and whine; -I coude plain, and I was in the gilt.... -I plained first, so was our werre ystint. -They were ful glad to excusen hem ful blive -Of thing, the which they never agilt hir live.... -I swore that all my walking out by night -Was for to espien wenches that he dight.... -For though the pope had sitten hem beside, -I wold not spare hem at hir owen bord.... -But certainly I made folk swiche chere, -That in his owen grese I made him frie -For anger, and for veray jalousie. -By God, in erth I was his purgatorie, -For which I hope his soule be in glorie."[223] - - -She saw the fifth first at the burial of the fourth: - - -"And Jankin oure clerk was on of tho: -As helpe me God, whan that I saw him go -Aftir the bere, me thought he had a paire -Of legges and of feet, so clene and faire, -That all my herte I yave unto his hold. -He was, I trow, a twenty winter old, -And I was fourty, if I shal say soth.... -As helpe me God, I was a lusty on, -And faire, and riche, and yonge, and well begon."[224] - - -"Yonge," what a word! Was human delusion ever more happily painted? How -life-like is all, and how easy the tone. It is the satire of marriage. -You will find it twenty times in Chaucer. Nothing more is wanted to -exhaust the two subjects of French mockery than to unite with the satire -of marriage the satire of religion. - -We find it here; and Rabelais is not more bitter. The monk whom Chaucer -paints is a hypocrite, a jolly fellow, who knows good inns and jovial -hosts better than the poor and the hospitals: - - -"A Frere there was, a wanton and a mery... -Ful wel beloved, and familier was he -With frankeleins over all in his contree, -And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun... -Full swetely herde he confession, -And pleasant was his absolution. -He was an esy man to give penance, -Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance: -For unto a poure ordre for to give -Is signe that a man is wel yshrive.... -And knew wel the tavernes in every toun, -And every hosteler and gay tapstere, -Better than a lazar and a beggere.... -It is not honest, it may not avance, -As for to delen with no swich pouraille, -But all with riche and sellers of vitaille.... -For many a man so hard is of his herte, -He may not wepe, although him sore smerte. -Therfore in stede of weping and praieres, -Men mote give silver to the poure freres."[225] - - -This lively irony had an exponent before in Jean de Meung. But Chaucer -pushes it further, and gives it life and motion. His monk begs from -house to house, holding out his wallet: - - -"In every hous he gan to pore and prie, -And begged mele and chese, or elles corn.... -'Yeve us a bushel whete, or malt, or reye, -A Goddes kichel, or a trippe of chese, -Or elles what you list, we may not chese; -A Goddes halfpeny, or a masse peny; -Or yeve us of your braun, if ye have any, -A dagon of your blanket, leve dame, -Our suster dere (lo here I write your name).'... -And whan that he was out at dore, anon, -He planed away the names everich on."[226] - - -He has kept for the end of his circuit, Thomas, one of his most liberal -clients. He finds him in bed, and ill; here is excellent fruit to suck -and squeeze: - - -"'God wot,' quod he, 'laboured have I ful sore. -And specially for thy salvation, -Have I sayd many a precious orison.... -I have this day ben at your chirche at messe... -And ther I saw our dame, a, wher is she?'"[227] - - -The dame enters: - - -"This frere ariseth up ful curtisly, -And hire embraceth in his armes narwe, -And kisseth hire swete and chirketh as a sparwe."[228]... - - -Then, in his sweetest and most caressing voice, he compliments her, and -says: - - -"'Thanked be God that you yaf soule and lif, -Yet saw I not this day so faire a wif -In all the chirche, God so save me.'"[229] - - -Have we not here already Tartuffe and Elmire? But the monk is with a -farmer, and can go to work more quickly and directly. When the -compliments ended, he thinks of the substance, and asks the lady to let -him talk alone with Thomas. He must inquire after the state of his soul: - - -"'I wol with Thomas speke a litel throw: -Thise curates ben so negligent and slow -To gropen tendrely a conscience.... -Now, dame,' quod he, 'jeo vous die sanz doute, -Have I nat of a capon but the liver, -And of your white bred nat but a shiver, -And after that a rosted pigges hed -(But I ne wolde for me no beest were ded), -Than had I with you homly suffisance. -I am a man of litel sustenance, -My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible. -My body is ay so redy and penible -To waken, that my stomak is destroied.'"[230] - - -Poor man, he raises his hands to heaven, and ends with a sigh. - -The wife tells him her child died a fortnight before. Straightway he -manufactures a miracle; how could he earn his money in any better way? -He had a revelation of this death in the "dortour" of the convent; he -saw the child carried to paradise; he rose with his brothers, "with many -a tere trilling on our cheke," and they sang a _Te Deum_: - - -"'For, sire and dame, trusteth me right wel, -Our orisons ben more effectuel, -And more we seen of Cristes secree thinges -Than borel folk, although that they be kinges. -We live in poverte, and in abstinence, -And borel folk in richesse and dispence.... -Lazer and Dives liveden diversely, -And divers guerdon hadden they therby.'"[231] - - -Presently he spurts out a whole sermon, in a loathsome style, and with -an interest which is plain enough. The sick man, wearied, replies that -he has already given half his fortune to all kinds of monks, and yet he -continually suffers. Listen to the grieved exclamation, the true -indignation of the mendicant monk, who sees himself threatened by the -competition of a brother of the cloth to share his client, his revenue, -his booty, his food-supplies: - - -"The frere answered: 'O Thomas, dost thou so? -What nedeth you diverse freres to seche? -What nedeth him that hath a parfit leche, -To sechen other leches in the toun? -Your inconstance is your confusion. -Hold ye than me, or elles our covent, -To pray for you ben insufficient? -Thomas, that jape n' is not worth a mite, -Your maladie is for we han to lite.'"[232] - - -Recognize the great orator; he employs even the grand style to keep the -supplies from being cut off: - - -"'A, yeve that covent half a quarter otes; -And yeve that covent four and twenty grotes; -And yeve that frere a peny, and let him go: -Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thing be so. -What is a ferthing worth parted on twelve? -Lo, eche thing that is oned in himself -Is more strong, than whan it is yscatered... -Thou woldest han our labour al for nought.'"[233] - - -Then he begins again his sermon in a louder tone, shouting at each word, -quoting examples from Seneca and the classics, a terrible fluency, a -trick of his trade, which, diligently applied, must draw money from the -patient. He asks for gold, "to make our cloistre," - - -"... 'And yet, God wot, uneth the fundament -Parfourmed is, ne of our pavement -N' is not a tile yet within our wones; -By God, we owen fourty pound for stones. -Now help Thomas, for him that harwed helle, -For elles mote we oure bokes selle, -And if ye lacke oure predication, -Than goth this world all to destruction. -For who so fro this world wold us bereve, -So God me save, Thomas, by your leve, -He wold bereve out of this world the sonne.'"[234] - - -In the end, Thomas in a rage promises him a gift, tells him to put his -hand in the bed and take it, and sends him away duped, mocked, and -covered with filth. - -We have descended now to popular farce; when amusement must be had at -any price, it is sought, as here, in broad jokes, even in filthiness. We -can see how these two coarse and vigorous plants have blossomed in the -dung of the Middle Ages. Planted by the sly fellows of Champagne and -Ile-de-France, watered by the _trouvères_, they were destined fully to -expand, speckled and ruddy, in the large hands of Rabelais. Meanwhile -Chaucer plucks his nosegay from it. Deceived husbands, mishaps in inns, -accidents in bed, cuffs, kicks, and robberies, these suffice to raise a -loud laugh. Side by side with noble pictures of chivalry, he gives us a -train of Flemish grotesque figures, carpenters, joiners, friars, -summoners; blows abound, fists descend on fleshy backs; many nudities -are shown; they swindle one another out of their corn, their wives; they -pitch one another out of a window; they brawl and quarrel. A bruise, a -piece of open filthiness, passes in such society for a sign of wit. The -summoner, being rallied by the friar, gives him tit for tat: - - -"'This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle, -And, God it wot, that is but litel wonder, -Freres and fendes ben but litel asonder. -For parde, ye han often time herd telle -How that a Frere ravished was to helle -In spirit ones by a visoun, -And as an angel lad him up and doun, -To shewen him the peines that ther were,... -And unto Sathanas he lad him doun. -(And now hath Sathanas,' saith he, 'a tayl -Broder than of a Carrike is the sayl.) -Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas, quod he, -....... and let the Frere see -Wher is the nest of Freres in this place. -And er than half a furlong way of space, -Right so as bees out swarmen of an hive, -Out of the devils... ther gonnen to drive. -A twenty thousand Freres on a route, -And thurghout hell they swarmed all aboute, -And com agen, as fast as they may gon.'"[235] - - -Such were the coarse buffooneries of the popular imagination. - - - - -SECTION V.--The Art of Chaucer - - -It is high time to return to Chaucer himself. Beyond the two notable -characteristics which settle his place in his age and school of poetry, -there are others which take him out of his age and school. If he was -romantic and gay like the rest, it was after a fashion of his own. He -observes characters, notes their differences, studies the coherence of -their parts, endeavors to describe living individualities--a thing -unheard of in his time, but which the renovators in the sixteenth -century, and first among them Shakespeare, will do afterwards. Is it -already the English positive common-sense and aptitude for seeing the -inside of things which begins to appear? A new spirit, almost manly, -pierces through, in literature as in painting, with Chaucer as with Van -Eyck, with both at the same time; no longer the childish imitation of -chivalrous life[236] or monastic devotion, but the grave spirit of -inquiry and craving for deep truths, whereby art becomes complete. For -the first time, in Chaucer as in Van Eyck, the character described -stands out in relief; its parts are connected; it is no longer an -unsubstantial phantom. You may guess its past and foretell its future -action. Its externals manifest the personal and incommunicable details -of its inner nature, and the infinite complexity of its economy and -motion. To this day, after four centuries, that character is -individualjzed and typical; it remains distinct in our memory, like the -creations of Shakespeare and Rubens. We observe this growth in the very -act. Not only does Chaucer, like Boccaccio, bind his tales into a single -history; but in addition--and this is wanting in Boccaccio--he begins -with the portrait of all his narrators, knight, summoner, man of law, -monk, bailiff or reeve, host, about thirty distinct figures, of every -sex, condition, age, each painted with his disposition, face, costume, -turns of speech, little significant actions, habits, antecedents, each -maintained in his character by his talk and subsequent actions, so that -we can discern here, sooner than in any other nation, the germ of the -domestic novel as we write it to-day. Think of the portraits of the -franklin, the miller, the mendicant friar, and wife of Bath. There are -plenty of others which show the broad brutalities, the coarse, tricks, -and the pleasantries of vulgar life, as well as the gross and plentiful -feastings of sensual life. Here and there honest old swashbucklers, who -double their fists, and tuck up their sleeves; or contented beadles, -who, when they have drunk, will speak nothing but Latin. But by the side -of these there are some choice characters; the knight, who went on a -crusade to Granada and Prussia, brave and courteous: - - -"And though that he was worthy he was wise, -And of his port as meke as is a mayde. -He never yet no vilanie ne sayde -In alle his lif, unto no manere wight, -He was a veray parfit gentil knight."[237] - -"With him, ther was his sone, a yonge Squier, -A lover, and a lusty bacheler, -With lockes crull as they were laide in presse. -Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse. -Of his stature he was of even lengthe, -And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe. -And he hadde be somtime in chevachie, -In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie, -And borne him wel, as of so litel space, -In hope to stonden in his ladies grace. -Embrouded was he, as it were a mede -Alle ful of fresshe floures, white and rede. -Singing he was, or floyting alle the day, -He was as fresshe, as is the moneth of May. -Short was his goune, with sieves long and wide. -Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride. -He coude songes make, and wel endite, -Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write. -So hote he loved, that by nightertale -He slep no more than doth the nightingale. -Curteis he was, lowly and servisable, -And carf befor his fader at the table."[238] - - -There is also a poor and learned clerk of Oxford; and finer still, and -more worthy of a modern hand, the Prioress, "Madame Eglantine," who as a -nun, a maiden, a great lady, is ceremonious, and shows signs of -exquisite taste. Would a better be found nowadays in a German chapter, -amid the most modest and lively bevy of sentimental and literary -canonesses? - - -"Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, -That of hire smiling was ful simple and coy -Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy; -And she was cleped Madame Eglentine. -Ful wel she sange the service devine, -Entuned in hire nose ful swetely; -And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly -After the scole of Stratford-atte-bowe, -For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe. -At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle; -So lette no morsel from hire lippes falle, -No wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe. -Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, -Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest. -In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest. -Hire over lippe wiped she so clene, -That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene -Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught, -Ful semely after hire mete she raught. -And sikerly she was of grete disport -And ful plesant, and amiable of port, -And peined hire to contrefeten chere -Of court, and ben estatelich of manere, -And to ben holden digne of reverence."[239] - - -Are you offended by these provincial affectations? Not at all; it is -delightful to behold these nice and pretty ways, these little -affectations, the waggery and prudery, the half-worldly, half-monastic -smile. We inhale a delicate feminine perfume, preserved and grown old -under the stomacher: - - -"But for to speken of hire conscience, -She was so charitable and so pitous, -She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous -Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde. -Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde -With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede. -But sore wept she if on of hem were dede, -Or if men smote it with a yerde smert: -And all was conscience and tendre herte."[240] - - -Many elderly ladies throw themselves into such affections as these for -lack of others. Elderly! what an objectionable word have I employed! She -was not elderly: - - -"Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was, -Hire nose tretis; hire eyen grey as glas; -Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red; -But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed. -It was almost a spanne brode I trowe; -For hardily she was not undergrowe. -Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware. -Of small corall aboute hire arm she bare -A pair of bedes, gauded al with grene; -And thereon heng a broche of gold ful shene, -On whiche was first ywritten a crouned A, -And after, Amor vincit omnia."[241] - - -A pretty ambiguous device, suitable either for gallantry or devotion; -the lady was both of the world and the cloister: of the world, you may -see it in her dress; of the cloister, you gather it from "another Nonne -also with hire hadde she, that was hire chapelleine, and Preestes thre"; -from the Ave Maria which she sings, the long edifying stories which she -relates. She is like a fresh, sweet, and ruddy cherry, made to ripen in -the sun, but which, preserved in an ecclesiastical jar, has become -candied and insipid in the syrup. - -Such is the power of reflection which begins to dawn, such the high art. -Chaucer studies here, rather than aims at amusement; he ceases to -gossip, and thinks; instead of surrendering himself to the facility of -flowing improvisation, he plans. Each tale is suited to the teller; the -young squire relates a fantastic and Oriental history; the tipsy miller -a loose and comical story; the honest clerk the touching legend of -Griselda. All these tales are bound together, and that much better than -by Boccaccio, by little veritable incidents, which spring from the -characters of the personages, and such as we light upon in our travels. -The horsemen ride on in good humor, in the sunshine, in the open -country; they converse. The miller has drunk too much ale, and will -speak, "and for no man forbere." The cook goes to sleep on his beast, -and they play practical jokes on him. The monk and the summoner getup a -dispute about their respective lines of business. The host restores -peace, makes them speak or be silent, like a man who has long presided -in the inn parlor, and who has often had to check brawlers. They pass -judgment on the stories they listen to: declaring that there are few -Griseldas in the world; laughing at the misadventures of the tricked -carpenter; drawing a lesson from the moral tale. The poem is no longer, -as in the contemporary literature, a mere procession, but a painting in -which the contrasts are arranged, the attitudes chosen, the general -effect calculated, so that it becomes life and motion; we forget -ourselves at the sight, as in the case of every lifelike work; and we -long to get on horseback on a fine sunny morning, and canter along green -meadows with the pilgrims to the shrine of the good saint of Canterbury. - -Weigh the value of the words "general effect." According as we plan it -or not, we enter on our maturity or infancy! The whole future lies in -these two words. Savages or half savages, warriors of the Heptarchy or -knights of the Middle Ages; up to this period, no one had reached to -this point. They had strong emotions, tender at times, and each -expressed them according to the original gift of his race, some by short -cries, others by continuous babble. But they did not command or guide -their impressions; they sang or conversed by impulse, at random, -according to the bent of their disposition, leaving their ideas to -present themselves as they might, and when they hit upon order, it was -ignorantly and involuntarily. Here for the first time appears a -superiority of intellect, which at the instant of conception suddenly -halts, rises above itself, passes judgment, and says to itself, "This -phrase tells the same thing as the last--remove it; these two ideas are -disjointed—connect them; this description is feeble--reconsider it." -When a man can speak thus he has an idea, not learned in the schools, -but personal and practical, of the human mind, its process and needs, -and of things also, their composition and combinations; he has a style, -that is, he is capable of making everything understood and seen by the -human mind. He can extract from every object, landscape, situation, -character, the special and significant marks, so as to group and arrange -them, in order to compose an artificial work which surpasses the natural -work in its purity and completeness. He is capable, as Chaucer was, of -seeking out in the old common forest of the Middle Ages, stories and -legends, to replant them in his own soil, and make them send out new -shoots. He has the right and the power, as Chaucer had, of copying and -translating, because by dint of retouching he impresses on his -translations and copies his original mark; he re-creates what he -imitates, because through or by the side of worn-out fancies and -monotonous stories, he can display, as Chaucer did, the charming ideas -of an amiable and elastic mind, the thirty master-forms of the -fourteenth century, the splendid freshness of the verdurous landscape -and spring-time of England. He is not far from conceiving an idea of -truth and life. He is on the brink of independent thought and fertile -discovery. This was Chaucer's position. At the distance of a century and -a half, he has affinity with the poets of Elizabeth[242] by his gallery -of pictures, and with the reformers of the sixteenth century by his -portrait of the good parson. - -Affinity merely. He advanced a few steps beyond the threshold of his -art, but he paused at the end of the vestibule. He half opens the great -door of the temple, but does not take his seat there; at most, he sat -down in it only at intervals. In "Arcite and Palamon," in "Troilus and -Cressida," he sketches sentiments, but does not create characters; he -easily and naturally traces the winding course of events and -conversations, but does not mark the precise outline of a striking -figure. If occasionally, as in the description of the temple of Mars, -after the "Thebaid" of Statius, feeling at his back the glowing breeze -of poetry, he draws out his feet, clogged with the mud of the Middle -Ages, and at a bound stands upon the poetic plain on which Statius -imitated Vergil and equalled Lucan, he, at other times, again falls back -into the childish gossip of the _trouvères_, or the dull gabble of -learned clerks--to "Dan Phebus or Apollo-Delphicus." Elsewhere, a -commonplace remark on art intrudes in the midst of an impassioned -description. He uses three thousand verses to conduct Troilus to his -first interview. He is like a precocious and poetical child, who mingles -in his love-dreams quotations from his grammar and recollections of his -alphabet.[243] Even in the "Canterbury Tales" he repeats himself, -unfolds artless developments, forgets to concentrate his passion or his -idea. He begins a jest, and scarcely ends it. He dilutes a bright -coloring in a monotonous stanza. His voice is like that of a boy -breaking into manhood. At first a manly and firm accent is maintained, -then a shrill sweet sound shows that his growth is not finished, and -that his strength is subject to weakness. Chaucer sets out as if to quit -the Middle Ages; but in the end he is there still. To-day he composes -the "Canterbury Tales"; yesterday he was translating the "Roman de la -Rose." To-day he is studying the complicated machinery of the heart, -discovering the issues of primitive education or of the ruling -disposition, and creating the comedy of manners; to-morrow he will have -no pleasure but in curious events, smooth allegories, amorous -discussions, imitated from the French, or learned moralities from the -ancients. Alternately he is an observer and a _trouvère_; instead of -the step he ought to have advanced, he has but made a half-step. - -Who has prevented him, and the others who surround him? We meet with the -obstacle in the tales he has translated of Melibeus, of the Parson, in -his "Testament of Love" in short, so long as he writes verse, he is at -his ease; as soon as he takes to prose, a sort of chain winds around his -feet and stops him. His imagination is free, and his reasoning a slave. -The rigid scholastic divisions, the mechanical manner of arguing and -replying, the ergo, the Latin quotations, the authority of Aristotle and -the Fathers, come and weigh down his budding thought. His native -invention disappears under the discipline imposed. The servitude is so -heavy that even in the work of one of his contemporaries, the "Testament -of Love," which, for a long time, was believed to be written by Chaucer, -amid the most touching plaints and the most smarting pains, the -beautiful ideal lady, the heavenly mediator who appears in a vision, -Love, sets her theses, establishes that the cause of a cause is the -cause of the thing caused, and reasons as pedantically as they would at -Oxford. In what can talent, even feeling, end, when it is kept down by -such shackles? What succession of original truths and new doctrines -could be found and proved, when in a moral tale, like that of Melibeus -and his wife Prudence, it was thought necessary to establish a formal -controversy, to quote Seneca and Job, to forbid tears, to bring forward -the weeping Christ to authorize tears, to enumerate every proof, to call -in Solomon, Cassiodorus, and Cato; in short, to write a book for -schools? The public cares only for pleasant and lively thoughts; not -serious and general ideas; these latter are for a special class only. As -soon as Chaucer gets into a reflective mood, straightway Saint Thomas, -Peter Lombard, the manual of sins, the treatise on definition and -syllogism, the army of the ancients and of the Fathers, descend from -their glory, enter his brain, speak in his stead; and the _trouvère's_ -pleasant voice becomes the dogmatic and sleep-inspiring voice of a -doctor. In love and satire he has experience, and he invents; in what -regards morality and philosophy he has learning, and copies. For an -instant, by a solitary leap, he entered upon the close observation, and -the genuine study of man; he could not keep his ground, he did not take -his seat, he took a poetic excursion; and no one followed him. The level -of the century is lower; he is on it himself for the most part. He is in -the company of narrators like Froissart, of elegant speakers like -Charles of Orléans, of gossipy and barren verse-writers like Gower, -Lydgate, and Occleve. There is no fruit, but frail and fleeting -blossoms, many useless branches, still more dying or dead branches; such -is this literature. And why? Because it had no longer a root; after -three centuries of effort, a heavy instrument cut it underground. This -instrument was the Scholastic Philosophy. - - - - -SECTION VI.--Scholastic Philosophy - - -Beneath every literature there is a philosophy. Beneath, every work of -art is an idea of nature and of life; this idea leads the poet. Whether -the author knows it or not, he writes in order to exhibit it; and the -characters which he fashions, like the events which he arranges, only -serve to bring to light the dim creative conception which raises and -combines them. Underlying Homer appears the noble life of heroic -paganism and of happy Greece. Underlying Dante, the sad and violent life -of fanatical Catholicism and of the much-hating Italians. From either we -might draw a theory of man and of the beautiful. It is so with others; -and this is how, according to the variations, the birth, blossoms, -decline, or sluggishness of the master-idea, literature varies, is born, -flourishes, degenerates, comes to an end. Whoever plants the one, plants -the other: whoever undermines the one, undermines the other. Place in -all the minds of any age a new grand idea of nature and life, so that -they feel and produce it with their whole heart and strength, and you -will see them, seized with the craving to express it, invent forms of -art and groups of figures. Take away from these minds every grand new -idea of nature and life, and you will see them, deprived of the craving -to express all-important thoughts, copy, sink into silence, or rave. - -What has become of all these all-important thoughts? What labor worked -them out? What studies nourished them? The laborers did not lack zeal. -In the twelfth century the energy of their minds was admirable. At -Oxford there were thirty thousand scholars. No building in Paris could -contain the crowd of Abelard's disciples; when he retired to solitude, -they accompanied him in such a multitude that the desert became a town. -No difficulty repulsed them. There is a story of a young boy, who, -though beaten by his master, was wholly bent on remaining with him, that -he might still learn. When the terrible encyclopædia of Aristotle was -introduced, though disfigured and unintelligible it was devoured. The -only question presented to them, that of universals, so abstract and -dry, so embarrassed by Arabic obscurities and Greek subtitles, during -centuries, was seized upon eagerly. Heavy and awkward as was the -instrument supplied to them, I mean syllogism, they made themselves -masters of it, rendered it still more heavy, plunged it into every -object and in every direction. They constructed monstrous books, in -great numbers, cathedrals of syllogism, of unheard-of architecture, of -prodigious finish, heightened in effect by intensity of intellectual -power, which the whole sum of human labor has only twice been able to -match.[244] These young and valiant minds thought they had found the -temple of truth; they rushed at it headlong, in legions, breaking in the -doors, clambering over the walls, leaping into the interior, and so -found themselves at the bottom of a moat. Three centuries of labor at -the bottom of this black moat added not one idea to the human mind. - -For consider the questions which they treat of. They seem to be -marching, but are merely marking time. People would say, to see them -moil and toil, that they will educe from heart and brain some great -original creed, and yet all belief was imposed upon them from the -outset. The system was made; they could only arrange and comment upon -it. The conception comes not from them, but from Constantinople. -Infinitely complicated and subtle as it is, the supreme work of Oriental -mysticism and Greek metaphysics, so disproportioned to their young -understanding, they exhaust themselves to reproduce it, and moreover -burden their unpractised hands with the weight of a logical instrument -which Aristotle created for theory and not for practice, and which ought -to have remained in a cabinet of philosophical curiosities, without -being ever carried into the field of action. "Whether the divine essence -engendered the Son, or was engendered by the Father; why the three -persons together are not greater than one alone; attributes determine -persons, not substance, that is, nature; how properties can exist in the -nature of God, and not determine it; if created spirits are local and -can be circumscribed; if God can know more things than He is aware -of";[245]--these are the ideas which they moot: what truth could issue -thence? From hand to hand the chimera grows, and spreads wider its -gloomy wings. "Can God cause that, the place and body being retained, -the body shall have no position, that is, existence in place?--Whether -the impossibility of being engendered is a constituent property of the -First Person of the Trinity--Whether identity, similitude, and equality -are real relations in God."[246] Duns Scotus distinguishes three kinds -of matter: matter which is firstly first, secondly first, thirdly first. -According to him, we must clear this triple hedge of thorny abstractions -in order to understand the production of a sphere of brass. Under such a -regimen, imbecility soon makes its appearance. Saint Thomas himself -considers, "whether the body of Christ arose with its wounds--whether -this body moves with the motion of the host and the chalice in -consecration--whether at the first instant of conception Christ had the -use of free judgment--whether Christ was slain by himself or by -another?" Do you think you are at the limits of human folly? Listen. He -considers "whether the dove in which the Holy Spirit appeared was a real -animal--whether a glorified body can occupy one and the same place at -the same time as another glorified body--whether in the state of -innocence all children were masculine?" I pass over others as to the -digestion of Christ, and some still more untranslatable.[247] This is -the point reached by the most esteemed doctor, the most judicious mind, -the Bossuet of the Middle Ages. Even in this ring of inanities the -answers are laid down. Roscellinus and Abelard were excommunicated, -exiled, imprisoned, because they swerved from it. There is a complete -minute dogma which closes all issues; there is no means of escaping; -after a hundred wriggles and a hundred efforts you must come and tumble -into a formula. If by mysticism you try to fly over their heads, if by -experience you endeavor to creep beneath, powerful talons await you at -your exit. The wise man passes for a magician, the enlightened man for a -heretic. The Waldenses, the Catharists, the disciples of John of Parma, -were burned; Roger Bacon died only just in time, otherwise he might have -been burned. Under this constraint men ceased to think; for he who -speaks of thought, speaks of an effort at invention, an individual -creation, an energetic action. They recite a lesson, or sing a -catechism; even in paradise, even in ecstasy and the divinest raptures -of love, Dante thinks himself bound to show an exact memory and a -scholastic orthodoxy. How then with the rest? Some, like Raymond Lully, -set about inventing an instrument of reasoning to serve in place of the -understanding. About the fourteenth century, under the blows of Occam, -this verbal science began to totter; they saw that its entities were -only words; it was discredited. In 1367, at Oxford, of thirty thousand -students, there remained six thousand;[248] they still set their -"Barbara and Felapton," but only in the way of routine. Each one in turn -mechanically traversed the petty region of threadbare cavils, scratched -himself in the briers of quibbles, and burdened himself with his bundle -of texts; nothing more. The vast body of science which was to have -formed and vivified the whole thought of man, was reduced to a -text-book. - -So, little by little, the conception which fertilized and ruled all -others, dried up; the deep spring, whence flowed all poetic streams, was -found empty; science furnished nothing more to the world. What further -works could the world produce? As Spain, later on, renewing the Middle -Ages, after having shone splendidly and foolishly by her chivalry and -devotion, by Lope de Vega and Calderon, Loyola and St. Theresa, became -enervated through the Inquisition and through casuistry, and ended by -sinking into a brutish silence; so the Middle Ages, outstripping Spain, -after displaying the senseless heroism of the Crusades, and the poetical -ecstasy of the cloister, after producing chivalry and saintship, Francis -of Assisi, St. Louis, and Dante, languished under the Inquisition and -the scholastic learning, and became extinguished in idle raving and -inanity. - -Must we quote all these good people who speak without having anything to -say? You may find them in Warton;[249] dozens of translators, importing -the poverties of French literature, and imitating imitations; rhyming -chroniclers, most commonplace of men, whom we only read because we must -accept history from every quarter, even from imbeciles; spinners and -spinsters of didactic poems, who pile up verses on the training of -falcons, on heraldry, on chemistry; editors of moralities, who invent -the same dream over again for the hundredth time, and get themselves -taught universal history by the goddess Sapience. Like the writers of -the Latin decadence, these folk only think of copying, compiling, -abridging, constructing in text-books, in rhymed memoranda, the -encyclopædia of their times. - -Listen to the most illustrious, the grave Gower--"morall Gower," as he -was called![250] Doubtless here and there he contains a remnant of -brilliancy and grace. He is like an old secretary of a Court of Love, -André le Chapelain or any other, who would pass the day in solemnly -registering the sentences of ladies, and in the evening, partly asleep -on his desk, would see in a half-dream their sweet smile and their -beautiful eyes.[251] The ingenious but exhausted vein of Charles of -Orléans still flows in his French ballads. He has the same fondling -delicacy, almost a little affected. The poor little poetic spring flows -yet in thin, transparent streamlets over the smooth pebbles, and murmurs -with a babble, pretty, but so low that at times you cannot hear it. But -dull is the rest! His great poem, "Confessio Amantis," is a dialogue -between a lover and his confessor, imitated chiefly from Jean de Meung, -having for object, like the "Roman de la Rose," to explain and classify -the impediments of love. The superannuated theme is always reappearing, -covered by a crude erudition. You will find here an exposition of -hermetic science, lectures on the philosophy of Aristotle, a treatise on -politics, a litany of ancient and modern legends gleaned from the -compilers, marred in the passage by the pedantry of the schools and the -ignorance of the age. It is a cartload of scholastic rubbish; the sewer -tumbles upon this feeble spirit, which of itself was flowing clearly, -but now, obstructed by tiles, bricks, plaster, ruins from all quarters -of the globe, drags on darkened and sluggish. Gower, one of the most -learned of his time,[252] supposed that Latin was invented by the old -prophetess Carmentis; that the grammarians, Aristarchus, Donatus, and -Didymus, regulated its syntax, pronunciation, and prosody; that it was -adorned by Cicero with the flowers of eloquence and rhetoric; then -enriched by translations from the Arabic, Chaldæan, and Greek; and that -at last, after much labor of celebrated writers, it attained its final -perfection in Ovid, the poet of love. Elsewhere he discovered that -Ulysses learned rhetoric from Cicero, magic from Zoroaster, astronomy -from Ptolemy, and philosophy from Plato. And what a style! so long, so -dull,[253] so drawn out by repetitions, the most minute details, -garnished with references to his text, like a man who, with his eyes -glued to his Aristotle and his Ovid, a slave of his musty parchments, -can do nothing but copy and string his rhymes together. Schoolboys even -in old age, they seem to believe that every truth, all wit, is their -great wood-bound books; that they have no need to find out and invent -for themselves; that their whole business is to repeat; that this is, in -fact, man's business. The scholastic system had enthroned the dead -letter, and peopled the world with dead understandings. - -After Gower come Occleve and Lydgate.[254] "My father Chaucer would -willingly have taught me," says Occleve, "but I was dull, and learned -little or nothing." He paraphrased in verse a treatise of Egidius, on -government; these are moralities. There are others, on compassion, after -Augustine, and on the art of dying; then love-tales; a letter from -Cupid, dated from his court in the month of May. Love and -moralities,[255] that is, abstractions and affectation, were the taste -of the time; and so, in the time of Lebrun, of Esménard, at the close -of contemporaneous French literature,[256] they produced collections of -didactic poems, and odes to Chloris. As for the monk Lydgate, he had -some talent, some imagination, especially in high-toned descriptions: it -was the last flicker of a dying literature; gold received a golden -coating, precious stones were placed upon diamonds, ornaments multiplied -and made fantastic; as in their dress and buildings, so in their -style.[257] Look at the costumes of Henry IV and Henry V, monstrous -heart-shaped or horn-shaped head-dresses, long sleeves covered with -ridiculous designs, the plumes, and again the oratories, armorial tombs, -little gaudy chapels, like conspicuous flowers under the naves of the -Gothic perpendicular. When we can no more speak to the soul, we try to -speak to the eyes. This is what Lydgate does, nothing more. Pageants or -shows are required of him, "disguisings" for the company of goldsmiths; -a mask before the king, a May entertainment for the sheriffs of London, -a drama of the creation for the festival of Corpus Christi, a -masquerade, a Christmas show; he gives the plan and furnishes the -verses. In this matter he never runs dry; two hundred and fifty-one -poems are attributed to him. Poetry thus conceived becomes a -manufacture; it is composed by the yard. Such was the judgment of the -Abbot of St. Albans, who, having got him to translate a legend in verse, -pays a hundred shillings for the whole, verse, writing, and -illuminations, placing the three works on a level. In fact, no more -thought was required for the one than for the others. His three great -works, "The Fall of Princes, The Destruction of Troy," and "The Siege -of Thebes," are only translations or paraphrases, verbose, erudite, -descriptive, a kind of chivalrous processions, colored for the twentieth -time, in the same manner, on the same vellum. The only point which rises -above the average, at least in the first poem, is the idea of -Fortune,[258] and the violent vicissitudes of human life. If there was a -philosophy at this time, this was it. They willingly narrated horrible -and tragic histories; gather them from antiquity down to their own day; -they were far from the trusting and passionate piety which felt the hand -of God in the government of the world; they saw that the world went -blundering here and there like a drunken man. A sad and gloomy world, -amused by eternal pleasures, oppressed with a dull misery, which -suffered and feared without consolation or hope, isolated between the -ancient spirit in which it had no living hope, and the modern spirit -whose active science it ignored. Fortune, like a black smoke, hovers -over all, and shuts out the sight of heaven. They picture it as follows: - - -"Her face semyng cruel and terrible -And by disdaynè menacing of loke,... -An hundred handes she had, of eche part... -Some of her handes lyft up men alofte, -To hye estate of worldlye dignitè; -Another hande griped ful unsofte, -Which cast another in grete adversite."[259] - - -They look upon the great unhappy ones, a captive king, a dethroned -queen, assassinated princes, noble cities destroyed,[260] lamentable -spectacles as exhibited in Germany and France, and of which there will -be plenty in England; and they can only regard them with a harsh -resignation. Lydgate ends by reciting a commonplace of mechanical piety, -by way of consolation. The reader makes the sign of the cross, yawns, -and goes away. In fact, poetry and religion are no longer capable of -suggesting a genuine sentiment. Authors copy, and copy again. Hawes[261] -copies the "House of Fame" of Chaucer, and a sort of allegorical amorous -poem, after the "Roman de la Rose." Barclay[262] translates the "Mirror -of Good Manners" and the "Ship of Fools." Continually we meet with dull -abstractions, used up and barren; it is the scholastic phase of poetry. -If anywhere there is an accent of greater originality, it is in this -"Ship of Fools," and in Lydgate's "Dance of Death," bitter buffooneries, -sad gayeties, which, in the hands of artists and poets, were having -their run throughout Europe. They mock at each other, grotesquely and -gloomily; poor, dull, and vulgar figures, shut up in a ship, or made to -dance on their tomb to the sound of a fiddle, played by a grinning -skeleton. At the end of all this mouldy talk, and amid the disgust which -they have conceived for each other, a clown, a tavern Triboulet,[263] -composer of little jeering and macaronic verses, Skelton[264] makes his -appearance, a virulent pamphleteer, who, jumbling together French, -English, Latin phrases, with slang, and fashionable words, invented -words, intermingled with short rhymes, fabricates a sort of literary -mud, with which he bespatters Wolsey and the bishops. Style, metre, -rhyme, language, art of every kind, is at an end; beneath the vain -parade of official style there is only a heap of rubbish. Yet, as he -says, - - -"Though my rhyme be ragged, -Tattered and gagged, -Rudely rain-beaten, -Rusty, moth-eaten, -Yf ye take welle therewithe, -It hath in it some pithe." - - -It is full of political animus, sensual liveliness, English and popular -instincts; it lives. It is a coarse life, still elementary, swarming -with ignoble vermin, like that which appears in a great decomposing -body. It is life, nevertheless, with its two great features which it is -destined to display: the hatred of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, which -is the Reformation; the return to the senses and to natural life, which -is the Renaissance. - - - - -[Footnote 193: Born between 1328 and 1345, died in 1400.] - -[Footnote 194: Renan, "De l'Art au Moyen Age."] - -[Footnote 195: See Froissart, his life with the Count of Foix -and with King Richard II.] - -[Footnote 196: "Knight's Tale," II. p. 59, lines 1957-1964.] - -[Footnote 197: "Knight's Tale," II. p. 59, lines 1977-1996.] - -[Footnote 198: Ibid., p. 61, lines 2043-2050.] - -[Footnote 199: "Knight's Tale," II. p. 63, lines 2120-2188.] - -[Footnote 200: The House of Fame.] - -[Footnote 201: André le Chapelain, 1170.] - -[Footnote 202: Also the "Court of Love," and perhaps "The Assemble -of Ladies" and "La Belle Dame sans Merci."] - -[Footnote 203: "Troilus and Cressida," vol, V. bk. 3, p. 12.] - -[Footnote 204: "Troilus and Cressida," vol. V. bk. 3, p. 40.] - -[Footnote 205: Ibid. p. 4.] - -[Footnote 206: "Troilus and Cressida," vol. IV. bk. 2, p. 292.] - -[Footnote 207: Ibid. vol. V. bk. 4, p. 97.] - -[Footnote 208: "Troilus and Cressida," vol. V. bk. 5, p. 119 et passim.] - -[Footnote 209: "The Flower and the Leaf," VI. p. 244, lines 6-32.] - -[Footnote 210: Ibid. p. 245, line 33.] - -[Footnote 211: Ibid. VI. p. 246, lines 78-133.] - -[Footnote 212: "The Cuckow and Nightingale," VI. p. 121, lines 67-85.] - -[Footnote 213: Ibid. p. 126, lines 230-241.] - -[Footnote 214: Stendhal, "On Love: the difference of Love-taste -and Love-passion."] - -[Footnote 215: "The Court of Love," about 1353, et seq. See also -the "Testament of Love."] - -[Footnote 216: "Troilus and Cressida," vol. V. III. pp. 44, 45.] - -[Footnote 217: The story of the pear-tree (Merchant's Tale), and -of the cradle (Reeve's Tale), for instance, in the "Canterbury -Tales."] - -[Footnote 218: "Canterbury Tales" prologue, p. 10, line 323.] - -[Footnote 219: Ibid. p. 12, line 373.] - -[Footnote 220: "Canterbury Tales," prologue, p. 21, line 688.] - -[Footnote 221: Ibid. II. prologue, p. 14, line 460.] - -[Footnote 222: "Canterbury Tales," ii., Wife of Bath's -Prologue, p. 168, lines 5610-5739.] - -[Footnote 223: Ibid. p. 179, lines 5968-6072.] - -[Footnote 224: "Canterbury Tales," ii., Wife of Bath's Prologue, -p. 185, lines 6177-6188.] - -[Footnote 225: Ibid, prologue, II. p. 7, line 208 et passim.] - -[Footnote 226: "Canterbury Tales," The Sompnoures Tale, II. p. 220, -lines 7319-7340.] - -[Footnote 227: Ibid. p. 221, line 7366.] - -[Footnote 228: Ibid. p. 221, line 7384.] - -[Footnote 229: Ibid. p. 222, line 7389.] - -[Footnote 230: "Canterbury Tales," II., The Sompnoures Tale, p. 222, -lines 7397-7429.] - -[Footnote 231: Ibid. p. 223, lines 7450-7460.] - -[Footnote 232: Ibid. p. 226, lines 7536-7544.] - -[Footnote 233: "Canterbury Tales," II., The Sompnoures Tale, p. 226, -lines 7545-7553.] - -[Footnote 234: Ibid. p. 230, lines 7685-7695.] - -[Footnote 235: "Canterbury Tales," II., The Sompnoures Prologue, -p. 217, lines 7254-7279.] - -[Footnote 236: See in "The Canterbury Tales" the Rhyme of Sir Topas, -a parody on the chivalric histories. Each character there seems a -precursor of Cervantes.] - -[Footnote 237: Prologue to "Canterbury Tales," II. p. 3, lines 68-72.] - -[Footnote 238: Prologue to "Canterbury Tales," II. p. 3, lines 79-100.] - -[Footnote 239: Prologue to "Canterbury Tales," II. p. 4, lines 118-141.] - -[Footnote 240: Ibid. p. 5, lines 142-150.] - -[Footnote 241: Ibid. p. 5, lines 151-162.] - -[Footnote 242: Tennyson, in his "Dream of Fair Women," sings: -"Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath -Preluded those melodious bursts, that fill -The spacious times of great Elizabeth -With sounds that echo still."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 243: Speaking of Cressida, IV. book I. p. 236, he says: -"Right as our first letter is now an a, -In beautie first so stood she makeles, -Her goodly looking gladed all the prees, -Nas never seene thing to be praised so derre, -Nor under cloude blacke so bright a sterre."] - -[Footnote 244: Under Proclus and under Hegel. Duns Scotus, at the age of -thirty-one, died, leaving beside his sermons and commentaries, twelve -folio volumes, in a small close handwriting, in a style like Hegel's, on -the same subject as Proclus treats of. Similarly with Saint Thomas and the -whole train of schoolmen. No idea can be formed of such a labor before -handling the books themselves.] - -[Footnote 245: Peter Lombard, "Book of Sentences." It was the classic -of the Middle Ages.] - -[Footnote 246: Duns Scotus, ed. 1639.] - -[Footnote 247: Utrum angelus diligat se ipsum dilectione naturali -vel electiva? Utrum in statu innocentiæ fuerit generatio per coitum? -Utrum omnes fuissent nati in sexu masculino? Utrum cognitio angeli -posset dici matutina et vespertina? Utrum martyribus aureola debeatur? -Utrum virgo Maria fuerit virgo in concipiendo? Utrum remanserit virgo post -partum? The reader may look out in the text the reply to these last two -questions. (S. Thomas, "Summa Theologica," ed. 1677.)] - -[Footnote 248: The Rev. Henry Anstey, in his Introduction to -"Munimenta Academica," Lond. 1868, says that "the statement -of Richard of Armagh that there were in the thirteenth century -30,000 scholars at Oxford is almost incredible." P. XLVIII.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 249: "History of English Poetry," vol. II.] - -[Footnote 250: Contemporary with Chaucer. The "Confessio Amantis" -dates from 1393.] - -[Footnote 251: "History of Rosiphele. Ballads."] - -[Footnote 252: Warton, II. 240.] - -[Footnote 253: See, for instance his description of the sun's crown, -the most poetical passage in book VII.] - -[Footnote 254: 1420, 1430.] - -[Footnote 255: This is the title Froissart (1397) gave to his collection -when presenting it to Richard II.] - -[Footnote 256: Lebrun, 1729-1807; Esménard, 1770-1812.] - -[Footnote 257: Lydgate, "The Destruction of Troy"--description of -Hector's chapel. Especially read the Pageants or Solemn Entries.] - -[Footnote 258: See the Vision of Fortune, a gigantic figure. In -this painting he shows both feeling and talent.] - -[Footnote 259: Lydgate, "Fall of Princes." Warton, II. 280.] - -[Footnote 260: The War of the Hussites, The Hundred Years' War, -and The War of the Roses.] - -[Footnote 261: About 1506. "The Temple of Glass. Passetyme of -Pleasure."] - -[Footnote 262: About 1500.] - -[Footnote 263: The court fool in Victor Hugo's drama of "Le Roi -s'amuse."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 264: Died 1529; Poet-Laureate 1489. His "Bouge of Court," -his "Crown of Laurel," his "Elegy on the Death of the Earl of -Northumberland," are well written, and belong to official poetry.] - - - - -BOOK II.--THE RENAISSANCE - - - - -CHAPTER FIRST - - -The Pagan Renaissance - - -_PART I.--Manners of the Time_ - - -SECTION I.--Ideas of the Middle Ages - - -For seventeen centuries a deep and sad thought had weighed upon the -spirit of man, first to overwhelm it, then to exalt and to weaken it, -never losing its hold throughout this long space of time. It was the -idea of the weakness and decay of the human race. Greek corruption, -Roman oppression, and the dissolution of the ancient world, had given -rise to it; it, in its turn, had produced a stoical resignation, an -epicurean indifference, Alexandrian mysticism, and the Christian hope in -the kingdom of God. "The world is evil and lost, let us escape by -insensibility, amazement, ecstasy." Thus spoke the philosophers; and -religion, coming after, announced that the end was near; "Prepare, for -the kingdom of God is at hand." For a thousand years universal ruin -incessantly drove still deeper into their hearts this gloomy thought; -and when man in the feudal state raised himself, by sheer force of -courage and muscles, from the depths of final imbecility and general -misery, he discovered his thought and his work fettered by the crushing -idea, which, forbidding a life of nature and worldly hopes, erected into -ideals the obedience of the monk and the dreams of fanatics. - -It grew ever worse and worse. For the natural result of such a -conception, as of the miseries which engender it, and the discouragement -which it gives rise to, is to do away with personal action, and to -replace originality by submission. From the fourth century, gradually -the dead letter was substituted for the living faith. Christians -resigned themselves into the hands of the clergy, they into the hands of -the pope. Christian opinions were subordinated to theologians, and -theologians to the Fathers. Christian faith was reduced to the -accomplishment of works, and works to the accomplishment of ceremonies. -Religion, fluid during the first centuries, was now congealed into a -hard crystal, and the coarse contact of the barbarians had deposited -upon its surface a layer of idolatry; theocracy and the Inquisition, the -monopoly of the clergy and the prohibition of the Scriptures, the -worship of relics and the sale of indulgences began to appear. In place -of Christianity, the church; in place of a free creed, enforced -orthodoxy; in place of moral fervor, fixed religious practices; in place -of the heart and stirring thought, outward and mechanical discipline: -such are the characteristics of the Middle Ages. Under this constraint -thinking society had ceased to think; philosophy was turned into a -text-book, and poetry into dotage; and mankind, slothful and crouching, -delivering up their conscience and their conduct into the hands of their -priests, seemed but as puppets, fit only for reciting a catechism and -mumbling over beads.[265] - -At last invention makes another start; and it makes it by the efforts of -the lay society, which rejected theocracy, kept the State free, and -which presently discovered, or rediscovered, one after another, the -industries, sciences, and arts. All was renewed; America and the Indies -were added to the map of the world; the shape of the earth was -ascertained, the system of the universe propounded, modern philology was -inaugurated, the experimental sciences set on foot, art and literature -shot forth like a harvest, religion was transformed; there was no -province of human intelligence and action which was not refreshed and -fertilized by this universal effort. It was so great that it passed from -the innovators to the laggards, and reformed Catholicism in the face of -Protestantism which it formed. It seems as though men had suddenly -opened their eyes and seen. In fact, they attain a new and superior kind -of intelligence. It is the proper feature of this age that men no longer -make themselves masters of objects by bits, or isolated, or through -scholastic or mechanical classifications, but as a whole, in general and -complete views, with the eager grasp of a sympathetic spirit, which -being placed before a vast object, penetrates it in all its parts, tries -it in all its relations, appropriates and assimilates it, impresses upon -itself its living and potent image, so life-like and so powerful, that -it is fain to translate it into externals through a work of art or an -action. An extraordinary warmth of soul, a superabundant and splendid -imagination, reveries, visions, artists, believers, founders, -creators--that is what such a form of intellect produces; for to create -we must have, as had Luther and Loyola, Michel Angelo and Shakespeare, -an idea, not abstract, partial, and dry, but well defined, finished, -sensible--a true creation, which acts inwardly, and struggles to appear -to the light. This was Europe's grand age, and the most notable epoch of -human growth. To this day we live from its sap; we only carry on its -pressure and efforts. - - - - -SECTION II.--Growth of New Ideas - - -When human power is manifested so clearly and in such great works, it is -no wonder if the ideal changes, and the old pagan idea reappears. It -recurs, bringing with it the worship of beauty and vigor, first in -Italy; for this, of all countries in Europe, is the most pagan, and the -nearest to the ancient civilization; thence in France and Spain, and -Flanders, and even in Germany; and finally in England. How is it -propagated? What revolution of manners reunited mankind at this time, -everywhere, under a sentiment which they had forgotten for fifteen -hundred years? Merely that their condition had improved, and they felt -it. The idea ever expresses the actual situation, and the creatures of -the imagination, like the conceptions of the mind, only manifest the -state of society and the degree of its welfare; there is a fixed -connection between what man admires and what he is. While misery -overwhelms him, while the decadence is visible, and hope shut out, he is -inclined to curse his life on earth, and seek consolation in another -sphere. As soon as his sufferings are alleviated, his power made -manifest, his prospects brightened, he begins once more to love the -present life, to be self-confident, to love and praise energy, genius, -all the effective faculties which labor to procure him happiness. About -the twentieth year of Elizabeth's reign, the nobles gave up shield and -two-handed sword for the rapier;[266] a little, almost imperceptible -fact, yet vast, for it is like the change which sixty years ago made us -give up the sword at court, to leave us with our arms swinging about in -our black coats. In fact, it was the close of feudal life, and the -beginning of court life, just as today court life is at an end, and the -democratic reign has begun. With the two-handed swords, heavy coats of -mail, feudal keeps, private warfare, permanent disorder, all the -scourges of the Middle Ages retired, and faded into the past. The -English had done with the Wars of the Roses. They no longer ran the risk -of being pillaged to-morrow for being rich, and hanged the next day for -being traitors; they have no further need to furbish up their armor, -make alliances with powerful nations, lay in stores for the winter, -gather together men-at-arms, scour the country to plunder and hang -others.[267] The monarchy, in England, as throughout Europe, establishes -peace in the community,[268] and with peace appear the useful arts. -Domestic comfort follows civil security; and man, better furnished in -his home, better protected in his hamlet, takes pleasure in his life on -earth, which he has changed, and means to change. - -Toward the close of the fifteenth century[269] the impetus was given; -commerce and the woolen trade made a sudden advance, and such an -enormous one that corn-fields were changed into pasture-lands, "whereby -the inhabitants of the said town (Manchester) have gotten and come into -riches and wealthy livings,"[270] so that in 1553, 40,000 pieces of -cloth were exported in English ships. It was already the England which -we see to-day, a land of green meadows, intersected by hedgerows, -crowded with cattle, and abounding in ships--a manufacturing opulent -land, with a people of beef-eating toilers, who enrich it while they -enrich themselves. They improved agriculture to such an extent that in -half a century the produce of an acre was doubled.[271] They grew so -rich that at the beginning of the reign of Charles I the Commons -represented three times the wealth of the Upper House. The ruin of -Antwerp by the Duke of Parma[272] sent to England "the third part of the -merchants and manufacturers, who made silk, damask, stockings, taffetas, -and serges." The defeat of the Armada and the decadence of Spain opened -the seas to English merchants.[273] The toiling hive, who would dare, -attempt, explore, act in unison, and always with profit, was about to -reap its advantages and set out on its voyages, buzzing over the -universe. - -At the base and on the summit of society, in all ranks of life, in all -grades of human condition, this new welfare became visible. In 1534, -considering that the streets of London were "very noyous and foul, and -in many places thereof very jeopardous to all people passing and -repassing, as well on horseback as on foot," Henry VIII began the paving -of the city. New streets covered the open spaces where the young men -used to run races and to wrestle. Every year the number of taverns, -theatres, gambling-rooms, bear-gardens, increased. Before the time of -Elizabeth the country-houses of gentlemen were little more than -straw-thatched cottages, plastered with the coarsest clay, lighted only -by trellises. "Howbeit," says Harrison (1580), "such as be latelie -builded are commonlie either of bricke or hard stone, or both; their -roomes large and comelie, and houses of office further distant from -their lodgings." The old wooden houses were covered with plaster, -"which, beside the delectable whitenesse of the stuffe itselfe, is laied -on so even and smoothlie, as nothing in my judgment can be done with -more exactnesse."[274] This open admiration shows from what hovels they -had escaped. Glass was at last employed for windows, and the bare walls -were covered with hangings, on which visitors might see, with delight -and astonishment, plants, animals, figures. They began to use stoves, -and experienced the unwonted pleasure of being warm. Harrison notes -three important changes which had taken place in the farm-houses of his -time: - - -"One is, the multitude of chimnies lately erected, whereas in their -yoong daies there were not above two or three, if so manie, in most -uplandishe townes of the realme.... The second is the great (although -not generall), amendment of lodging, for our fathers (yea and we -ourselves also) have lien full oft upon straw pallets, on rough mats -covered onelie with a sheet, under coverlets made of dagswain, or -hop-harlots, and a good round log under their heads, insteed of a -bolster or pillow. If it were so that the good man of the house, had -within seven yeares after his marriage purchased a matteres or -flockebed, and thereto a sacke of chaffe to rest his head upon, he -thought himselfe to be as well lodged as the lord of the towne.... -Pillowes (said they) were thought meet onelie for women in childbed.... -The third thing is the exchange of vessell, as of treene platters into -pewter, and wodden spoones into silver or tin; for so common was all -sorts of treene stuff in old time, that a man should hardlie find four -peeces of pewter (of which one was peradventure a salt) in a good -farmers house."[275] - - -It is not possession, but acquisition, which gives men pleasure and -sense of power; they observe sooner a small happiness, new to them, than -a great happiness which is old. It is not when all is good, but when all -is better, that they see the bright side of life, and are tempted to -make a holiday of it. This is why at this period they did make a holiday -of it, a splendid show, so like a picture that it fostered painting in -Italy, so like a piece of acting that it produced the drama in England. -Now that the axe and sword of the civil wars had beaten down the -independent nobility, and the abolition of the law of maintenance had -destroyed the petty royalty of each great feudal baron, the lords -quitted their sombre castles, battlemented fortresses, surrounded by -stagnant water, pierced with narrow windows, a sort of stone -breastplates of no use but to preserve the life of their master. They -flock into new palaces with vaulted roofs and turrets, covered with -fantastic and manifold ornaments, adorned with terraces and vast -staircases, with gardens, fountains, statues, such as were the palaces -of Henry VIII and Elizabeth, half Gothic and half Italian,[276] whose -convenience, splendor, and symmetry announced already habits of society, -and the taste for pleasure. They came to court and abandoned their old -manners; the four meals which scarcely sufficed their former voracity -were reduced to two; gentlemen soon became refined, placing their glory -in the elegance and singularity of their amusements and their clothes. -They dressed magnificently in splendid materials, with the luxury of men -who rustle silk and make gold sparkle for the first time: doublets of -scarlet satin; cloaks of sable, costing a thousand ducats; velvet shoes, -embroidered with gold and silver, covered with rosettes and ribbons; -boots with falling tops, from whence hung a cloud of lace, embroidered -with figures of birds, animals, constellations, flowers in silver, gold, -or precious stones; ornamented shirts costing ten pounds a piece. "It is -a common thing to put a thousand goats and a hundred oxen on a coat, and -to carry a whole manor on one's back."[277] The costumes of the time -were shrines. When Elizabeth died, they found three thousand dresses in -her wardrobe. Need we speak of the monstrous ruffs of the ladies, their -puffed-out dresses, their stomachers stiff with diamonds? Asa singular -sign of the times, the men were more changeable and more bedecked than -they. Harrison says: - - -"Such is our mutabilitie, that to daie there is none to the Spanish -guise, to morrow the French toies are most fine and delectable, yer long -no such apparell as that which is after the high Alman fashion, by and -by the Turkish maner is generallie best liked of, otherwise the Morisco -gowns, the Barbarian sleeves... and the short French breeches.... And -as these fashions are diverse, so likewise it is a world to see the -costlinesse and the curiositie; the excesse and the vanitie; the pompe -and the braverie; the change and the varietie; and finallie, the -ficklenesse and the follie that is in all degrees."[278] - - -Folly, it may have been, but poetry likewise. There was something more -than puppyism in this masquerade of splendid costume. The overflow of -inner sentiment found this issue, as also in drama and poetry. It was an -artistic spirit which induced it. There was an incredible outgrowth of -living forms from their brains. They acted like their engravers, who -give us in their frontispieces a prodigality of fruits, flowers, active -figures, animals, gods, and pour out and confuse the whole treasure of -nature in every corner of their paper. They must enjoy the beautiful; -they would be happy through their eyes; they perceive in consequence -naturally the relief and energy of forms. From the accession of Henry -VIII to the death of James I we find nothing but tournaments, -processions, public entries, masquerades. First come the royal banquets, -coronation displays, large and noisy pleasures of Henry VIII. Wolsey -entertains him - - -"In so gorgeous a sort and costlie maner, that it was an heaven to -behold. There wanted no dames or damosels meet or apt to danse with the -maskers, or to garnish the place for the time: then was there all kind -of musike and harmonie, with fine voices both of men and children. On a -time the king came suddenlie thither in a maske with a dozen maskers all -in garments like sheepheards, made of fine cloth of gold, and crimosin -sattin paned,... having sixteene torch-bearers.... In came a new banket -before the king wherein were served two hundred diverse dishes, of -costlie devises and subtilities. Thus passed they foorth the night with -banketting, dansing, and other triumphs, to the great comfort of the -king, and pleasant regard of the nobilitie there assembled."[279] - - -Count, if you can, the mythological entertainments, the theatrical -receptions, the open-air operas played before Elizabeth, James, and -their great lords.[280] At Kenilworth the pageants lasted ten days. -There was everything; learned recreations, novelties, popular plays, -sanguinary spectacles, coarse farces, juggling and feats of skill, -allegories, mythologies, chivalric exhibitions, rustic and national -commemorations. At the same time, in this universal outburst and sudden -expanse, men become interested in themselves, find their life desirable, -worthy of being represented and put on the stage complete; they play -with it, delight in looking upon it, love its ups and downs, and make of -it a work of art. The queen is received by a sibyl, then by giants of -the time of Arthur, then by the Lady of the Lake, Sylvanus, Pomona, -Ceres, and Bacchus, every divinity in turn presents her with the -first-fruits of his empire. Next day, a savage, dressed in moss and ivy, -discourses before her with Echo in her praise. Thirteen bears are set -fighting against dogs. An Italian acrobat performs wonderful feats -before the whole assembly. A rustic marriage takes place before the -queen, then a sort of comic fight amongst the peasants of Coventry, who -represent the defeat of the Danes. As she is returning from the chase, -Triton, rising from the lake, prays her, in the name of Neptune, to -deliver the enchanted lady, pursued by a cruel knight, Syr Bruse sauns -Pitee. Presently the lady appears, surrounded by nymphs, followed close -by Proteus, who is borne by an enormous dolphin. Concealed in the -dolphin, a band of musicians with a chorus of ocean-deities, sing the -praise of the powerful, beautiful, chaste queen of England.[281] You -perceive that comedy is not confined to the theatre; the great of the -realm and the queen herself become actors. The cravings of the -imagination are so keen that the court becomes a stage. Under James I, -every year, on Twelfth-day, the queen, the chief ladies and nobles, -played a piece called a Masque, a sort of allegory combined with dances, -heightened in effect by decorations and costumes of great splendor, of -which the mythological paintings of Rubens can alone give an idea: - - -"The attire of the lords was from the antique Greek statues. On their -heads they wore Persic crowns, that were with scrolls of gold plate -turned outward, and wreathed about with a carnation and silver net-lawn. -Their bodies were of carnation cloth of silver; to express the naked, in -manner of the Greek thorax, girt under the breasts with a broad belt of -cloth of gold, fastened with jewels; the mantles were of coloured silke; -the first, sky-colour; the second, pearl-colour; the third, flame -colour; the fourth, tawny. The ladies attire was of white cloth of -silver, wrought with Juno's birds and fruits; a loose under garment, -full gathered, of carnation, striped with silver, and parted with a -golden zone; beneath that, another flowing garment, of watchet cloth of -silver, laced with gold; their hair carelessly bound under the circle of -a rare and rich coronet, adorned with all variety, and choice of jewels; -from the top of which flowed a transparent veil, down to the ground. -Their shoes were azure and gold, set with rubies and diamonds."[282] - - -I abridge the description, which is like a fairy tale. Fancy that all -these costumes, this glitter of materials, this sparkling of diamonds, -this splendor of nudities, was displayed daily at the marriage of the -great, to the bold sounds of a pagan epithalamium. Think of the feasts -which the Earl of Carlisle introduced, where was served first of all a -table loaded with sumptuous viands, as high as a man could reach, in -order to remove it presently, and replace it by another similar table. -This prodigality of magnificence, these costly follies, this unbridling -of the imagination, this intoxication of eye and ear, this comedy played -by the lords of the realm, like the pictures of Rubens, Jordaens, and -their Flemish contemporaries, so open an appeal to the senses, so -complete a return to nature, that our chilled and gloomy age is scarcely -able to imagine it.[283] - - - - -SECTION III.--Popular Festivals - - -To vent the feelings, to satisfy the heart and eyes, to set free boldly -on all the roads of existence the pack of appetites and instincts, this -was the craving which the manners of the time betrayed. It was "merry -England," as they called it then. It was not yet stern and constrained. -It expanded widely, freely, and rejoiced to find itself so expanded. No -longer at court only was the drama found, but in the village. Strolling -companies betook themselves thither, and the country folk supplied any -deficiencies, when necessary. Shakespeare saw, before he depicted them, -stupid fellows, carpenters, joiners, bellows-menders, play Pyramus and -Thisbe, represent the lion roaring as gently as any sucking dove, and -the wall, by stretching out their hands. Every holiday was a pageant, in -which townspeople, workmen, and children bore their parts. They were -actors by nature. When the soul is full and fresh, it does not express -its ideas by reasonings; it plays and figures them; it mimics them; that -is the true and original language, the children's tongue, the speech of -artists, of invention, and of joy. It is in this manner they please -themselves with songs and feasting, on all the symbolic holidays with -which tradition has filled the year.[284] On the Sunday after -Twelfth-night the laborers parade the streets, with their shirts over -their coats, decked with ribbons, dragging a plough to the sound of -music, and dancing a sword-dance; on another day they draw in a cart a -figure made of ears of corn, with songs, flutes, and drums; on another, -Father Christmas and his company; or else they enact the history of -Robin Hood, the bold archer, around the May-pole, or the legend of Saint -George and the Dragon. We might occupy half a volume in describing all -these holidays, such as Harvest Home, All Saints, Martinmas, -Sheepshearing, above all Christmas, which lasted twelve days, and -sometimes six weeks. They eat and drink, junket, tumble about, kiss the -girls, ring the bells, satiate themselves with noise: coarse drunken -revels, in which man is an unbridled animal, and which are the -incarnation of natural life. The Puritans made no mistake about that. -Stubbes says: - - -"First, all the wilde heades of the parishe, conventying together, chuse -them a ground capitaine of mischeef, whan they innoble with the title of -my Lorde of Misserule, and hym they crown with great solemnitie, and -adopt for their kyng. This kyng anoynted, chuseth for the twentie, -fourtie, three score, or a hundred lustie guttes like to hymself to -waite uppon his lordely maiestie.... Then have they their hobbie horses, -dragons, and other antiques, together with their baudie pipers and -thunderyng drommers, to strike up the devilles daunce withall: then -marche these heathen companie towardes the churche and churche-yarde, -their pipers pipyng, their drommers thonderyng, their stumppes dauncyng, -their belles rynglyng, their handkerchefes swyngyng about their heads -like madmen, their hobbie horses and other monsters skirmishyng amongest -the throng; and in this sorte they goe to the churche (though the -minister be at praier or preachyng), dauncyng, and swingyng their -handkercheefes over their heades, in the churche, like devilles -incarnate, with such a confused noise, that no man can heare his owne -voice. Then the foolishe people they looke, they stare, they laugh, they -fleere, and mount upon formes and pewes, to see these goodly pageauntes, -solemnized in this sort. Then after this, aboute the churche they goe -againe and againe, and so forthe into the churche-yarde, where they have -commonly their sommer haules, their bowers, arbours, and banquettyng -houses set up, wherein they feaste, banquet, and daunce all that daie, -and peradventure all that night too. And thus these terrestriall furies -spend the Sabbaoth daie!... An other sorte of fantasticall fooles bringe -to these helhoundes (the Lorde of Misrule and his complices) some bread, -some good ale, some newe cheese, some olde cheese, some custardes, some -cakes, some flaunes, some tartes, some creame, some meate, some one -thing, some an other." - - -He continues thus: - - -"Against Maie, every parishe, towne and village essemble themselves -together, bothe men, women, and children, olde and yong, even all -indifferently; they goe to the woodes where they spende all the night in -pleasant pastymes, and in the mornyng they returne, bringing with them -birch, bowes, and branches of trees, to deck their assemblies with-all. -But their cheefest iewell they bringe from thence is their Maie poole, -whiche they bring home with great veneration, as thus: They have twenty -or fourtie yoke of oxen, every ox havyng a sweete nosegaie of flowers -tyed on the tippe of his homes, and these oxen, drawe home this Maie -poole (this stinckyng idoll rather)... and thus beyng reared up, they -strawe the grounde aboute, binde greene boughes about it, sett up sommer -haules, bowers, and arbours hard by it; and then fall they to banquet -and feast, to leape and daunce aboute it, as the heathen people did at -the dedication of their idolles.... Of a hundred maides goyng to the -woode over night, there have scarcely the third parte returned home -againe undefiled."[285] - - -"On Shrove Tuesday," says another,[286] "at the sound of a bell, the -folk become insane, thousands at a time, and forget all decency and -common-sense.... It is to Satan and the devil that they pay homage and -do sacrifice to in these abominable pleasures." It is in fact to nature, -to the ancient Pan, to Freya, to Hertha, her sisters, to the old -Teutonic deities who survived the Middle Ages. At this period, in the -temporary decay of Christianity, and the sudden advance of corporal -well-being, man adored himself, and there endured no life within him but -that of paganism. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Influence of Classic Literature - - -To sum up, observe the process of ideas at this time. A few sectarians, -chiefly in the towns and of the people, clung gloomily to the Bible. But -the court and the men of the world sought their teachers and their -heroes from pagan Greece and Rome. About 1490[287] they began to read -the classics; one after the other they translated them; it was soon the -fashion to read them in the original. Queen Elizabeth, Jane Grey, the -Duchess of Norfolk, the Countess of Arundel, and many other ladies, were -conversant with Plato, Xenophon, and Cicero in the original, and -appreciated them. Gradually, by an insensible change, men were raised to -the level of the great and healthy minds who had freely handled ideas of -all kinds fifteen centuries before. They comprehended not only their -language, but their thought; they did not repeat lessons from, but held -conversations with them; they were their equals, and found in them -intellects as manly as their own. For they were not scholastic -cavillers, miserable compilers, repulsive pedants, like the professors -of jargon whom the Middle Ages had set over them, like gloomy Duns -Scotus, whose leaves Henry VII's visitors scattered to the winds. They -were gentlemen, statesmen, the most polished and best educated men in -the world, who knew how to speak, and draw their ideas, not from books, -but from things, living ideas, and which entered of themselves into -living souls. Across the train of hooded schoolmen and sordid cavillers -the two adult and thinking ages were united, and the moderns, silencing -the infantine or snuffling voices of the Middle Ages, condescended only -to converse with the noble ancients. They accepted their gods, at least -they understand them, and keep them by their side. In poems, festivals, -on hangings, almost in all ceremonies, they appear, not restored by -pedantry merely, but kept alive by sympathy, and endowed by the arts -with a life as flourishing and almost as profound as that of their -earliest birth. After the terrible night of the Middle Ages, and the -dolorous legends of spirits and the damned, it was a delight to see -again Olympus shining upon us from Greece; its heroic and beautiful -deities once more ravishing the heart of men; they raised and instructed -this young world by speaking to it the language of passion and genius; -and this age of strong deeds, free sensuality, bold invention, had only -to follow its own bent, in order to discover in them its masters and the -eternal promoters of liberty and beauty. - -Nearer still was another paganism, that of Italy; the more seductive -because more modern, and because it circulates fresh sap in an ancient -stock; the more attractive, because more sensuous and present, with its -worship of force and genius, of pleasure and voluptuousness. The -rigorists knew this well, and were shocked at it. Ascham writes: - - -"These bee the inchantementes of Circes, brought out of Italie to marre -mens maners in England; much, by example of ill life, but more by -preceptes of fonde bookes, of late translated out of Italian into -English, sold in every shop in London.... There bee moe of these -ungratious bookes set out in Printe wythin these fewe monethes, than -have bene sene in England many score yeares before.... Than they have in -more reverence the triumphes of Petrarche: than the Genesis of Moses: -They make more account of Tullies offices, than S. Paules epistles: of a -tale in Bocace than a storie of the Bible."[288] - - -In fact, at that time Italy clearly led in everything, and civilization -was to be drawn thence, as from its spring. What is this civilization -which is thus imposed on the whole of Europe, whence every science and -every elegance comes, whose laws are obeyed in every court, in which -Surrey, Sidney, Spenser, Shakespeare sought their models and their -materials? It was pagan in its elements and its birth; in its language, -which is but Latin, hardly changed; in its Latin traditions and -recollections, which no gap has interrupted; in its constitution, whose -old municipal life first led and absorbed the feudal life; in the genius -of its race, in which energy and joy always abounded. More than a -century before other nations--from the time of Petrarch, Rienzi, -Boccaccio--the Italians began to recover the lost antiquity, to set free -the manuscripts buried in the dungeons of France and Germany, to -restore, interpret, comment upon, study the ancients, to make themselves -Latin in heart and mind, to compose in prose and verse with the polish -of Cicero and Vergil, to hold sprightly converse and intellectual -pleasures as the ornament and the fairest flower of life.[289] They -adopt not merely the externals of the life of the ancients, but its very -essence; that is, preoccupation with the present life, forgetfulness of -the future, the appeal to the senses, the renunciation of Christianity. -"We must enjoy," sang their first poet, Lorenzo de Medici, in his -pastorals and triumphal songs: "there is no certainty of tomorrow." In -Pulci the mocking incredulity breaks out, the bold and sensual gayety, -all the audacity of the free-thinkers, who kicked aside in disgust the -worn-out monkish frock of the Middle Ages. It was he who, in a jesting -poem, puts at the beginning of each canto a Hosanna, an _In principio_, -or a sacred text from the mass-book.[290] When he had been inquiring -what the soul was, and how it entered the body, he compared it to jam -covered up in white bread quite hot. What would become of it in the -other world? "Some people think they will there discover becafico's, -plucked ortolans, excellent wine, good beds, and therefore they follow -the monks, walking behind them. As for us, dear friend, we shall go into -the black valley, where we shall hear no more Alleluias." If you wish -for a more serious thinker, listen to the great patriot, the Thucydides -of the age, Machiavelli, who, contrasting Christianity and paganism, -says that the first places "supreme happiness in humility, abjection, -contempt for human things, while the other makes the sovereign good -consist in greatness of soul, force of body, and all the qualities which -make men to be feared." Whereon he boldly concludes that Christianity -teaches man "to support evils, and not to do great deeds"; he discovers -in that inner weakness the cause of all oppressions; declares that "the -wicked saw that they could tyrannize without fear over men, who, in -order to get to paradise, were more disposed to suffer than to avenge -injuries." Through such sayings, in spite of his constrained -genuflexions, we can see which religion he prefers. The ideal to which -all efforts were turning, on which all thoughts depended, and which -completely raised this civilization, was the strong and happy man, -possessing all the powers to accomplish his wishes, and disposed to use -them in pursuit of his happiness. - -If you would see this idea in its grandest operation, you must seek it -in the arts, such as Italy made them and carried throughout Europe, -raising or transforming the national schools with such originality and -vigor that all art likely to survive is derived from hence, and the -population of living figures with which they have covered our walls -denotes, like Gothic architecture of French tragedy, a unique epoch of -human intelligence. The attenuated mediæval Christ--a miserable, -distorted, and bleeding earth-worm; the pale and ugly Virgin--a poor old -peasant woman, fainting beside the cross of her Son; ghastly martyrs, -dried up with fasts, with entranced eyes; knotty-fingered saints with -sunken chests--all the touching or lamentable visions of the Middle Ages -have vanished: the train of godheads which are now developed show -nothing but flourishing frames, noble, regular features, and fine, easy -gestures; the names, the names only, are Christian. The new Jesus is a -"crucified Jupiter," as Pulci called him; the Virgins which Raphael -sketched naked, before covering them with garments,[291] are beautiful -girls, quite earthly, related to the Fornarina. The saints which Michel -Angelo arranges and contorts in heaven in his picture of the Last -Judgment are an assembly of athletes, capable of fighting well and -daring much. A martyrdom, like that of Saint Laurence, is a fine -ceremony in which a beautiful young man, without clothing, lies amidst -fifty men dressed and grouped as in an ancient gymnasium. Is there one -of them who had macerated himself? Is there one who had thought with -anguish and tears of the judgment of God, who had worn down and subdued -his flesh, who had filled his heart with the sadness and sweetness of -the gospel? They are too vigorous for that; they are in too robust -health; their clothes fit them too well; they are too ready for prompt -and energetic action. We might make of them strong soldiers or superb -courtesans, admirable in a pageant or at a ball. So, all that the -spectator accords to their halo of glory is a bow or a sign of the -cross; after which his eyes find pleasure in them; they are there simply -for the enjoyment of the eyes. What the spectator feels at the sight of -a Florentine Madonna is the splendid creature, whose powerful body and -fine growth bespeak her race and her vigor; the artist did not paint -moral expression as nowadays, the depth of a soul tortured and refined -by three centuries of culture. They confine themselves to the body, to -the extent even of speaking enthusiastically of the spinal column -itself, "which is magnificent"; of the shoulder-blades, which in the -movements of the arm "produce an admirable effect. You will next draw -the bone which it situated between the hips. It is very fine, and is -called the sacrum."[292] The important point with them is to represent -the nude well. Beauty with them is that of the complete skeleton, sinews -which are linked together and tightened, the thighs which support the -trunk, the strong chest breathing freely, the pliant neck. What a -pleasure to be naked! How good it is in the full light to rejoice in a -strong body, well-formed muscles, a spirited and bold soul! The splendid -goddesses reappear in their primitive nudity, not dreaming that they are -nude; you see from the tranquillity of their look, the simplicity of -their expression, that they have always been thus, and that shame has -not yet reached them. The soul's life is not here contrasted, as amongst -us, with the body's life; the one is not so lowered and degraded that we -dare not show its actions and functions; they do not hide them; man does -not dream of being all spirit. They rise, as of old, from the luminous -sea, with their rearing steeds tossing up their manes, champing the bit, -inhaling the briny savor, whilst their companions wind the -sounding-shell; and the spectators,[293] accustomed to handle the sword, -to combat naked with the dagger or double-handled blade, to ride on -perilous roads, sympathize with the proud shape of the bended back, the -effort of the arm about to strike, the long quiver of the muscles which, -from neck to heel, swell out, to brace a man, or to throw him. - - - - -_PART II.--Poetry_ - - - - -SECTION I.--Renaissance of Saxon Genius - - -Transplanted into different races and climates, this paganism receives -from each, distinct features and a distinct character. In England it -becomes English; the English Renaissance is the Renaissance of the Saxon -genius. Invention recommences; and to invent is to express one's genius. -A Latin race can only invent by expressing Latin ideas; a Saxon race by -expressing Saxon ideas; and we shall find in the new civilization and -poetry, descendants of Caedmon and Adhelm, of Piers Plowman, and Robin -Hood. - - - - -SECTION II.--The Earl of Surrey - - -Old Puttenham says: - - -"In the latter end of the same king (Henry the eighth) reigne, sprong up -a new company of courtly makers, of whom Sir Thomas Wyat th' elder and -Henry Earle of Surrey were the two chieftaines, who having travailed -into Italie, and there tasted the sweete and stately measures and stile -of the Italian Poesie, as novices newly crept out of the schooles of -Dante, Arioste, and Petrarch, they greatly pollished our rude and homely -maner of vulgar Poesie, from that it had bene before, and for that cause -may justly be sayd the first reformers of our English meetre and -stile."[294] - - -Not that their style was very original, or openly exhibits the new -spirit: the Middle Ages is nearly ended, but not quite. By their side -Andrew Borde, John Bale, John Heywood, Skelton himself, repeat the -platitudes of the old poetry and the coarseness of the old style. Their -manners, hardly refined, were still half feudal; on the field, before -Landrecies, the English commander wrote a friendly letter to the French -governor of Térouanne, to ask him "if he had not some gentlemen -disposed to break a lance in honor of the ladies," and promised to send -six champions to meet them. Parades, combats, wounds, challenges, love, -appeals to the judgment of God, penances--all these are found in the -life of Surrey as in a chivalric romance. A great lord, an earl, a -relative of the king, who had figured in processions and ceremonies, had -made war, commanded fortresses, ravaged countries, mounted to the -assault, fallen in the breach, had been saved by his servant, -magnificent, sumptuous, irritable, ambitious, four times imprisoned, -finally beheaded. At the coronation of Anne Boleyn he wore the fourth -sword; at the marriage of Anne of Cleves he was one of the challengers -at the jousts. Denounced and placed in durance, he offered to fight in -his shirt against an armed adversary. Another time he was put in prison -for having eaten flesh in Lent. No wonder if this prolongation of -chivalric manners brought with it a prolongation of chivalric poetry; if -in an age which had known Petrarch, poets displayed the sentiments of -Petrarch. Lord Berners, Sackville, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Surrey in the -first rank, were like Petrarch, plaintive and platonic lovers. It was -pure love to which Surrey gave expression; for his lady, the beautiful -Geraldine, like Beatrice and Laura, was an ideal personage, and a child -of thirteen years. - -And yet, amid this languor of mystical tradition, a personal feeling had -sway. In this spirit which imitated, and that badly at times, which -still groped for an outlet and now and then admitted into its polished -stanzas the old, simple expressions and stale metaphors of heralds of -arms and _trouvères_, there was already visible the Northern -melancholy, the inner and gloomy emotion. This feature, which presently, -at the finest moment of its richest blossom, in the splendid -expansiveness of natural life, spreads a sombre tint over the poetry of -Sidney, Spenser, Shakespeare, already in the first poet separates this -pagan yet Teutonic world from the other, wholly voluptuous, which in -Italy, with lively and refined irony, had no taste, except for art and -pleasure. Surrey translated the Ecclesiastes into verse. Is it not -singular, at this early hour, in this rising dawn, to find such a book -in his hand? A disenchantment, a sad or bitter dreaminess, an innate -consciousness of the vanity of human things, are never lacking in this -country and in this race; the inhabitants support life with difficulty, -and know how to speak of death. Surrey's finest verses bear witness thus -soon to his serious bent, this instinctive and grave philosophy. He -records his griefs, regretting his beloved Wyatt, his friend Clère, his -companion the young Duke of Richmond, all dead in their prime. Alone, a -prisoner at Windsor, he recalls the happy days they have passed -together: - - -"So cruel prison how could betide, alas, -As proud Windsor, where I in lust and joy, -With a Kinges son, my childish years did pass, -In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy. - -"Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour, -The large green courts, where we were wont to hove, -With eyes cast up into the Maiden's tower, -And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love. - -"The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue, -The dances short, long tales of great delight, -With words and looks, that tigers could but rue; -Where each of us did plead the other's right. - -"The palme-play, where, despoiled for the game, -With dazed eyes oft we by gleams of love -Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame, -To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above.... - -"The secret thoughts, imparted with such trust; -The wanton talk, the divers change of play; -The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just, -Wherewith we past the winter night away. - -"And with his thought the blood forsakes the face; -The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue: -The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas! -Up-supped have, thus I my plaint renew: - -"O place of bliss! renewer of my woes! -Give me account, where is my noble fere? -Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose; -To other lief; but unto me most dear. - -"Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue, -Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint."[295] - - -So in love, it is the sinking of a weary soul, to which he gives vent: - - -"For all things having life, sometime hath quiet rest; -The bearing ass, the drawing ox, and every other beast; -The peasant, and the post, that serves at all assays; -The ship-boy, and the galley-slave, have time to take their ease; -Save I, alas! whom care of force doth so constrain, -To wail the day, and wake the night, continually in pain, -From pensiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter tears, -From tears to painful plaint again; and thus my life it wears."[296] - - -That which brings joy to others brings him grief: - - -"The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, -With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale. -The nightingale with feathers new she sings; -The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. -Summer is come, for every spray now springs; -The hart has hung his old head on the pale; -The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; -The fishes flete with new repaired scale; -The adder all her slough away she slings; -The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; -The busy bee her honey now she mings; -Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. -And thus I see among these pleasant things -Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs!"[297] - - -For all that, he will love on to his last sigh: - - -"Yea, rather die a thousand times, than once to false my faith; -And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful smart -Do fail, or faint, my will it is that still she keep my heart. -And when this carcass here to earth shall be refar'd, -I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her afterward."[298] - - -An infinite love, and pure as Petrarch's; and she is worthy of it. In -the midst of all these studied or imitated verses, an admirable portrait -stands out, the simplest and truest we can imagine, a work of the heart -now, and not of the memory, which behind the Madonna of chivalry shows -the English wife, and beyond feudal gallantry domestic bliss. Surrey -alone, restless, hears within him the firm tones of a good friend, a -sincere counsellor, Hope, who speaks to him thus: - - -"For I assure thee, even by oath, -And thereon take my hand and troth, -That she is one of the worthiest, -The truest, and the faithfullest; -The gentlest and the meekest of mind -That here on earth a man may find: -And if that love and truth were gone, -In her it might be found alone. -For in her mind no thought there is, -But how she may be true, I wis; -And tenders thee and all thy heale, -And wishes both thy health and weal; -And loves thee even as far forth than -As any woman may a man; -And is thine own, and so she says; -And cares for thee ten thousand ways. -Of thee she speaks, on thee she thinks; -With thee she eats, with thee she drinks; -With thee she talks, with thee she moans; -With thee she sighs, with thee she groans; -With thee she says 'Farewell mine own!' -When thou, God knows, full far art gone. -And even, to tell thee all aright, -To thee she says full oft 'Good night!' -And names thee oft her own most dear, -Her comfort, weal, and all her cheer; -And tells her pillow all the tale -How thou hast done her woe and bale; -And how she longs, and plains for thee, -And says, 'Why art thou so from me?' -Am I not she that loves thee best! -Do I not wish thine ease and rest? -Seek I not how I may thee please? -Why art thou then so from thine ease? -If I be she for whom thou carest, -For whom in torments so thou farest, -Alas! thou knowest to find me here, -Where I remain thine own most dear. -Thine own most true, thine own most just, -Thine own that loves thee still, and must; -Thine own that cares alone for thee, -As thou, I think, dost care for me; -And even the woman, she alone, -That is full bent to be thine own."[299] - - -Certainly it is of his wife[300] that he is thinking here, not of an -imaginary Laura. The poetic dream of Petrarch has become the exact -picture of deep and perfect conjugal affection, such as yet survives in -England; such as all the poets, from the authoress of the "Nutbrown -Maid" to Dickens,[301] have never failed to represent. - - - - -SECTION III.--Surrey's Style - - -An English Petrarch: no juster title could be given to Surrey, for it -expresses his talent as well as his disposition. In fact, like Petrarch, -the oldest of the humanists, and the earliest exact writer of the modern -tongue, Surrey introduces a new style, the manly style, which marks a -great change of the mind; for this new form of writing is the result of -superior reflection, which, governing the primitive impulse, calculates -and selects with an end in view. At last the intellect has grown capable -of self-criticism, and actually criticises itself. It corrects its -unconsidered works, infantine and incoherent, at once incomplete and -superabundant; it strengthens and binds them together; it prunes and -perfects them; it takes from them the master idea, to set it free and to -show it clearly. This is what Surrey does, and his education had -prepared him for it; for he had studied Vergil as well as Petrarch, and -translated two books of the Æneid, almost verse for verse. In such -company a man cannot but select his ideas and connect his phrases. After -their example, Surrey gauges the means of striking the attention, -assisting the intelligence, avoiding fatigue and weariness. He looks -forward to the last line whilst writing the first. He keeps the -strongest word for the last, and shows the symmetry of ideas by the -symmetry of phrases. Sometimes he guides the intelligence by a -continuous series of contrasts to the final image; a kind of sparkling -casket, in which he means to deposit the idea which he carries, and to -which he directs our attention from the first.[302] Sometimes he leads -his reader to the close of a long flowery description, and then suddenly -checks him with a sorrowful phrase.[303] He arranges his process, and -knows how to produce effects; he uses even classical expressions, in -which two substantives, each supported by its adjective, are balanced on -either side of the verb.[304] He collects his phrases in harmonious -periods, and does not neglect the delight of the ears any more than of -the mind. By his inversions he adds force to his ideas, and weight to -his argument. He selects elegant or noble terms, rejects idle words and -redundant phrases. Every epithet contains an idea, every metaphor a -sentiment. There is eloquence in the regular development of his thought; -music in the sustained accent of his verse. - -Such is the new-born art. Those who have ideas, now possess an -instrument capable of expressing them. Like the Italian painters, who in -fifty years had introduced or discovered all the technical tricks of the -brush, English writers, in half a century, introduce or discover all the -artifices of language, period, elevated style, heroic verse, soon the -grand stanza, so effectually, that a little later the most perfect -versifiers, Dryden, and Pope himself, says Dr. Nott, will add scarce -anything to the rules, invented or applied, which were employed in the -earliest efforts.[305] Even Surrey is too near to these authors, too -constrained in his models, not sufficiently free; he has not yet felt -the fiery blast of the age; we do not find in him a bold genius, an -impassioned writer capable of wide expansion, but a courtier, a lover of -elegance, who, penetrated by the beauties of two finished literatures, -imitates Horace and the chosen masters of Italy, corrects and polishes -little morsels, aims at speaking perfectly fine language. Amongst -semi-barbarians he wears a full dress becomingly. Yet he does not wear -it completely at his ease: he keeps his eyes too exclusively on his -models, and does not venture on frank and free gestures. He is sometimes -as a school-boy, makes too great use of "hot" and "cold," wounds and -martyrdom. Although a lover, and a genuine one, he thinks too much that -he must be so in Petrarch's manner, that his phrase must be balanced and -his image kept up. I had almost said that, in his sonnets of -disappointed love, he thinks less often of the strength of love than of -the beauty of his writing. He has conceits, ill-chosen words; he uses -trite expressions; he relates how Nature, having formed his lady, broke -the mould, he assigns parts to Cupid and Venus; he employs the old -machinery of the troubadours and the ancients, like a clever man who -wishes to pass for a gallant. At first scarce any mind dares be quite -itself: when a new art arises, the first artist listens not to his -heart, but to his masters, and asks himself at every step whether he be -setting foot on solid ground, or whether he is not stumbling. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Development of Artistic Ideas - - -Insensibly the growth became complete, and at the end of the century all -was changed. A new, strange, overloaded style had been formed, destined -to remain in force until the Restoration, not only in poetry, but also -in prose, even in ceremonial speech and theological discourse,[306] so -suitable to the spirit of the age that we meet with it at the same time -throughout the world of Europe, in Ronsard and d'Aubigné, in Calderon, -Gongora, and Marini. In 1580 appeared "Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit," by -Lyly, which was its text-book, its masterpiece, its caricature, and was -received with universal admiration.[307] "Our nation," says Edward -Blount, "are in his debt for a new English which hee taught them. All -our ladies were then his scollers; and that beautie in court who could -not parley Euphuesme was as little regarded as shee which now there -speakes not French." The ladies knew the phrases of Euphues by heart: -strange, studied, and refined phrases, enigmatical; whose author seems -of set purpose to seek the least natural expressions and the most -farfetched, full of exaggeration and antithesis, in which mythological -allusions, reminiscences from alchemy, botanical and astronomical -metaphors, all the rubbish and medley of learning, travels, mannerism, -roll in a flood of conceits and comparisons. Do not judge it by the -grotesque picture that Walter Scott drew of it. Sir Piercie Shafton is -but a pedant, a cold and dull copyist; it is its warmth and originality -which give this style a true force and an accent of its own. You must -conceive it, not as dead and inert, such as we have it to-day in old -books, but springing from the lips of ladies and young lords in -pearl-bedecked doublet, quickened by their vibrating voices, their -laughter, the flash of their eyes, the motion of their hands as they -played with the hilt of their swords or with their satin cloaks. They -were full of life, their heads filled to overflowing; and they amused -themselves, as our sensitive and eager artists do, at their ease in the -studio. They did not speak to convince or be understood, but to satisfy -their excited imagination, to expend their overflowing wit.[308] They -played with words, twisted, put them out of shape, enjoyed sudden views, -strong contrasts, which they produced one after another, ever and anon, -and in great quantities. They cast flower on flower, tinsel on tinsel: -everything sparkling delighted them; they gilded and embroidered and -plumed their language like their garments. They cared nothing for -clearness, order, common-sense; it was a festival of madness; absurdity -pleased them. They knew nothing more tempting than a carnival of -splendors and oddities; all was huddled together: a coarse gayety, a -tender and sad word, a pastoral, a sounding flourish of unmeasured -boasting, a gambol of a Jack-pudding. Eyes, ears, all the senses, eager -and excited, are satisfied by this jingle of syllables, the display of -fine high-colored words, the unexpected clash of droll or familiar -images, the majestic roll of well-poised periods. Every one had his own -oaths, his elegances, his style. "One would say," remarks Heylyn, "that -they are ashamed of their mother-tongue, and do not find it sufficiently -varied to express the whims of their mind." We no longer imagine this -inventiveness, this boldness of fancy, this ceaseless fertility of -nervous sensibility: there was no genuine prose at that time; the poetic -flood swallowed it up. A word was not an exact symbol, as with us; a -document which from cabinet to cabinet carried a precise thought. It was -part of a complete action, a little drama; when they read it they did -not take it by itself, but imagined it with the intonation of a hissing -and shrill voice, with the puckering of the lips, the knitting of the -brows, and the succession of pictures which crowd behind it, and which -it calls forth in a flash of lightning. Each one mimics and pronounces -it in his own style, and impresses his own soul upon it. It was a song, -which like the poet's verse, contains a thousand things besides the -literal sense, and manifests the depth, warmth, and sparkling of the -source whence it flowed. For in that time, even when the man was feeble, -his work lived; there is some pulse in the least productions of this -age; force and creative fire signalize it; they penetrate through -bombast and affectation. Lyly himself, so fantastic that he seems to -write purposely in defiance of common-sense, is at times a genuine poet; -a singer, a man capable of rapture, akin to Spenser and Shakespeare; one -of those introspective dreamers who see dancing fairies, the purpled -cheeks of goddesses, drunken, amorous woods, as he says - - -"Adorned with the presence of my love, -The woods I fear such secret power shall prove, -As they'll shut up each path, hide every way, -Because they still would have her go astray."[309] - - -The reader must assist me, and assist himself. I cannot otherwise give -him to understand what the men of this age had the felicity to -experience. - -Luxuriance and irregularity were the two features of this spirit and -this literature--features common to all the literatures of the -Renaissance, but more marked here than elsewhere, because the German -race is not confined, like the Latin, by the taste for harmonious forms, -and prefers strong impression to fine expression. We must select amidst -this crowd of poets; and here is one amongst the first, who exhibits, by -his writings as well as by his life, the greatness and the folly of the -prevailing manners and the public taste: Sir Philip Sidney, nephew of -the Earl of Leicester, a great lord and a man of action, accomplished in -every kind of culture; who, after a good training in classical -literature, travelled in France, Germany, and Italy; read Plato and -Aristotle, studied astronomy and geometry at Venice; pondered over the -Greek tragedies, the Italian sonnets, the pastorals of Montemayor, the -poems of Ronsard; displaying an interest in science, keeping up an -exchange of letters with the learned Hubert Languet; and withal a man of -the world, a favorite of Elizabeth, having had enacted in her honor a -flattering and comic pastoral; a genuine "jewel of the court"; a judge, -like d'Urfé, of lofty gallantry and fine language; above all, -chivalrous in heart and deed, who wished to follow maritime adventure -with Drake, and, to crown all, fated to die an early and heroic death. -He was a cavalry officer, and had saved the English army at Gravelines. -Shortly after, mortally wounded, and dying of thirst, as some water was -brought to him, he saw by his side a soldier still more desperately -hurt, who was looking at the water with anguish in his face: "Give it to -this man," said he; "his necessity is still greater than mine." Do not -forget the vehemence and impetuosity of the Middle Ages; one hand ready -for action, and kept incessantly on the hilt of the sword or poniard. -"Mr. Molineux," wrote he to his father's secretary, "if ever I know you -to do so much as read any letter I write to my father, without his -commandment or my consent, I will thrust my dagger into you. And trust -to it, for I speak it in earnest." It was the same man who said to his -uncle's adversaries that they "lied in their throat"; and to support his -words, promised them a meeting in three months in any place in Europe. -The savage energy of the preceding age remains intact, and it is for -this reason that poetry took so firm a hold on these virgin souls. The -human harvest is never so fine as when cultivation opens up a new soil. -Impassioned, moreover, melancholy and solitary, he naturally turned to -noble and ardent fantasy; and he was so much the poet that he had no -need of verse. - -Shall I describe his pastoral epic, the "Arcadia"? It is but a -recreation, a sort of poetical romance, written in the country for the -amusement of his sister; a work of fashion, which, like "Cyrus" and -"Clélie,"[310] is not a monument, but a document. This kind of books -shows only the externals, the current elegance and politeness, the -jargon of the fashionable world--in short, that which should be spoken -before ladies; and yet we perceive from it the bent of the public -opinion. In "Clélie," oratorical development, delicate and collected -analysis, the flowing converse of men seated quietly in elegant -arm-chairs; in the "Arcadia," fantastic imagination, excessive -sentiment, a medley of events which suited men scarcely recovered from -barbarism. Indeed, in London they still used to fire pistols at each -other in the streets; and under Henry VIII and his children, Queens, a -Protector, the highest nobles, knelt under the axe of the executioner. -Armed and perilous existence long resisted in Europe the establishment -of peaceful and quiet life. It was necessary to change society and the -soil, in order to transform men of the sword into citizens. The high -roads of Louis XIV and his regular administration, and more recently the -railroads and the _sergents de ville_, freed the French from habits of -violence and a taste for dangerous adventure. Remember that at this -period men's heads were full of tragical images. Sidney's "Arcadia" -contains enough of them to supply half a dozen epics. "It is a trifle," -says the author; "my young head must be delivered." In the first -twenty-five pages you meet with a shipwreck, an account of pirates, a -half-drowned prince rescued by shepherds, a journey in Arcadia, various -disguises, the retreat of a king withdrawn into solitude with his wife -and children, the deliverance of a young imprisoned lord, a war against -the Helots, the conclusion of peace, and many other things. Read on, and -you will find princesses shut up by a wicked fairy, who beats them, and -threatens them with death if they refuse to marry her son; a beautiful -queen condemned to perish by fire if certain knights do not come to her -succor; a treacherous prince tortured for his wicked deeds, then cast -from the top of a pyramid; fights, surprises, abductions, travels: in -short, the whole programme of the most romantic tales. That is the -serious element: the agreeable is of a like nature; the fantastic -predominates. Improbable pastoral serves, as in Shakespeare or Lope de -Vega, for an intermezzo to improbable tragedy. You are always coming -upon dancing shepherds. They are very courteous, good poets, and subtle -metaphysicians. Several of them are disguised princes who pay their -court to the princesses. They sing continually, and get up allegorical -dances; two bands approach, servants of Reason and Passion; their hats, -ribbons, and dress are described in full. They quarrel in verse, and -their retorts, which follow close on one another, over-refined, keep up -a tournament of wit. Who cared for what was natural or possible in this -age? There were such festivals at Elizabeth's "progresses"; and you have -only to look at the engravings of Sadeler, Martin de Vos, and Goltzius, -to find this mixture of sensitive beauties and philosophical enigmas. -The Countess of Pembroke and her ladies were delighted to picture this -profusion of costumes and verses, this play beneath the trees. They had -eyes in the sixteenth century, senses which sought satisfaction in -poetry--the same satisfaction as in masquerading and painting. Man was -not yet a pure reasoner; abstract truth was not enough for him. Rich -stuffs, twisted about and folded; the sun to shine upon them, a large -meadow studded with white daisies; ladies in brocaded dresses, with bare -arms, crowns on their heads, instruments of music behind the trees--this -is what the reader expects; he cares nothing for contrasts; he will -readily accept a drawing-room in the midst of the fields. - -What are they going to say there? Here comes out that nervous -exaltation, in all its folly, which is characteristic of the spirit of -the age; love rises to the thirty-sixth heaven. Musidorus is the brother -of Céladon; Pamela is closely related to the severe heroines of -"Astrée";[311] all the Spanish exaggerations abound and all the Spanish -falsehoods. For in these works of fashion or of the Court, primitive -sentiment never retains its sincerity: wit, the necessity to please, the -desire for effect, of speaking better than others, alter it, influence -it, heap up embellishments and refinements, so that nothing is left but -twaddle. Musidorus wished to give Pamela a kiss. She repels him. He -would have died on the spot; but luckily remembers that his mistress -commanded him to leave her, and finds himself still able to obey her -command. He complains to the trees, weeps in verse: there are dialogues -where Echo, repeating the last word, replies; duets in rhyme, balanced -stanzas, in which the theory of love is minutely detailed; in short, all -the grand airs of ornamental poetry. If they send a letter to their -mistress, they speak to it, tell the ink: "Therfore mourne boldly, my -inke; for while shee lookes upon you, your blacknesse will shine: cry -out boldly my lamentation; for while shee reades you, your cries will be -musicke."[312] - -Again, two young princesses are going to bed: "They impoverished their -clothes to enrich their bed, which for that night might well scorne the -shrine of Venus; and there cherishing one another with deare, though -chaste embracements; with sweete, though cold kisses; it might seeme -that love was come to play him there without dart, or that wearie of his -owne fires, he was there to refresh himselfe betwen their sweete -breathing lippes."[313] - -In excuse of these follies, remember that they have their parallels in -Shakespeare. Try rather to comprehend them, to imagine them in their -place, with their surroundings, such as they are; that is, as the excess -of singularity and inventive fire. Even though they mar now and then the -finest ideas, yet a natural freshness pierces through the disguise. Take -another example: "In the time that the morning did strew roses and -violets in the heavenly floore against the coming of the sun, the -nightingales (striving one with the other which could in most dainty -varietie recount their wronge-caused sorrow) made them put off their -sleep." - -In Sidney's second work, "The Defence of Poesie," we meet with genuine -imagination, a sincere and serious tone, a grand, commanding style, all -the passion and elevation which he carries in his heart and puts into -his verse. He is a muser, a Platonist, who is penetrated by the -doctrines of the ancients, who takes things from a lofty point of view, -who places the excellence of poetry not in pleasing effect, imitation, -or rhyme, but in that creative and superior conception by which the -artist creates anew and embellishes nature. At the same time, he is an -ardent man, trusting in the nobleness of his aspirations and in the -width of his ideas, who puts down the brawling of the shoppy, narrow, -vulgar Puritanism, and glows with the lofty irony, the proud freedom, of -a poet and a lord. - -In his eyes, if there is any art or science capable of augmenting and -cultivating our generosity, it is poetry. He draws comparison after -comparison between it and philosophy or history, whose pretensions he -laughs at and dismisses.[314] He fights for poetry as a knight for his -lady, and in what heroic and splendid style! He says: "I never heard the -old Song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more -than with a trumpet: and yet it is sung but by some blinde Crowder, with -no rougher voyce, than rude stile; which beeing so evill apparelled in -the dust and Cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work, trimmed in -the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare?"[315] - -The philosopher repels, the poet attracts: "Nay hee doth as if your -journey should lye through a faire vineyard, at the very first, give you -a cluster of grapes, that full of that taste, you may long to passe -further."[316] - -What description of poetry can displease you? Not pastoral so easy and -genial? "Is it the bitter but wholesome Iambicke, who rubbes the galled -minde, making shame the Trumpet of villanie, with bold and open crying -out against naughtinesse?"[317] - -At the close he reviews his arguments, and the vibrating martial accent -of his political period is like a trump of victory: "So that since the -excellencies of it (poetry) may bee so easily and so justly confirmed, -and the low-creeping objections so soone trodden downe, it not being an -Art of lyes, but of true doctrine: not of effeminatenesse, but of -notable stirring of courage; not of abusing man's wit, but of -strengthening man's wit; not banished, but honoured by Plato; let us -rather plant more Laurels for to ingarland the Poets heads than suffer -the ill-savoured breath of such wrong speakers, once to blow upon the -cleare springs of Poesie."[318] - -From such vehemence and gravity you may anticipate what his verses will -be. - -Often, after reading the poets of this age, I have looked for some time -at the contemporary prints, telling myself that man, in mind and body, -was not then such as we see him to-day. We also have our passions, but -we are no longer strong enough to bear them. They unsettle us; we are no -longer poets without suffering for it. Alfred de Musset, Heine, Edgar -Poe, Burns, Byron, Shelley, Cowper, how many shall I instance? Disgust, -mental and bodily degradation, disease, impotence, madness, suicide, at -best a permanent hallucination or feverish raving--these are nowadays -the ordinary issues of the poetic temperament. The passion of the brain -gnaws our vitals, dries up the blood, eats into the marrow, shakes us -like a tempest, and the human frame, such as civilization has made us, -is not substantial enough long to resist it. They, who have been more -roughly trained, who are more inured to the inclemencies of climate, -more hardened by bodily exercise, more firm against danger, endure and -live. Is there a man living who could withstand the storm of passions -and visions which swept over Shakespeare, and end, like him, as a -sensible citizen and landed proprietor in his small county? The muscles -were firmer, despair less prompt. The rage of concentrated attention, -the half hallucinations, the anguish and heaving of the breast, the -quivering of the limbs bracing themselves involuntarily and blindly for -action, all the painful yearnings which accompany grand desires, -exhausted them less; this is why they desired longer, and dared more. -D'Aubigné, wounded with many sword-thrusts, conceiving death at hand, -had himself bound on his horse that he might see his mistress once more, -and rode thus several leagues, losing blood all the way, and arriving in -a swoon. Such feelings we glean still from their portraits, in the -straight looks which pierce like a sword; in that strength of back, bent -or twisted; in the sensuality, energy, enthusiasm, which breathe from -their attitude or look. Such feelings we still discover in their poetry, -in Greene, Lodge, Jonson, Spenser, Shakespeare, in Sidney, as in all the -rest. We quickly forget the faults of taste which accompany them, the -affectation, the uncouth jargon. Is it really so uncouth? Imagine a man -who with closed eyes distinctly sees the adored countenance of his -mistress, who keeps it before him all the day; who is troubled and -shaken as he imagines ever and anon her brow, her lips, her eyes; who -cannot and will not be separated from his vision; who sinks daily deeper -in this passionate contemplation; who is every instant crushed by mortal -anxieties, or transported by the raptures of bliss: he will lose the -exact conception of objects. A fixed idea becomes a false idea. By dint -of regarding an object under all its forms, turning it over, piercing -through it, we at last deform it. When we cannot think of a thing -without being dazed and without tears, we magnify it, and give it a -character which it has not. Hence strange comparisons, over-refined -ideas, excessive images, become natural. However far Sidney goes, -whatever object he touches, he sees throughout the universe only the -name and features of Stella. All ideas bring him back to her. He is -drawn ever and invincibly by the same thought: and comparisons which -seem farfetched, only express the unfailing presence and sovereign power -of the besetting image. Stella is ill; it seems to Sidney that "Joy, -which is inseparate from those eyes, Stella, now learnes (strange case) -to weepe in thee."[319] To us, the expression is absurd. Is it so for -Sidney, who for hours together had dwelt on the expression of those -eyes, seeing in them at last all the beauties of heaven and earth, who, -compared to them, finds all light dull and all happiness stale? Consider -that in every extreme passion ordinary laws are reversed, that our logic -cannot pass judgment on it, that we find in it affectation, -childishness, witticisms, crudity, folly, and that to us violent -conditions of the nervous machine are like an unknown and marvellous -land, where common-sense and good language cannot penetrate. On the -return of spring, when May spreads over the fields her dappled dress of -new flowers, Astrophel and Stella sit in the shade of a retired grove, -in the warm air, full of birds' voices and pleasant exhalations. Heaven -smiles, the wind kisses the trembling leaves, the inclining trees -interlace their sappy branches, amorous earth swallows greedily the -rippling water: - - -"In a grove most rich of shade, -Where birds wanton musike made, -May, then yong, his py'd weeds showing, -New perfum'd with flowers fresh growing, - -"Astrophel with Stella sweet, -Did for mutuall comfort meet, -Both within themselves oppressed, -But each in the other blessed.... - -"Their eares hungry of each word, -Which the deere tongue would afford, -But their tongues restrain'd from walking, -Till their hearts had ended talking. - -"But when their tongues could not speake, -Love it selfe did silence breake; -Love did set his lips asunder, -Thus to speake in love and wonder.... - -"This small winde which so sweet is, -See how it the leaves doth kisse, -Each tree in his best attyring, -Sense of love to love inspiring."[320] - - -On his knees, with beating heart, oppressed, it seems to him that his -mistress becomes transformed: - - -"Stella, soveraigne of my joy,... -Stella, starre of heavenly fire, -Stella, load-starre of desire, -Stella, in whose shining eyes -Are the lights of Cupid's skies.... -Stella, whose voice when it speakes -Senses all asunder breakes; -Stella, whose voice when it singeth, -Angels to acquaintance bringeth."[321] - - -These cries of adoration are like a hymn. Every day he writes thoughts -of love which agitate him, and in this long journal of a hundred pages -we feel the heated breath swell each moment. A smile from his mistress, -a curl lifted by the wind, a gesture--all are events. He paints her in -every attitude; he cannot see her too constantly. He talks to the birds, -plants, winds, all nature. He brings the whole world to Stella's feet. -At the notion of a kiss he swoons: - - -"Thinke of that most gratefull time, -When thy leaping heart will climbe, -In my lips to have his biding. -There those roses for to kisse, -Which doe breath a sugred blisse, -Opening rubies, pearles dividing."[322] - -"O joy, too high for my low stile to show: -O blisse, fit for a nobler state than me: -Envie, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see -What Oceans of delight in me do flow. -My friend, that oft saw through all maskes my wo, -Come, come, and let me powre my selfe on thee; -Gone is the winter of my miserie, -My spring appeares, O see what here doth grow, -For Stella hath with words where faith doth shine, -Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchie: -I, I, O I may say that she is mine."[323] - - -There are Oriental splendors in the dazzling sonnet in which he asks why -Stella's cheeks have grown pale: - - -"Where be those Roses gone, which sweetned so our eyes? -Where those red cheekes, with oft with faire encrease doth frame -The height of honour in the kindly badge of shame? -Who hath the crimson weeds stolne from my morning skies?"[324] - - -As he says, his "life melts with too much thinking." Exhausted by -ecstasy, he pauses; then he flies from thought to thought, seeking -relief for his wound, like the Satyr whom he describes: - - -"Prometheus, when first from heaven hie -He brought downe fire, ere then on earth not seene, -Fond of delight, a Satyr standing by, -Gave it a kisse, as it like sweet had beene. - -"Feeling forthwith the other burning power, -Wood with the smart with showts and shryking shrill, -He sought his ease in river, field, and bower, -But for the time his griefe went with him still."[325] - - -At last calm returned; and whilst this calm lasts, the lively, glowing -spirit plays like a flickering flame on the surface of the deep brooding -fire. His love-songs and word-portraits, delightful pagan and chivalric -fancies, seem to be inspired by Petrarch or Plato. We feel the charm and -sportiveness under the seeming affectation: - - -"Faire eyes, sweete lips, deare heart, that foolish I -Could hope by Cupids helpe on you to pray; -Since to himselfe he doth your gifts apply, -As his maine force, choise sport, and easefull stray. - -"For when he will see who dare him gainsay, -Then with those eyes he lookes, lo by and by -Each soule doth at Loves feet his weapons lay, -Glad if for her he give them leave to die. - -"When he will play, then in her lips he is, -Where blushing red, that Loves selfe them doth love, -With either lip he doth the other kisse: -But when he will for quiets sake remove -From all the world, her heart is then his rome, -Where well he knowes, no man to him can come."[326] - - -Both heart and sense are captive here. If he finds the eyes of Stella -more beautiful than anything in the world, he finds her soul more lovely -than her body. He is a Platonist when he recounts how Virtue, wishing to -be loved of men, took Stella's form to enchant their eyes, and make them -see the heaven which the inner sense reveals to heroic souls. We -recognize in him that entire submission of heart, love turned into a -religion, perfect passion which asks only to grow, and which, like the -piety of the mystics, finds itself always too insignificant when it -compares itself with the object loved: - - -"My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toyes, -My wit doth strive those passions to defend, -Which for reward spoyle it with vaine annoyes, -I see my course to lose my selfe doth bend: -I see and yet no greater sorrow take, -Than that I lose no more for Stella's sake."[327] - - -At last, like Socrates in the banquet, he turns his eyes to deathless -beauty, heavenly brightness: - - -"Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust, -And thou my minde aspire to higher things: -Grow rich in that which never taketh rust: -Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.... -O take fast hold, let that light be thy guide, -In this small course which birth drawes out to death."[328] - - -Divine love continues the earthly love; he was imprisoned in this, and -frees himself. By this nobility, these lofty aspirations, recognize one -of those serious souls of which there are so many in the same climate -and race. Spiritual instincts pierce through the dominant paganism, and -ere they make Christians, make Platonists. - - - - -SECTION V.--Wherein Lies the Strength of the Poetry of this Period - - -Sidney was only a soldier in an army; there is a multitude about him, a -multitude of poets. In fifty-two years, without counting the drama, two -hundred and thirty-three are enumerated,[329] of whom forty have genius -or talent: Breton, Donne, Drayton, Lodge, Greene, the two Fletchers, -Beaumont, Spenser, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Wither, Warner, -Davison, Carew, Suckling, Herrick; we should grow tired in counting -them. There is a crop of them, and so there is at the same time in -Catholic and heroic Spain; and as in Spain it was a sign of the times, -the mark of a public want, the index to an extraordinary and transient -condition of the mind. What is this condition which gives rise to so -universal a taste for poetry? What is it breathes life into their books? -How happens it that amongst the least, in spite of pedantries, -awkwardnesses, in the rhyming chronicles or descriptive cyclopedias, we -meet with brilliant pictures and genuine love-cries? How happens it that -when this generation was exhausted, true poetry ended in England, as -true painting in Italy and Flanders? It was because an epoch of the mind -came and passed away--that, namely, of instinctive and creative -conception. These men had new senses, and no theories in their heads. -Thus, when they took a walk, their emotions were not the same as ours. -What is sunrise to an ordinary man? A white smudge on the edge of the -sky, between bosses of clouds, amid pieces of land, and bits of road, -which he does not see because he has seen them a hundred times. But for -them, all things have a soul; I mean that they feel within themselves, -indirectly, the uprising and severance of the outlines, the power and -contrast of tints, the sad or delicious sentiment, which breathes from -this combination and union like a harmony or a cry. How sorrowful is the -sun, as he rises in a mist above the sad sea-furrows; what an air of -resignation in the old trees rustling in the night rain; what a feverish -tumult in the mass of waves, whose dishevelled locks are twisted forever -on the surface of the abyss! But the great torch of heaven, the luminous -god, emerges and shines; the tall, soft, pliant herbs, the evergreen -meadows, the expanding roof of lofty oaks--the whole English landscape, -continually renewed and illumined by the flooding moisture, diffuses an -inexhaustible freshness. These meadows, red and white with flowers, ever -moist and ever young, slip off their veil of golden mist, and appear -suddenly, timidly, like beautiful virgins. Here is the cuckoo-flower, -which springs up before the coming of the swallow; there the hare-bell, -blue as the veins of a woman; the marigold, which sets with the sun, -and, weeping, rises with him. Drayton, in his "Polyolbion," sings - - -"Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring East -Guilds every lofty top, which late the humorous Night -Bespangled had with pearle, to please the Mornings sight; -On which the mirthfull Quires, with their cleere open throats, -Unto the joyfull Morne so straine their warbling notes, -That Hills and Valleys ring, and even the ecchoing Ayre -Seemes all compos'd of sounds, about them everywhere.... -Thus sing away the Morne, untill the mounting Sunne, -Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath runne, -And through the twisted tops of our close Covert creeps, -To kiss the gentle Shade, this while that sweetly sleeps."[330] - - -A step further, and you will find the old gods reappear. They reappear, -these living gods--these living gods mingled with things which you -cannot help meeting as soon as you meet nature again. Shakespeare, in -the "Tempest," sings: - - -"Ceres, most bounteous lady thy rich leas -Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; -Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, -And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; -Thy banks with peoned and lilied brims, -Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, -To make cold nymphs chaste crowns... -Hail, many-colour'd messenger (Iris)... -Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers -Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers, -And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown -My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down."[331] - - -In "Cymbeline" he says: - - -"They are as gentle as zephyrs, blowing below the violet. -Not wagging his sweet head."[332] - - -Greene writes: - - -"When Flora, proud in pomp of all her flowers, -Sat bright and gay, -And gloried in the dew of Iris' showers, -And did display -Her mantle chequered all with gaudy green."[333] - - -The same author also says: - - -"How oft have I descending Titan seen, -His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap; -And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap -In watery robes, as he her lord had been!"[334] - - -So Spenser, in his "Faërie Queene," sings: - - -"The joyous day gan early to appeare; -And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed -Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare -With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red: -Her golden locks, for hast, were loosely shed -About her eares, when Una her did marke -Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred, -From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke; -With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke."[335] - - -All the splendor and sweetness of this moist and well-watered land; all -the specialties, the opulence of its dissolving tints, of its variable -sky, its luxuriant vegetation, assemble thus about the gods, who gave -them their beautiful form. - -In the life of every man there are moments when, in presence of objects, -he experiences a shock. This mass of ideas, of mangled recollections, of -mutilated images, which lie hidden in all corners of his mind, are set -in motion, organized, suddenly developed like a flower. He is -enraptured; he cannot help looking at and admiring the charming creature -which has just appeared; he wishes to see it again, and others like it, -and dreams of nothing else. There are such moments in the life of -nations, and this is one of them. They are happy in contemplating -beautiful things, and wish only that they should be the most beautiful -possible. They are not preoccupied, as we are, with theories. They do -not excite themselves to express moral or philosophical ideas. They wish -to enjoy through the imagination, through the eyes, like those Italian -nobles, who, at the same time, were so captivated by fine colors and -forms that they covered with paintings not only their rooms and their -churches, but the lids of their chests and the saddles of their horses. -The rich and green sunny country; young, gayly attired ladies, blooming -with health and love; half-draped gods and goddesses, masterpieces and -models of strength and grace--these are the most lovely objects which -man can contemplate, the most capable of satisfying his senses and his -heart--of giving rise to smiles and joy; and these are the objects which -occur in all the poets in a most wonderful abundance of songs, -pastorals, sonnets, little fugitive pieces, so lively, delicate, easily -unfolded, that we have never since had their equals. What though Venus -and Cupid have lost their altars? Like the contemporary painters of -Italy, they willingly imagine a beautiful naked child, drawn on a -chariot of gold through the limpid air; or a woman, redolent with youth, -standing on the waves, which kiss her snowy feet. Harsh Ben Jonson is -ravished with the scene. The disciplined battalion of his sturdy verses -changes into a band of little graceful strophes, which trip as lightly -as Raphael's children. He sees his lady approach, sitting on the chariot -of Love, drawn by swans and doves. Love leads the car; she passes calm -and smiling, and all hearts, charmed by her divine looks, wish no other -joy than to see and serve her forever. - - -"See the chariot at hand here of Love, -Wherein my lady rideth! -Each that draws is a swan or a dove, -And well the car Love guideth. -As she goes, all hearts do duty -Unto her beauty; -And, enamoured, do wish, so they might -But enjoy such a sight, -That they still were to run by her side, -Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. -Do but look on her eyes, they do light -All that Love's world compriseth! -Do but look on her hair, it is bright -As Love's star when it riseth!... -Have you seen but a bright lily grow, -Before rude hands have touched it? -Have you marked but the fall o' the snow, -Before the soil hath smutched it? -Have you felt the wool of beaver? -Or swan's down ever? -Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? -Or the nard in the fire? -Or have tasted the bag of the bee? -O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!"[336] - - -What can be more lively, more unlike measured and artificial mythology? -Like Theocritus and Moschus, they play with their smiling gods, and -their belief becomes a festival. One day, in an alcove of a wood, Cupid -meets a nymph asleep: - - -"Her golden hair o'erspread her face, -Her careless arms abroad were cast, -Her quiver had her pillow's place, -Her breast lay bare to every blast."[337] - - -He approaches softly, steals her arrows, and puts his own in their -place. She hears a noise at last, raises her reclining head, and sees a -shepherd approaching. She flees; he pursues. She bends her bow, and -shoots her arrows at him. He only becomes more ardent, and is on the -point of seizing her. In despair, she takes an arrow, and buries it in -her lovely body. Lo! she is changed, she stops, smiles, loves, draws -near him. - - -"Though mountains meet not, lovers may. -What other lovers do, did they. -The god of Love sat on a tree, -And laught that pleasant sight to see."[338] - - -A drop of archness falls into the medley of artlessness and voluptuous -charm; it was so in Longus, and in all that delicious nosegay called the -Anthology. Not the dry mocking of Voltaire, of folks who possessed only -wit, and always lived in a drawing-room; but the raillery of artists, -lovers whose brain is full of color and form, who, when they recount a -bit of roguishness, imagine a stooping neck, lowered eyes, the blushing -of vermilion cheeks. One of these fair ones says the following verses, -simpering, and we can even see now the pouting of her lips: - - -"Love in my bosom like a bee -Doth suck his sweet. -Now with his wings he plays with me, -Now with his feet. -Within my eyes he makes his rest, -His bed amid my tender breast, -My kisses are his daily feast. -And yet he robs me of my rest. -Ah! wanton, will ye!"[339] - - -What relieves these sportive pieces is their splendor of imagination. -There are effects and flashes which we hardly dare quote, dazzling and -maddening, as in the _Song of Songs_: - - -"Her eyes, fair eyes, like to the purest lights -That animate the sun, or cheer the day; -In whom the shining sunbeams brightly play, -Whiles fancy doth on them divine delights. - -"Her cheeks like ripened lilies steeped in wine, -Or fair pomegranate kernels washed in milk, -Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk, -Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline. - -"Her lips are roses over-washed with dew, -Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower... - -"Her crystal chin like to the purest mould, -Enchased with dainty daisies soft and white, -Where fancy's fair pavilion once is pight, -Whereas embraced his beauties he doth hold. - -"Her neck like to an ivory shining tower, -Where through with azure veins sweet nectar runs, -Or like the down of swans where Senesse woons, -Or like delight that doth itself devour. - -"Her paps are like fair apples in the prime, -As round as orient pearls, as soft as down; -They never vail their fair through winter's frown, -But from their sweets love sucked his summer time."[340] - -"What need compare, where sweet exceeds compare? -Who draws his thoughts of love from senseless things, -Their pomp and greatest glories doth impair, -And mounts love's heaven with overladen wings."[341] - - -I can well believe that things had no more beauty then than now; but I -am sure that men found them more beautiful. - -When the power of embellishment is so great, it is natural that they -should paint the sentiment which unites all joys, whither all dreams -converge--ideal love, and in particular, artless and happy love. Of all -sentiments, there is none for which we have more sympathy. It is of all -the most simple and sweet. It is the first motion of the heart, and the -first word of nature. It is made up of innocence and self-abandonment. -It is clear of reflection and effort. It extricates us from complicated -passion, contempt, regret, hate, violent desires. It penetrates us, and -we breathe it as the fresh breath of the morning wind, which has swept -over flowery meads. The knights of this perilous court inhaled it, and -were enraptured, and so rested in the contrast from their actions and -their dangers. The most severe and tragic of their poets turned aside to -meet it, Shakespeare among the evergreen oaks of the forest of -Arden,[342] Ben Jonson in the woods of Sherwood,[343] amid the wide -shady glades, the shining leaves and moist flowers, trembling on the -margin of lonely springs. Marlowe himself, the terrible painter of the -agony of Edward II, the impressive and powerful poet, who wrote -"Faustus, Tamerlane" and the "Jew of Malta," leaves his sanguinary -dramas, his high-sounding verse, his images of fury, and nothing can be -more musical and sweet than his song. A shepherd, to gain his lady-love, -says to her: - - -"Come live with me and be my Love, -And we will all the pleasures prove -That hills and valleys, dale and field, -And all the craggy mountains yield. -There we will sit upon the rocks, -And see the shepherds feed their flocks, -By shallow rivers, to whose falls -Melodious birds sing madrigals. -There will I make thee beds of roses -And a thousand fragrant posies, -A cap of flowers, and a kirtle -Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. -A gown made of the finest wool, -Which from our pretty lambs we pull, -Fair lined slippers for the cold, -With buckles of the purest gold. -A belt of straw and ivy buds, -With coral clasps and amber studs; -And if these pleasures may thee move, -Come live with me and be my Love.... -The shepherd swains shall dance and sing -For thy delight each May-morning: -If these delights thy mind may move, -Then live with me and be my Love."[344] - - -The unpolished gentlemen of the period, returning from hawking, were -more than once arrested by such rustic pictures; such as they were, that -is to say, imaginative and not very citizen-like, they had dreamed of -figuring in them on their own account. But while entering into, they -reconstructed them; they reconstructed them in their parks, prepared for -Queen Elizabeth's entrance, with a profusion of costumes and devices, -not troubling themselves to copy rough nature exactly. Improbability did -not disturb them; they were not minute imitators, students of manners: -they created; the country for them was but a setting, and the complete -picture came from their fancies and their hearts. Romantic it may have -been, even impossible, but it was on this account the more charming. Is -there a greater charm than putting on one side this actual world which -fetters or oppresses us, to float vaguely and easily in the azure and -the light, on the summit of the cloud-capped land of fairies, to arrange -things according to the pleasure of the moment, no longer feeling the -oppressive laws, the harsh and resisting framework of life, adorning and -varying everything after the caprice and the refinements of fancy? That -is what is done in these little poems. Usually the events are such as -happen nowhere, or happen in the land where kings turn shepherds and -marry shepherdesses. The beautiful Argentile[345] is detained at the -court of her uncle, who wishes to deprive her of her kingdom, and -commands her to marry Curan, a boor in his service; she flees, and Curan -in despair goes and lives two years among the shepherds. One day he -meets a beautiful country-woman, and loves her; gradually, while -speaking to her, he thinks of Argentile, and weeps; he describes her -sweet face, her lithe figure, her blue-veined delicate wrists, and -suddenly sees that the peasant girl is weeping. She falls into his arms, -and says, "I am Argentile." Now Curan was a king's son, who had -disguised himself thus for love of Argentile. He resumes his armor, and -defeats the wicked king. There never was a braver knight; and they both -reigned long in Northumberland. From a hundred such tales, tales of the -spring-time, the reader will perhaps bear with me while I pick out one -more, gay and simple as a May morning. The Princess Dowsabel came down -one morning into her father's garden: she gathers honeysuckles, -primroses, violets, and daisies; then, behind a hedge, she heard a -shepherd singing, and that so finely that she loved him at once. He -promises to be faithful, and asks for a kiss. Her cheeks became as -crimson as a rose: - - -"With that she bent her snow white knee, -Down by the shepherd kneeled she, -And him she sweetly kiss'd. -With that the shepherd whoop'd for joy; -Quoth he: 'There's never shepherd's boy -That ever was so blest.'"[346] - - -Nothing more; is it not enough? It is but a moment's fancy; but they had -such fancies every moment. Think what poetry was likely to spring from -them, how superior to common events, how free from literal imitation, -how smitten with ideal beauty, how capable of creating a world beyond -our sad world. In fact, among all these poems there is one truly divine, -so divine that the reasoners of succeeding ages have found it wearisome, -that even now but few understand it--Spenser's "Faërie Queene." One day -M. Jourdain, having turned Mamamouchi[347] and learned orthography, sent -for the most illustrious writers of the age. He settled himself in his -arm-chair, pointed with his finger at several folding-stools for them to -sit down, and said: - - -"I have read your little productions, gentlemen. They have afforded me -much pleasure. I wish to give you some work to do. I have given some -lately to little Lulli,[348] your fellow-laborer. It was at my command -that he introduced the sea-shell at his concerts--a melodious -instrument, which no one thought of before, and which has such a -pleasing effect. I insist that you will work out my ideas as he has -worked them out, and I give you an order for a poem in prose. What is -not prose, you know, is verse; and what is not verse is prose. When I -say, 'Nicolle, bring me my slippers and give me my nightcap,' I speak -prose. Take this sentence as your model. This style is much more -pleasing than the jargon of unfinished lines which you call verse. As -for the subject, let it be myself. You will describe my flowered -dressing-gown which I have put on to receive you in, and this little -green velvet undress which I wear underneath, to do my morning exercise -in. You will set down that this chintz costs a louis an ell. The -description, if well worked out, will furnish some very pretty -paragraphs, and will enlighten the public as to the cost of things. I -desire also that you should speak of my mirrors, my carpets, my -hangings. My tradesmen will let you have their bills; don't fail to put -them in. I shall be glad to read in your works, all fully and naturally -set forth, about my father's shop, who, like a real gentleman, sold -cloth to oblige his friends; my maid Nicolle's kitchen, the genteel -behavior of Brusquet, the little dog of my neighbor M. Dimanche. You -might also explain my domestic affairs: there is nothing more -interesting to the public than to hear how a million may be scraped -together. Tell them also that my daughter Lucile has not married that -little rascal Cléonte, but M. Samuel Bernard, who made his fortune as a -_fermier-général_, keeps his carriage and is going to be a minister of -state. For this I will pay you liberally, half a louis for a yard of -writing. Come back in a month, and let me see what my ideas have -suggested to you." - - -We are the descendants of M. Jourdain, and this is how we have been -talking to the men of genius from the beginning of the century, and the -men of genius have listened to us. Hence arise our shoppy and realistic -novels. I pray the reader to forget them, to forget himself, to become -for a while a poet, a gentleman, a man of the sixteenth century. Unless -we bury the M. Jourdain who survives in us, we shall never understand -Spenser. - - - - -SECTION VI--Edmund Spenser - - -Spenser belonged to an ancient family, allied to great houses; was a -friend to Sidney and Raleigh, the two most accomplished knights of the -age--a knight himself, at least in heart; who had found in his -connections, his friendships, his studies, his life, everything -calculated to lead him to ideal poetry. We find him at Cambridge, where -he imbues himself with the noblest ancient philosophies; in a northern -country, where he passes through a deep and unfortunate passion; at -Penshurst, in the castle and in the society where the "Arcadia" was -produced; with Sidney, in whom survived entire the romantic poetry and -heroic generosity of the feudal spirit; at court, where all the -splendors of a disciplined and gorgeous chivalry were gathered about the -throne; finally, at Kilcolman, on the borders of a lake, in a lonely -castle, from which the view embraced an amphitheatre of mountains, and -the half of Ireland. Poor on the other hand,[349] not fit for court, and -though favored by the queen, unable to obtain from his patrons anything -but inferior employment; in the end, wearied of solicitations, and -banished to his dangerous property in Ireland, whence a rebellion -expelled him, after his house and child had been burned; he died three -months later, of misery and a broken heart.[350] Expectations and -rebuffs, many sorrows and many dreams, some few joys, and a sudden and -frightful calamity, a small fortune and a premature end; this indeed was -a poet's life. But the heart within was the true poet--from it all -proceeded; circumstances furnished the subject only; he transformed them -more than they him; he received less than he gave. Philosophy and -landscapes, ceremonies and ornaments, splendors of the country and the -court, on all which he painted or thought, he impressed his inward -nobleness. Above all, his was a soul captivated by sublime and chaste -beauty, eminently platonic; one of these lofty and refined souls most -charming of all, who, born in the lap of nature, draw thence their -sustenance, but soar higher, enter the regions of mysticism, and mount -instinctively in order to expand on the confines of a loftier world. -Spenser leads us to Milton, and thence to Puritanism, as Plato to -Vergil, and thence to Christianity. Sensuous beauty is perfect in both, -but their main worship is for moral beauty. He appeals to the Muses: - - -"Revele to me the sacred noursery -Of vertue, which with you doth there remaine, -Where it in silver bowre does hidden ly -From view of men and wicked worlds disdaine!" - - -He encourages his knight when he sees him droop. He is wroth when he -sees him attacked. He rejoices in his justice, temperance, courtesy. He -introduces in the beginning of a song, long stanzas in honor of -friendship and justice. He pauses, after relating a lovely instance of -chastity, to exhort women to modesty. He pours out the wealth of his -respect and tenderness at the feet of his heroines. If any coarse man -insults them, he calls to their aid nature and the gods. Never does he -bring them on his stage without adorning their name with splendid -eulogy. He has an adoration for beauty worthy of Dante and Plotinus. And -this, because he never considers it a mere harmony of color and form, -but an emanation of unique, heavenly, imperishable beauty, which no -mortal eye can see, and which is the masterpiece of the great Author of -the worlds.[351] Bodies only render it visible; it does not live in -them; charm and attraction are not in things, but in the immortal idea -which shines through them: - - -"For that same goodly hew of white and red, -With which the cheekes are sprinckled, shall decay, -And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairly spred -Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away -To that they were, even to corrupted clay: -That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so bright, -Shall turne to dust, and lose their goodly light. -But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray -That light proceedes, which kindleth lovers fire, -Shall never be extinguisht nor decay; -But, when the vitall spirits doe expyre, -Upon her native planet shall retyre; -For it is heavenly borne, and cannot die, -Being a parcell of the purest skie."[352] - - -In presence of this ideal of beauty, love is transformed: - - -"For Love is lord of Truth and Loialtie, -Lifting himself out of the lowly dust, -On golden plumes up to the purest skie, -Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust, -Whose base affect through cowardly distrust -Of his weake wings dare not to heaven fly, -But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly."[353] - - -Love such as this contains all that is good, and fine, and noble. It is -the prime source of life, and the eternal soul of things. It is this -love which, pacifying the primitive discord, has created the harmony of -the spheres, and maintains this glorious universe. It dwells in God, and -is God himself, come down in bodily form to regenerate the tottering -world and save the human race; around and within animated beings, when -our eyes can pierce outward appearances, we behold it as a living light, -penetrating and embracing every creature. We touch here the sublime -sharp summit where the world of mind and the world of sense unite; where -man, gathering with both hands the loveliest flowers of either, feels -himself at the same time a pagan and a Christian. - -So much, as a testimony to his heart. But he was also a poet, that is, -pre-eminently a creator and a dreamer, and that most naturally, -instinctively, unceasingly. We might go on forever describing this -inward condition of all great artists; there would still remain much to -be described. It is a sort of mental growth with them; at every instant -a bud shoots forth, and on this another and still another; each -producing, increasing, blooming of itself, so that after a few moments -we find first a green plant crop up, then a thicket, then a forest. A -character appears to them, then an action, then a landscape, then a -succession of actions, characters, landscapes, producing, completing, -arranging themselves by instinctive development, as when in a dream we -behold a train of figures which, without any outward compulsion, display -and group themselves before our eyes. This fount of living and changing -forms is inexhaustible in Spenser; he is always imaging; it is his -specialty. He has but to close his eyes, and apparitions arise; they -abound in him, crowd, overflow; in vain he pours them forth; they -continually float up, more copious and more dense. Many times, following -the inexhaustible stream, I have thought of the vapors which rise -incessantly from the sea, ascend, sparkle, commingle their golden and -snowy scrolls, while underneath them new mists arise, and others again -beneath, and the splendid procession never grows dim or ceases. - -But what distinguishes him from all others is the mode of his -imagination. Generally with a poet his mind ferments vehemently and by -fits and starts; his ideas gather, jostle each other, suddenly appear in -masses and heaps, and burst forth in sharp, piercing, concentrative -words; it seems that they need these sudden accumulations to imitate the -unity and life-like energy of the objects which they reproduce; at least -almost all the poets of that time, Shakespeare at their head, act thus. -Spenser remains calm in the fervor of invention. The visions which would -be fever to another, leave him at peace. They come and unfold themselves -before him, easily, entire, uninterrupted, without starts. He is epic, -that is, a narrator, not a singer like an ode-writer, nor a mimic like a -play-writer. No modern is more like Homer. Like Homer and the great -epic-writers, he only presents consecutive and noble, almost classical -images, so nearly ideas, that the mind seizes them unaided and unawares. -Like Homer, he is always simple and clear: he makes no leaps, he omits -no argument, he robs no word of its primitive and ordinary meaning, he -preserves the natural sequence of ideas. Like Homer, again, he is -redundant, ingenuous, even childish. He says everything, he puts down -reflections which we have made beforehand; he repeats without limit his -grand ornamental epithets. We can see that he beholds objects in a -beautiful uniform light, with infinite detail; that he wishes to show -all this detail, never fearing to see his happy dream change or -disappear; that he traces its outline with a regular movement, never -hurrying or slackening. He is even a little prolix, too unmindful of the -public, too ready to lose himself and dream about the things he beholds. -His thought expands in vast repeated comparisons, like those of the old -Ionic poet. If a wounded giant falls, he finds him - - -"As an aged tree, -High growing on the top of rocky clift, -Whose hart-strings with keene steele nigh hewen be, -The mightie trunck halfe rent with ragged rift, -Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift. - -"Or as a castle, reared high and round, -By subtile engins and malitious slight -Is undermined from the lowest ground, -And her foundation forst, and feebled quight, -At last downe falles; and with her heaped hight -Her hastie ruine does more heavie make, -And yields it selfe unto the victours might: -Such was this Gyaunt's fall, that seemd to shake -The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake."[354] - - -He develops all the ideas which he handles. All his phrases become -periods. Instead of compressing, he expands. To bear this ample thought -and its accompanying train, he requires a long stanza, ever renewed, -long alternate verses, reiterated rhymes, whose uniformity and fullness -recall the majestic sounds which undulate eternally through the woods -and the fields. To unfold these epic faculties, and to display them in -the sublime region where his soul is naturally borne, he requires an -ideal stage, situated beyond the bounds of reality, with personages who -could hardly exist, and in a world which could never be. - -He made many miscellaneous attempts in sonnets, elegies, pastorals, -hymns of love, little sparkling word-pictures;[355] they were but -essays, incapable for the most part of supporting his genius. Yet -already his magnificent imagination appeared in them; gods, men, -landscapes, the world which he sets in motion is a thousand miles from -that in which we live. His "Shepherd's Calendar"[356] is a -thought-inspiring and tender pastoral, full of delicate loves, noble -sorrows, lofty ideas, where no voice is heard but of thinkers and poets. -His "Visions of Petrarch and Du Bellay" are admirable dreams, in which -palaces, temples of gold, splendid landscapes, sparkling rivers, -marvellous birds, appear in close succession as in an Oriental -fairy-tale. If he sings a "Prothalamion," he sees two beautiful swans, -white as snow, who come softly swimming down amidst the songs of nymphs -and vermeil roses, while the transparent water kisses their silken -feathers, and murmurs with joy: - - -"There, in a meadow, by the river's side, -A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy, -All lovely daughters of the Flood thereby, -With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde, -As each had bene a bryde; -And each one had a little wicker basket, -Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously, -In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, -And with fine fingers cropt full feateously -The tender stalkes on hye. -Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, -They gathered some; the violet, pallid blew, -The little dazie, that at evening closes, -The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew, -With store of vermeil roses, -To deck their bridegroomes posies -Against the brydale-day, which was not long: -Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. - -"With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe -Come softly swimming downe along the lee; -Two fairer birds I yet did never see; -The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, -Did never whiter shew... -So purely white they were, -That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, -Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare -To wet their silken feathers, least they might -Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, -And marre their beauties bright, -That shone as heavens light, -Against their brydale day, which was not long: -Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song!"[357] - - -If he bewails the death of Sidney, Sidney becomes a shepherd, he is -slain like Adonis; around him gather weeping nymphs: - - -"The gods, which all things see, this same beheld, -And, pittying this paire of lovers trew, -Transformed them there lying on the field, -Into one flowre that is both red and blew: -It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade, -Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made. - -"And in the midst thereof a star appeares, -As fairly formd as any star in skyes: -Resembling Stella in her freshest yeares, -Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes; -And all the day it standeth full of deow, -Which is the teares, that from her eyes did flow."[358] - - -His most genuine sentiments become thus fairy-like. Magic is the mould -of his mind, and impresses its shape on all that he imagines or thinks. -Involuntarily he robs objects of their ordinary form. If he looks at a -landscape, after an instant he sees it quite differently. He carries it, -unconsciously, into an enchanted land; the azure heaven sparkles like a -canopy of diamonds, meadows are clothed with flowers, a biped population -flutters in the balmy air, palaces of jasper shine among the trees, -radiant ladies appear on carved balconies above galleries of emerald. -This unconscious toil of mind is like the slow crystallizations of -nature. A moist twig is cast into the bottom of a mine, and is brought -out again a hoop of diamonds. - -At last he finds a subject which suits him, the greatest joy permitted -to an artist. He removes his epic from the common ground which, in the -hands of Homer and Dante, gave expression to a living creed, and -depicted national heroes. He leads us to the summit of fairy-land, -soaring above history, on that extreme verge where objects vanish and -pure idealism begins: "I have undertaken a work," he says, "to represent -all the moral virtues, assigning to every virtue a knight to be the -patron and defender of the same; in whose actions and feats of armes and -chivalry the operations of that vertue, whereof he is the protector, are -to be expressed, and the vices and unruly appetites that oppose -themselves against the same, to be beaten downe and overcome."[359] In -fact he gives us an allegory as the foundation of his poem, not that he -dreams of becoming a wit, a preacher of moralities, a propounder of -riddles. He does not subordinate image to idea; he is a seer, not a -philosopher. They are living men and actions which he sets in motion; -only from time to time, in his poem, enchanted palaces, a whole train of -splendid visions trembles and divides like a mist, enabling us to catch -a glimpse of the thought which raised and arranged it. When in his -Garden of Adonis we see the countless forms of all living things -arranged in due order, in close compass, awaiting life, we conceive with -him the birth of universal love, the ceaseless fertility of the great -mother, the mysterious swarm of creatures which rise in succession from -her "wide wombe of the world." When we see his Knight of the Cross -combating with a horrible woman-serpent in defence of his beloved lady -Una, we dimly remember that, if we search beyond these two figures, we -shall find behind one, Truth, behind the other, Falsehood. We perceive -that his characters are not flesh and blood, and that all these -brilliant phantoms are phantoms, and nothing more. We take pleasure in -their brilliancy, without believing in their substantiality; we are -interested in their doings, without troubling ourselves about their -misfortunes. We know that their tears and cries are not real. Our -emotion is purified and raised. We do not fall into gross illusion; we -have that gentle feeling of knowing ourselves to be dreaming. We, like -him, are a thousand leagues from actual life, beyond the pangs of -painful pity, unmixed terror, violent and bitter hatred. We entertain -only refined sentiments, partly formed, arrested at the very moment they -were about to affect us with too sharp a stroke. They slightly touch us, -and we find ourselves happy in being extricated from a belief which was -beginning to be oppressive. - - - - -SECTION VII.--Spenser in his Relation to the Renaissance - - -What world could furnish materials to so elevated a fancy? One only, -that of chivalry; for none is so far from the actual. Alone and -independent in his castle, freed from all the ties which society, -family, toil, usually impose on the actions of men, the feudal hero had -attempted every kind of adventure, but yet he had done less than he -imagined; the boldness of his deeds had been exceeded by the madness of -his dreams. For want of useful employment and an accepted rule, his -brain had labored on an unreasoning and impossible track, and the -urgency of his wearisomeness had increased beyond measure his craving -for excitement. Under this stimulus his poetry had become a world of -imagery. Insensibly strange conceptions had grown and multiplied in his -brains, one over the other, like ivy woven round a tree, and the -original trunk had disappeared beneath their rank growth and their -obstruction. The delicate fancies of the old Welsh poetry, the grand -ruins of the German epics, the marvellous splendors of the conquered -East, all the recollections which four centuries of adventure had -scattered among the minds of men, had become gathered into one great -dream; and giants, dwarfs, monsters, the whole medley of imaginary -creatures, of superhuman exploits and splendid follies, were grouped -around a unique conception, exalted and sublime love, like courtiers -prostrated at the feet of their king. It was an ample and buoyant -subject-matter, from which the great artists of the age, Ariosto, Tasso, -Cervantes, Rabelais, had hewn their poems. But they belonged too -completely to their own time, to admit of their belonging to one which -had passed.[360] They created a chivalry afresh, but it was not genuine. -The ingenious Ariosto, an ironical epicurean, delights his gaze with it, -and grows merry over it, like a man of pleasure, a sceptic who rejoices -doubly in his pleasure because it is sweet, and because it is forbidden. -By his side poor Tasso, inspired by a fanatical, revived, factitious -Catholicism, amid the tinsel of an old school of poetry, works on the -same subject, in sickly fashion, with great effort and scant success. -Cervantes, himself a knight, albeit he loves chivalry for its nobleness, -perceives its folly, and crushes it to the ground, with heavy blows, in -the mishaps of the wayside inns. More coarsely, more openly, Rabelais, a -rude commoner, drowns it with a burst of laughter, in his merriment and -nastiness. Spenser alone takes it seriously and naturally. He is on the -level of so much nobleness, dignity, reverie. He is not yet settled and -shut in by that species of exact common-sense which was to found and -cramp the whole modern civilization. In his heart he inhabits the poetic -and shadowy land from which men were daily drawing farther and farther -away. He is enamored of it, even to its very language; he revives the -old words, the expressions of the Middle Ages, the style of Chaucer, -especially in the "Shepherd's Calendar." He enters straightway upon the -strangest dreams of the old story-tellers, without astonishment, like a -man who has still stranger dreams of his own. Enchanted castles, -monsters and giants, duels in the woods, wandering ladies, all spring up -under his hands, the mediæval fancy with the mediaeval generosity; and -it is just because this world is unreal that it so suits his humor. - -Is there in chivalry sufficient to furnish him with matter? That is but -one world, and he has another. Beyond the valiant men, the glorified -images of moral virtues, he has the gods, finished models of sensible -beauty; beyond Christian chivalry he has the pagan Olympus; beyond the -idea of heroic will which can only be satisfied by adventures and -danger, there exists calm energy, which, by its own impulse, is in -harmony with actual existence. For such a poet one ideal is not enough; -beside the beauty of effort he places the beauty of happiness; he -couples them, not deliberately as a philosopher, nor with the design of -a scholar like Goethe, but because they are both lovely; and here and -there, amid armor and passages of arms, he distributes satyrs, nymphs, -Diana, Venus, like Greek statues amid the turrets and lofty trees of an -English park. There is nothing forced in the union; the ideal epic, like -a superior heaven, receives and harmonizes the two worlds; a beautiful -pagan dream carries on a beautiful dream of chivalry; the link consists -in the fact that they are both beautiful. At this elevation the poet has -ceased to observe the differences of races and civilizations. He can -introduce into his picture whatever he will; his only reason is, "That -suited"; and there could be no better. Under the glossy-leaved oaks, by -the old trunk so deeply rooted in the ground, he can see two knights -cleaving each other, and the next instant a company of Fauns who came -there to dance. The beams of light which have poured down upon the -velvet moss, the green turf of an English forest, can reveal the -dishevelled locks and white shoulders of nymphs. Do we not see it in -Rubens? And what signify discrepancies in the happy and sublime illusion -of fancy? Are there more discrepancies? Who perceives them, who feels -them? Who does not feel, on the contrary, that to speak the truth, there -is but one world, that of Plato and the poets; that actual phenomena are -but outlines--mutilated, incomplete and blurred outlines--wretched -abortions scattered here and there on Time's track, like fragments of -clay, half moulded, then cast aside, lying in an artist's studio; that, -after all, invisible forces and ideas, which forever renew the actual -existences, attain their fulfilment only in imaginary existences; and -that the poet, in order to express nature in its entirety, is obliged to -embrace in his sympathy all the ideal forms by which nature reveals -itself? This is the greatness of his work; he has succeeded in seizing -beauty in its fulness, because he cared for nothing but beauty. - -The reader will feel that it is impossible to give in full the plot of -such a poem. In fact, there are six poems, each of a dozen cantos, in -which the action is ever diverging and converging again, becoming -confused and starting again; and all the imaginings of antiquity and of -the Middle Ages are, I believe, combined in it. The knight "pricks along -the plaine," among the trees, and at a crossing of the paths meets other -knights with whom he engages in combat; suddenly from within a cave -appears a monster, half woman and half serpent, surrounded by a hideous -offspring; further on a giant, with three bodies; then a dragon, great -as a hill, with sharp talons and vast wings. For three days he fights -them, and twice overthrown, he comes to himself only by aid of "a -gracious ointment." After that there are savage tribes to be conquered, -castles surrounded by flames to be taken. Meanwhile ladies are wandering -in the midst of forests, on white palfreys, exposed to the assaults of -miscreants, now guarded by a lion which follows them, now delivered by a -band of satyrs who adore them. Magicians work manifold charms; palaces -display their festivities; tilt-yards provide endless tournaments; -sea-gods, nymphs, fairies, kings, intermingle in these feasts, -surprises, dangers. - -You will say it is a phantasmagoria. What matter, if we see it? And we -do see it, for Spenser does. His sincerity communicates itself to us. He -is so much at home in this world that we end by finding ourselves at -home in it too. He shows no appearance of astonishment at astonishing -events; he comes upon them so naturally that he makes them natural; he -defeats the miscreants, as if he had done nothing else all his life. -Venus, Diana, and the old deities, dwell at his gate and enter his -threshold without his taking any heed of them. His serenity becomes -ours. We grow credulous and happy by contagion, and to the same extent -as he. How could it be otherwise? Is it possible to refuse credence to a -man who paints things for us with such accurate details and in such -lively colors? Here with a dash of his pen he describes a forest for -you; and are you not instantly in it with him Beech trees with their -silvery stems, "loftie trees iclad with sommers pride, did spred so -broad, that heavens light did hide"; rays of light tremble on the bark -and shine on the ground, on the reddening ferns and low bushes, which, -suddenly smitten with the luminous track, glisten and glimmer. Footsteps -are scarcely heard on the thick beds of heaped leaves; and at distant -intervals, on the tall herbage, drops of dew are sparkling. Yet the -sound of a horn reaches us through the foliage; how sweetly yet -cheerfully it falls on the ear, amidst this vast silence! It resounds -more loudly; the clatter of a hunt draws near; "eft through the thicke -they heard one rudely rush;" a nymph approaches, the most chaste and -beautiful in the world. Spenser sees her; nay more, he kneels before -her: - - -"Her face so faire, as flesh it seemed not, -But hevenly pourtraict of bright angels hew, -Cleare as the skye, withouten blame or blot, -Through goodly mixture of complexions dew; -And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew -Like roses in a bed of lillies shed, -The which ambrosiall odours from them threw, -And gazers sence with double pleasure fed, -Hable to heale the sicke and to revive the ded. - -"In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame, -Kindled above at th' Hevenly Makers light, -And darted fyrie beames out of the same; -So passing persant, and so wondrous bright, -That quite bereav'd the rash beholders sight: -In them the blinded god his lustfull fyre -To kindle oft assayd, but had no might; -For, with dredd maiestie and awfull yre, -She broke his wanton darts, and quenched bace desyre. - -"Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie brave, -Like a broad table did itselfe dispred, -For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave, -And write the battailes of his great godhed: -All good and honour might therein be red; -For there their dwelling was. And, when she spake -Sweete wordes, like dropping honny, she did shed; -And 'twixt the perles and rubins softly brake -A silver sound, that heavenly musicke seemd to make. - -"Upon her eyelids many Graces sate, -Under the shadow of her even browes, -Working belgardes and amorous retrate; -And everie one her with a grace endowes, -And everie one with meekenesse to her bowes: -So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace, -And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes, -How shall frayle pen descrive her heavenly face, -For feare, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace. - -"So faire, and thousand thousand times more faire, -She seemd, when she presented was to sight; -And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire, -All in a silken Camus lilly whight, -Purfled upon with many a folded plight, -Which all above besprinckled was throughout -With golden aygulets, that glistred bright, -Like twinckling starres; and all the skirt about -Was hemd with golden fringe. - -"Below her ham her weed did somewhat trayne, -And her streight legs most bravely were embayld -In gilden buskins of costly cordwayne, -All bard with golden bendes, which were entayld -With curious antickes, and full fayre aumayld. -Before, they fastned were under her knee -In a rich iewell, and therein entrayld -The ends of all the knots, that none might see -How they within their fouldings close enwrapped bee. - -"Like two faire marble pillours they were seene, -Which doe the temple of the gods support, -Whom all the people decke with girlands greene, -And honour in their festivall resort; -Those same with stately grace and princely port -She taught to tread, when she herselfe would grace; -But with the woody nymphes when she did play, -Or when the flying libbard she did chace, -She could them nimbly move, and after fly apace. - -"And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held, -And at her backe a bow and quiver gay, -Stuft with steel-headed dartes wherewith she queld -The salvage beastes in her victorious play, -Knit with a golden bauldricke which forelay -Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide -Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit in May, -Now little gan to swell, and being tide -Through her thin weed their places only signifide. - -"Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre, -About her shoulders weren loosely shed, -And, when the winde emongst them did inspyre, -They waved like a penon wyde dispred -And low behinde her backe were scattered: -And, whether art it were or heedlesse hap, -As through the flouring forrest rash she fled, -In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap, -And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap."[361] - -"The daintie rose, the daughter of her morne, -More deare than life she tendered, whose flowre -The girlond of her honour did adorne; -Ne suffered she the middayes scorching powre. -Ne the sharp northerne wind thereon to showre; -But lapped up her silken leaves most chayre, -Whenso the froward skye began to lowre; -But, soone as calmed was the cristall ayre, -She did it fayre dispred, and let to flourish fayre."[362] - - -He is on his knees before her, I repeat, as a child on Corpus Christi -day, among flowers and perfumes, transported with admiration, so that he -sees a heavenly light in her eyes, and angel's tints on her cheeks, even -impressing into her service Christian angels and pagan graces to adorn -and await upon her; it is love which brings such visions before him: - - -"Sweet love, that doth his golden wings embay -In blessed nectar and pure pleasures well." - - -Whence this perfect beauty, this modest and charming dawn, in which he -assembles all the brightness, all the sweetness, all the virgin graces -of the full morning? What mother begat her, what marvellous birth -brought to light such a wonder of grace and purity? One day, in a -sparkling, solitary fountain, where the sunbeams shone, Chrysogone was -bathing with roses and violets. - - -"It was upon a sommers shinie day, -When Titan faire his beamës did display, -In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens vew, -She bath'd her brest the boyling heat t' allay; -She bath'd with roses red and violets blew, -And all the sweetest flowers that in the forrest grew. -Till faint through yrkesome wearines adowne -Upon the grassy ground herselfe she layd -To sleepe, the whiles a gentle slombring swowne -Upon her fell all naked bare displayd."[363] - - -The beams played upon her body, and "fructified" her. The months rolled -on. Troubled and ashamed, she went into the "wildernesse," and sat down, -"every sence with sorrow sore opprest." Meanwhile Venus, searching for -her boy Cupid, who had mutinied and fled from her, "wandered in the -world." She had sought him in courts, cities, cottages, promising -"kisses sweet, and sweeter things, unto the man that of him tydings to -her brings." - - -"Shortly unto the wastefull woods she came, -Whereas she found the goddesse (Diana) with her crew, -After late chace of their embrewed game, -Sitting beside a fountaine in a rew; -Some of them washing with the liquid dew -From off their dainty limbs the dusty sweat -And soyle, which did deforme their lively hew; -Others lay shaded from the scorching heat, -The rest upon her person gave attendance great. -She, having hong upon a bough on high -Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste -Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh, -And her lanck loynes ungirt, and brests unbraste, -After her heat the breathing cold to taste; -Her golden lockes, that late in tresses bright -Embreaded were for hindring of her haste, -Now loose about her shoulders hong undight, -And were with sweet Ambrosia all besprinckled light."[364] - - -Diana, surprised thus, repulses Venus, "and gan to smile, in scorne of -her vaine playnt," swearing that if she should catch Cupid, she would -clip his wanton wings. Then she took pity on the afflicted goddess, and -set herself with her to look for the fugitive. They came to the "shady -covert" where Chrysogone, in her sleep, had given birth "unawares" to -two lovely girls, "as faire as springing day." Diana took one, and made -her the purest of all virgins. Venus carried off the other to the Garden -of Adonis, "the first seminary of all things, that are borne to live and -dye"; where Psyche, the bride of Love, disports herself; where Pleasure, -their daughter, wantons with the Graces; where Adonis, "lapped in -flowres and pretious spycery, liveth in eternal bliss," and came back -to life through the breath of immortal Love. She brought her up as her -daughter, selected her to be the most faithful of loves, and after long -trials, gave her hand to the good knight Sir Scudamore. - -That is the kind of thing we meet with in the wondrous forest. Are you -ill at ease there, and do you wish to leave it because it is wondrous? -At every bend in the alley, at every change of the light, a stanza, a -word, reveals a landscape or an apparition. It is morning, the white -dawn gleams faintly through the trees; bluish vapors veil the horizon, -and vanish in the smiling air; the springs tremble and murmur faintly -amongst the mosses, and on high the poplar leaves begin to stir and -flutter like the wings of butterflies. A knight alights from his horse, -a valiant knight, who has unhorsed many a Saracen, and experienced many -an adventure. He unlaces his helmet, and on a sudden you perceive the -cheeks of a young girl: - - -"Which doft, her golden lockes, that were upbound -Still in a knot, unto her heeles downe traced, -And like a silken veile in compasse round -About her backe and all her bodie wound; -Like as the shining skie in summers night, -What time the dayes with scorching heat abound, -Is creasted all with lines of firie light, -That it prodigious seemes in common peoples sight."[365] - - -It is Britomart, a virgin and a heroine, like Clorinda or Marfisa,[366] -but how much more ideal! The deep sentiment of nature, the sincerity of -reverie, the ever-flowing fertility of inspiration, the German -seriousness, reanimate in this poem classical or chivalrous conceptions, -even when they are the oldest or the most trite. The train of splendors -and of scenery never ends. Desolate promontories, cleft with gaping -chasms; thunder-stricken and blackened masses of rocks, against which -the hoarse breakers dash; palaces sparkling with gold, wherein ladies, -beauteous as angels, reclining carelessly on purple cushions, listen -with sweet smiles to the harmony of music played by unseen hands; lofty -silent walks, where avenues of oaks spread their motionless shadows over -clusters of virgin violets, and turf which never mortal foot has trod; -to all these beauties of art and nature he adds the marvels of -mythology, and describes them with as much of love and sincerity as a -painter of the Renaissance or an ancient poet. Here approach on chariots -of shell, Cymoënt and her nymphs: - - -"A teme of dolphins raunged in aray -Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoënt; -They were all taught by Triton to obay -To the long raynes at her commaundëment: -As swifte as swallowes on the waves they went, -That their brode flaggy finnes no fome did reare, -Ne bubling rowndell they behinde them sent; -The rest, of other fishes drawen weare; -Which with their finny oars the swelling sea did sheare."[367] - - -Nothing, again, can be sweeter or calmer than the description of the -palace of Morpheus: - - -"He, making speedy way through spersed ayre, -And through the world of waters wide and deepe. -To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. -Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, -And low, where dawning day doth never peepe -His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed -Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe -In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, -Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred. -And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft, -A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe -And ever-drizzling raine upon the loft, -Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne -Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne. -No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, -As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne, -Might there be heard: but careless Quiet lyes, -Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes." - - -Observe also in a corner of this forest, a band of satyrs dancing under -the green leaves. They come leaping like wanton kids, as gay as birds of -joyous spring. The fair Hellenore, whom they have chosen for "May-lady," -"daunst lively" also, laughing, and "with girlonds all bespredd." The -wood re-echoes the sound of their "merry pypes. Their horned feet the -greene gras wore. All day they daunced with great lustyhedd," with -sudden motions and alluring looks, while about them their flock feed on -"the brouzes" at their pleasure. In every book we see strange -processions pass by, allegorical and picturesque shows, like those which -were then displayed at the courts of princes; now a masquerade of Cupid, -now of the Rivers, now of the Months, now of the Vices. Imagination was -never more prodigal or inventive. Proud Lucifera advances in a chariot -"adorned all with gold and girlonds gay," beaming like the dawn, -surrounded by a crowd of courtiers whom she dazzles with her glory and -splendor: "six unequall beasts" draw her along, and each of these is -ridden by a Vice. Idleness "upon a slouthfull asse... in habit blacke... -like to an holy monck," sick for very laziness, lets his heavy head -droop, and holds in his hand a breviary which he does not read; -Gluttony, on "a filthie swyne," crawls by in his deformity, "his -belly... upblowne with luxury, and eke with fatnesse swollen were his -eyne; and like a crane his necke was long and fyne," dressed in -vine-leaves, through which one can see his body eaten by ulcers, and -vomiting along the road the wine and flesh with which he is glutted. -Avarice seated between "two iron coffers, upon a camell loaden all -with gold," is handling a heap of coin, with threadbare coat, hollow -cheeks, and feet stiff with gout. Envy "upon a ravenous wolfe still did -chaw between his cankred teeth a venemous tode, that all the poison ran -about his chaw," and his discolored garment "ypainted full of eies," -conceals a snake wound about his body. Wrath, covered with a torn and -bloody robe, comes riding on a lion, brandishing about his head "a -burning brond," his eyes sparkling, his face pale as ashes, grasping in -his feverish hand the haft of his dagger. The strange and terrible -procession passes on, led by the solemn harmony of the stanzas; and the -grand music of oft-repeated rhymes sustains the imagination in this -fantastic world, which, with its mingled horrors and splendors, has just -been opened to its flight. - -Yet all this is little. However much mythology and chivalry can supply, -they do not suffice for the needs of this poetical fancy. Spenser's -characteristic is the vastness and overflow of his picturesque -invention. Like Rubens, whatever he creates is beyond the region of all -traditions, but complete in all parts, and expresses distinct ideas. As -with Rubens, his allegory swells its proportions beyond all rule, and -withdraws fancy from all law, except in so far as it is necessary to -harmonize forms and colors. For, if ordinary minds receive from allegory -a certain weight which oppresses them, lofty imaginations receive from -it wings which carry them aloft. Freed by it from the common conditions -of life, they can dare all things, beyond imitation, apart from -probability, with no other guides but their inborn energy and their -shadowy instincts. For three days Sir Guyon is led by the cursed spirit, -the tempter Mammon, in the subterranean realm, across wonderful gardens, -trees laden with golden fruits, glittering palaces, and a confusion of -all worldly treasures. They have descended into the bowels of the earth, -and pass through caverns, unknown abysses, silent depths. "An ugly -Feend... with monstrous stalke behind him stept," without Guyon's -knowledge, ready to devour him on the least show of covetousness. The -brilliancy of the gold lights up hideous figures, and the beaming metal -shines with a beauty more seductive in the gloom of the infernal prison. - - -"That Houses forme within was rude and strong, -Lyke an huge cave hewne out of rocky clifte, -From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong -Embost with massy gold of glorious guifte, -And with rich metall loaded every rifte, -That heavy ruine they did seeme to threatt; -And over them Arachne high did lifte -Her cunning web, and spred her subtile nett, -Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more black than iett. - -"Both roofe, and floore, and walls, were all of gold, -But overgrowne with dust and old decay, -And hid in darknes, that none could behold -The hew thereof; for vew of cheerfull day -Did never in that House itselfe display, -But a faint shadow of uncertein light; -Such as a lamp; whose life does fade away; -Or as the moone, cloathed with dowdy night, -Does show to him that walkes in feare and sad affright. - -"In all that rowme was nothing to be seene -But huge great yron chests and coffers strong, -All bard with double bends, that none could weene -Them to enforce by violence or wrong; -On every side they placed were along. -But all the grownd with sculs was scattered -And dead mens bones, which round about were flong; -Whose lives, it seemed, whilome there were shed, -And their vile carcases now left unburied.... - -"Thence, forward he him ledd and shortly brought -Unto another rowme, whose dore forthright -To him did open as it had beene taught: -Therein an hundred raunges weren pight, -And hundred fournaces all burning bright; -By every fournace many Feends did byde, -Deformed creatures, horrible in sight; -And every Feend his busie paines applyde -To melt the golden metall, ready to be tryde. - -"One with great bellowes gathered filling ayre, -And with forst wind the fewell did inflame; -Another did the dying bronds repayre -With yron tongs, and sprinckled ofte the same -With liquid waves, fiers Vulcans rage to tame, -Who, maystring them, renewd his former heat: -Some scumd the drosse that from the metall came; -Some stird the molten owre with ladles great: -And every one did swincke, and every one did sweat... - -"He brought him, through a darksom narrow strayt, -To a broad gate all built of beaten gold: -The gate was open; but therein did wayt -A sturdie Villein, stryding stiffe and bold, -As if the Highest God defy he would: -In his right hand an yron club he held, -But he himselfe was all of golden mould, -Yet had both life and sence, and well could weld -That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes he queld.... - -"He brought him in. The rowme was large and wyde, -As it some gyeld or solemne temple weare; -Many great golden pillours did upbeare -The massy roofe, and riches huge sustayne; -And every pillour decked was full deare -With crownes, and diademes, and titles vaine, -Which mortall princes wore whiles they on earth did rayne. - -"A route of people there assembled were, -Of every sort and nation under skye, -Which with great uprore preaced to draw nere -To th' upper part, where was advaunced hye -A stately siege of soveraine maiestye; -And thereon satt a Woman gorgeous gay, -And richly cladd in robes of royaltye, -That never earthly prince in such aray -His glory did enhaunce, and pompous pryde display.... - -"There, as in glistring glory she did sitt, -She held a great gold chaine ylincked well, -Whose upper end to highest heven was knitt. -And lower part did reach to lowest hell."[368] - - -No artist's dream matches these visions: the glow of the furnaces -beneath the vaults of the cavern, the lights flickering over the crowded -figures, the throne, and the strange glitter of the gold shining in -every direction through the darkness. The allegory assumes gigantic -proportions. When the object is to show temperance struggling with -temptations, Spenser deems it necessary to mass all the temptations -together. He is treating of a general virtue; and as such a virtue is -capable of every sort of resistance, he requires from it every sort of -resistance alike; after the test of gold, that of pleasure. Thus the -grandest and the most exquisite spectacles follow and are contrasted -with each other, and all are supernatural; the graceful and the terrible -are side by side--the happy gardens close by with the cursed -subterranean cavern. - - -"No gate, but like one, being goodly dight -With bowes and braunches, which did broad dilate -Their clasping armes in wanton wreathings intricate: - -"So fashioned a porch with rare device, -Archt over head with an embracing vine, -Whose bounches hanging downe seemed to entice -All passers-by to taste their lushious wine, -And did themselves into their hands incline, -As freely offering to be gathered; -Some deepe empurpled as the hyacine, -Some as the rubine laughing sweetely red, -Some like faire emeraudes, not yet well ripened.... - -"And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, -Of richest substance that on earth might bee, -So pure and shiny that the silver flood -Through every channell running one might see; -Most goodly it with curious ymageree -Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, -Of which some seemed with lively iollitee -To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, -Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid ioyes. - -"And over all of purest gold was spred -A trayle of yvie in his native hew; -For the rich metall was so coloured, -That wight, who did not well avis'd it vew, -Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew; -Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe, -That themselves dipping in the silver dew -Their fleecy flowres they fearfully did steepe, -Which drops of christall seemd for wantones to weep. - -"Infinit streames continually did well -Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see, -The which into an ample laver fell, -And shortly grew to such great quantitie, -That like a little lake it seemd to bee; -Whose depth exceeded not three cubits hight, -That through the waves one might the bottom see, -All pav'd beneath with jaspar shining bright, -That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle upright.... - -"The ioyes birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade, -Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet; -Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made -To th' instruments divine respondence meet; -The silver-sounding instruments did meet -With the base murmur of the waters fall; -The waters fall with difference discreet. -Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call; -The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.... - -"Upon a bed of roses she was layd, -As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin; -And was arayd, or rather disarayd, -All in a vele of silke and silver thin, -That hid no whit her alabaster skin, -But rather shewd more white, if more might bee: -More subtile web Arachne cannot spin; -Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven see -Of scorched deaw, do not in th' ayre more lightly flee. - -"Her snowy brest was bare to ready spoyle -Of hungry eies, which n' ote therewith be fild; -And yet, through languour of her late sweet toyle, -Few drops, more cleare then nectar, forth distild, -That like pure orient perles adowne it trild; -And her faire eyes, sweet smyling in delight, -Moystened their fierie beames, with which she thrild -Fraile harts, yet quenched not, like starry lights -Which sparckling on the silent waves, does seeme more bright."[369] - - -Do we find here nothing but fairy land? Yes; here are finished pictures -true and complete, composed with a painter's feeling, with choice of -tints and outlines; our eyes are delighted by them. This reclining -Acrasia has the pose of a goddess, or of one of Titian's courtesans. An -Italian artist might copy these gardens, these flowing waters, these -sculptured loves, those wreaths of creeping ivy thick with glossy leaves -and fleecy flowers. Just before, in the infernal depths, the lights, -with their long streaming rays, were fine, half smothered by the -darkness; the lofty throne in the vast hall, between the pillars, in the -midst of a swarming multitude, connected all the forms around it by -drawing all looks towards one centre. The poet, here and throughout, is -a colorist and an architect. However fantastic his world may be, it is -not factitious; if it does not exist, it might have been; indeed, it -should have been; it is the fault of circumstances if they do not so -group themselves as to bring it to pass; taken by itself, it possesses -that internal harmony by which a real thing, even a still higher -harmony, exists, inasmuch as, without any regard to real things, it is -altogether, and in its least detail, constructed with a view to beauty. -Art has made its appearance; this is the great characteristic of the -age, which distinguishes the "Faërie Queene" from all similar tales -heaped up by the Middle Ages. Incoherent, mutilated, they lie like -rubbish, or rough-hewn stones, which the weak hands of the _trouvères_ -could not build into a monument. At last the poets and artists appear, -and with them the conception of beauty, to wit, the idea of general -effect. They understand proportions, relations, contrasts; they compose. -In their hands the blurred vague sketch becomes defined, complete, -separate; it assumes color--is made a picture. Every object thus -conceived and imaged acquires a definite existence as soon as it assumes -a true form; centuries after, it will be acknowledged and admired, and -men will be touched by it; and more, they will be touched by its author; -for, besides the object which he paints, the poet paints himself. His -ruling idea is stamped upon the work which it produces and controls. -Spenser is superior to his subject, comprehends it fully, frames it with -a view to its end, in order to impress upon it the proper mark of his -soul and his genius. Each story is modulated with respect to another, -and all with respect to a certain effect which is being worked out. Thus -a beauty issues from this harmony--the beauty in the poet's heart--which -his whole work strives to express; a noble and yet a cheerful beauty, -made up of moral elevation and sensuous seductions, English in -sentiment, Italian in externals, chivalric in subject, modern in its -perfection, representing a unique and wonderful epoch, the appearance of -paganism in a Christian race, and the worship of form by an imagination -of the North. - - - - - -_PART III.--Prose_ - - - - -SECTION I.--The Decay of Poetry - - -Such an epoch can scarcely last, and the poetic vitality wears itself -out by its very efflorescence, so that its expansion leads to its -decline. From the beginning of the seventeenth century the subsidence of -manners and genius grows apparent. Enthusiasm and respect decline. The -minions and court-fops intrigue and pilfer, amid pedantry, puerility, -and show. The court plunders, and the nation murmurs. The Commons begin -to show a stern front, and the king, scolding them like a schoolmaster, -gives way before them like a little boy. This sorry monarch (James I) -suffers himself to be bullied by his favorites, writes to them like a -gossip, calls himself a Solomon, airs his literary vanity, and in -granting an audience to a courtier, recommends him to become a scholar, -and expects to be complimented on his own scholarly attainments. The -dignity of the government is weakened, and the people's loyalty is -cooled. Royalty declines, and revolution is fostered. At the same time, -the noble chivalric paganism degenerates into a base and coarse -sensuality. The king, we are told, on one occasion, had got so drunk -with his royal brother Christian of Denmark, that they both had to be -carried to bed. Sir John Harrington says: - - -"The ladies abandon their sobriety, and are seen to roll about in -intoxication.... The Lady who did play the Queen's part (in the Masque -of the Queen of Sheba) did carry most precious gifts to both their -Majesties; but, forgetting the steppes arising to the canopy, overset -her caskets into his Danish Majesties lap, and fell at his feet, tho I -rather think it was in his face. Much was the hurry and confusion; -cloths and napkins were at hand, to make all clean. His Majestie then -got up and would dance with the Queen of Sheba; but he fell down and -humbled himself before her, and was carried to an inner chamber and laid -on a bed of state; which was not a little defiled with the presents of -the Queen which had been bestowed on his garments; such as wine, cream, -jelly, beverage, cakes, spices, and other good matters. The -entertainment and show went forward, and most of the presenters went -backward, or fell down; wine did so occupy their upper chambers. Now did -appear, in rich dress, Hope, Faith, and Charity: Hope did assay to -speak, but wine rendered her endeavours so feeble that she withdrew, and -hoped the king would excuse her brevity: Faith... left the court in a -staggering condition.... They were both sick and spewing in the lower -hall. Next came Victory, who... by a strange medley of versification... -and after much lamentable utterance was led away like a silly captive, -and laid to sleep in the outer steps of the anti-chamber. As for Peace, -she most rudely made war with her olive branch, and laid on the pates of -those who did oppose her coming. I ne'er did see such lack of good -order, discretion, and sobriety in our Queen's days."[370] - - -Observe that these tipsy women were great ladies. The reason is, that -the grand ideas which introduce an epoch, end, in their exhaustion, by -preserving nothing but their vices; the proud sentiment of natural life -becomes a vulgar appeal to the senses. An entrance, an arch of triumph -under James I, often represented obscenities; and later, when the -sensual instincts, exasperated by Puritan tyranny, begin to raise their -heads once more, we shall find under the Restoration excess revelling in -its low vices, and triumphing in its shamelessness. - -Meanwhile literature undergoes a change; the powerful breeze which had -wafted it on, and which, amidst singularity, refinement, exaggerations, -had made it great, slackened and diminished. With Carew, Suckling, and -Herrick, prettiness takes the place of the beautiful. That which strikes -them is no longer the general features of things; and they no longer try -to express the inner character of what they describe. They no longer -possess that liberal conception, that instinctive penetration, by which -we sympathize with objects, and grow capable of creating them anew. They -no longer boast of that overflow of emotions, that excess of ideas and -images, which compelled a man to relieve himself by words, to act -externally, to represent freely and boldly the interior drama which made -his whole body and heart tremble. They are rather wits of the court, -cavaliers of fashion, who wish to show off their imagination and style. -In their hands love becomes gallantry; they write songs, fugitive -pieces, compliments to the ladies. There are no more upwellings from the -heart. They write eloquent phrases in order to be applauded, and -flattering exaggerations in order to please. The divine faces, the -serious or profound looks, the virgin or impassioned expressions which -burst forth at every step in the early poets, have disappeared; here we -see nothing but agreeable countenances, painted in agreeable verses. -Blackguardism is not far off; we meet with it already in Suckling, and -crudity to boot, and prosaic epicurism; their sentiment is expressed -before long, in such a phrase as: "Let us amuse ourselves, and a fig for -the rest." The only objects they can still paint are little graceful -things, a kiss, a May-day festivity, a dewy primrose, a daffodil, a -marriage morning, a bee.[371] Herrick and Suckling especially produce -little exquisite poems, delicate, ever pleasant or agreeable, like those -attributed to Anacreon, or those which abound in the Anthology. In fact, -here, as at the Grecian period alluded to, we are in the decline of -paganism; energy departs, the reign of the agreeable begins. People do -not relinquish the worship of beauty and pleasure, but dally with them. -They deck and fit them to their taste; they cease to subdue and bend -men, who enjoy them whilst they amuse them. It is the last beam of a -setting sun; the genuine poetic sentiment dies out with Sedley, Waller, -and the rhymesters of the Restoration; they write prose in verse; their -heart is on a level with their style, and with an exact language we find -the commencement of a new age and a new art. - -Side by side with prettiness comes affectation; it is the second mark of -their decadence. Instead of writing to express things, they write to say -them well; they outbid their neighbors, and strain every mode of speech; -they push art over on the one side to which it had a leaning; and as in -this age it had a leaning towards vehemence and imagination, they pile -up their emphasis and coloring. A jargon always springs out of a style. -In all arts, the first masters, the inventors, discover the idea, steep -themselves in it, and leave it to effect its outward form. Then come the -second class, the imitators, who sedulously repeat this form, and alter -it by exaggeration. Some nevertheless have talent, as Quarles, Herbert, -Habington, Donne in particular, a pungent satirist, of terrible -crudeness,[372] a powerful poet, of a precise and intense imagination, -who still preserves something of the energy and thrill of the original -inspiration.[373] But he deliberately spoils all these gifts, and -succeeds with great difficulty in concocting a piece of nonsense. For -instance, the impassioned poets had said to their mistress that if they -lost her, they should hate all other women. Donne, in order to eclipse -them, says: - - -"O do not die, for I shall hate -All women so, when thou art gone, -That thee I shall not celebrate -When I remember thou wast one."[374] - - -Twenty times while reading him we rub our brow, and ask with -astonishment, how a man could have so tormented and contorted himself, -strained his style, refined on his refinement, hit upon such absurd -comparisons? But this was the spirit of the age; they made an effort to -be ingeniously absurd. A flea had bitten Donne and his mistress, and he -says: - - -"This flea is you and I, and this -Our mariage bed and mariage temple is. -Though Parents grudge, and you, w' are met, -And cloyster'd in these living walls of Jet. -Though use make you apt to kill me, -Let not to that selfe-murder added be, -And sacrilege, three sins in killing three."[375] - - -The Marquis de Mascarille[376] never found anything to equal this. Would -you have believed a writer could invent such absurdities? She and he -made but one, for both are but one with the flea, and so one could not -be killed without the other. Observe that the wise Malherbe wrote very -similar enormities, in the "Tears of St. Peter," and that the sonneteers -of Italy and Spain reach simultaneously the same height of folly, and -you will agree that throughout Europe at that time they were at the -close of a poetical epoch. - -On this boundary line of a closing and a dawning literature a poet -appeared, one of the most approved and illustrious of his time, Abraham -Cowley,[377] a precocious child, a reader and a versifier like Pope, and -who, like Pope, having known passions less than books, busied himself -less about things than about words. Literary exhaustion has seldom been -more manifest. He possesses all the capacity to say what pleases him, -but he has precisely nothing to say. The substance has vanished, leaving -in its place an empty form. In vain he tries the epic, the Pindaric -strophe, all kinds of stanzas, odes, short lines, long lines; in vain he -calls to his assistance botanical and philosophical similes, all the -erudition of the university, all the recollections of antiquity, all the -ideas of new science: we yawn as we read him. Except in a few -descriptive verses, two or three graceful tendernesses,[378] he feels -nothing, he speaks only; he is a poet of the brain. His collection of -amorous pieces is but a vehicle for a scientific test, and serves to -show that he has read the authors, that he knows geography, that he is -well versed in anatomy, that he has a smattering of medicine and -astronomy, that he has at his service comparisons and allusions enough -to rack the brains of his readers. He will speak in this wise: - - -"Beauty, thou active--passive ill! -Which dy'st thyself as fast as thou dost kill!" - - -Or will remark that his mistress is to blame for spending three hours -every morning at her toilet, because - - -"They make that Beauty Tyranny, -That's else a Civil-government." - - -After reading two hundred pages, you feel disposed to box his ears. You -have to think, by way of consolation, that every grand age must draw to -a close, that this one could not do so otherwise, that the old glow of -enthusiasm, the sudden flood of rapture, images, whimsical and audacious -fancies, which once rolled through the minds of men, arrested now and -cooled down, could only exhibit dross, a curdling scum, a multitude of -brilliant and offensive points. You say to yourself that, after all, -Cowley had perhaps talent; you find that he had in fact one, a new -talent, unknown to the old masters, the sign of a new culture, which -needs other manners, and announces a new society. Cowley had these -manners, and belongs to this society. He was a well-governed, -reasonable, well-informed, polished, well-educated man, who, after -twelve years of service and writing in France, under Queen Henrietta, -retires at last wisely into the country, where he studies natural -history, and prepares a treatise on religion, philosophizing on men and -life, fertile in general reflections and ideas, a moralist, bidding his -executor "to let nothing stand in his writings which might seem the -least in the world to be an offence against religion or good manners." -Such intentions and such a life produce and indicate less a poet, that -is, a seer, a creator, than a literary man; I mean a man who can think -and speak, and who therefore ought to have read much, learned much, -written much, ought to possess a calm and clear mind, to be accustomed -to polite society, sustained conversation, pleasantry. In fact, Cowley -is an author by profession, the oldest of those who in England deserve -the name. His prose is as easy and sensible as his poetry is contorted -and unreasonable. A polished man, writing for polished men, pretty much -as he would speak to them in a drawing-room--this I take to be the idea -which they had of a good author in the seventeenth century. It is the -idea which Cowley's essays leave of his character; it is the kind of -talent which the writers of the coming age take for their model, and he -is the first of that grave and amiable group which, continued in Temple, -reaches so far as to include Addison. - - - - -SECTION II.--The Intellectual Level of the Renaissance - - -Having reached this point, the Renaissance seemed to have attained its -limit, and, like a drooping and faded flower, to be ready to leave its -place for a new bud which began to spring up amongst its withered -leaves. At all events, a living and unexpected shoot sprang from the old -declining stock. At the moment when art languished, science shot forth; -the whole labor of the age ended in this. The fruits are not unlike; on -the contrary, they come from the same sap, and by the diversity of the -shape only manifest two distinct periods of the inner growth which has -produced them. Every art ends in a science, and all poetry in a -philosophy. For science and philosophy do but translate into precise -formulas the original conceptions which art and poetry render sensible -by imaginary figures: when once the idea of an epoch is manifested in -verse by ideal creations, it naturally comes to be expressed in prose by -positive arguments. That which had struck men on escaping from -ecclesiastical oppression and monkish asceticism was the pagan idea of a -life true to nature, and freely developed. They had found nature buried -behind scholasticism, and they had expressed it in poems and paintings; -in Italy by superb healthy corporeality, in England by vehement and -unconventional spirituality, with such divination of its laws, -instincts, and forms, that we might extract from their theatre and their -pictures a complete theory of soul and body. When enthusiasm is past, -curiosity begins. The sentiment of beauty gives way to the need of -truth. The theory contained in works of imagination frees itself. The -gaze continues fixed on nature, not to admire now, but to understand. -From painting we pass to anatomy, from the drama to moral philosophy, -from grand poetical divinations to great scientific views; the second -continue the first, and the same mind displays itself in both; for what -art had represented, and science proceeds to observe, are living things, -with their complex and complete structure, set in motion by their -internal forces, with no supernatural intervention. Artists and savants -all set out, without knowing it themselves, from the same master -conception, to wit, that nature subsists of herself, that every -existence has in its own womb the source of its action, that the causes -of events are the innate laws of things; an all-powerful idea, from -which was to issue the modern civilization, and which, at the time I -write of, produced in England and Italy, as before in Greece, genuine -sciences, side by side with a complete art: after da Vinci and Michel -Angelo, the school of anatomists, mathematicians, naturalists, ending -with Galileo; after Spenser, Ben Jonson, and Shakespeare, the school of -thinkers who surround Bacon and lead up to Harvey. - -We have not far to look for this school. In the interregnum of -Christianity the dominating bent of mind belongs to it. It was paganism -which reigned in Elizabeth's court, not only in letters, but in -doctrine--a paganism of the North, always serious, generally sombre, but -which was based, like that of the South, on natural forces. In some men -all Christianity had passed away; many proceeded to atheism through -excess of rebellion and debauchery, like Marlowe and Greene. With -others, like Shakespeare, the idea of God scarcely makes its -appearance; they see in our poor short human life only a dream, and -beyond it the long sad sleep: for them, death is the goal of life; at -most, a dark gulf, into which man plunges, uncertain of the issue. If -they carry their gaze beyond, they perceive,[379] not the spiritual soul -welcomed into a purer world, but the corpse abandoned to the damp earth, -or the ghost hovering about the churchyard. They speak like sceptics or -superstitious men, never as true believers. Their heroes have human, not -religious, virtues; against crime they rely on honor and the love of the -beautiful, not on piety and the fear of God. If others, at intervals, -like Sidney and Spenser, catch a glimpse of the Divine, it is as a vague -ideal light, a sublime Platonic phantom, which has no resemblance to a -personal God, a strict inquisitor of the slightest motions of the heart. -He appears at the summit of things, like the splendid crown of the -world, but He does not weigh upon human life; He leaves it intact and -free, only turning it towards the beautiful. Man does not know as yet -the sort of narrow prison in which official cant and respectable creeds -were, later on, to confine activity and intelligence. Even the -believers, sincere Christians like Bacon and Sir Thomas Browne, discard -all oppressive sternness, reduce Christianity to a sort of moral poetry, -and allow naturalism to subsist beneath religion. In such a broad and -open channel, speculation could spread its wings. With Lord Herbert -appeared a systematic deism; with Milton and Algernon Sidney, a -philosophical religion; Clarendon went so far as to compare Lord -Falkland's gardens to the groves of Academe. Against the rigorism of the -Puritans, Chillingworth, Hales, Hooker, the greatest doctors of the -English Church, give a large place to natural reason--so large, that -never, even to this day, has it made such an advance. - -An astonishing irruption of facts--the discovery of America, the revival -of antiquity, the restoration of philology, the invention of the arts, -the development of industries, the march of human curiosity over the -whole of the past and the whole of the globe--came to furnish -subject-matter, and prose began its reign. Sidney, Wilson, Ascham, and -Puttenham explored the rules of style; Hakluyt and Purchas compiled the -cyclopædia of travel and the description of every land; Holinshed, -Speed, Raleigh, Stowe, Knolles, Daniel, Thomas May, Lord Herbert, -founded history; Camden, Spelman, Cotton, Usher, and Selden inaugurate -scholarship; a legion of patient workers, of obscure collectors, of -literary pioneers, amassed, arranged, and sifted the documents which Sir -Robert Cotton and Sir Thomas Bodley stored up in their libraries; whilst -Utopians, moralists, painters of manners--Thomas More, Joseph Hall, John -Earle, Owen Feltham, Burton--described and passed judgment on the modes -of life, continued with Fuller, Sir Thomas Browne, and Izaak Walton up -to the middle of the next century, and add to the number of -controversialists and politicians who, with Hooker, Taylor, -Chillingworth, Algernon Sidney, Harrington, study religion, society, -church, and state. A copious and confused fermentation, from which -abundance of thoughts rose, but few notable books. Noble prose, such as -was heard at the court of Louis XIV, in the house of Pollio, in the -schools at Athens, such as rhetorical and sociable nations know how to -produce, was altogether lacking. These men had not the spirit of -analysis, the art of following step by step the natural order of ideas, -nor the spirit of conversation, the talent never to weary or shock -others. Their imagination is too little regulated, and their manners too -little polished. They who had mixed most in the world, even Sidney, -speak roughly what they think, and as they think it. Instead of glossing -they exaggerate. They blurt out all, and withhold nothing. When they do -not employ excessive compliments, they take to coarse jokes. They are -ignorant of measured liveliness, refined raillery, delicate flattery. -They rejoice in gross puns, dirty allusions. They mistake involved -charades and grotesque images for wit. Though they are great lords and -ladies, they talk like ill-bred persons, lovers of buffoonery, of shows, -and bear-fights. With some, as Overbury or Sir Thomas Browne, prose is -so much run over by poetry, that it covers its narrative with images, -and hides ideas under its pictures. They load their style with flowery -comparisons, which produce one another, and mount one above another, so -that sense disappears, and ornament only is visible. In short, they are -generally pedants, still stiff with the rust of the school; they divide -and subdivide, propound theses, definitions; they argue solidly and -heavily, and quote their authors in Latin, and even in Greek; they -square their massive periods, and learnedly knock their adversaries -down, and their readers too, as a natural consequence. They are never on -the prose-level, but always above or below--above by their poetic -genius, below by the weight of their education and the barbarism of -their manners. But they think seriously and for themselves; they are -deliberate; they are convinced and touched by what they say. Even in the -compiler we find a force and loyalty of spirit, which give confidence -and cause pleasure. Their writings are like the powerful and heavy -engravings of their contemporaries, the maps of Hofnagel for instance, -so harsh and so instructive; their conception is sharp and clear; they -have the gift of perceiving every object, not under a general aspect, -like the classical writers, but specially and individually. It is not -man in the abstract, the citizen as he is everywhere, the countryman as -such, that they represent, but James or Thomas, Smith or Brown, of such -a parish, from such an office, with such and such attitude or dress, -distinct from all others; in short, they see, not the idea, but the -individual. Imagine the disturbance that such a disposition produces in -a man's head, how the regular order of ideas becomes deranged by it; how -every object, with the infinite medley of its forms, properties, -appendages, will thenceforth fasten itself by a hundred points of -contact unforeseen to other objects, and bring before the mind a series -and a family; what boldness language will derive from it; what familiar, -picturesque, absurd words, will break forth in succession; how the dash, -the unforeseen, the originality and inequality of invention, will stand -out. Imagine, at the same time, what a hold this form of mind has on -objects, how many facts it condenses in each conception; what a mass of -personal judgments, foreign authorities, suppositions, guesses, -imaginations, it spreads over every subject; with what venturesome and -creative fecundity it engenders both truth and conjecture. It is an -extraordinary chaos of thoughts and forms, often abortive, still more -often barbarous, sometimes grand. But from this superfluity something -lasting and great is produced; namely, science, and we have only to -examine more closely into one or two of these works to see the new -creation emerge from the blocks and the debris. - - - - -SECTION III.--Robert Burton - - -Two writers especially display this state of mind. The first, Robert -Burton, a clergyman and university recluse, who passed his life in -libraries, and dabbled in all the sciences, as learned as Rabelais, -having an inexhaustible and overflowing memory; unequal, moreover, -gifted with enthusiasm, and spasmodically gay, but as a rule sad and -morose, to the extent of confessing in his epitaph that melancholy made -up his life and his death; in the first place original, liking his own -common-sense, and one of the earliest models of that singular English -mood which, withdrawing man within himself, develops in him, at one time -imagination, at another scrupulosity, at another oddity, and makes of -him, according to circumstances, a poet, an eccentric, a humorist, a -madman, or a puritan. He read on for thirty years, put an encyclopædia -into his head, and now, to amuse and relieve himself, takes a folio of -blank paper. Twenty lines of a poet, a dozen lines of a treatise on -agriculture, a folio page of heraldry, a description of rare fishes, a -paragraph of a sermon on patience, the record of the fever fits of -hypochondria, the history of the particle that, a scrap of -metaphysics--that is what passes through his brain in a quarter of an -hour; it is a carnival of ideas and phrases, Greek, Latin, German, -French, Italian, philosophical, geometrical, medical, poetical, -astrological, musical, pedagogic, heaped one on the other; an enormous -medley, a prodigious mass of jumbled quotations, jostling thoughts, with -the vivacity and the transport of a feast of unreason. - - -"This roving humour (though not with like success) I have ever had, and, -like a ranging spaniel that barks at every bird he sees, leaving his -game, I have followed all, saving that which I should, and may justly -complain, and truly, _qui ubique est, nusquam est_, which Gesner did in -modesty, that I have read many books, but to little purpose, for want of -good method, I have confusedly tumbled over divers authors in our -libraries with small profit, for want of art, order, memory, judgment. I -never travelled but in map or card, in which my unconfined thoughts have -freely expatiated, as having ever been especially delighted with the -study of cosmography. Saturn was lord of my geniture, culminating, etc., -and Mars principal significator of manners, in partile conjunction with -mine ascendent; both fortunate in their houses, etc. I am not poor, I am -not rich; _nihil est, nihil deest_; I have little; I want nothing: all -my treasure is in Minerva's tower. Greater preferment as I could never -get, so am I not in debt for it. I have a competency (_laus Deo_) from -my noble and munificent patrons. Though I live still a collegiat -student, as Democritus in his garden, and lead a monastique life, _ipse -mihi theatrum_, sequestred from those tumults and troubles of the world, -_et tanquam in speculâ positus_ (as he said), in some high place above -you all, like _Stoïcus sapiens, omnia sœcula prœterita prœsentiaque -videns, uno velut intuitu_, I hear and see what is done abroad, how -others run, ride, turmoil, and macerate themselves in court and -countrey. Far from these wrangling lawsuits, _aulœ vanitatem, fori -ambitionem, ridere mecum soleo_: I laugh at all, only secure, lest my -suit go amiss, my ships perish, corn and cattle miscarry, trade decay; I -have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for; a mere spectator -of other men's fortunes and adventures, and how they act their parts, -which methinks are diversely presented unto me, as from a common theatre -or scene. I hear new news every day: and those ordinary rumours of war, -plagues, fires, inundations, thefts, murders, massacres, meteors, -comets, spectrums, prodigies, apparitions; of towns taken, cities -besieged in France, Germany, Turkey, Persia, Poland, etc., daily musters -and preparations, and such like, which these tempestuous times afford, -battles fought, so many men slain, monomachies, shipwracks, piracies, -and sea-fights, peace, leagues, stratagems, and fresh alarms--a vast -confusion of vows, wishes, actions, edicts, petitions, lawsuits, pleas, -laws, proclamations, complaints, grievances--are daily brought to our -ears: new books every day, pamphlets, currantoes, stories, whole -catalogues of volumes of all sorts, new paradoxes, opinions, schisms, -heresies, controversies in philosophy, religion, etc. Now come tidings -of weddings, maskings, mummeries, entertainments, jubilies, embassies, -tilts and tournaments, trophies, triumphs, revels, sports, playes: then -again, as in a new shifted scene, treasons, cheating tricks, robberies, -enormous villanies in all kinds, funerals, burials, death of princes, -new discoveries, expeditions; now comical, then tragical matters. To-day -we hear of new lords and officers created, to-morrow of some great men -deposed, and then again of fresh honours conferred: one is let loose, -another imprisoned: one purchaseth, another breaketh: he thrives, his -neighbour turns bankrupt; now plenty, then again dearth and famine; one -runs, another rides, wrangles, laughs, weeps, etc. Thus I daily hear, -and such like, both private and publick news."[380] - -"For what a world of books offers itself, in all subjects, arts, and -sciences, to the sweet content and capacity of the reader? In -arithmetick, geometry, perspective, optick, astronomy, architecture, -_sculptura, pictura_, of which so many and such elaborate treatises are -of late written: in mechanicks and their mysteries, military matters, -navigation, riding of horses, fencing, swimming, gardening, planting, -great tomes of husbandry, cookery, faulconry, hunting, fishing, fowling, -etc., with exquisite pictures of all sports, games, and what not. In -musick, metaphysicks, natural and moral philosophy, philologie, in -policy, heraldry, genealogy, chronology, etc., they afford great tomes, -or those studies of antiquity, etc., _et quid subtilius arithmeticis -inventionibus? quia jucundius musicis rationibus? quid divinius -astronomicis? quid rectius geometricis demonstrationibus?_ What so sure, -what so pleasant? He that shall but see the geometrical tower of -Garezenda at Bologne in Italy, the steeple and clock at Strasborough, -will admire the effects of art, or that engine of Archimedes to remove -the earth itself, if he had but a place to fasten his instrument. -_Archimedis cochlea_, and rare devises to corrivate waters, musick -instruments, and trisyllable echoes again, again, and again repeated, -with miriades of such. What vast tomes are extant in law, physick, and -divinity, for profit, pleasure, practice, speculation, in verse or -prose, etc.! Their names alone are the subject of whole volumes; we have -thousands of authors of all sorts, many great libraries, full well -furnished, like so many dishes of meat, served out for several palates, -and he is a very block that is affected with none of them. Some take an -infinite delight to study the very languages wherein these books are -written--Hebrew, Greek, Syriack, Chalde, Arabick, etc. Methinks it would -well please any man to look upon a geographical map (_suavi animum -delectatione allicere, ob incredibilem rerum varietatem et jucunditatem, -et ad pleniorem sui cognitionem excitare_), chorographical, -topographical delineations; to behold, as it were, all the remote -provinces, towns, cities of the world, and never to go forth of the -limits of his study; to measure, by the scale and compasse, their -extent, distance, examine their site. Charles the Great (as Platina -writes) had three faire silver tables, in one of which superficies was a -large map of Constantinople, in the second Rome neatly engraved, in the -third an exquisite description of the whole world; and much delight he -took in them. What greater pleasure can there now be, than to view those -elaborate maps of Ortelius, Mercator, Hondius, etc.? to peruse those -books of cities put out by Braunus and Hogenbergius? to read those -exquisite descriptions of Maginus, Munster, Herrera, Laet, Merula, -Boterus, Leander Albertus, Camden, Leo Afer, Adricomius, Nic. Gerbelius, -etc.? those famous expeditions of Christopher Columbus, Americus -Vespucius, Marcus Polus the Venetian, Lod. Vertomannus, Aloysius -Cadamustus, etc.? those accurate diaries of Portugals, Hollanders, of -Bartison, Oliver a Nort, etc., Hacluit's Voyages, Pet. Martyr's Decades, -Benzo, Lerius, Linschoten's relations, those Hodaeporicons of Jod. a -Meggen, Brocarde the Monke, Bredenbachius, Jo. Dublinius, Sands, etc., -to Jerusalem, Egypt, and other remote places of the world? those -pleasant itineraries of Paulus Hentzerus, Jodocus Sincerus, Dux Polonus, -etc.? to read Bellonius observations, P. Gillius his survayes; those -parts of America, set out, and curiously cut in pictures, by Fratres a -Bry? To see a well cut herbal, hearbs, trees, flowers, plants, all -vegetals, expressed in their proper colours to the life, as that of -Matthiolus upon Dioscorides, Delacampius, Lobel, Bauhinus, and that last -voluminous and mighty herbal of Besler of Noremberge; wherein almost -every plant is to his own bignesse. To see birds, beasts, and fishes of -the sea, spiders, gnats, serpents, flies, etc., all creatures set out by -the same art, and truly expressed in lively colours, with an exact -description of their natures, vertues, qualities, etc., as hath been -accurately performed by Ælian, Gesner, Ulysses Aldrovandus, Bellonius, -Rondoletius, Hippolytus Salvianus, etc."[381] - - -He is never-ending; words, phrases, overflow, are heaped up, overlap -each other, and flow on, carrying the reader along, deafened, stunned, -half drowned, unable to touch ground in the deluge. Burton is -inexhaustible. There are no ideas which he does not iterate under fifty -forms: when he has exhausted his own, he pours out upon us other -men's--the classics, the rarest authors, known only by savants—authors -rarer still, known only to the learned; he borrows from all. Underneath -these deep caverns of erudition and science, there is one blacker and -more unknown than all the others, filled with forgotten authors, with -crackjaw names, Besler of Nuremberg, Adricomius, Linschoten, Brocarde, -Bredenbachius. Amidst all these antediluvian monsters, bristling with -Latin terminations, he is at his ease; he sports with them, laughs, -skips from one to the other, drives them all abreast. He is like old -Proteus, the sturdy rover, who in one hour, with his team of -hippopotami, makes the circuit of the ocean. - -What subject does he take? Melancholy, his own individual mood; and he -takes it like a schoolman. None of St. Thomas Aquinas's treatises is -more regularly constructed than his. This torrent of erudition flows in -geometrically planned channels, turning off at right angles without -deviating by a line. At the head of every part you will find a -synoptical and analytical table, with hyphens, brackets, each division -begetting its subdivisions, each subdivision its sections, each section -its subsections: of the malady in general, of melancholy in particular, -of its nature, its seat, its varieties, causes, symptoms, prognosis; of -its cure by permissible means, by forbidden means, by dietetic means, by -pharmaceutical means. After the scholastic process, he descends from the -general to the particular, and disposes each emotion and idea in its -labelled case. In this framework, supplied by the Middle Ages, he heaps -up the whole, like a man of the Renaissance--the literary description of -passions and the medical description of madness, details of the hospital -with a satire on human follies, physiological treatises side by side -with personal confidences, the recipes of the apothecary with moral -counsels, remarks on love with the history of evacuations. The -discrimination of ideas has not yet been effected; doctor and poet, man -of letters and savant, he is all at once; for want of dams, ideas pour -like different liquids into the same vat, with strange spluttering and -bubbling, with an unsavory smell and odd effect. But the vat is full, -and from this admixture are produced potent compounds which no preceding -age has known. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Sir Thomas Browne - - -For in this mixture there is an effectual leaven, the poetic sentiment, -which stirs up and animates the vast erudition, which will not be -confined to dry catalogues; which, interpreting every fact, every -object, disentangles or divines a mysterious soul within it, and -agitates the whole mind of man, by representing to him the restless -world within and without him as a grand enigma. Let us conceive a -kindred mind to Shakespeare's, a scholar and an observer instead of an -actor and a poet, who in place of creating is occupied in comprehending, -but who, like Shakespeare, applies himself to living things, penetrates -their internal structure, puts himself in communication with their -actual laws, imprints in himself fervently and scrupulously the smallest -details of their outward appearance; who at the same time extends his -penetrating surmises beyond the region of observation, discerns behind -visible phenomena some world obscure yet sublime, and trembles with a -kind of veneration before the vast, indistinct, but peopled darkness on -whose surface our little universe hangs quivering. Such a one is Sir -Thomas Browne, a naturalist, a philosopher, a scholar, a physician, and -a moralist, almost the last of the generation which produced Jeremy -Taylor and Shakespeare. No thinker bears stronger witness to the -wandering and inventive curiosity of the age. No writer has better -displayed the brilliant and sombre imagination of the North. No one has -spoken with a more eloquent emotion of death, the vast night of -forgetfulness, of the all-devouring pit, of human vanity, which tries to -create an ephemeral immortality out of glory or sculptured stones. No -one has revealed, in more glowing and original expressions, the poetic -sap which flows through all the minds of the age. - - -"But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals -with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who -can but pity the founder of the pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt -the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it. Time hath spared -the epitaph of Adrian's horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we -compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad -have equal duration; and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamemnon. -Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more -remarkable persons forgot than any that stand remembered in the known -account of time? Without the favour of the everlasting register, the -first man had been as unknown as the last, and Methuselah's long life -had been his only chronicle. - -"Oblivion is not to be hired. The greater part must be content to be as -though they had not been, to be found in the register of God, not in the -record of man. Twenty-seven names make up the first story before the -flood, and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century. -The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. The night of -time far surpasseth the day, and who knows when was the equinox? Every -hour adds unto the current arithmetick which scarce stands one moment. -And since death must be the Lucina of life, and even Pagans could doubt, -whether thus to live were to die; since our longest sun sets at right -declensions, and makes but winter arches, and therefore it cannot be -long before we lie down in darkness, and have our light in ashes; since -the brother of death daily haunts us with dying mementos, and time, that -grows old in itself, bids us hope no long duration;--diuturnity is a -dream, and folly of expectation. - -"Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with -memory a great part even of our living beings; we slightly remember our -felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart -upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or -themselves. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions induce -callosities; miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, which -notwithstanding is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to -come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision of nature, -whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days; and our -delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows -are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions.... All was vanity, feeding -the wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath -spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandise, Mizraim -cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.... Man is a noble animal, -splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave, solemnizing nativities and -deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting ceremonies of bravery in the -infancy of his nature.... Pyramids, arches, obelisks, were but the -irregularities of vain glory, and wild enormities of ancient -magnanimity."[382] - - -These are almost the words of a poet, and it is just this poet's -imagination which urges him onward into science.[383] Face to face with -the productions of nature he abounds in conjectures, comparisons; he -gropes about, proposing explanations, making trials, extending his -guesses like so many flexible and vibrating feelers into the four -corners of the globe, into the most distant regions, of fancy and truth. -As he looks upon the tree-like and foliaceous crusts which are formed -upon the surface of freezing liquids, he asks himself if this be not a -regeneration of vegetable essences, dissolved in the liquid. At the -sight of curdling blood or milk, he inquires whether there be not -something analogous to the formation of the bird in the egg, or to the -coagulation of chaos which gave birth to our world. In presence of that -impalpable force which makes liquids freeze, he asks if apoplexy and -cataract are not the effects of a like power, and do not indicate also -the presence of a congealing agency. He is in presence of nature as an -artist, a man of letters in presence of a living countenance, marking -every feature, every movement of physiognomy, so as to be able to divine -the passions and the inner disposition, ceaselessly correcting and -undoing his interpretations, kept in agitation by thought of the -invisible forces which operate beneath the visible envelope. The whole -of the Middle Ages and of antiquity, with their theories and -imaginations, Platonism, Cabalism, Christian theology, Aristotle's -substantial forms, the specific forms of the alchemists--all human -speculations, entangled and transformed one with the other, meet -simultaneously in his brain, so as to open up to him vistas of this -unknown world. The accumulation, the pile, the confusion, the -fermentation and the inner swarming, mingled with vapors and flashes, -the tumultuous overloading of his imagination and his mind, oppress and -agitate him. In this expectation and emotion his curiosity takes hold of -everything; in reference to the least fact, the most special, the most -obsolete, the most chimerical, he conceives a chain of complicated -investigations, calculating how the ark could contain all creatures, -with their provision of food; how Perpenna, at a banquet, arranged the -guests so as to strike Sertorius; what trees must have grown on the -banks of Acheron, supposing that there were any; whether quincunx -plantations had not their origin in Eden, and whether the numbers and -geometrical figures contained in the lozenge-form are not met with in -all the productions of nature and art. You may recognize here the -exuberance and the strange caprices of an inner development too ample -and too strong. Archæology, chemistry, history, nature, there is -nothing in which he is not passionately interested, which does not cause -his memory and his inventive powers to overflow, which does not summon -up within him the idea of some force, certainly admirable, possibly -infinite. But what completes his picture, what signalizes the advance of -science, is the fact that his imagination provides a counterbalance -against itself. He is as fertile in doubts as he is in explanations. If -he sees a thousand reasons which tend to one view, he sees also a -thousand which tend to the contrary. At the two extremities of the same -fact, he raises up to the clouds, but in equal piles, the scaffolding of -contradictory arguments. Having made a guess, he knows that it is but a -guess; he pauses, ends with a perhaps, recommends verification. His -writings consist only of opinions, given as such; even his principal -work is a refutation of popular errors. In the main, he proposes -questions, suggests explanations, suspends his judgments, nothing more; -but this is enough; when the search is so eager, when the paths in which -it proceeds are so numerous, when it is so scrupulous in securing its -hold, the issue of the pursuit is sure; we are but a few steps from the -truth. - - - - -SECTION V.--Francis Bacon - - -In this band of scholars, dreamers, and inquirers, appears the most -comprehensive, sensible, originative of the minds of the age, Francis -Bacon, a great and luminous intellect, one of the finest of this poetic -progeny, who, like his predecessors, was naturally disposed to clothe -his ideas in the most splendid dress: in this age, a thought did not -seem complete until it had assumed form and color. But what -distinguishes him from the others is, that with him an image only serves -to concentrate meditation. He reflected long, stamped on his mind all -the parts and relations of his subject; he is master of it, and then, -instead of exposing this complete idea in a graduated chain of -reasoning, he embodies it in a comparison so expressive, exact, lucid, -that behind the figure we perceive all the details of the idea, like -liquor in a fine crystal vase. Judge of his style by a single example: - - -"For as water, whether it be the dew of Heaven or the springs of the -earth, easily scatters and loses itself in the ground, except it be -collected into some receptacle, where it may by union and consort -comfort and sustain itself (and for that cause, the industry of man hath -devised aqueducts, cisterns, and pools, and likewise beautified them -with various ornaments of magnificence and state, as well as for use and -necessity); so this excellent liquor of knowledge, whether it descend -from divine inspiration or spring from human sense, would soon perish -and vanish into oblivion, if it were not preserved in books, traditions, -conferences, and especially in places appointed for such matters as -universities, colleges, and schools, where it may have both a fixed -habitation, and means and opportunity of increasing and collecting -itself."[384] - -"The greatest error of all the rest, is the mistaking or misplacing of -the last or farthest end of knowledge: for men have entered into a -desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes upon a natural curiosity and -inquisitive appetite; sometimes to entertain their minds with variety -and delight; sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to -enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most times for -lucre and profession; and seldom sincerely to give a true account of -their gift of reason, to the benefit and use of men: as if there were -sought in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a searching and restless -spirit; or a terrace, for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and -down with a fair prospect; or a tower of state, for a proud mind to -raise itself upon; or a fort or commanding ground, for strife and -contention; or a shop, for profit or sale; and not a rich storehouse, -for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of man's estate."[385] - - -This is his mode of thought, by symbols, not by analysis; instead of -explaining his idea, he transposes and translates it--translates it -entire, to the smallest details, enclosing all in the majesty of a grand -period, or in the brevity of a striking sentence. Thence springs a style -of admirable richness, gravity, and vigor, now solemn and symmetrical, -now concise and piercing, always elaborate, and full of color.[386] -There is nothing in English prose superior to his diction. - -Thence is derived also his manner of conceiving things. He is not a -dialectician, like Hobbes or Descartes, apt in arranging ideas, in -educing one from another, in leading his reader from the simple to the -complex by an unbroken chain. He is a producer of conceptions and of -sentences. The matter being explored, he says to us: "Such it is; touch -it not on that side; it must be approached from the other." Nothing -more; no proof, no effort to convince: he affirms, and does nothing -more; he has thought in the manner of artists and poets, and he speaks -after the manner of prophets and seers. _Cogitata et visa_ this title of -one of his books might be the title of all. The most admirable, the -"Novum Organum," is a string of aphorisms--a collection, as it were, of -scientific decrees, as of an oracle who foresees the future and reveals -the truth. And to make the resemblance complete, he expresses them by -poetical figures, by enigmatic abbreviations, almost in Sibylline -verses: _Idola specûs, Idola tribûs, Idola fori, Idola theatri_, -everyone will recall these strange names, by which he signifies the four -kinds of illusions to which man is subject.[387] Shakespeare and the -seers do not contain more vigorous or expressive condensations of -thought, more resembling inspiration, and in Bacon they are to be found -everywhere. On the whole, his process is that of the creators; it is -intuition, not reasoning. When he has laid up his store of facts, the -greatest possible, on some vast subject, on some entire province of the -mind, on the whole anterior philosophy, on the general condition of the -sciences, on the power and limits of human reason, he casts over all -this a comprehensive view, as it were a great net, brings up a universal -idea, condenses his idea into a maxim, and hands it to us with the -words, "Verify and profit by it." - -There is nothing more hazardous, more like fantasy, than this mode of -thought, when it is not checked by natural and good strong sense. This -common-sense, which is a kind of natural divination, the stable -equilibrium of an intellect always gravitating to the true, like the -needle to the pole, Bacon possesses in the highest degree. He has a -pre-eminently practical, even an utilitarian mind, such as we meet with -later in Bentham, and such as their business habits were to impress more -and more upon the English. At the age of sixteen, while at the -university, he was dissatisfied with Aristotle's philosophy,[388] not -that he thought meanly of the author, whom, on the contrary, he calls a -great genius; but because it seemed to him of no practical utility, -incapable of producing works which might promote the well-being of men. -We see that from the outset he struck upon his dominant idea; all else -comes to him from this; a contempt for antecedent philosophy, the -conception of a different system, the entire reformation of the sciences -by the indication of a new goal, the definition of a distinct method, -the opening up of unsuspected anticipations.[389] It is never -speculation which he relishes, but the practical application of it. His -eyes are turned not to heaven, but to earth; not to things abstract and -vain, but to things palpable and solid; not to curious, but to -profitable truths. He seeks to better the condition of men, to labor for -the welfare of mankind, to enrich human life with new discoveries and -new resources, to equip mankind with new powers and new instruments of -action, His philosophy itself is but an instrument, _organum_, a sort of -machine or lever constructed to enable the intellect to raise a weight, -to break through obstacles, to open up vistas, to accomplish tasks, -which had hitherto surpassed its power. In his eyes, every special -science, like science in general, should be an implement. He invites -mathematicians to quit their pure geometry, to study numbers only with a -view to natural philosophy, to seek formulas only to calculate real -quantities and natural motions. He recommends moralists to study the -soul, the passions, habits, temptations, not merely in a speculative -way, but with a view to the cure or diminution of vice, and assigns to -the science of morals as its goal the amelioration of morals. For him, -the object of science is always the establishment of an art; that is, -the production of something of practical utility; when he wished to -describe the efficacious nature of his philosophy by a tale, he -delineated in the "New Atlantis," with a poet's boldness and the -precision of a seer, almost employing the very terms in use now, modern -applications, and the present organization of the sciences, academies, -observatories, air-balloons, submarine vessels, the improvement of land, -the transmutation of species, regenerations, the discovery of remedies, -the preservation of food. The end of our foundation, says his principal -personage, is the knowledge of causes and secret motions of things, and -the enlarging of the bounds of human empire, to the effecting of all -things possible. And this "possible" is infinite. - -How did this grand and just conception originate? Doubtless common-sense -and genius, too, were necessary to its production; but neither -common-sense nor genius was lacking to men: there had been more than one -who, observing, like Bacon, the progress of particular industries, -could, like him, have conceived of universal industry, and from certain -limited ameliorations have advanced to unlimited amelioration. Here we -see the power of connection; men think they do everything by their -individual thought, and they can do nothing without the assistance of -the thoughts of their neighbors; they fancy that they are following the -small voice within them, but they only hear it because it is swelled by -the thousand buzzing and imperious voices, which, issuing from all -surrounding or distant circumstances, are confounded with it in an -harmonious vibration. Generally they hear it, as Bacon did, from the -first moment of reflection; but it had become inaudible among the -opposing sounds which came from without to smother it. Could this -confidence in the infinite enlargement of human power, this glorious -idea of the universal conquest of nature, this firm hope in the -continual increase of well-being and happiness, have germinated, grown, -occupied an intelligence entirely, and thence have struck its roots, -been propagated and spread over neighboring intelligences, in a time of -discouragement and decay, when men believed the end of the world at -hand, when things were falling into ruin about them, when Christian -mysticism, as in the first centuries, ecclesiastical tyranny, as in the -fourteenth century, were convincing them of their impotence, by -perverting their intellectual efforts and curtailing their liberty. On -the contrary, such hopes must then have seemed to be outbursts of pride, -or suggestions of the carnal mind. They did seem so; and the last -representatives of ancient science, and the first of the new, were -exiled or imprisoned, assassinated or burned. In order to be developed -an idea must be in harmony with surrounding civilization; before man can -expect to attain the dominion over nature, or attempts to improve his -condition, amelioration must have begun on all sides, industries have -increased, knowledge have been accumulated, the arts expanded, a hundred -thousand irrefutable witnesses must have come incessantly to give proof -of his power and assurance of his progress. The "masculine birth of the -time" (_temporis partus masculus_) is the title which Bacon applies to -his work, and it is a true one. In fact, the whole age co-operated in -it; by this creation it was finished. The consciousness of human power -and prosperity gave to the Renaissance its first energy, its ideal, its -poetic materials, its distinguishing features; and now it furnishes it -with its final expression, its scientific doctrine, and its ultimate -object. - -We may add also, its method. For, the end of a journey once determined, -the route is laid down, since the end always determines the route; when -the point to be reached is changed, the path of approach is changed, and -science, varying its object, varies also its method. So long as it -limited its effort to the satisfying an idle curiosity, opening out -speculative vistas, establishing a sort of opera in speculative minds, -it could launch out any moment into metaphysical abstractions and -distinctions: it was enough for it to skim over experience; it soon -quitted it, and came all at once upon great words, quiddities, the -principle of individuation, final causes. Half proofs sufficed science; -at bottom it did not care to establish a truth, but to get an opinion; -and its instrument, the syllogism, was serviceable only for refutations, -not for discoveries; it took general laws for a starting-point instead -of a point of arrival; instead of going to find them, it fancied them -found. The syllogism was good in the schools, not in nature; it made -disputants, not discoverers. From the moment that science had art for an -end, and men studied in order to act, all was transformed; for we cannot -act without certain and precise knowledge. Forces, before they can be -employed, must be measured and verified; before we can build a house, we -must know exactly the resistance of the beams, or the house will -collapse; before we can cure a sick man, we must know with certainty the -effect of a remedy, or the patient will die. Practice makes certainty -and exactitude a necessity to science, because practice is impossible -when it has nothing to lean upon but guesses and approximations. How can -we eliminate guesses and approximations? How introduce into science, -solidity and precision? We must imitate the cases in which science, -issuing in practice, has proved to be precise and certain, and these -cases are the industries. We must, as in the industries, observe, essay, -grope about, verify, keep our mind fixed on sensible and particular -things, advance to general rules only step by step; not anticipate -experience, but follow it; not imagine nature, but interpret it. For -every general effect, such as heat, whiteness, hardness, liquidity, we -must seek a general condition, so that in producing the condition we may -produce the effect. And for this it is necessary, by fit rejections and -exclusions, to extract the condition sought from the heap of facts in -which it lies buried, construct the table of cases from which the effect -is absent, the table where it is present, the table where the effect is -shown in various degrees, so as to isolate and bring to light the -condition which produced it.[390] Then we shall have, not useless -universal axioms, but efficacious mediate axioms, true laws from which -we can derive works, and which are the sources of power in the same -degree as the sources of light.[391] Bacon described and predicted in -this modern science and industry, their correspondence, method, -resources, principle; and after more than two centuries it is still to -him that we go even at the present day to look for the theory of what we -are attempting and doing. - - - - -[Illustration: CHOICE EXAMPLES OF EARLY PRINTING AND ENGRAVING. - -Fac-similes from Rare and Curious Books. - -_THE NEW PSALTER OF THE VIRGIN MARY._ - -The "Novum Beatæ Mariæ Virginis Psalterium" was printed by the -Cistercians monks of the monastery of Sienna, in the duchy of Magdeburg, -near Wittemberg, in 1492. The present illustration shows the page of -dedication, in which mention is made of the Emperor Frederick, whose -arms, the double-headed eagle, appears in the border. The book was -printed in the year before the emperor died. The border is an easy and -flowing design of roses, which are always considered an emblem of the -Virgin. The volume is a remarkable production, rare and much prized by -collectors.] - - - - -Beyond this great view, he has discovered nothing. Cowley, one of his -admirers, rightly said that, like Moses on Mount Pisgah, he was the -first to announce the promised land; but he might have added quite as -justly, that, like Moses, he did not enter there. He pointed out the -route, but did not travel it; he taught men how to discover natural -laws, but discovered none. His definition of heat is extremely -imperfect. His "Natural History" is full of fanciful explanations.[392] -Like the poets, he peoples nature with instincts and desires; attributes -to bodies an actual voracity, to the atmosphere a thirst for light, -sounds, odors, vapors which it drinks in; to metals a sort of haste to -be incorporated with acids. He explains the duration of the bubbles of -air which float on the surface of liquids, by supposing that air has a -very small or no appetite for height. He sees in every quality, weight, -ductility, hardness, a distinct essence which has its special cause; so -that when a man knows the cause of every quality of gold, he will be -able to put all these causes together, and make gold. In the main, with -the alchemists, Paracelsus and Gilbert, Kepler himself, with all the men -of his time, men of imagination, nourished on Aristotle, he represents -nature as a compound of secret and living energies, inexplicable and -primordial forces, distinct and indecomposable essences, adapted each by -the will of the Creator to produce a distinct effect. He almost saw -souls endowed with latent repugnances and occult inclinations, which -aspire to or resist certain directions, certain mixtures, and certain -localities. On this account also he confounds everything in his -researches in an undistinguishable mass, vegetative and medicinal -properties, mechanical and curative, physical and moral, without -considering the most complex as depending on the simplest, but each on -the contrary in itself, and taken apart, as an irreducible and -independent existence. Obstinate in this error, the thinkers of the age -mark time without advancing. They see clearly with Bacon the wide field -of discovery, but they cannot enter upon it. They want an idea, and for -want of this idea they do not advance. The disposition of mind which but -now was a lever, is become an obstacle: it must be changed, that the -obstacle may be got rid of. For ideas, I mean great and efficacious -ones, do not come at will nor by chance, by the effort of an individual, -or by a happy accident. Methods and philosophies, as well as literatures -and religions, arise from the spirit of the age; and this spirit of the -age makes them potent or powerless. One state of public intelligence -excludes a certain kind of literature; another, a certain scientific -conception. When it happens thus, writers and thinkers labor in vain, -the literature is abortive, the conception does not make its appearance. -In vain they turn one way and another, trying to remove the weight which -hinders them; something stronger than themselves paralyzes their hands -and frustrates their endeavors. The central pivot of the vast wheel on -which human affairs move must be displaced one notch, that all may move -with its motion. At this moment the pivot was moved, and thus a -revolution of the great wheel begins, bringing round a new conception of -nature, and in consequence that part of the method which was lacking. To -the diviners, the creators, the comprehensive and impassioned minds who -seized objects in a lump and in masses, succeeded the discursive -thinkers, the systematic thinkers, the graduated and clear logicians, -who, disposing ideas in continuous series, lead the hearer gradually -from the simple to the most complex by easy and unbroken paths. -Descartes superseded Bacon; the classical age obliterated the -Renaissance; poetry and lofty imagination gave way before rhetoric, -eloquence, and analysis. In this transformation of mind, ideas were -transformed. Everything was drained dry and simplified. The universe, -like all else, was reduced to two or three notions; and the conception -of nature, which was poetical, became mechanical. Instead of souls, -living forces, repugnances, and attractions, we have pulleys, levers, -impelling forces. The world, which seemed a mass of instinctive powers, -is now like a mere machinery of cog-wheels. Beneath this adventurous -supposition lies a large and certain truth; that there is, namely, a -scale of facts, some at the summit very complex, others at the base very -simple; those above having their origin in those below, so that the -lower ones explain the higher; and that we must seek the primary laws of -things in the laws of motion. The search was made, and Galileo found -them. Thenceforth the work of the Renaissance, outstripping the extreme -point to which Bacon had pushed it, and at which he had left it, was -able to proceed onward by itself, and did so proceed, without limit. - - - - -[Footnote 265: See, at Bruges, the pictures of Hemling (fifteenth -century). No paintings enable us to understand so well the ecclesiastical -piety of the Middle Ages, which was altogether like that of the -Buddhists.] - -[Footnote 266: The first carriage was in 1564. It caused much -astonishment. Some said that it was "a great sea-shell brought -from China"; others, "that it was a temple in which cannibals -worshipped the devil."] - -[Footnote 267: For a picture of this state of things, see Fenn's -"Paston Letters."] - -[Footnote 268: Louis XI in France, Ferdinand and Isabella in Spain, -Henry VII in England. In Italy the feudal regime ended earlier, by -the establishment of republics and principalities.] - -[Footnote 269: 1488, Act of Parliament on Enclosures.] - -[Footnote 270: A "Compendious Examination," 1581, by William -Strafford. Act of Parliament, 1541.] - -[Footnote 271 Between 1377 and 1588 the increase was from two and a -half to five millions.] - -[Footnote 272: In 1585; Ludovic Guicciardini.] - -[Footnote 273: Henry VIII at the beginning of his reign had but one -ship of war. Elizabeth sent out one hundred and fifty against the -Armada. In 1553 was founded a company to trade with Russia. In 1578 -Drake circumnavigated the globe. In 1600 the East India Company was -founded.] - -[Footnote 274: Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," 1817, I. V. -72 et passim.] - -[Footnote 275: Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," I. V. 102.] - -[Footnote 276: This was called the Tudor style. Under James I, in the -hands of Inigo Jones, it became entirely Italian, approaching the -antique.] - -[Footnote 277: Burton, "Anatomy of Melancholy," 12th ed. 1821. -Stubbes, "Anatomie of Abuses," ed. Turnbull, 1836.] - -[Footnote 278: Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," II. 6, 87.] - -[Footnote 279: Holinshed (1586), 1808, 6 vols. III. 763 et passim.] - -[Footnote 280: Ibid., Reign of Henry VII "Elizabeth and James -Progresses," by Nichols.] - -[Footnote 281: Laneham's Entertainment at Killingworth Castle, 1575. -Nichols's "Progresses," vol. I. London, 1788.] - -[Footnote 282: Ben Jonson's works, ed. Gifford, 1816, 9 vols. "Masque -of Hymen," vol. VII. 76.] - -[Footnote 283: Certain private letters also describe the court of -Elizabeth as a place where there was little piety or practice of -religion, and where all enormities reigned in the highest degree.] - -[Footnote 284: Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," chap. -V. and VI.] - -[Footnote 285: Stubbes, "Anatomie of Abuses," p. 168 et passim.] - -[Footnote 286: Hentzner's "Travels in England" (Bentley's -translation). He thought that the figure carried about in the -Harvest Home represented Ceres.] - -[Footnote 287: Warton, vol. II. sec. 35. Before 1600 all the great -poets were translated into English, and between 1550 and 1616 all -the great historians of Greece and Rome. Lyly in 1500 first taught -Greek in public.] - -[Footnote 288: Ascham, "The Scholemaster" (1570), ed. Arber, 1870, -first book, 78 et passim.] - -[Footnote 289: Ma il vero e principal ornemento dell' animo in -ciascuno penso io che siano le lettere, benche i Franchesi solamente -conoscano la nobilita dell'arme... et tutti i litterati tengon per -vilissimi huomini. Castiglione "Il Cortegiano," ed. 1585, p. 112.] - -[Footnote 290: See Burchard (the Pope's Steward) account of the -festival at which Lucretia Borgia was present. Letters of Aretinus, -"Life of Cellini," etc.] - -[Footnote 291: See his sketches at Oxford, and those of Fra -Bartolomeo at Florence. See also the Martyrdom of St. Laurence, -by Baccio Bandinelli.] - -[Footnote 292: Benvenuto Cellini, "Principles of the Art of Design."] - -[Footnote 293: "Life of Cellini." Compare also these exercises which -Castiglione prescribes for a well-educated man, in his "Cortegiano," -ed. 1585, p. 55: "Peró voglio che il nostro cortegiano sia perfetto -cavaliere d'ogni sella.... Et perche degli Italiani è peculiar -laude il cavalcare bene alia brida, il maneggiar con raggione massimamente -cavalli aspri, il corre lance, il giostare, sia in questo de meglior -Italiani.... Nel torneare, teper un passo, combattere una sbarra, sia -buono tra il miglior francesi.... Nel giocare a canne, correr torri, -lanciar haste e dardi, sia tra Spagnuoli eccelente.... Conveniente -è ancor sapere saltare, e correre;... ancor nobile exercitio il gioco -di palla.... Non di minor laude estimo il voltegiar a cavallo."] - -[Footnote 294: Puttenham, "The Arte of English Poesie," ed. Arber, -1869, book I. ch. 31, p. 74.] - -[Footnote 295: Surrey's "Poems," Pickering, 1831, p. 17.] - -[Footnote 296: Ibid. "The faithful lover declareth his pains and his -uncertain joys, and with only hope recomforteth his woful heart," p. 53.] - -[Footnote 297: Ibid. "Description of Spring, wherein everything -renews, save only the lover," p. 2.] - -[Footnote 298: Ibid. p. 50.] - -[Footnote 299: Syrrey's "Poems. A description of the restless state -of the lover when absent from the mistress of his heart," p. 78] - -[Footnote 300: In another piece, "Complaint on the Absence of her -Lover being upon the Sea," he speaks in direct terms of his wife, -almost as affectionately.] - -[Footnote 301: Greene, Beaumont and Fletcher, Webster, Shakespeare, -Ford, Otway, Richardson, De Foe, Fielding, Dickens, Thackeray, etc.] - -[Footnote 302: "The Frailty and Hurtfulness of Beauty."] - -[Footnote 303: "Description of Spring. A Vow to Love Faithfully."] - -[Footnote 304: "Complaint of the Lover Disdarned."] - -[Footnote 305: Surrey, ed. Nott.] - -[Footnote 306: The Speaker's address to Charles II on his restoration. -Compare it with the speech of M. de Fontanes under the Empire. In each -case it was the close of a literary epoch. Read for illustration the -speech before the University of Oxford, "Athenæ Oxonienses," I. 193.] - -[Footnote 307: His second work, "Euphues and his England," appeared in -1581.] - -[Footnote 308: See Shakespeare's young men, Mercutio especially.] - -[Footnote 309: "The Maid her Metamorphosis."] - -[Footnote 310: Two French novels of the age of Louis XIV, each in -ten volumes, and written by Mademoiselle de Scudéry.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 311: Celadon, a rustic lover in "Astrée," a French novel -in five volumes, named after the heroine, and written by d'Urfé -(d. 1625).--Tr.] - -[Footnote 312: "Arcadia," ed. fol. 1629, p. 117.] - -[Footnote 313: "Arcadia," ed. fol. 1629, p. 114.] - -[Footnote 314: "The Defence of Poesie," ed. fol. 1629, p. 558: "I -dare undertake, that Orlando Furioso, or honest King Arthur, will -never displease a soldier: but the quidditie of Ens and prima materia, -will hardly agree with a Corselet." See also, in the same book, the -very lively and spirited personification of History and Philosophy, -full of genuine talent.] - -[Footnote 315: "The Defence of Poesie," ed. fol. 1629, p. 553.] - -[Footnote 316: Ibid. p. 550.] - -[Footnote 317: Ibid. p. 552.] - -[Footnote 318: Ibid. p. 560. Here and there we find also verse as -spirited as this: -"Or Pindar's Apes, flaunt they in -phrases fine, -Enam'ling with pied flowers their -thoughts of gold."--p. 568.] - -[Footnote 319: "Astrophel and Stella," ed. fol. 1629, 101st sonnet, -p. 613.] - -[Footnote 320: Ibid. 8th song, p. 603.] - -[Footnote 321: "Astrophel and Stella" (1629), 8th song, 604.] - -[Footnote 322: Ibid. 10th song, p. 610.] - -[Footnote 323: Ibid, sonnet 69, p. 555.] - -[Footnote 324: "Astrophel and Stella" (1629), sonnet 102, p. 614.] - -[Footnote 325: Ibid. p. 525: this sonnet is headed E. D. Wood, in -his "Athen. Oxon." i., says it was written by Sir Edward Dyer, -Chancellor of the Most noble Order of the Garter.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 326: Ibid, sonnet 43, p. 545.] - -[Footnote 327: "Astrophel and Stella" (1629), sonnet 18, p. 573.] - -[Footnote 328: Ibid, last sonnet, p. 539.] - -[Footnote 329: Nathan Drake, "Shakspeare and his Times," I. Part 2, -ch. 2, 3, 4. Among these 233 poets the authors of isolated pieces are -not reckoned, but only those who published or collected their works.] - -[Footnote 330: Drayton's "Polyolbion," ed. 1622, 13th song, p. 214.] - -[Footnote 331: Shakespeare's "Tempest," act IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 332: Ibid, act IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 333: Greene's Poems, ed. Bell, "Eurymachus in Laudem -Mirimidæ," p. 73.] - -[Footnote 334: Ibid. Melicertus's description of his Mistress, p. 38.] - -[Footnote 335: Spenser's Works, ed. Todd, 1863, "The Faërie Queene," -I. c. II, st. 51.] - -[Footnote 336: Ben Jonson's Poems, ed. R. Bell. Celebration of Charis; -her Triumph, p. 125.] - -[Footnote 337: "Cupid's Pastime," unknown author, ab. 1621.] - -[Footnote 338: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 339: "Rosalind's Madrigal."] - -[Footnote 340: Greene's Poems, ed. R. Bell, Menaphon's Eclogue, p. 41.] - -[Footnote 341: Ibid., Melicertus's Eclogue, p. 43.] - -[Footnote 342: "As you Like It."] - -[Footnote 343: "The Sad Shepherd." See also Beaumont and Fletcher, -"The Faithful Shepherdess."] - -[Footnote 344: This poem was, and still is, frequently attributed -to Shakespeare. It appears as his in Knight's edition, published a -few years ago. Izaak Walton, however, writing about fifty years after -Marlowe's death, attributes it to him. In Palgrave's "Golden Treasury," -it is also ascribed to the same author. As a confirmation, let us state -that Ithamore, in Marlowe's "Jew of Malta," says to the courtesan -(Act IV. Sc. 4): -"Thou in those groves, by Dis above, -Shalt live with me, and be my love."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 345: Chalmers's "English Poets"; William Warner, "Fourth Book -of Albion's England," ch. XX. p. 551.] - -[Footnote 346: Chalmers's "English Poets," M. Drayton's "Fourth -Eclogue," IV. p. 436.] - -[Footnote 347: M. Jourdain is the hero of Molière's comedy, "Le -Bourgeois Gentilhomme," the type of a vulgar and successful upstart; -Mamamouchi is a mock title.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 348: Lulli, a celebrated Italian composer of the time -of Molière.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 349: It is very doubtful whether Spenser was so poor as -he is generally believed to have been.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 350: "He died for want of bread, in King Street." Ben -Jonson, quoted by Drummond.] - -[Footnote 351: "Hymns of Love and Beauty"; Of Heavenly Love and Beauty.] - -[Footnote 352: "A Hymne in Honour of Beautie," lines 92-105.] - -[Footnote 353: "A Hymne in Honour of Love," lines 176-182.] - -[Footnote 354: "The Faërie Queene," I. c. 8, stanzas 22, 23.] - -[Footnote 355: "The Shepherd's Calendar, Amoretti, Sonnets, -Prothalamion, Epithalamion, Muiopotmos, Vergil's Gnat, The Ruines -of Time, The Teares of the Muses," etc.] - -[Footnote 356: Published in 1580: dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney.] - -[Footnote 357: "Prothalamion," lines 19-54.] - -[Footnote 358: "Astrophel and Stella," lines 181-192.] - -[Footnote 359: Words attributed to him by Lodowick Bryskett, -"Discourse of Civil Life," ed. 1606, p. 26.] - -[Footnote 360: Ariosto, 1474-1533. Tasso, 1544-1595. Cervantes, -1547-1616. Rabelais, 1483-1553.] - -[Footnote 361: "The Faërie Queene," II. c. 3, stanzas 22-30.] - -[Footnote 362: Ibid. III. c. 5, stanza 51.] - -[Footnote 363: "The Faërie Queene," III. c. 6, stanzas 6 and 7.] - -[Footnote 364: Ibid, stanzas 17 and 18.] - -[Footnote 365: "The Faërie Queene," IV. c. 1, stanza 13.] - -[Footnote 366: Clorinda, the heroine of the infidel army in Tasso's -epic poem, "Jerusalem Delivered"; Marfisa, an Indian Queen, who figures -in Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso," and also, in Boyardo's "Orlando -Innamorato."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 367: "The Faërie Queene," III. c. 4, stanza 33.] - -[Footnote 368: "The Faërie Queene," II. c. 7, stanzas 28-46.] - -[Footnote 369: "The Faërie Queene," II. c. 12, stanzas 53-78.] - -[Footnote 370: "Nugæ Antiquæ," I. 349 et passim.] - -[Footnote 371: "Some asked me where the Rubies grew, -And nothing I did say; -But with my finger pointed to -The lips of Julia. -Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where; -Then spake I to my girle, -To part her lips, and shew me there -The quarelets of Pearl. -One ask'd me where the roses grew; -I bade him not go seek; -But forthwith bade my Julia show -A bud in either cheek." ---Herrick's "Hesperides," ed. Walford, 1859; The Rock of Rubies, p. 32. - -"About the sweet bag of a bee, -Two Cupids fell at odds; -And whose the pretty prize shu'd be, -They vow'd to ask the Gods. -Which Venus hearing, thither came, -And for their boldness stript them; -And taking thence from each his flame, -With rods of mirtle whipt them. -Which done, to still their wanton cries, -When quiet grown sh'ad seen them. -She kist and wip'd their dove-like eyes, -And gave the bag between them." ---Herrick, Ibid. The Bag of the Bee, p. 42. - -"Why so pale and wan, fond lover? -Pr'ythee, why so pale? -Will, when looking well can't move her, -Looking ill prevail? -Pr'ythee, why so pale? -Why so dull and mute, young sinner? -Pr'ythee, why so mute? -Will, when speaking well can't win her, -Saying nothing do't? -Pr'ythee, why so mute? -Quit, quit for shame; this will not move, -This cannot take her; -If of herself she will not love, -Nothing can make her. -The devil take her!" ---Sir John Suckling's Works, ed. A. Suckling, 1836, p. 70. - -"As when a lady, walking Flora's bower, -Picks here a pink, and there a gilly-flower, -Now plucks a violet from her purple bed, -And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead, -There nips the brier, here the lover's pansy, -Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy, -This on her arms, and that she lists to wear -Upon the borders of her curious hair; -At length a rose-bud (passing all the rest) -She plucks, and bosoms in her lily breast."--Quarles, Stanzas.] - -[Footnote 372: See, in particular, his satire against courtiers. The -following is against imitators: -"But he is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw -Others wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw -Rankly digested, doth those things out-spew, -As his owne things; and they 're his owne, 't is true, -For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne -The meat was mine, th' excrement is his owne." ---Donne's "Satires," 1639. Satire II. p. 128.] - -[Footnote 373: "When I behold a stream, which from the spring -Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring, -Or in a speechless slumber calmly ride -Her wedded channel's bosom, ana there chide -And bend her brows, and swell, if any bough -Does but stoop down to kiss her utmost brow; -Yet if her often gnawing kisses win -The traiterous banks to gape and let her in, -She rusheth violently and doth divorce -Her from her native and her long-kept course, -And roares, and braves it, and in gallant scorn -In flatt'ring eddies promising return, -She flouts her channel, which thenceforth is dry. -Then say I: That is she, and this am I."--Donne, Elegy VI.] - -[Footnote 374: Donne's Poems, 1639, "A Feaver," p. 15.] - -[Footnote 375: Ibid. "The Flea," p. 1.] - -[Footnote 376: A valet in Molière's "Les Précieuses Ridicules," who -apes and exaggerates his master's manners and style, and pretends to -be a marquess. He also appears in "L'Etourdi" and "Le dépit Amoureux," -by the same author.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 377: 1608-1667. I refer to the eleventh edition, of 1710.] - -[Footnote 378: "The Spring" ("The Mistress," I. 72).] - -[Footnote 379: See in Shakespeare, "The Tempest, Measure for -Measure, Hamlet"; in Beaumont and Fletcher, "Thierry and Theodoret," -Act IV; Webster, passim.] - -[Footnote 380: "Anatomy of Melancholy," 12th ed. 1821, 2 vols; Democritus -to the Reader, I. 4.] - -[Footnote 381: "Anatomy of Melancholy," I. part 2, sec. 2, Mem. 4, -p. 420 et passim.] - -[Footnote 382: "The Works of Sir Thomas Browne," ed. Wilkin, 1852, 3 -vols. "Hydriotaphia," III. ch. V. 14 et passim.] - -[Footnote 383: See Milsand, Étude sur Sir Thomas Browne, in the "Revue -des Deux Mondes," 1858.] - -[Footnote 384: Bacon's Works. Translation of the "De Augmentis -Scientiarum," Book II; To the King.] - -[Footnote 385: Ibid. Book I. The true end of learning mistaken.] - -[Footnote 386: Especially in the Essays.] - -[Footnote 387: See also "Novum Organum," Books I and II; the -twenty-seven kinds of examples, with their metaphorical names: -Instantiæ crucis, divortii januæ, Instantiæ innuentes, polychrestæ, -magicæ, etc.] - -[Footnote 388: "The Works of Francis Bacon," London, 1824, vol. VII. -p. 2. "Latin Biography," by Rawley.] - -[Footnote 389: This point is brought out by the review of Lord Macaulay. -"Critical and Historical Essays," vol. III.] - -[Footnote 390: "Novum Organum," II. 15 and 16.] - -[Footnote 391: Ibid. I. I. 3.] - -[Footnote 392: "Natural History," 800, 24, etc. "De Augmentis," III. 1.] - - - - -CHAPTER SECOND - - -The Theatre - - -We must look at this world more closely, and beneath the ideas which are -developed seek for the living men; it is the theatre especially which is -the original product of the English Renaissance, and it is the theatre -especially which will exhibit the men of the English Renaissance. Forty -poets, amongst them ten of superior rank, as well as one, the greatest -of all artists who have represented the soul in words; many hundreds of -pieces, and nearly fifty masterpieces; the drama extended over all the -provinces of history, imagination, and fancy--expanded so as to embrace -comedy, tragedy, pastoral and fanciful literature--to represent all -degrees of human condition, and all the caprices of human invention--to -express all the perceptible details of actual truth, and all the -philosophic grandeur of general reflection; the stage disencumbered of -all precept and freed from all imitation, given up and appropriated in -the minutest particulars to the reigning taste and public intelligence; -all this was a vast and manifold work, capable by its flexibility, its -greatness, and its form, of receiving and preserving the exact imprint -of the age and of the nation.[393] - - - - -SECTION I.--The Public and the Stage - - -Let us try, then, to set before our eyes this public, this audience, and -this stage--all connected with one another, as in every natural and -living work; and if ever there was a living and natural work, it is -here. There were already seven theatres in London, in Shakespeare's -time, so brisk and universal was the taste for dramatic representations. -Great and rude contrivances, awkward in their construction, barbarous in -their appointments; but a fervid imagination readily supplied all that -they lacked, and hardy bodies endured all inconveniences without -difficulty. On a dirty site, on the banks of the Thames, rose the -principal theatre, the Globe, a sort of hexagonal tower, surrounded by a -muddy ditch, on which was hoisted a red flag. The common people could -enter as well as the rich: there were sixpenny, twopenny, even penny -seats; but they could not see it without money. If it rained, and it -often rains in London, the people in the pit, butchers, mercers, bakers, -sailors, apprentices, receive the streaming rain upon their heads. I -suppose they did not trouble themselves about it; it was not so long -since they began to pave the streets of London; and when men, like -these, have had experience of sewers and puddles, they are not afraid of -catching cold. While waiting for the piece, they amuse themselves after -their fashion, drink beer, crack nuts, eat fruit, howl, and now and then -resort to their lists; they have been known to fall upon the actors, and -turn the theatre upside down. At other times they were dissatisfied and -went to the tavern to give the poet a hiding, or toss him in a blanket; -they were coarse fellows, and there was no month when the cry of "Clubs" -did not call them out of their shops to exercise their brawny arms. When -the beer took effect, there was a great upturned barrel in the pit, a -peculiar receptacle for general use. The smell rises, and then comes the -cry, "Burn the juniper!" They burn some in a plate on the stage, and the -heavy smoke fills the air. Certainly the folk there assembled could -scarcely get disgusted at anything, and cannot have had sensitive noses. -In the time of Rabelais there was not much cleanliness to speak of. -Remember that they were hardly out of the Middle Ages and that in the -Middle Ages man lived on a dunghill. - -Above them, on the stage, were the spectators able to pay a shilling, -the elegant people, the gentlefolk. These were sheltered from the rain, -and if they chose to pay an extra shilling, could have a stool. To this -were reduced the prerogatives of rank and the devices of comfort: it -often happened that there were not stools enough; then they lie down on -the ground: this was not a time to be dainty. They play cards, smoke, -insult the pit, who gave it them back without stinting, and throw apples -at them into the bargain. They also gesticulate, swear in Italian, -French, English;[394] crack aloud jokes in dainty, composite, high-colored -words: in short, they have the energetic, original, gay manners of -artists, the same humor, the same absence of constraint, and, to -complete the resemblance, the same desire to make themselves singular, -the same imaginative cravings, the same absurd and picturesque devices, -beards cut to a point, into the shape of a fan, a spade, the letter T, -gaudy and expensive dresses, copied from five or six neighboring -nations, embroidered, laced with gold, motley, continually heightened in -effect or changed for others: there was, as it were, a carnival in their -brains as well as on their backs. - -With such spectators illusions could be produced without much trouble: -there were no preparations or perspectives; few or no movable scenes: -their imaginations took all this upon them. A scroll in big letters -announced to the public that they were in London or Constantinople; and -that was enough to carry the public to the desired place. There was no -trouble about probability. Sir Philip Sidney writes: - - -"You shall have Asia of the one side, and Africke of the other, and so -many other under-kingdomes, that the Plaier when hee comes in, must ever -begin with telling where hee is, or else the tale will not be conceived. -Now shall you have three Ladies walke to gather flowers, and then wee -must beleeve the stage to be a garden. By and by wee heare newes of -shipwracke in the same place, then wee are to blame if we accept it not -for a rocke;... while in the meane time two armies flie in, represented -with foure swordes and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not -receive it for a pitched field? Now of time they are much more liberall. -For ordinary it is, that two young Princes fall in love, after many -traverses, shee is got with childe, delivered of a faire boy, hee is -lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and is readie to get another -childe; and all this in two hours space."[395] - - -Doubtless these enormities were somewhat reduced under Shakespeare; with -a few hangings, crude representations of animals, towers, forests, they -assisted somewhat the public imagination. But after all, in -Shakespeare's plays, as in all others, the imagination from within is -chiefly drawn upon for the machinery; it must lend itself to all, -substitute all, accept for a queen a young man who has just been shaved, -endure in one act ten changes of place, leap suddenly over twenty years -or five hundred miles,[396] take half a dozen supernumeraries for forty -thousand men, and to have represented by the rolling of the drums all -the battles of Caesar, Henry V, Coriolanus, Richard III. And -imagination, being so overflowing and so young, accepts all this. Recall -your own youth; for my part, the deepest emotions I have ever felt at a -theatre were given to me by a strolling bevy of four young girls, -playing comedy and tragedy on a stage in a coffee-house; true, I was -eleven years old. So in this theatre, at this moment, their souls were -fresh, as ready to feel everything as the poet was to dare everything. - - - - -SECTION II.--Manners of the Sixteenth Century - - -These are but externals; let us try to advance further, to observe the -passions, the bent of mind, the inner man: it is this inner state which -raised and modelled the drama, as everything else; invisible -inclinations are everywhere the cause of visible works, and the interior -shapes the exterior. What are these townspeople, courtiers, this public, -whose taste fashions the theatre? what is there peculiar in the -structure and condition of their minds? The condition must needs be -peculiar; for the drama flourishes all of a sudden, and for sixty years -together, with marvellous luxuriance, and at the end of this time is -arrested so that no effort could ever revive it. The structure must be -peculiar; for of all theatres, old and new, this is distinct in form, -and displays a style, action, characters, an idea of life, which are not -found in any age or any country beside. This particular feature is the -free and complete expansion of nature. - -What we call nature in men is, man such as he was before culture and -civilization had deformed and reformed him. Almost always, when a new -generation arrives at manhood and consciousness, it finds a code of -precepts impose on it with all the weight and authority of antiquity. A -hundred kinds of chains, a hundred thousand kinds of ties, religion, -morality, good breeding, every legislation which regulates sentiments, -morals, manners, fetter and tame the creature of impulse and passion -which breathes and frets within each of us. There is nothing like that -here. It is a regeneration, and the curb of the past is wanting to the -present. Catholicism, reduced to external ceremony and clerical -chicanery, had just ended; Protestantism, arrested in its first gropings -after truth, or straying into sects, had not yet gained the mastery; the -religion of discipline was grown feeble, and the religion of morals was -not yet established; men ceased to listen to the directions of the -clergy, and has not yet spelled out the law of conscience. The church -was turned into an assembly-room, as in Italy; the young fellows came to -St. Paul's to walk, laugh, chatter, display their new cloaks; the thing -had even passed into a custom. They paid for the noise they made with -their spurs, and this tax was a source of income to the canons;[397] -pickpockets, loose girls, came there by crowds; these latter struck -their bargains while service was going on. Imagine, in short, that the -scruples of conscience and the severity of the Puritans were at that -time odious and ridiculed on the stage, and judge of the difference -between this sensual, unbridled England, and the correct, disciplined, -stiff England of our own time. Ecclesiastical or secular, we find no -signs of rule. In the failure of faith, reason had not gained sway, and -opinion is as void of authority as tradition. The imbecile age, which -has just ended, continues buried in scorn, with its ravings, its -verse-makers, and its pedantic text-books; and out of the liberal -opinions derived from antiquity, from Italy, France, and Spain, everyone -could pick and choose as it pleased him, without stooping to restraint -or acknowledging a superiority. There was no model imposed on them, as -nowadays; instead of affecting imitation, they affected -originality.[398] Each strove to be himself, with his own oaths, -peculiar ways, costumes, his specialties of conduct and humor, and to be -unlike everyone else. They said not, "So and so is done," but "I do so -and so." Instead of restraining, they gave free vent to themselves. -There was no etiquette of society; save for an exaggerated jargon of -chivalresque courtesy, they are masters of speech and action on the -impulse of the moment. You will find them free from decorum, as of all -else. In this outbreak and absence of fetters, they resemble fine strong -horses let loose in the meadow. Their inborn instincts have not been -tamed, nor muzzled, nor diminished. - -On the contrary, they have been preserved intact by bodily and military -training; and escaping as they were from barbarism, not from -civilization, they had not been acted upon by the innate softening and -hereditary tempering which are new transmitted with the blood, and -civilize a man from the moment of his birth. This is why man, who for -three centuries has been a domestic animal, was still almost a savage -beast, and the force of his muscles and the strength of his nerves -increased the boldness and energy of his passions. Look at these -uncultivated men, men of the people, how suddenly the blood warms and -rises to their face; their fists double, their lips press together, and -those vigorous bodies rush at once into action. The courtiers of that -age were like our men of the people. They had the same taste for the -exercise of their limbs, the same indifference toward the inclemencies -of the weather, the same coarseness of language, the same undisguised -sensuality. They were carmen in body and gentlemen in sentiment, with -the dress of actors and the tastes of artists. "At fourtene," says John -Hardyng, "a lordes sonnes shalle to felde hunte the dere, and catch an -hardynesse. For dere to hunte and slea, and see them blede, ane -hardyment gyffith to his courage.... At sextene yere, to werray and to -wage, to juste and ryde, and castels to assayle... and every day his -armure to assay in fete of armes with some of his meyne."[399] When -ripened to manhood, he is employed with the bow, in wrestling, leaping, -vaulting. Henry VII's court, in its noisy merriment, was like a village -fair. The king, says Holinshed, exercised himself "dailie in shooting, -singing, dancing, wrestling, casting of the barre, plaieing at the -recorders, flute, virginals, in setting of songs, and making of -ballads." He leaps the moats with a pole, and was once within an ace of -being killed. He is so fond of wrestling, that publicly, on the field of -the Cloth of Gold, he seized Francis I in his arms to try a throw with -him. This is how a common soldier or a bricklayer nowadays tries a new -comrade. In fact, they regarded gross jests and brutal buffooneries as -amusements, as soldiers and bricklayers do now. In every nobleman's -house there was a fool, whose business it was to utter pointed jests, to -make eccentric gestures, horrible faces, to sing licentious songs, as we -might hear now in a beer-house. They thought insults and obscenity a -joke. They were foul-mouthed, they listened to Rabelais's words -undiluted, and delighted in conversation which would revolt us. They had -no respect for humanity; the rules of proprieties and the habits of good -breeding began only under Louis XIV, and by imitation of the French; at -this time they all blurted out the word that fitted in, and that was -most frequently a coarse word. You will see on the stage, in -Shakespeare's "Pericles," the filth of a haunt of vice.[400] The great -lords, the well-dressed ladies, speak billingsgate. When Henry V pays -his court to Catherine of France, it is with the coarse bearing of a -sailor who may have taken a fancy to a sutler; and like the tars who -tattoo a heart on their arms to prove their love for the girls they left -behind them, there were men who "devoured sulphur and drank urine"[401] -to win their mistress by a proof of affection. Humanity is as much -lacking as decency.[402] Blood, suffering, does not move them. The court -frequents bear and bull baitings, where dogs are ripped up and chained -beasts are sometimes beaten to death, and it was, says an officer of the -palace, "a charming entertainment."[403] No wonder they used their arms -like clodhoppers and gossips. Elizabeth used to beat her maids of honor, -"so that these beautiful girls could often be heard crying and lamenting -in a piteous manner." One day she spat upon Sir Mathew's fringed coat; -at another time, when Essex, whom she was scolding, turned his back, she -gave him a box on the ear. It was then the practice of great ladies to -beat their children and their servants. Poor Jane Grey was sometimes so -wretchedly "boxed, struck, pinched, and ill-treated in other manners -which she dare not relate," that she used to wish herself dead. Their -first idea is to come to words, to blows, to have satisfaction. As in -feudal times, they appeal at once to arms, and retain the habit of -taking the law in their own hands, and without delay. "On Thursday -laste," writes Gilbert Talbot to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury, -"as my Lorde Rytche was rydynge in the streates, there was one Wyndam -that stode in a dore, and shotte a dagge at him, thynkynge to have -slayne him. ... The same daye, also, as Sr John Conway was goynge in the -streetes, Mr. Lodovyke Grevell came sodenly upon him, and stroke him on -the hedd wth a sworde.... I am forced to trouble yor Honors wth thes -tryflynge matters, for I know no greater."[404] No one, not even the -queen, is safe among these violent dispositions.[405] Again, when one -man struck another in the precincts of the court, his hand was cut off, -and the arteries stopped with a red-hot iron. Only such atrocious -imitations of their own crimes, and the painful image of bleeding and -suffering flesh, could tame their vehemence and restrain the uprising of -their instincts. Judge now what materials they furnish to the theatre, -and what characters they look for at the theatre. To please the public, -the stage cannot deal too much in open lust and the strongest passions; -it must depict man attaining the limit of his desires, unchecked, almost -mad, now trembling and rooted before the white palpitating flesh which -his eyes devour, now haggard and grinding his teeth before the enemy -whom he wishes to tear to pieces, now carried beyond himself and -overwhelmed at the sight of the honors and wealth which he covets, -always raging and enveloped in a tempest of eddying ideas, sometimes -shaken by impetuous joy, more often on the verge of fury and madness, -stronger, more ardent, more daringly let loose to infringe on reason and -law than ever. We hear from the stage as from the history of the time, -these fierce murmurs: the sixteenth century is like a den of lions. - -Amid passions so strong as these there is not one lacking. Nature -appears here in all its violence, but also in all its fulness. If -nothing had been weakened, nothing had been mutilated. It is the entire -man who is displayed, heart, mind, body, senses, with his noblest and -finest aspirations, as with his most bestial and savage appetites, -without the preponderance of any dominant circumstance to cast him -altogether in one direction, to exalt or degrade him. He has not become -rigid, as he will be under Puritanism. He is not uncrowned as in the -Restoration. After the hollowness and weariness of the fifteenth -century, he rose up by a second birth, as before in Greece man had risen -by a first birth; and now, as then, the temptations of the outer world -came combined to raise his faculties from their sloth and torpor. A sort -of generous warmth spread over them to ripen and make them flourish. -Peace, prosperity, comfort began; new industries and increasing activity -suddenly multiplied objects of utility and luxury tenfold. America and -India, by their discovery, caused the treasures and prodigies heaped up -afar over distant seas to shine before their eyes; antiquity -rediscovered, sciences mapped out, the Reformation begun, books -multiplied by printing, ideas by books, doubled the means of enjoyment, -imagination, and thought. People wanted to enjoy, to imagine, and to -think; for the desire grows with the attraction, and here all -attractions were combined. There were attractions for the senses, in the -chambers which they began to warm, in the beds newly furnished with -pillows, in the coaches which they began to use for the first time. -There were attractions for the senses, in the chambers which they began -to warm, in the beds newly furnished with pillows, in the coaches which -they began to use for the first time. There were attractions for the -imagination in the new palaces, arranged after the Italian manner; in -the variegated hangings from Flanders; in the rich garments, -gold-embroidered, which, being continually changed, combined the fancies -and the splendors of all Europe. There were attractions for the mind, in -the noble and beautiful writings which, spread abroad, translated, -explained, brought in philosophy, eloquence, and poetry, from restored -antiquity, and from the surrounding renaissances. Under this appeal all -aptitudes and instincts at once started up; the low and the lofty, ideal -and sensual love, gross cupidity and pure generosity. Recall what you -yourself experienced, when from being a child you became a man: what -wishes for happiness, what breadth of anticipation, what intoxication of -heart wafted you towards all joys; with what impulse your hands seized -involuntarily and all at once every branch of the tree, and would not -let a single fruit escape. At sixteen years, like Chérubin,[406] we -wish for a servant girl while we adore a Madonna; we are capable of -every species of covetousness, and also of every species of self-denial; -we find virtue more lovely, our meals more enjoyable; pleasure has more -zest, heroism more worth: there is no allurement which is not keen; the -sweetness and novelty of things are too strong; and in the hive of -passions which buzzes within us, and stings us like the sting of a bee, -we can do nothing but plunge, one after another, in all directions. Such -were the men of this time, Raleigh, Essex, Elizabeth, Henry VIII -himself, excessive and inconstant, ready for devotion and for crime, -violent in good and evil, heroic with strange weaknesses, humble with -sudden changes of mood, never vile with premeditation like the -roisterers of the Restoration, never rigid on principle like the -Puritans of the Revolution, capable of weeping like children,[407] and -of dying like men, often base courtiers, more than once true knights, -displaying constantly, amidst all these contradictions of bearing, only -the fulness of their characters. Thus prepared, they could take in -everything, sanguinary ferocity and refined generosity, the brutality of -shameless debauchery, and the most divine innocence of love, accept all -the characters, prostitutes and virgins, princes and mountebanks, pass -quickly from trivial buffoonery to lyrical sublimities, listen -alternately to the quibbles of clowns and the songs of lovers. The drama -even, in order to imitate and satisfy the fertility of their nature, -must talk all tongues, pompous, inflated verse, loaded with imagery, and -side by side with this, vulgar prose: more, it must distort its natural -style and limits; put songs, poetical devices, into the discourse of -courtiers and the speeches of statesmen; bring on the stage the fairy -world of the opera, as Middleton says, gnomes, nymphs of the land and -sea, with their groves and their meadows; compel the gods to descend -upon the stage, and hell itself to furnish its world of marvels. No -other theatre is so complicated; for nowhere else do we find men so -complete. - - - - -SECTION III.--Some Aspects of the English Mind - - -In this free and universal expansion, the passions had their special -bent withal, which was an English one, inasmuch as they were English. -After all, in every age, under every civilization, a people is always -itself. Whatever be its dress, goat-skin blouse, gold-laced doublet, -black dress-coat, the five or six great instincts which it possessed in -its forests, follow it in its palaces and offices. To this day, warlike -passions, a gloomy humor, subsist under the regularity and propriety of -modern manners.[408] Their native energy and harshness pierce through -the perfection of culture and the habits of comfort. Rich young men, on -leaving Oxford, go to hunt bears on the Rocky Mountains, the elephant in -South Africa, live under canvas, box, jump hedges on horseback, sail -their yachts on dangerous coasts, delight in solitude and peril. The -ancient Saxon, the old rover of the Scandinavian seas, has not perished. -Even at school the children roughly treat one another, withstand one -another, fight like men; and their character is so indomitable that they -need the birch and blows to reduce them to the discipline of law. Judge -what they were in the sixteenth century; the English race passed then -for the most warlike of Europe, the most redoubtable in battle, the most -impatient of anything like slavery.[409] "English savages" is what -Cellini calls them; and the "great shins of beef" with which they fill -themselves, keep up the force and ferocity of their instincts. To harden -them thoroughly, institutions work in the same groove with nature. The -nation is armed, every man is brought up like a soldier, bound to have -arms according to his condition, to exercise himself on Sundays or -holidays; from the yeoman to the lord, the old military constitution -keeps them enrolled and ready for action.[410] In a state which -resembles an army it is necessary that punishments, as in an army, shall -inspire terror; and to make them worse, the hideous Wars of the Roses, -which on every flaw of the succession to the throne are ready to break -out again, are ever present in their recollection. Such instincts, such -a constitution, such a history, raise before them, with tragic severity, -an idea of life: death is at hand, as well as wounds, the block, -tortures. The fine cloaks of purple which the renaissances of the South -displayed joyfully in the sun, to wear like a holiday garment, are here -stained with blood, and edged with black. Throughout,[411] a stern -discipline, and the axe ready for every suspicion of treason; great men, -bishops, a chancellor, princes, the king's relatives, queens, a -protector, all kneeling in the straw, sprinkled the Tower with their -blood; one after the other they marched past, stretched out their necks; -the Duke of Buckingham, Queen Anne Boleyn, Queen Catherine Howard, the -Earl of Surrey, Admiral Seymour, the Duke of Somerset, Lady Jane Grey -and her husband, the Duke of Northumberland, Mary Stuart, the Earl of -Essex, all on the throne, or on the steps of the throne, in the highest -rank of honors, beauty, youth, and genius; of the bright procession -nothing is left but senseless trunks, marred by the tender mercies of -the executioner. Shall I count the funeral pyres, the hangings, living -men cut down from the gibbet, disembowelled, quartered,[412] their limbs -cast into the fire, their heads exposed on the walls? There is a page in -Holinshed which reads like a death register: - - -"The five and twentith daie of Maie (1535), was in saint Paules church -at London examined nineteene men and six women born in Holland, whose -opinions were (heretical). Fourteene of them were condemned, a man and a -woman of them were burned in Smithfield, the other twelve were sent to -other townes, there to be burnt. On the nineteenth of June were three -moonkes of the Charterhouse hanged, drawne, and quartered at Tiburne, -and their heads and quarters set up about London, for denieng the king -to be supreme head of the church. Also the one and twentith of the same -moneth, and for the same cause, doctor John Fisher, bishop of Rochester, -was beheaded for denieng of the supremacie, and his head set upon London -bridge, but his bodie buried within Barking churchyard. The pope had -elected him a cardinall, and sent his hat as far as Calais, but his head -was off before his hat was on: so that they met not. On the sixt of -Julie, was Sir Thomas Moore beheaded for the like crime, that is to wit, -for denieng the king to be supreme head."[413] - - -None of these murders seem extraordinary; the chroniclers mention them -without growing indignant; the condemned go quietly to the block, as if -the thing were perfectly natural. Anne Boleyn said seriously, before -giving up her head to the executioner: "I praie God save the king, and -send him long to reigne over you, for a gentler, nor a more merciful -prince was there never."[414] Society is, as it were, in a state of -siege, so incited that beneath the idea of order everyone entertained -the idea of the scaffold. They saw it, the terrible machine, planted on -all the highways of human life; and the byways as well as the highways -led to it. A sort of martial law, introduced by conquests into civil -affairs, entered thence into ecclesiastical matters,[415] and social -economy ended by being enslaved by it. As in a camp,[416] expenditure, -dress, the food of each class, are fixed and restricted; no one might -stray out of his district, be idle, live after his own devices. Every -stranger was seized, interrogated; if he could not give a good account -of himself, the parish-stocks bruised his limbs; as in time of war he -would have passed for a spy and an enemy, if caught amidst the army. Any -person, says the law,[417] found living idly or loiteringly for the -space of three days, shall be marked with a hot iron on his breast, and -adjudged as a slave to the man who shall inform against him. This one -"shall take the same slave, and give him bread, water, or small drink, -and refuse meat, and cause him to work, by beating, chaining, or -otherwise, in such work and labour as he shall put him to, be it never -so vile." He may sell him, bequeath him, let him out for hire, or trade -upon him "after the like sort as they may do of any other their moveable -goods or chattels," put a ring of iron about his neck or leg; if he runs -away and absents himself for fourteen days, he is branded on the -forehead with a hot iron, and remains a slave for the whole of his life; -if he runs away a second time, he is put to death. Sometimes, says More, -you might see a score of thieves hung on the same gibbet. In one -year[418] forty persons were put to death in the county of Somerset -alone, and in each county there were three or four hundred vagabonds who -would sometimes gather together and rob in armed bands of sixty at a -time. Follow the whole of this history closely, the fires of Mary, the -pillories of Elizabeth, and it is plain that the moral tone of the land, -like its physical condition, is harsh by comparison with other -countries. They have no relish in their enjoyments, as in Italy; what is -called Merry England is England given up to animal spirits, a coarse -animation, produced by abundant feeding, continued prosperity, courage, -and self-reliance; voluptuousness does not exist in this climate and -this race. Mingled with the beautiful popular beliefs, the lugubrious -dreams and the cruel nightmare of witchcraft make their appearance. -Bishop Jewell, preaching before the queen, tells her that witches and -sorcerers within these last few years are marvellously increased. Some -ministers assert - - -"That they have had in their parish at one instant xvij or xviij -witches; meaning such as could worke miracles supernaturallie; that they -work spells by which men pine away even unto death, their colour fadeth, -their flesh rotteth, their speech is benumbed, their senses are bereft; -that instructed by the devil, they make ointments of the bowels and -members of children, whereby they ride in the aire, and accomplish all -their desires. When a child is not baptized, or defended by the sign of -the cross, then the witches catch them from their mothers sides in the -night,... kill them... or after buriall steale them out of their graves, -and seeth them in a caldron, untill their flesh be made potable.... It -is an infallible rule, that everie fortnight, or at the least everie -moneth, each witch must kill one child at the least for hir part." - - -Here was something to make the teeth chatter with fright. Add to this -revolting and absurd descriptions, wretched tomfooleries, details about -the infernal caldron, all the nastinesses which could haunt the trite -imagination of a hideous and drivelling old woman, and you have the -spectacles, provided by Middleton and Shakespeare, and which suit the -sentiments of the age and the national humor. The fundamental gloom -pierces through the glow and rapture of poetry. Mournful legends have -multiplied; every churchyard has its ghost; wherever a man has been -murdered his spirit appears. Many people dare not leave their village -after sunset. In the evening, before bed-time, men talk of the coach -which is seen drawn by headless horses, with headless postilions and -coachmen, or of unhappy spirits who, compelled to inhabit the plain, -under the sharp northeast wind, pray for the shelter of a hedge or a -valley. They dream terribly of death: - - -"To die and go we know not where; -To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; -This sensible warm motion to become -A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit -To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside -In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; -To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, -And blown with restless violence round about -The pendent world; or to be worse than worst -Of those that lawless and incertain thought -Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!"[419] - - -The greatest speak with a sad resignation of the infinite obscurity -which embraces our poor, short, glimmering life, our life, which is but -a troubled dream;[420] the sad state of humanity, which is but passion, -madness, and sorrow; the human being who is himself, perhaps, but a vain -phantom, a grievous sick man's dream. In their eyes we roll down a fatal -slope, where chance dashes us one against the other, and the inner -destiny which urges us onward, only shatters after it has blinded us. -And at the end of all is "the silent grave, no conversation, no joyful -tread of friends, no voice of lovers, no careful father's counsel; -nothing's heard, nor nothing is, but all oblivion, dust, and endless -darkness."[421] If yet there were nothing. "To die, to sleep; to sleep, -perchance to dream." To dream sadly, to fall into a nightmare like the -nightmare of life, like that in which we are struggling and crying -to-day, gasping with hoarse throat!--this is their idea of man and of -existence, the national idea, which fills the stage with calamities and -despair, which makes a display of tortures and massacres, which abounds -in madness and crime, which holds up death as the issue throughout. A -threatening and sombre fog veils their mind like their sky, and joy, -like the sun, only appears in its full force now and then. They are -different from the Latin race, and in the common Renaissance they are -regenerated otherwise than the Latin races. The free and full -development of pure nature which, in Greece and Italy, ends in the -painting of beauty and happy energy, ends here in the painting of -ferocious energy, agony, and death. - - - - -SECTION IV.--The Poets of the Period - - -Thus was this theatre produced; a theatre unique in history, like the -admirable and fleeting epoch from which it sprang, the work and the -picture of this young world, as natural, as unshackled, and as tragic as -itself. When an original and national drama springs up, the poets who -establish it carry in themselves the sentiments which it represents. -They display better than other men the feelings of the public, because -those feelings arc stronger in them than in other men. The passions -which surround them, break forth in their heart with a harsher or a -juster cry, and hence their voices become the voices of all. Chivalric -and Catholic Spain had her interpreters in her enthusiasts and her Don -Quixotes: in Calderon, first a soldier, afterwards a priest; in Lope de -Vega, a volunteer at fifteen, a passionate lover, a wandering duelist, a -soldier of the Armada, finally, a priest and familiar of the Holy -Office; so full of fervor that he fasts till he is exhausted, faints -with emotion while singing mass, and in his flagellations stains the -walls of his cell with blood. Calm and noble Greece had in her principal -tragic poet one of the most accomplished and fortunate of her sons:[422] -Sophocles, first in song and palaestra; who at fifteen sang, unclad, the -pæan before the trophy of Salamis, and who afterwards, as ambassador, -general, ever loving the gods and impassioned for his state, presented, -in his life as in his works, the spectacle of the incomparable harmony -which made the beauty of the ancient world, and which the modern world -will never more attain to. Eloquent and worldly France, in the age which -carried the art of good manners and conversation to its highest pitch, -finds, to write her oratorical tragedies and to paint her drawing-room -passions, the most able craftsman of words, Racine, a courtier, a man of -the world; the most capable, by the delicacy of his tact and the -adaptation of his style, of making men of the world and courtiers speak. -So in England the poets are in harmony with their works. Almost all are -Bohemians; they sprang from the people,[423] were educated, and usually -studied at Oxford or Cambridge, but they were poor, so that their -education contrasts with their condition. Ben Jonson is the step-son of -a bricklayer, and himself a bricklayer; Marlowe is the son of a -shoemaker; Shakespeare of a wool merchant; Massinger of a servant of a -noble family.[424] They live as they can, get into debt, write for their -bread, go on the stage. Peele, Lodge, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Shakespeare, -Heywood, are actors; most of the details which we have of their lives -are taken from the journal of Henslowe, a retired pawnbroker, later a -money-lender and manager of a theatre, who gives them work, advances -money to them, receives their manuscripts or their wardrobes as -security. For a play he gives seven or eight pounds; after the year 1600 -prices rise, and reach as high as twenty or twenty-five pounds. It is -clear that, even after this increase, the trade of author scarcely -brings in bread. In order to earn money, it was necessary, like -Shakespeare, to become a manager, to try to have a share in the property -of a theatre; but such success is rare, and the life which they lead, a -life of actors and artists, improvident, full of excess, lost amid -debauchery and acts of violence, amidst women of evil fame, in contact -with young profligates, among the temptations of misery, imagination and -license, generally leads them to exhaustion, poverty, and death. Men -received enjoyment from them, but neglected and despised them. One -actor, for a political allusion, was sent to prison, and only just -escaped losing his ears; great men, men in office, abused them like -servants. Heywood, who played almost every day, bound himself, in -addition, to write a sheet daily, for several years composes at -haphazard in taverns, labors and sweats like a true literary hack, and -dies leaving two hundred and twenty pieces, of which most are lost. Kyd, -one of the earliest in date, died in misery. Shirley, one of the last, -at the end of his career, was obliged to become once more a -schoolmaster. Massinger dies unknown; and in the parish register we find -only this sad mention of him: "Philip Massinger, a stranger." A few -months after the death of Middleton, his widow was obliged to ask alms -of the City, because he had left nothing. Imagination, as Drummond said -of Ben Jonson, oppressed their reason; it is the common failing of -poets. They wish to enjoy, and give themselves wholly up to enjoyment; -their mood, their heart governs them; in their life, as in their works, -impulses are irresistible; desire comes suddenly, like a wave, drowning -reason, resistance--often even giving neither reason nor resistance time -to show themselves.[425] Many are roisterers, sad roisterers of the same -sort, such as Musset and Murger, who give themselves up to every -passion, and "drown their sorrows in the bowl"; capable of the purest -and most poetic dreams, of the most delicate and touching tenderness, -and who yet can only undermine their health and mar their fame. Such -are Nash, Decker, and Greene; Nash, a fantastic satirist, who abused his -talent, and conspired like a prodigal against good fortune; Decker, who -passed three years in the King's Bench prison; Greene, above all, a -pleasing wit, copious, graceful, who took a delight in destroying -himself, publicly with tears confessing his vices,[426] and the next -moment plunging into them again. These are mere androgynes, true -courtesans, in manners, body, and heart. Quitting Cambridge, "with good -fellows as free-living as himself," Greene had travelled over Spain, -Italy, "in which places he sawe and practizde such villainie as is -abhominable to declare." You see the poor man is candid, not sparing -himself; he is natural; passionate in everything, repentance or -otherwise; above all of ever-varying mood; made for self-contradiction; -not self-correction. On his return he became, in London, a supporter of -taverns, a haunter of evil places. In his "Groatsworth of Wit bought -with a Million of Repentance" he says: - - -"I was dround in pride, whoredom was my daily exercise, and gluttony -with drunkenness was my onely delight.... After I had wholly betaken me -to the penning of plaies (which was my continuall exercise) I was so far -from calling upon God that I sildome thought on God, but tooke such -delight in swearing and blaspheming the name of God that none could -thinke otherwise of me than that I was the child of perdition. These -vanities and other trifling pamphlets I penned of love and vaine -fantasies was my chiefest stay of living; and for those my vaine -discourses I was beloved of the more vainer sort of people, who being my -continuall companions, came still to my lodging, and there would -continue quaffing, carowsing, and surfeting with me all the day long.... -If I may have my disire while I live I am satisfied; let me shift after -death as I may.... 'Hell!' quoth I; 'what talke you of hell to me? I -know if I once come there I shall have the company of better men than -myselfe; I shall also meete with some madde knaves in that place, and so -long as I shall not sit there alone, my care is the lesse.... If I -feared the judges of the bench no more than I dread the judgments of God -I would before I slept dive into one carles bagges or other, and make -merrie with the shelles I found in them so long as they would last.'" - - -A little later he is seized with remorse, marries, depicts in delicious -verse the regularity and calm of an upright life; then returns to -London, spends his property and his wife's fortune with "a sorry ragged -queane," in the company of ruffians, pimps, sharpers, courtesans; -drinking, blaspheming, wearing himself out by sleepless nights and -orgies; writing for bread, sometimes amid the brawling and effluvia of -his wretched lodging, lighting upon thoughts of adoration and love, -worthy of Rolla;[427] very often disgusted with himself, seized with a -fit of weeping between two merry bouts, and writing little pieces to -accuse himself, to regret his wife, to convert his comrades, or to warn -young people against the tricks of prostitutes and swindlers. He was -soon worn out by this kind of life; six years were enough to exhaust -him. An indigestion arising from Rhenish wine and pickled herrings -finished him. If it had not been for his landlady, who succored him, he -"would have perished in the streets." He lasted a little longer, and -then his light went out; now and then he begged her "pittifully for a -penny pott of malmesie"; he was covered with lice, he had but one shirt, -and when his own was "awashing," he was obliged to borrow her husband's. -"His doublet and hose and sword were sold for three shillinges," and the -poor folks paid the cost of his burial, four shillings for the winding -sheet, and six and fourpence for the burial. - -In such low places, on such dunghills, amid such excesses and violence, -dramatic genius forced its way, and amongst others, that of the first, -of the most powerful, of the true founder of the dramatic school, -Christopher Marlowe. - -Marlowe was an ill-regulated, dissolute, outrageously vehement and -audacious spirit, but grand and sombre, with the genuine poetic frenzy; -pagan moreover, and rebellious in manners and creed. In this universal -return to the senses, and in this impulse of natural forces which -brought on the Renaissance, the corporeal instincts and the ideas which -hallow them, break forth impetuously. Marlowe, like Greene, like -Kett,[428] is a sceptic, denies God and Christ, blasphemes the Trinity, -declares Moses "a juggler," Christ more worthy of death than Barabas, -says that "yf he wer to write a new religion, he wolde undertake both a -more excellent and more admirable methode," and "almost in every company -he commeth, perswadeth men to Athiesme."[429] Such were the rages, the -rashnesses, the excesses which liberty of thought gave rise to in these -new minds, who for the first time, after so many centuries, dared to -walk unfettered. From his father's shop, crowded with children, from the -straps and awls, he found himself studying at Cambridge, probably -through the patronage of a great man, and on his return to London, in -want, amid the license of the green-room, the low houses and taverns, -his head was in a ferment, and his passions became excited. He turned -actor; but having broken his leg in a scene of debauchery, he remained -lame, and could no longer appear on the boards. He openly avowed his -infidelity, and a prosecution was begun, which, if time had not failed, -would probably have brought him to the stake. He made love to a drab, -and in trying to stab his rival, his hand was turned, so that his own -blade entered his eye and his brain, and he died, cursing and -blaspheming. He was only thirty years old. - -Think what poetry could emanate from a life so passionate, and occupied -in such a manner! First, exaggerated declamation, heaps of murder, -atrocities, a pompous and furious display of tragedy bespattered with -blood, and passions raised to a pitch of madness. All the foundations of -the English stage, "Ferrex and Porrex, Cambyses, Hieronymo," even -the "Pericles" of Shakespeare, reach the same height of extravagance, -magniloquence and horror.[430] It is the first outbreak of youth. Recall -Schiller's "Robbers," and how modern democracy has recognized for the -first time its picture in the metaphors and cries of Charles Moor.[431] -So here the characters struggle and roar, stamp on the earth, gnash -their teeth, shake their fists against heaven. The trumpets sound, the -drums beat, coats of mail file past armies clash, men stab each other, -or themselves; speeches are full of gigantic threats and lyrical -figures;[432] kings die, straining a bass voice; "now doth ghastly death -with greedy talons gripe my bleeding heart, and like a harpy tires on my -life." The hero in "Tamburlaine the Great"[433] is seated on a chariot -drawn by chained kings; he burns towns, drowns women and children, puts -men to the sword, and finally, seized with an inscrutable sickness, -raves in monstrous outcries against the gods, whose hands afflict his -soul, and whom he would fain dethrone. There already is the picture of -senseless pride, of blind and murderous rage, which passing through many -devastations, at last arms against heaven itself. The overflowing of -savage and immoderate instinct produces this mighty sounding verse, this -prodigality of carnage, this display of splendors and exaggerated -colors, this railing of demoniacal passions, this audacity of grand -impiety. If in the dramas which succeed it, "The Massacre at Paris," -"The Jew of Malta," the bombast decreases, the violence remains. Barabas -the Jew maddened with hate, is henceforth no longer human; he has been -treated by the Christians like a beast, and he hates them like a beast. -He advises his servant Ithamore in the following words: - - -"Hast thou no trade? then listen to my words, -And I will teach thee that shall stick by thee: -First, be thou void of these affections, -Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear; -Be mov'd at nothing, see thou pity none, -But to thyself smile when the Christians moan. -... I walk abroad a-nights, -And kill sick people groaning under walls; -Sometimes I go about and poison wells.... -Being young, I studied physic, and began -To practice first upon the Italian; -There I enrich'd the priests with burials, -And always kept the sexton's arms in ure -With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells.... -I fill'd the jails with bankrouts in a year, -And with young orphans planted hospitals; -And every moon made some or other mad, -And now and then one hang himself for grief, -Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll -How I with interest tormented him."[434] - - -All these cruelties he boasts of and chuckles over, like a demon who -rejoices in being a good executioner, and plunges his victims in the -very extremity of anguish. His daughter has two Christian suitors; and -by forged letters he causes them to slay each other. In despair she -takes the veil, and to avenge himself he poisons his daughter and the -whole convent. Two friars wish to denounce him, then to convert him; he -strangles the first, and jokes with his slave Ithamore, a cut-throat by -profession, who loves his trade, rubs his hands with joy, and says: - - -"Pull amain, -'Tis neatly done, sir; here's no print at all. -So, let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he were -begging of bacon."[435] -"O mistress, I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottlenosed -knave to my master, that ever gentleman had."[436] - - -The second friar comes up, and they accuse him of the murder. - - -"_Barabas._ Heaven bless me! what, a friar a murderer! -When shall you see a Jew commit the like? -_Ithamore._ Why, a Turk could ha' done no more. -_Bar._ To-morrow is the sessions; you shall do it-- -Come Ithamore, let's help to take him hence. -_Friar._ Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not. -_Bar._ The law shall touch you; we'll but lead you, we: -'Las, I could weep at your calamity!"[437] - - -We have also two other poisonings, an infernal machine to blow up the -Turkish garrison, a plot to cast the Turkish commander into a well. -Barabas falls into it himself, and dies in the hot caldron,[438] -howling, hardened, remorseless, having but one regret, that he had not -done evil enough. These are the ferocities of the Middle Ages; we might -find them to this day among the companions of Ali Pacha, among the -pirates of the Archipelago; we retain pictures of them in the paintings -of the fifteenth century, which represent a king with his court, seated -calmly round a living man who is being flayed; in the midst the flayer -on his knees is working conscientiously, very careful not to spoil the -skin.[439] - -All this is pretty strong, you will say; these people kill too readily, -and too quickly. It is on this very account that the painting is a true -one. For the specialty of the men of the time, as of Marlowe's -characters, is the abrupt commission of a deed; they are children, -robust children. As a horse kicks out instead of speaking, so they pull -out their knives instead of asking an explanation. Nowadays we hardly -know what nature is; instead of observing it we still retain the -benevolent prejudices of the eighteenth century; we only see it -humanized by two centuries of culture, and we take its acquired calm for -an innate moderation. The foundations of the natural man are -irresistible impulses, passions, desires, greeds; all blind. He sees a -woman,[440] thinks her beautiful; suddenly he rushes towards her; people -try to restrain him, he kills these people, gluts his passion, then -thinks no more of it, save when at times a vague picture of a moving -lake of blood crosses his brain and makes him gloomy. Sudden and extreme -resolves are confused in his mind with desire; barely planned, the thing -is done; the wide interval which a Frenchman places between the idea of -an action and the action itself is not to be found here.[441] Barabas -conceived murders, and straightway murders were accomplished; there is -no deliberation, no pricks of conscience; that is how he commits a score -of them; his daughter leaves him, he becomes unnatural, and poisons her; -his confidential servant betrays him, he disguises himself, and poisons -him. Rage seizes these men like a fit, and then they are forced to kill. -Benvenuto Cellini relates how, being offended, he tried to restrain -himself, but was nearly suffocated; and that in order to cure himself, -he rushed with his dagger upon his opponent. So, in "Edward the Second," -the nobles immediately appeal to arms; all is excessive and unforeseen: -between two replies the heart is turned upside down, transported to the -extremes of hate or tenderness. Edward, seeing his favorite Gaveston -again, pours out before him his treasure, casts his dignities at his -feet, gives him his seal, himself, and, on a threat from the Bishop of -Coventry, suddenly cries: - - -"Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole, -And in the channel christen him anew."[442] - - -Then, when the queen supplicates: - - -"Fawn not on me, French strumpet! get thee gone.... -Speak not unto her: let her droop and pine."[443] - - -Furies and hatreds clash together like horsemen in battle. The Earl of -Lancaster draws his sword on Gaveston to slay him, before the king; -Mortimer wounds Gaveston. These powerful loud voices growl; the noblemen -will not even let a dog approach the prince, and rob them of their rank. -Lancaster says of Gaveston: - - -"... He comes not back, -Unless the sea cast up his shipwrack'd body. -_Warwick._ And to behold so sweet a sight as that, -There's none here but would run his horse to death."[444] - - -They have seized Gaveston, and intend to hang him "at a bough"; they -refuse to let him speak a single minute with the king. In vain they are -entreated; when they do at last consent, they are sorry for it; it is a -prey they want immediately, and Warwick, seizing him by force, "strake -off his head in a trench." Those are the men of the Middle Ages. They -have the fierceness, the tenacity, the pride of big, well-fed, -thorough-bred bull-dogs. It is this sternness and impetuosity of -primitive passions which produced the Wars of the Roses, and for thirty -years drove the nobles on each other's swords and to the block. - -What is there beyond all these frenzies and gluttings of blood? The idea -of crushing necessity and inevitable ruin in which everything sinks and -comes to an end. Mortimer, brought to the block, says with a smile: - - -"Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel -There is a point, to which, when men aspire, -They tumble headlong down: that point I touch'd, -And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher, -Why should I grieve at my declining fall?-- -Farewell, fair queen; weep not for Mortimer, -That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, -Goes to discover countries yet unknown."[445] - - -Weigh well these grand words; they are a cry from the heart, the -profound confession of Marlowe, as also of Byron, and of the old -sea-kings. The northern paganism is fully expressed in this heroic and -mournful sigh: it is thus they imagine the world so long as they remain -on the outside of Christianity, or as soon as they quit it. Thus, when -men see in life, as they did, nothing but a battle of unchecked -passions, and in death but a gloomy sleep, perhaps filled with mournful -dreams, there is no other supreme good but a day of enjoyment and -victory. They glut themselves, shutting their eyes to the issue, except -that they may be swallowed up on the morrow. That is the master-thought -of "Doctor Faustus," the greatest of Marlowe's dramas: to satisfy his -soul, no matter at what price, or with what results: - - -"A sound magician is a mighty god.... -How am I glutted with conceit of this!... -I'll have them fly to India for gold, -Ransack the ocean for orient pearl.... -I'll have them read me strange philosophy, -And tell the secrets of all foreign kings; -I'll have them wall all Germany with brass, -And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg.... -Like lions shall they guard us when we please; -Like Almain rutters with their horsemen's staves, -Or Lapland giants, trotting by our sides; -Sometimes like women, or unwedded maids, -Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows -Than have the white breasts of the queen of love."[446] - - -What brilliant dreams, what desires, what vast or voluptuous wishes, -worthy of a Roman Cæsar or an Eastern poet, eddy in this teeming brain! -To satiate them, to obtain four-and-twenty years of power, Faustus gave -his soul, without fear, without need of temptation, at the first outset, -voluntarily, so sharp is the prick within: - - -"Had I as many souls as there be stars, -I'd give them all for Mephistophilis. -By him I'll be great emperor of the world, -And make a bridge thorough the moving air.... -Why shouldst thou not? Is not thy soul thine own?"[447] - - -And with that he gives himself full swing: he wants to know everything, -to have everything; a book in which he can behold all herbs and trees -which grow upon the earth; another in which shall be drawn all the -constellations and planets; another which shall bring him gold when he -wills it, and "the fairest courtezans"; another which summons "men in -armour" ready to execute his commands, and which holds "whirlwinds, -tempests, thunder and lightning" chained at his disposal. He is like a -child, he stretches out his hands for everything shining; then grieves -to think of hell, then lets himself be diverted by shows: - - -"_Faustus._ O this feeds my soul! -_Lucifer._ Tut, Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight. -_Faustus._ Oh, might I see hell, and return again, -How happy were I then!..."[448] - - -He is conducted, being invisible, over the whole world: lastly to Rome, -amongst the ceremonies of the pope's court. Like a schoolboy during a -holiday, he has insatiable eyes, he forgets everything before a pageant, -he amuses himself in playing tricks, in giving the pope a box on the -ear, in beating the monks, in performing magic tricks before princes, -finally in drinking, feasting, filling his belly, deadening his -thoughts. In his transport he becomes an atheist, and says there is no -hell, that those are "old wives' tales." Then suddenly the sad idea -knocks at the gates of his brain. - - -"I will renounce this magic, and repent... -My heart's so harden'd I cannot repent: -Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven, -But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears, -'Faustus, thou are damn'd!' then swords and knives, -Poison, guns, halters, and envenom'd steel -Are laid before me to despatch myself; -And long ere this I should have done the deed, -Had not sweet pleasure conquer'd deep despair. -Have not I made blind Homer sing to me -Of Alexander's love and Œnon's death? -And hath not he, that built the walls of Thebes -With ravishing sound of his melodious harp, -Made music with my Mephistophilis? -Why should I die, then, or basely despair? -I am resolv'd; Faustus shall ne'er repent.-- -Come Mephistophilis, let us dispute again, -And argue of divine astrology. -Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon? -Are all celestial bodies but one globe, -As is the substance of this centric earth?..."[449] -"One thing... let me crave of thee -To glut the longing of my heart's desire.... -Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships, -And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? -Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss! -Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!-- -Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. -Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, -And all is dross that is not Helena.... -O thou art fairer than the evening air -Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars!"[450] - - -"Oh, my God, I would weep! but the devil draws in my tears. Gush forth -blood, instead of tears! yea, life and soul! Oh, he stays my tongue! I -would lift up my hands; but see, they hold them, they hold them; Lucifer -and Mephistophilis...."[451] - - -"Ah, Faustus, -Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, -And then thou must be damn'd perpetually! -Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven, -That time may cease, and midnight never come.... -The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, -The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd. -Oh, I'll leap up to my God!--Who pulls me down?-- -See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament! -One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah, my Christ, -Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ, -Yet will I call on him.... -Ah, half the hour is past! 'twill all be past anon.... -Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years, -A hundred thousand, and at last be sav'd.... -It strikes, it strikes.... -Oh soul, be chang'd into little water-drops, -And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found!"[452] - - -There is the living, struggling, natural, personal man, not the -philosophic type which Goethe has created, but a primitive and genuine -man, hot-headed, fiery, the slave of his passions, the sport of his -dreams, wholly engrossed in the present, moulded by his lusts, -contradictions, and follies, who amidst noise and starts, cries of -pleasure and anguish, rolls, knowing it and willing it, down the slope -and crags of his precipice. The whole English drama is here, as a plant -in its seed, and Marlowe is to Shakespeare what Perugino was to Raphael. - - - - -SECTION V.--Formation of the Drama - - -Gradually art is being formed; and toward the close of the century it is -complete. Shakespeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Ben Jonson, Webster, -Massinger, Ford, Middleton, Heywood, appear together, or close upon each -other, a new and favored generation, flourishing largely in the soil -fertilized by the efforts of the generation which preceded them. -Henceforth the scenes are developed and assume consistency, the -characters cease to move all of a piece, the drama is no longer like a -piece of statuary. The poet who a little while ago knew only how to -strike or kill, introduces now a sequence of situation and a rationale -in intrigue. He begins to prepare the way for sentiments, to forewarn us -of events, to combine effects, and we find a theatre at last, the most -complete, the most life-like, and also the most strange that ever -existed. - -We must follow its formation, and regard the drama when it was formed, -that is, in the minds of its authors. What was going on in these minds? -What sorts of ideas were born there, and how were they born? In the -first place, they see the event, whatever it be, and they see it as it -is; I mean that they have it within themselves, with its persons and -details, beautiful and ugly, even dull and grotesque. If it is a trial, -the judge is there, in their minds, in his place, with his physiognomy -and his warts; the plaintiff in another place, with his spectacles and -brief-bag; the accused is opposite, stooping and remorseful; each with -his friends, cobblers, or lords; then the buzzing crowd behind, all with -their grinning faces, their bewildered or kindling eyes.[453] It is a -genuine trial which they imagine, a trial like those they have seen -before the justice, where they screamed or shouted as witnesses or -interested parties, with their quibbling terms, their pros and cons, the -scribblings, the sharp voices of the counsel, the stamping of feet, the -crowding, the smell of their fellow-men, and so forth. The endless -myriads of circumstances which accompany and influence every event, -crowd round that event in their heads, and not merely the externals, -that is, the visible and picturesque traits, the details of color and -costume, but also, and chiefly, the internals, that is, the motions of -anger and joy, the secret tumult of the soul, the ebb and flow of ideas -and passions which are expressed by the countenance, swell the veins, -make a man to grind his teeth, to clench his fists, which urge him on or -restrain him. They see all the details, the tides that sway a man, one -from without, another from within, one through another, one within -another, both together without faltering and without ceasing. And what -is this insight but sympathy, an imitative sympathy, which puts us in -another's place, which carries over their agitations to our own breasts, -which makes our life a little world, able to reproduce the great one in -abstract? Like the characters they imagine, poets and spectators make -gestures, raise their voices, act. No speech or story can show their -inner mood, but it is the scenic effect which can manifest it. As some -men invent a language for their ideas, so these act and mimic them; -theatrical imitation and figured representation is their genuine speech: -all other expression, the lyrical song of Æschylus, the reflective -symbolism of Goethe, the oratorical development of Racine, would be -impossible for them. Involuntarily, instantaneously, without forecast, -they cut life into scenes, and carry it piecemeal on the boards; this -goes so far that often a mere character becomes an actor,[454] playing a -part within a part; the scenic faculty is the natural form of their -mind. Beneath the effort of this instinct, all the accessory parts of -the drama come before the footlights and expand before your eyes. A -battle has been fought; instead of relating it, they bring it before the -public, trumpets and drums, pushing crowds, slaughtering combatants. A -shipwreck happens; straightway the ship is before the spectator, with -the sailors' oaths, the technical orders of the pilot. Of all the -details of human life,[455] tavern-racket and statesmen's councils, -scullion's talk and court processions, domestic tenderness and -pandering--none is to small or too lofty: these things exist in -life--let them exist on the stage, each in full, in the rough, -atrocious, or absurd, just as they are, no matter how. Neither in -Greece, nor Italy, nor Spain, nor France, has an art been seen which -tried so boldly to express the soul, and its innermost depths—the -truth, and the whole truth. - -How did they succeed, and what is this new art which tramples on all -ordinary rules? It is an art for all that, since it is natural; a great -art, since it embraces more things, and that more deeply than others do, -like the art of Rembrandt and Rubens; but like theirs, it is a Teutonic -art, and one whose every step is in contrast with those of classical -art. What the Greeks and Romans, the originators of the latter, sought -in everything, was charm and order. Monuments, statues, and paintings, -the theatre, eloquence and poetry, from Sophocles to Racine, they shaped -all their work in the same mould, and attained beauty by the same -method. In the infinite entanglement and complexity of things, they -grasped a small number of simple ideas, which they embraced in a small -number of simple representations, so that the vast confused vegetation -of life is presented to the mind from that time forth, pruned and -reduced, and perhaps easily embraced at a single glance. A square of -walls with rows of columns all alike; a symmetrical group of draped or -undraped forms; a young man standing up and raising one arm; a wounded -warrior who will not return to the camp, though they beseech him: this, -in their noblest epoch, was their architecture, their painting, their -sculpture, and their theatre. No poetry but a few sentiments not very -intricate, always natural, not toned down, intelligible to all; no -eloquence but a continuous argument, a limited vocabulary, the loftiest -ideas brought down to their sensible origin, so that children can -understand such eloquence and feel such poetry; and in this sense they -are classical.[456] In the hands of Frenchmen, the last inheritors of -the simple art, these great legacies of antiquity undergo no change. If -poetic genius is less, the structure of mind has not altered. Racine -puts on the stage a sole action, whose details he adjusts, and whose -course he regulates; no incident, nothing unforeseen, no appendices or -incongruities; no secondary intrigue. The subordinate parts are effaced; -at the most four or five principal characters, the fewest possible; the -rest, reduced to the condition of confidants, take the tone of their -masters, and merely reply to them. All the scenes are connected, and -flow insensibly one into the other, and every scene, like the entire -piece, has its order and progress. The tragedy stands out symmetrically -and clear in the midst of human life, like a complete and solitary -temple which limns its regular outline on the luminous azure of the sky, -in England all is different. All that the French call proportion and -fitness is wanting; Englishmen do not trouble themselves about them, -they do not need them. There is no unity; they leap suddenly over twenty -years, or five hundred leagues. There are twenty scenes in an act--we -stumble without preparation from one to the other, from tragedy to -buffoonery; usually it appears as though the action gained no ground; -the different personages waste their time in conversation, dreaming, -displaying their character. We were moved, anxious for the issue, and -here they bring us in quarrelling servants, lovers making poetry. Even -the dialogue and speeches, which we would think ought particularly to be -of a regular and continuous flow of engrossing ideas, remain stagnant, -or are scattered in windings and deviations. At first sight we fancy we -are not advancing, we do not feel at every phrase that we have made a -step. There are none of those solid pleadings, none of those conclusive -discussions, which every moment add reason to reason, objection to -objection; people might say that the different personages only knew how -to scold, to repeat themselves, and to mark time. And the disorder is as -great in general as in particular things. They heap a whole reign, a -complete war, an entire novel, into a drama; they cut up into scenes an -English chronicle or an Italian novel: this is all their art; the events -matter little; whatever they are, they accept them. They have no idea of -progressive and individual action. Two or three actions connected -endwise, or entangled one within another, two or three incomplete -endings badly contrived, and opened up again; no machinery but death, -scattered right and left and unforeseen: such is the logic of their -method. The fact is, that our logic, the Latin, fails them. Their mind -does not march by the smooth and straightforward paths of rhetoric and -eloquence. It reaches the same end, but by other approaches. It is at -once more comprehensive and less regular than ours. It demands a -conception more complete, but less consecutive. It proceeds, not as with -us, by a line of uniform steps, but by sudden leaps and long pauses. It -does not rest satisfied with a simple idea drawn from a complex fact, -but demands the complex fact entire, with its numberless -particularities, its interminable ramifications. It sees in man not a -general passion--ambition, anger, or love; not a pure -quality--happiness, avarice, folly; but a character, that is, the -imprint, wonderfully complicated, which inheritance, temperament, -education, calling, age, society, conversation, habits, have stamped on -every man; an incommunicable and individual imprint, which, once stamped -in a man, is not found again in any other. It sees in the hero not only -the hero, but the individual, with his manner of walking, drinking, -swearing, blowing his nose; with the tone of his voice, whether he is -thin or fat;[457] and thus plunges to the bottom of things, with every -look, as by a miner's deep shaft. This sunk, it little cares whether the -second shaft be two paces or a hundred from the first; enough that it -reaches the same depth, and serves equally well to display the inner and -visible layer. Logic is here from beneath, not from above. It is the -unity of a character which binds the two actions of the personage, as -the unity of an impression connects the two scenes of a drama. To speak -exactly, the spectator is like a man whom we should lead along a wall -pierced at separate intervals with little windows; at every window he -catches for an instant a glimpse of a new landscape, with its million -details: the walk over, if he is of Latin race and training, he finds a -medley of images jostling in his head, and asks for a map that he may -recollect himself; if he is of German race and training, he perceives as -a whole, by natural concentration, the wide country which he has only -seen piecemeal. Such a conception, by the multitude of details which it -combines, and by the depth of the vistas which it embraces, is a -half-vision which shakes the whole soul. What its works are about to -show us is, with what energy, what disdain of contrivance, what -vehemence of truth, it dares to coin and hammer the human medal; with -what liberty it is able to reproduce in full prominence worn-out -characters, and the extreme flights of virgin nature. - - - - -SECTION VI.--Furious Passions--Exaggerated Characters - - -Let us consider the different personages which this art, so suited to -depict real manners, and so apt to paint the living soul, goes in search -of amidst the real manners and the living souls of its time and country. -They are of two kinds, as befits the nature of the drama: one which -produces terror, the other which moves to pity; these graceful and -feminine, those manly and violent. All the differences of sex, all the -extremes of life, all the resources of the stage, are embraced in this -contrast; and if ever there was a complete contrast, it is here. - -The reader must study for himself some of these pieces, or he will have -no idea of the fury into which the stage is hurled: force and transport -are driven every instant to the point of atrocity, and further still, if -there be any further. Assassinations, poisonings, tortures, outcries of -madness and rage; no passion and no suffering are too extreme for their -energy or their effort. Anger is with them a madness, ambition a frenzy, -love a delirium. Hippolyto, who has lost his mistress, says, "Were thine -eyes clear as mine, thou mightst behold her, watching upon yon -battlements of stars, how I observe them."[458] Aretus, to be avenged on -Valentinian, poisons him after poisoning himself, and with the -death-rattle in his throat, is brought to his enemy's side, to give him -a foretaste of agony. Queen Brunhalt has panders with her on the stage, -and causes her two sons to slay each other. Death everywhere; at the -close of every play, all the great people wade in blood: with slaughter -and butcheries, the stage becomes a field of battle or a -churchyard.[459] Shall I describe a few of these tragedies? In the "Duke -of Milan," Francesco, to avenge his sister, who has been seduced, wishes -to seduce in his turn the Duchess Marcelia, wife of Sforza, the seducer; -he desires her, he will have her; he says to her, with cries of love and -rage: - - -"For with this arm I'll swim through seas of blood, -Or make a bridge, arch'd with the bones of men, -But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest, -Dearest, and best of women!"[460] - - -For he wishes to strike the duke through her, whether she lives or dies, -if not by dishonor, at least by murder; the first is as good as the -second, nay, better, for so he will do a greater injury. He calumniates -her, and the duke, who adores her, kills her; then, being undeceived, -loses his senses, will not believe she is dead, has the body brought in, -kneels before it, rages and weeps. He knows now the name of the traitor, -and at the thought of him he swoons or raves: - - -"I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him, -And there live a fourth Fury to torment him. -Then, for this cursed hand and arm that guided -The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint, -With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat, -I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion."[461] - - -Suddenly he gasps for breath, and falls; Francesco has poisoned him. The -duke dies, and the murderer is led to torture. There are worse scenes -than this; to find sentiments strong enough, they go to those which -change the very nature of man. Massinger puts on the stage a father who -judges and condemns his daughter, stabbed by her husband; Webster and -Ford, a son who assassinates his mother; Ford, the incestuous loves of a -brother and sister.[462] Irresistible love overtakes them; the ancient -love of Pasiphaë and Myrrha, a kind of madness-like enchantment, and -beneath which the will entirely gives way. Giovanni says: - - -"Lost! I am lost! My fates have doom'd my death! -The more I strive, I love; the more I love, -The less I hope: I see my ruin certain.... -I have even wearied heaven with pray'rs, dried up -The spring of my continual tears, even starv'd -My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art -Could counsel, I have practis'd; but, alas! -I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales, -To fright unsteady youth: I am still the same; -Or I must speak, or burst."[463] - - -What transports follow! what fierce and bitter joys, and how short too, -how grievous and mingled with anguish, especially for her! She is -married to another. Read for yourself the admirable and horrible scene -which represents the wedding night. She is pregnant, and Soranzo, the -husband, drags her along the ground, with curses, demanding the name of -her lover: - - -"Come strumpet, famous whore?... -Harlot, rare, notable harlot, -That with thy brazen face maintain'st thy sin, -Was there no man in Parma to be bawd -To your loose cunning whoredom else but I? -Must your hot itch and plurisy of lust, -The heyday of your luxury, be fed -Up to a surfeit, and could none but I -Be pick'd out to be cloak to your close tricks, -Your belly-sports?--Now I must be the dad -To all that gallimaufry that is stuff'd -In thy corrupted bastard-bearing womb? -Say, must I? -_Annabella._ Beastly man? why, 'tis thy fate. -I su'd not to thee.... -_S._ Tell me by whom."[464] - - -She gets excited, feels and cares for nothing more, refuses to tell the -name of her lover, and praises him in the following words. This praise -in the midst of danger is like a rose she has plucked, and of which the -odor intoxicates her: - - -"_A._ Soft! 'twas not in my bargain. -Yet somewhat, sir, to stay your longing stomach -I am content t' acquaint you with _the_ man, -The more than man, that got this sprightly boy-- -(For 'tis a boy, and therefore glory, sir, -Your heir shall be a son.) -_S._ Damnable monster? -_A._ Nay, and you will not hear, I'll speak no more. -_S._ Yes, speak, and speak thy last. -_A._ A match, a match?... -You, why you are not worthy once to name -His name without true worship, or, indeed, -Unless you kneel'd to hear another name him. -_S._ What was he call'd? -_A._ We are not come to that; -Let it suffice that you shall have the glory -To father what so brave a father got.... -_S._ Dost thou laugh? -Come, whore, tell me your lover, or, by truth, -I'll hew thy flesh to shreds; who is't?"[465] - - -She laughs; the excess of shame and terror has given her courage; she -insults him, she sings; so like a woman! - - -"_A._ (Sings) _Che morte piu dolce che morire per amore._ -_S._ Thus will I pull thy hair, and thus I'll drag -Thy lust be-leper'd body through the dust.... -(_Hales her up and down_) -_A._ Be a gallant hangman.... -I leave revenge behind, and thou shalt feel't.... -(_To Vasquez._) Pish, do not beg for me, I prize my life -As nothing; if the man will needs be mad, -Why, let him take it."[466] - - -In the end all is discovered, and the two lovers know they must die. For -the last time, they see each other in Annabella's chamber, listening to -the noise of the feast below which shall serve for their funeral feast. -Giovanni, who has made his resolve like a madman, sees Annabella richly -dressed, dazzling. He regards her in silence, and remembers the past. He -weeps and says: - - -"These are the funeral tears, -Shed on your grave; these furrow'd-up my cheeks -When first I lov'd and knew not how to woo.... -Give me your hand: how sweetly life doth run -In these well-colour'd veins! How constantly -These palms do promise health!... -Kiss me again, forgive me.... Farewell."[467] - - -He then stabs her, enters the banqueting room, with her heart upon his -dagger: - - -"Soranzo see this heart, which was thy wife's. -Thus I exchange it royally for thine."[468] - - -He kills him, and casting himself on the swords of banditti, dies. It -would seem that tragedy could go no further. - -But it did go further; for if these are melodramas, they are sincere, -composed, not like those of to-day, by Grub Street writers for peaceful -citizens, but by impassioned men, experienced in tragical arts, for a -violent, over-fed, melancholy race. From Shakespeare to Milton, Swift, -Hogarth, no race has been more glutted with coarse expressions and -horrors, and its poets supply them plentifully; Ford less so than -Webster; the latter a sombre man, whose thoughts seem incessantly to be -haunting tombs and charnel-houses. "Places in court," he says, "are but -like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at that man's -foot, and so lower and lower."[469] Such are his images. No one has -equalled Webster in creating desperate characters, utter wretches, -bitter misanthropes,[470] in blackening and blaspheming human life, -above all, in depicting the shameless depravity and refined ferocity of -Italian manners.[471] The Duchess of Malfi has secretly married her -steward Antonio, and her brother learns that she has children; almost -mad[472] with rage and wounded pride, he remains silent, waiting until -he knows the name of the father; then he arrives all of a sudden, means -to kill her, but so that she shall taste the lees of death. She must -suffer much, but above all, she must not die too quickly! She must -suffer in mind; these griefs are worse than the body's. He sends -assassins to kill Antonio, and meanwhile comes to her in the dark, with -affectionate words; he pretends to be reconciled, and suddenly shows her -waxen figures, covered with wounds, whom she takes for her slaughtered -husband and children. She staggers under the blow, and remains in gloom -without crying out. Then she says: - - -"Good comfortable fellow, -Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel -To have all his bones new set; entreat him live -To be executed again. Who must despatch me?... -_Bosola._ Come, be of comfort, I will save your life. -_Duchess._ Indeed, I have not leisure to tend -So small a business. -_B._ Now, by my life, I pity you. -_D._ Thou art a fool, then, -To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched -As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers."[473] - - -Slow words, spoken in a whisper, as in a dream, or as if she were -speaking of a third person. Her brother sends to her a company of -madmen, who leap and howl and rave around her in mournful wise; a -pitiful sight, calculated to unseat the reason; a kind of foretaste of -hell. She says nothing, looking upon them; her heart is dead, her eyes -fixed, with vacant stare: - - -"_Cariola._ What think you of, madam? -_Duchess._ Of nothing: -When I muse thus, I sleep. -_C._ Like a madman, with your eyes open? -_D._ Dost thou think we shall know one another -In the other world? -_C._ Yes, out of question. -_D._ O that it were possible we might -But hold some two days' conference with the dead! -From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure, -I never shall know here. I'll teach thee a miracle; -I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow: -The heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass, -The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad. -I am acquainted with sad misery -As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar...."[474] - - -In this state, the limbs, like those of one who has been newly executed, -still quiver, but the sensibility is worn out; the miserable body only -stirs mechanically; it has suffered too much. At last the gravedigger -comes with executioners, a coffin, and they sing before her a funeral -dirge: - - -"_Duchess._ Farewell, Cariola... -I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy -Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl -Say her prayers ere she sleep.--Now, what you please: -What death? -_Bosola._ Strangling; here are your executioners. -_D._ I forgive them: -The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs -Would do as much as they do.... My body -Bestow upon my women, will you?... -Go, tell my brothers, when I am laid out, -They then may feed in quiet."[475] - - -After the mistress the maid; the latter cries and struggles: - - -"_Cariola._ I will not die; I must not; I am contracted -To a young gentleman. -_1st Executioner._ Here's your wedding-ring. -_C._ If you kill me now, -I am damn'd. I have not been at confession -This two years. -_B._ When?[476] -_C._ I am quick with child."[477] - - -They strangle her also, and the two children of the duchess. Antonio is -assassinated; the cardinal and his mistress, the duke and his confidant, -are poisoned or butchered; and the solemn words of the dying, in the -midst of this butchery, utter, as from funereal trumpets, a general -curse upon existence: - - -"We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves, -That, ruin'd yield no echo. Fare you well.... -O this gloomy world! -In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness, -Doth womanish and fearful mankind live!"[478] - -"In all our quest of greatness, -Like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, -We follow after bubbles blown in the air. -Pleasure of life, what is't? only the good hours -Of an ague; merely a preparative to rest, -To endure vexation.... -Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, -Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust."[479] - - -You will find nothing sadder or greater from the Edda to Lord Byron. - -We can well imagine what powerful characters are necessary to sustain -these terrible dramas. All these personages are ready for extreme acts; -their resolves break forth like blows of a sword; we follow, meet at -every change of scene their glowing eyes, wan lips, the starting of -their muscles, the tension of their whole frame. Their powerful will -contracts their violent hands, and their accumulated passion breaks out -in thunderbolts, which tear and ravage all around them, and in their own -hearts. We know them, the heroes of this tragic population, Iago, -Richard III, Lady Macbeth, Othello, Coriolanus, Hotspur, full of genius, -courage, desire, generally mad or criminal, always self-driven to the -tomb. There are as many around Shakespeare as in his own works. Let me -exhibit one character more, written by the same dramatist, Webster. No -one, except Shakespeare, has seen further into the depths of diabolical -and unchained nature. The "White Devil" is the name which he gives to -his heroine. His Vittoria Corombona receives as her lover the Duke of -Brachiano, and at the first interview dreams of the issue: - - -"To pass away the time, I'll tell your grace -A dream I had last night." - - -It is certainly well related, and still better chosen, of deep meaning -and very clear import. Her brother Flaminio says, aside: - - -"Excellent devil! she hath taught him in a dream -To make away his duchess and her husband."[480] - - -So, her husband, Camillo, is strangled, the Duchess poisoned, and -Vittoria, accused of the two crimes, is brought before the tribunal. -Step by step, like a soldier brought to bay with his back against a -wall, she defends herself, refuting and defying advocates and judges, -incapable of blenching or quailing, clear in mind, ready in word, amid -insults and proofs, even menaced with death on the scaffold. The -advocate begins to speak in Latin. - - -"_Vittoria._ Pray my lord, let him speak his usual tongue; -I'll make no answer else. -_Francisco de Medicis._ Why, you understand Latin. -_V._ I do, sir; but amongst this auditory -Which come to hear my cause, the half or more -May be ignorant in't." - - -She wants a duel, bare-breasted, in open day, and challenges the -advocate: - - -"I am at the mark, sir: I'll give aim to you, -And tell you how near you shoot." - - -She mocks his legal phraseology, insults him, with biting irony: - - -"Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallow'd -Some pothecaries' bills, or proclamations; -And now the hard and undigestible words -Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic: -Why, this is Welsh to Latin." - - -Then, to the strongest adjuration of the judges: - - -"To the point, -Find me but guilty, sever head from body, -We'll part good friends; I scorn to hold my life -At yours, or any man's entreaty, sir.... -These are but feigned shadows of my evils: -Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils; -I am past such needless palsy. For your names -Of whore and murderess, they proceed from you, -As if a man should spit against the wind; -The filth returns in's face."[481] - - -Argument for argument: she has a parry for every blow: a parry and a -thrust: - - -"But take you your course: it seems you have beggar'd me first, -And now would fain undo me. I have houses. -Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes: -Would those would make you charitable!" - - -Then, in a harsher voice: - - -"In faith, my lord, you might go pistol flies; -The sport would be more noble." - - -They condemn her to be shut up in a house of convertites: - - -"_V._ A house of convertites! What's that? -_Monticelso._ A house of penitent whores. -_V._ Do the noblemen in Rome -Erect it for their wives, that I am sent -To lodge there?"[482] - - -The sarcasm comes home like a sword-thrust; then another behind it; then -cries and curses. She will not bend, she will not weep. She goes off -erect, bitter and more haughty than ever: - - -"I will not weep; -No, I do scorn to call up one poor tear -To fawn on your injustice: bear me hence -Unto this house of what's your mitigating title? -_Mont._ Of convertites. -_V._ It shall not be a house of convertites; -My mind shall make it honester to me -Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable -Than thy soul, though thou art a cardinal."[483] - - -Against her furious lover, who accuses her of unfaithfulness, she is as -strong as against her judges; she copes with him, casts in his teeth the -death of his duchess, forces him to beg pardon, to marry her; she will -play the comedy to the end, at the pistol's mouth, with the -shamelessness and courage of a courtesan and an empress;[484] snared at -last, she will be just as brave and more insulting when the dagger's -point threatens her: - - -"Yes, I shall welcome death -As princes do some great ambassadors; -I'll meet thy weapon half way.... 'Twas a manly blow; -The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant; -And then thou wilt be famous."[485] - - -When a woman unsexes herself, her actions transcend man's, and there is -nothing which she will not suffer or dare. - - - - -SECTION VII.--Female Characters - - -Opposed to this band of tragic characters, with their distorted -features, brazen fronts, combative attitudes, is a troop of sweet and -timid figures, pre-eminently tender-hearted, the most graceful and -loveworthy whom it has been given to man to depict. In Shakespeare you -will meet them in Miranda, Juliet, Desdemona, Virgilia, Ophelia, -Cordelia, Imogen; but they abound also in the others; and it is a -characteristic of the race to have furnished them, as it is of the drama -to have represented them. By a singular coincidence, the women are more -of women, the men more of men, here than elsewhere. The two natures go -each to its extreme: in the one to boldness, the spirit of enterprise -and resistance, the warlike, imperious, and unpolished character; in the -other to sweetness, devotion, patience, inextinguishable -affection[486]--a thing unknown in distant lands, in France especially -so: a woman in England gives herself without drawing back, and places -her glory and duty in obedience, forgiveness, adoration, wishing and -professing only to be melted and absorbed daily deeper and deeper in him -whom she has freely and forever chosen.[487] It is this, an old German -instinct, which these great painters of instinct diffuse here, one and -all: Penthea, Dorothea, in Ford and Greene; Isabella and the Duchess of -Malfi, in Webster; Bianca, Ordella, Arethusa, Juliana, Euphrasia, -Amoret, and others, in Beaumont and Fletcher: there are a score of them -who, under the severest tests and the strongest temptations, display -this wonderful power of self-abandonment and devotion.[488] The soul, in -this race, is at once primitive and serious. Women keep their purity -longer than elsewhere. They lose respect less quickly; weigh worth and -characters less suddenly: they are less apt to think evil, and to take -the measure of their husbands. To this day, a great lady, accustomed to -company, blushes in the presence of an unknown man, and feels bashful -like a little girl: the blue eyes are dropped, and a child-like shame -flies to her rosy cheeks. Englishwomen have not the smartness, the -boldness of ideas, the assurance of bearing, the precocity, which with -the French make of a young girl, in six months, a woman of intrigue and -the queen of a drawing-room.[489] Domestic life and obedience are more -easy to them. More pliant and more sedentary, they are at the same time -more concentrated and introspective, more disposed to follow the noble -dream called duty, which is hardly generated in mankind but by silence -of the senses. They are not tempted by the voluptuous sweetness which in -southern countries is breathed out in the climate, in the sky, in the -general spectacle of things; which dissolves every obstacle, which -causes privation to be looked upon as a snare and virtue as a theory. -They can rest content with dull sensations, dispense with excitement, -endure weariness; and in this monotony of a regulated existence, fall -back upon themselves, obey a pure idea, employ all the strength of their -hearts in maintaining their moral dignity. Thus supported by innocence -and conscience, they introduce into love a profound and upright -sentiment, abjure coquetry, vanity, and flirtation: they do not lie nor -simper. When they love, they are not tasting a forbidden fruit, but are -binding themselves for their whole life. Thus understood, love becomes -almost a holy thing; the spectator no longer wishes to be spiteful or to -jest; women do not think of their own happiness, but of that of the -loved ones; they aim not at pleasure, but at devotion. Euphrasia, -relating her history to Philaster, says: - - -"My father oft would speak -Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow -More and more apprehensive, I did thirst -To see the man so prais'd; but yet all this -Was but a maiden longing, to be lost -As soon as found; till sitting in my window, -Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, -I thought (but it was you), enter our gates. -My blood flew out, and back again as fast, -As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in -Like breath: Then was I call'd away in haste -To entertain you. Never was a man, -Heav'd from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, rais'd -So high in thoughts as I: You left a kiss -Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep -From you forever. I did hear you talk, -Far above singing! After you were gone, -I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd -What stirr'd it so: Alas! I found it love; -Yet far from lust; for could I but have liv'd -In presence of you, I had had my end."[490] - - -She had disguised herself as a page,[491] followed him, was his servant; -what greater happiness for a woman than to serve on her knees the man -she loves? She let him scold her, threaten her with death, wound her. - - -"Blest be that hand! -It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake!"[492] - - -Do what he will, nothing but words of tenderness and adoration can -proceed from this heart, these wan lips. Moreover, she takes upon -herself a crime of which he is accused, contradicts him when he asserts -his guilt, is ready to die in his place. Still more, she is of use to -him with the Princess Arethusa, whom he loves; she justifies her rival, -brings about their marriage, and asks no other thanks but that she may -serve them both. And strange to say, the princess is not jealous. - - -"_Euphrasia._ Never, Sir, will I -Marry; it is a thing within my vow: -But if I may have leave to serve the princess, -To see the virtues of her lord and her, -I shall have hope to live. -_Arethusa._... Come, live with me; -Live free as I do. She that loves my lord, -Curst be the wife that hates her!"[493] - - -What notion of love have they in this country? Whence happens it that -all selfishness, all vanity, all rancor, every little feeling, either -personal or base, flees at its approach? How comes it that the soul is -given up wholly, without hesitation, without reserve, and only dreams -thenceforth of prostrating and annihilating itself, as in the presence -of a god? Biancha, thinking Cesario ruined, offers herself to him as his -wife; and learning that he is not so, gives him up straightway, without -a murmur: - - -"_Biancha._ So dearly I respected both your fame -And quality, that I would first have perish'd -In my sick thoughts, than e'er have given consent -To have undone your fortunes, by inviting -A marriage with so mean a one as I am: -I should have died sure, and no creature known -The sickness that had kill'd me... Now since I know -There is no difference 'twixt your birth and mine, -Not much 'twixt our estates (if any be, -The advantage is on my side) I come willingly -To tender you the first-fruits of my heart, -And am content t' accept you for my husband. -Now when you are at the lowest.... -_Cesario._ Why, Biancha, -Report has cozen'd thee; I am not fallen -From my expected honors or possessions, -Tho' from the hope of birth-right. -_B._ Are you not? -Then I am lost again! I have a suit too; -You'll grant it, if you be a good man.... -Pray do not talk of aught what I have said t'ye.... -... Pity me; -But never love me more!... I'll pray for you, -That you may have a virtuous wife, a fair one; -And when I'm dead... -_C._ Fy, fy! -_B._ Think on me sometimes, -With mercy for this trespass! -_C._ Let us kiss -At parting, as at coming! -_B._ This I have -As a free dower to a virgin's grave, -All goodness dwell with you!"[494] - - -Isabella, Brachiano's duchess, is defrayed, insulted by her faithless -husband; to shield him from the vengeance of her family, she takes upon -herself the blame of the rupture, purposely plays the shrew, and leaving -him at peace with his courtesan, dies embracing his picture. Arethusa -allows herself to be wounded by Philaster, stays the people who would -hold back the murderer's arm, declares that he has done nothing, that it -is not he, prays for him, loves him in spite of all, even to the end, as -though all his acts were sacred, as if he had power of life and death -over her. Ordella devotes herself, that the king, her husband, may have -children;[495] she offers herself for a sacrifice, simply, without grand -words, with her whole heart: - - -"_Ordella._ Let it be what it may then, what it dare, -I have a mind will hazard it. -_Thierry._ But, hark you; -What may that woman merit, makes this blessing? -_O._ Only her duty, sir. -_T._ 'Tis terrible! -_O._ 'Tis so much the more noble. -_T._ 'Tis full of fearful shadows! -_O._ So is sleep, sir, -Or anything that's merely ours, and mortal; -We were begotten gods else: but those fears, -Feeling but once the fires of noble thoughts, -Fly, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing. -_T._ Suppose it death! -_O._ I do. -_T._ And endless parting -With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness, -With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason! -For in the silent grave, no conversation, -No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, -No careful father's counsel, nothing's heard, -Nor nothing is, but all oblivion, -Dust and endless darkness: and dare you, woman, -Desire this place? -_O._ 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest: -Children begin it to us, strong men seek it, -And kings from height of all their painted glories -Fall, like spent exhalations, to this centre.... -_T._ Then you can suffer? -_O._ As willingly as say it. -_T._ Martell, a wonder! -Here is a woman that dares die.--Yet, tell me, -Are you a wife? -_O._ I am, sir. -_T._ And have children?-- -She sighs and weeps! -_O._ Oh, none, sir. -_T._ Dare you venture -For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear, -To part with these sweet hopes? -_O._ With all but Heaven."[496] - - -Is not this prodigious? Can you understand how one human being can thus -be separated from herself, forget and lose herself in another? They do -so lose themselves, as in an abyss. When they love in vain and without -hope, neither reason nor life resist; they languish, grow mad, die like -Ophelia. Aspasia, forlorn, - - -"Walks discontented, with her watry eyes -Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods -Are her delight; and when she sees a bank -Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell -Her servants what a pretty place it were -To bury lovers in; and make her maids -Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse. -She carries with her an infectious grief, -That strikes all her beholders; she will sing -The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard, -And sigh and sing again; and when the rest -Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood, -Tell mirthful tales in course, that fill the room -With laughter, she will with so sad a look -Bring forth a story of the silent death -Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief -Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end, -She'll send them weeping one by one away."[497] - - -Like a spectre about a tomb, she wanders forever about the remains of -her destroyed love, languishes, grows pale, swoons, ends by causing -herself to be killed. Sadder still are those who, from duty or -submission, allow themselves to be married while their heart belongs to -another. They are not resigned, do not recover, like Pauline in -"Polyeucte." They are crushed to death. Penthea, in Ford's "Broken -Heart," is as upright, but not so strong, as Pauline; she is the English -wife, not the Roman, stoical and calm.[498] She despairs sweetly, -silently, and pines to death. In her innermost heart she holds herself -married to him to whom she has pledged her soul: it is the marriage of -the heart which in her eyes is alone genuine; the other is only -disguised adultery. In marrying Bassanes she has sinned against Orgilus; -moral infidelity is worse than legal infidelity, and thenceforth she is -fallen in her own eyes. She says to her brother: - - -"Pray, kill me.... -Kill me, pray; nay, will ye -_Ithocles._ How does thy lord esteem thee? -_P._ Such an one -As only you have made me; a faith-breaker, -A spotted whore; forgive me, I am one-- -In act, not in desires, the gods must witness.... -For she's that wife to Orgilus, and lives -In known adultery with Bassanes, -Is, at the best, a whore. Wilt kill me now?... -The handmaid to the wages -Of country toil, drinks the untroubled streams -With leaping kids, and with the bleating lambs, -And so allays her thirst secure; whiles I -Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears."[499] - - -With tragic greatness, from the height of her incurable grief, she -throws her gaze on life: - - -"My glass of life, sweet princess, hath few minutes -Remaining to run down; the sands are spent; -For by an inward messenger I feel -The summons of departure short and certain.... Glories -Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams, -And shadows soon decaying; on the stage -Of my mortality, my youth hath acted -Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length -By varied pleasures, sweeten'd in the mixture, -But tragical in issue... That remedy -Must be a winding-sheet, a fold of lead, -And some untrod-on corner in the earth."[500] - - -There is no revolt, no bitterness; she affectionately assists her -brother who has caused her unhappiness; she tries to enable him to win -the woman he loves; feminine kindness and sweetness overflow in her in -the depths of her despair. Love here is not despotic, passionate, as in -southern climes. It is only deep and sad; the source of life is dried -up, that is all; she lives no longer, because she cannot; all go by -degrees--health, reason, soul; in the end she becomes mad, and behold -her dishevelled, with wide staring eyes, with words that can hardly find -utterance. For ten days she has not slept, and will not eat any more; -and the same fatal thought continually afflicts her heart, amidst vague -dreams of maternal tenderness and happiness brought to nought, which -come and go in her mind like phantoms: - - -"Sure, if we were all sirens, we would sing pitifully, -And 'twere a comely music, when in parts -One sung another's knell; the turtle sighs -When he hath lost his mate; and yet some say -He must be dead first: 'tis a fine deceit -To pass away in a dream! indeed, I've slept -With mine eyes open, a great while. No falsehood -Equals a broken faith; there's not a hair -Sticks on my head, but, like a leaden plummet, -It sinks me to the grave: I must creep thither; -The journey is not long.... -Since I was first a wife, I might have been -Mother to many pretty prattling babes; -They would have smiled when I smiled; and, for certain, -I should have cried when they cried:--truly, brother, -My father would have pick'd me out a husband, -And then my little ones had been no bastards; -But 'tis too late for me to marry now, -I'm past child-bearing; Tis not my fault.... -Spare your hand; -Believe me, I'll not hurt it.... -Complain not though I wring it hard: I'll kiss it, -Oh, 'tis a fine soft palm!--hark, in thine ear; -Like whom do I look, prithee?--nay, no whispering, -Goodness! we had been happy; too much happiness -Will make folk proud, they say.... -There is no peace left for a ravish'd wife, -Widow'd by lawless marriage; to all memory -Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted.... -Forgive me; Oh! I faint."[501] - - -She dies, imploring that some gentle voice may sing her a plaintive air, -a farewell ditty, a sweet funeral song. I know nothing in the drama more -pure and touching. - -When we find a constitution of soul so new, and capable of such great -effects, it behooves us to look at the bodies. Man's extreme actions -come not from his will, but his nature.[502] In order to understand the -great tensions of the whole machine, we must look upon the whole--I mean -man's temperament, the manner in which his blood flows, his nerves -quiver, his muscles act, the moral interprets the physical, and human -qualities have their root in the animal species. Consider then the -species in this case--namely, the race; for the sisters of Shakespeare's -Ophelia and Virgilia, Goethe's Clara and Margaret, Otway's Belvidera, -Richardson's Pamela, constitute a race by themselves, soft and fair, -with blue eyes, lily whiteness, blushing, of timid delicacy, serious -sweetness, framed to yield, bend, cling. Their poets feel it clearly -when they bring them on the stage; they surround them with the poetry -which becomes them, the murmur of streams, the pendant willow-tresses, -the frail and humid flowers of the country, so like themselves: - - -"The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor -The azure harebell, like thy veins; no, nor -The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, -Out-sweeten'd not thy breath."[503] - - -They make them sweet, like the south wind, which with its gentle breath -causes the violets to bend their heads, abashed at the slightest -reproach, already half bowed down by a tender and dreamy -melancholy.[504] Philaster, speaking of Euphrasia, whom he takes to be a -page, and who has disguised herself in order to be near him, says: - - -"Hunting the buck, -I found him sitting by a fountain-side, -Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, -And paid the nymph again as much in tears. -A garland lay him by, made by himself, -Of many several flowers, bred in the bay, -Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness -Delighted me: But ever when he turn'd -His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, -As if he meant to make 'em grow again. -Seeing such pretty helpless innocence -Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story. -He told me, that his parents gentle dy'd, -Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, -Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs, -Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, -Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light. -Then he took up his garland, and did shew -What every flower, as country people hold, -Did signify; and how all, order'd thus, -Express'd his grief: And, to my thoughts, did read -The prettiest lecture of his country art -That could be wish'd.... I gladly entertain'd him, -Who was as glad to follow; and have got -The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy -That ever master kept."[505] - - -The idyl is self-produced among these human flowers: the dramatic action -is stopped before the angelic sweetness of their tenderness and modesty. -Sometimes even the idyl is born com plete and pure, and the whole -theatre is occupied by a sentimental and poetical kind of opera. There -are two or three such plays in Shakespeare; in rude Jonson, "The Sad -Shepherd"; in Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess." Ridiculous titles -nowadays, for they remind us of the interminable platitudes of d'Urfé, -or the affected conceits of Florian; charming titles, if we note the -sincere and overflowing poetry which they contain. Amoret, the faithful -shepherdess, lives in an imaginary country, full of old gods, yet -English, like the dewy verdant landscapes in which Rubens sets his -nymphs dancing: - - -"Thro' yon same bending plain -That flings his arms down to the main, -And thro' these thick woods, have I run, -Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun -Since the lusty spring began."... - -"For to that holy wood is consecrate -A virtuous well, about whose flow'ry banks -The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds, -By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes -Their stolen children, so to make them free -From dying flesh, and dull mortality...[506] - -"See the dew-drops, how they kiss -Ev'ry little flower that is; -Hanging on their velvet heads, -Like a rope of christal beads. -See the heavy clouds low falling, -And bright Hesperus down calling -The dead Night from underground."[507] - - -These are the plants and the aspects of the ever fresh English country, -now enveloped in a pale diaphanous mist, now glistening under the -absorbing sun, teeming with grasses so full of sap, so delicate, that in -the midst of their most brilliant splendor and their most luxuriant -life, we feel that to-morrow will wither them. There, on a summer night, -the young men and girls, after their custom,[508] go to gather flowers -and plight their troth. Amoret and Perigot are together; Amoret, - - -"Fairer far -Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star -That guides the wand'ring seaman thro' the deep," - - -modest like a virgin, and tender as a wife, says to Perigot: - - -"I do believe thee: 'Tis as hard for me -To think thee false, and harder, than for thee -To hold me foul."[509] - - -Strongly as she is tried, her heart, once given, never draws back. -Perigot, deceived, driven to despair, persuaded that she is unchaste, -strikes her with his sword, and casts her bleeding to the ground. The -"sullen shepherd" throws her into a well; but the god lets fall "a drop -from his watery locks" into the wound; the chaste flesh closes at the -touch of the divine water, and the maiden, recovering, goes once more in -search of him she loves: - - -"Speak, if thou be here, -My Perigot! Thy Amoret, thy dear, -Calls on thy loved name.... 'Tis thy friend, -Thy Amoret; come hither, to give end -To these consumings. Look up, gentle boy, -I have forgot those pains and dear annoy -I suffer'd for thy sake, and am content -To be thy love again. Why hast thou rent -Those curled locks, where I have often hung -Ribbons, and damask-roses, and have flung -Waters distill'd to make thee fresh and gay, -Sweeter than nosegays on a bridal day? -Why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face -Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace, -From those two little Heav'ns, upon the ground, -Show'rs of more price, more orient, and more round, -Than those that hang upon the moon's pale brow? -Cease these complainings, shepherd! I am now -The same I ever was, as kind and free, -And can forgive before you ask of me: -Indeed, I can and will."[510] - - -Who could resist her sweet and sad smile? Still deceived, Perigot wounds -her again; she falls, but without anger. - - -"So this work hath end! -Farewell, and live! be constant to thy friend -That loves thee next."[511] - - -A nymph cures her, and at last Perigot, disabused, comes and throws -himself on his knees before her. She stretches out her arms; in spite of -all that he had done, she was not changed: - - -"I am thy love, -Thy Amoret, for evermore thy love! -Strike once more on my naked breast, I'll prove -As constant still. Oh, could'st thou love me yet, -How soon could I my former griefs forget!"[512] - - -Such are the touching and poetical figures which these poets introduce -in their dramas, or in connection with their dramas, amidst murders, -assassinations, the clash of swords, the howl of slaughter, striving -against the raging men who adore or torment them, like them carried to -excess, transported by their tenderness as the others by their violence; -it is a complete exposition, as well as a perfect opposition of the -feminine instinct ending in excessive self-abandonment, and of masculine -harshness ending in murderous inflexibility. Thus built up and thus -provided, the drama of the age was enabled to bring out the inner depths -of man, and to set in motion the most powerful human emotions; to bring -upon the stage Hamlet and Lear, Ophelia and Cordelia, the death of -Desdemona and the butcheries of Macbeth. - - - - -[Footnote 393: "The very age and body of the time, his form and -pressure."--Shakespeare.] - -[Footnote 394: Ben Jonson, "Every Man in his Humour"; "Cynthia's Revels."] - -[Footnote 395: "The Defence of Poesie," ed. 1629, p. 562.] - -[Footnote 396: "Winter's Tale, Cymbeline, Julius Cæsar."] - -[Footnote 397: Strype, in his "Annals of the Reformation" (1571), -says: "Many now were wholly departed from the communion of the church, -and came no more to hear divine service in their parish churches, nor -received the holy sacrament, according to the laws of the realm." -Richard Baxter, in his "Life," published in 1696, says: "We lived in -a country that had but little preaching at all.... In the village -where I lived the Reader read the Common Prayer briefly; and the rest -of the day, even till dark night almost, except Eating time, was spent -in Dancing under a Maypole ana a great tree, not far from my father's -door, where all the Town did meet together. And though one of my father's -own Tenants was the piper, he could not restrain him nor break the -sport. So that we could not read the Scripture in our family without -the great disturbance of the Taber and Pipe and noise in the street."] - -[Footnote 398: Ben Jonson, "Every Man in his Humour."] - -[Footnote 399: "The Chronicle" of John Hardyng (1436), ed. H. Ellis, -1812, Preface.] - -[Footnote 400: Act IV. sc. 2 and 4. See also the character of Calypso -in Massinger; Putana in Ford; Protalyce in Beaumont and Fletcher.] - -[Footnote 401: Middleton, "Dutch Courtezan."] - -[Footnote 402: Commission given by Henry VIII to the Earl of Hertford, -1544: "You are there to put all to fire and sword; to burn Edinburgh -town, and to raze and deface it, when you have sacked it, and gotten -what you can out of it.... Do what you can out of hand, and without -long tarrying, to beat down and overthrow the castle, sack Holyrood-House, -and as many towns and villages about Edinburgh as ye conveniently can; -sack Leith, and burn and subvert it, and all the rest, putting man, -woman, and child to fire and sword, without exception, when any resistance -shall be made against you; and this done, pass over to the Fife land, -and extend like extremities and destructions in all towns and villages -whereunto ye may reach conveniently, not forgetting amongst all the rest, -so to spoil and turn upside down the cardinal's town of St. Andrew's, -as the upper stone may be the nether, and not one stick stand by another, -sparing no creature alive within the same, specially such as either in -friendship or blood be allied to the cardinal. This journey shall -succeed most to his majesty's honour."] - -[Footnote 403: Laneham, "A Goodly Relief."] - -[Footnote 404: February 13, 1587. Nathan Drake, "Shakspeare and his -Times," II. p. 165. See also the same work for all these details.] - -[Footnote 405: Essex, when struck by the queen, put his hand on the -hilt of his sword.] - -[Footnote 406: A page in the "Mariage de Figaro," a comedy by -Beaumarchais.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 407: The great Chancellor Burleigh often wept, so harshly -was he used by Elizabeth.] - -[Footnote 408: Compare, to understand this character, the parts assigned -to James Harlowe by Richardson, old Osborne by Thackeray, Sir Giles -Overreach by Massinger, and Manly by Wycherley.] - -[Footnote 409: Hentzner's "Travels"; Benvenuto Cellini. See passim, -the costumes printed in Venice and Germany: "Belicosissimi." Froude, -I. pp. 19, 52.] - -[Footnote 410: This is not so true of the English now, if it was in -the sixteenth century, as it is of Continental nations. The French -lycées are far more military in character than English schools.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 411: Froude's "History of England," vols. I. II. III.] - -[Footnote 412: "When his heart was torn out he uttered a deep -groan."--"Execution of Parry;" Strype, III. 251.] - -[Footnote 413: Holinshed, "Chronicles of England," III. p. 793.] - -[Footnote 414: Holinshed, "Chronicles of England," III, p. 797.] - -[Footnote 415: Under Henry IV and Henry V.] - -[Footnote 416: Froude, I. 15.] - -[Footnote 417: In 1547.] - -[Footnote 418: In 1596.] - -[Footnote 419: Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure," Act III. I. See -also "The Tempest, Hamlet, Macbeth."] - -[Footnote 420: "We are such stuff -As dreams are made on, and our little life -Is rounded with a sleep."--"Tempest," IV. I.] - -[Footnote 421: Beaumont and Fletcher, "Thierry and Theodoret," Act IV. I.] - -[Footnote 422: Αιεηονήθη δ’ ὲν παισὶ καὶ περὶ παλαΐστραν καὶ μουσικὴν, -ὲξ ὼν ὰμφοτέοων ὲστέφανώθη... Φιλαθηναιότατος καὶ θεοφιλής.--Scholiast.] - -[Footnote 423: Except Beaumont and Fletcher.] - -[Footnote 424: Hartley Coleridge, in his "Introduction to the -Dramatic Works of Massinger and Ford," says of Massinger's father: -"We are not certified of the situation which he held in the noble -house-hold (Earl of Pembroke), but we may be sure that it was neither -menial nor mean. Service in those days was not derogatory to gentle -birth."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 425: See, amongst others, "The Woman Killed with Kindness," by -Heywood. Mrs. Frankfort, so upright of heart, accepts Wendoll at his -first offer. Sir Francis Acton, at the sight of her whom he wishes to -dishonor, and whom he hates, falls "into an ecstasy," and dreams of -nothing save marriage. Compare the sudden transport of Juliet, Romeo, -Macbeth, Miranda, etc.; the counsel of Prospero to Fernando, when he -leaves him alone for a moment with Miranda.] - -[Footnote 426: Compare "La Vie de Bohême" and "Les Nuits d'Hiver," by -Murger; "Confession d'un Enfant du Siècle," by A. de Musset.] - -[Footnote 427: The hero of one of Alfred de Musset's poems.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 428: Burnt in 1589.] - -[Footnote 429: I have used Marlowe's Works, ed. Dyce, 3 vols. 1850. -Append, I. vol. 3.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 430: See especially "Titus Andronicus," attributed to -Shakespeare: there are parricides, mothers whom they cause to -eat their children, a young girl who appears on the stage violated, -with her tongue and hands cut off.] - -[Footnote 431: The chief character in Schiller's "Robbers," a -virtuous brigand and redresser of wrongs.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 432: For in a field, whose superficies -Is cover'd with a liquid purple veil, -And sprinkled with the brains of slaughter'd men. -My royal chair of state shall be advanc'd; -And he that means to place himself therein, -Must armed wade up to the chin in blood.... -And I would strive to swim through pools of blood, -Or make a bridge of murder'd carcasses, -Whose arches should be fram'd with bones of Turks -Ere I would lose the title of a king.--"Tamburlaine," part II. I. 3.] - -[Footnote 433: The editor of Marlowe's Works, Pickering, 1826, says in -his Introduction: "Both the matter and style of 'Tamburlaine,' however, -differ materially from Marlowe's other compositions, and doubts have -more than once been suggested as to whether the play was properly -assigned to him. We think that Marlowe did not write it." Dyce is of -a contrary opinion.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 434: Marlowe's "The Jew of Malta," II. p. 275 et passim.] - -[Footnote 435: Ibid. IV. p. 311.] - -[Footnote 436: Ibid. III. p. 291.] - -[Footnote 437: Ibid. IV. p. 313.] - -[Footnote 438: Up to this time, in England, poisoners were cast into -a boiling caldron.] - -[Footnote 439: In the Museum of Ghent.] - -[Footnote 440: See in the "Jew of Malta" the seduction of Ithamore, -by Bellamira, a rough, but truly admirable picture.] - -[Footnote 441: Nothing could be falser than the hesitation and arguments -of Schiller's "William Tell"; for a contrast, see Goethe's "Goetz von -Berlichingen." In 1377, Wycliff pleaded in St. Paul's before the bishop -of London, and that raised a quarrel. The Duke of Lancaster, Wycliff's -protector, "threatened to drag the bishop out of the church by the hair"; -and next day the furious crowd sacked the duke's palace.] - -[Footnote 442: Marlowe, "Edward the Second," I. p. 173.] - -[Footnote 443: Ibid. p. 186.] - -[Footnote 444: Ibid. p. 188.] - -[Footnote 445: Marlowe, "Edward the Second," last scene, p. 288.] - -[Footnote 446: Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," I. p. 9 et passim.] - -[Footnote 447: Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," I. pp. 22, 29.] - -[Footnote 448: Ibid. p. 43.] - -[Footnote 449: Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," I. p. 37.] - -[Footnote 450: Ibid. p. 75.] - -[Footnote 451: Ibid. p. 78.] - -[Footnote 452: Marlowe "Doctor Faustus," I. p. 80.] - -[Footnote 453: See the trial of Vittoria Corombona, of Virginia in -Webster, of Coriolanus and Julius Cæsar in Shakespeare.] - -[Footnote 454: Falstaff in Shakespeare; the queen in "London," by -Greene and Decker; Rosalind in Shakespeare.] - -[Footnote 455: In Webster's "Duchess of Malfi" there is an admirable -accouchement scene.] - -[Footnote 456: This is, in fact, the English view of the French mind, -which is doubtless a refinement, many times refined, of the classical -spirit. But M. Taine has seemingly not taken into account such -products as the Medea on the one hand, and the works of Aristophanes -and the Latin sensualists on the other.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 457: See Hamlet, Coriolanus, Hotspur. The queen in -"Hamlet" (v. 2) says: "He (Hamlet) is fat, and scant of breath."] - -[Footnote 458: Middleton, "The Honest Whore," part I. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 459: Beaumont and Fletcher, "Valentinian, Thierry and -Theodoret." See Massinger's "Picture," which resembles Musset's -"Barberine." Its crudity, the extraordinary repulsive energy, will -show the difference of the two ages.] - -[Footnote 460: Massinger's Works, ed. H. Coleridge, 1859, "Duke of -Milan," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 461: Ibid. V. 2.] - -[Footnote 462: Massinger, "The Fatal Dowry"; Webster and Ford, "A -late Murther of the Sonne upon the Mother" (a play not extant); "'Tis -pity she's a Whore." See also Ford's "Broken Heart," with its sublime -scenes of agony and madness.] - -[Footnote 463: Ford's Works, ed. H. Coleridge, 1859.] - -[Footnote 464: Ibid. IV. 3.] - -[Footnote 465: Ford's Works, ed. H. Coleridge, 1859, IV. 3.] - -[Footnote 466: Ibid. IV. 3.] - -[Footnote 467: Ibid. V. 5.] - -[Footnote 468: Ibid. V. 6.] - -[Footnote 469: Webster's Works, ed. Dyce, 1857, "Duchess of Malfi," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 470: The characters of Bosola, Flaminio.] - -[Footnote 471: See Stendhal, "Chronicles of Italy, The Cenci, The -Duchess of Palliano," and all the biographies of the time; of the Borgias, -of Bianca Capello, of Vittoria Corombona.] - -[Footnote 472: Ferdinand, one of the brothers, says (II. 5): -"I would have their bodies -Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd, -That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven; -Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur, -Wrap them in't, and then light them as a match; -Or else to boil their bastard to a cullis, -And give't his lecherous father to renew -The sin of his back."] - -[Footnote 473: "Duchess of Malfi," IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 474: Ibid. IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 475: "Duchess of Malfi," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 476: "When," an exclamation of impatience, equivalent to -"make haste," very common among the old English dramatists.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 477: "Duchess of Malfi," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 478: Ibid. V. 5.] - -[Footnote 479: Ibid. V. 4 and 5.] - -[Footnote 480: "Vittoria Corombona," I. 2.] - -[Footnote 481: Webster Dyce, 1857, "Vittoria Corombona," p. 20, 21.] - -[Footnote 482: Ibid. III. 2, p. 23.] - -[Footnote 483: "Vittoria Corombona," III. 2, p. 24.] - -[Footnote 484: Compare Mme. Marneffe in Balzac's "La Cousine Bette."] - -[Footnote 485: "Vittoria Corombona," V. last scene, pp. 49, 50.] - -[Footnote 486: Hence the happiness and strength of the marriage tie. In -France it is but an association of two comrades, tolerably alike and -tolerably equal, which gives rise to endless disturbance and bickering.] - -[Footnote 487: See the representation of this character throughout English -and German literature. Stendhal, an acute observer, saturated with -Italian and French morals and ideas, is astonished at this phenomenon. -He understands nothing of this kind of devotion, "this slavery which -English husbands have had the wit to impose on their wives under the -name of duty." These are "the manners of a seraglio." See also "Corinne," -by Mme de Staël.] - -[Footnote 488: A perfect woman already: meek and patient.--Heywood.] - -[Footnote 489: See, by way of contrast, all Molière's women, so French; -even Agnes and little Louison.] - -[Footnote 490: Beaumont and Fletcher, Works, ed. G. Colman, 3 vols. 1811, -"Philaster", V.] - -[Footnote 491: Like Kaled in Byron's "Lara."] - -[Footnote 492: "Philaster," IV.] - -[Footnote 493: Ibid. V.] - -[Footnote 494: Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Fair Maid of the Inn," IV.] - -[Footnote 495: Beaumont and Fletcher, "Thierry and Theodoret, The Maid's -Tragedy, Philaster." See also the part of Lucina in "Valentinian."] - -[Footnote 496: "Thierry and Theodoret," IV, 1.] - -[Footnote 497: Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Maid's Tragedy," I.] - -[Footnote 498: Pauline says, in Corneille's "Polyeucte" (III. 2): -"Avant qu'abandonner mon âme à mes douleurs, -Il me faut essayer la force de mes pleurs; -En qualité de femme ou de fille, j'espère -Qu'ils vaincront un époux, ou fléchiront un père. -Que si sur l'un et l'autre ils manquent de pouvoir, -Je ne prendrai conseil que de mon désespoir. -Apprends-moi cependant ce qu'ils ont fait au temple." - -We could not find a more reasonably and reasoning woman. So with Éliante, -and Henrietta in Molière.] - -[Footnote 499: Ford's "Broken Heart," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 500: Ibid. 5.] - -[Footnote 501: Ford's "Broken Heart," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 502: Schopenhauer, "Metaphysics of Love and Death." Swift -also said that death and love are the two things in which man is -fundamentally irrational. In fact, it is the species and the instinct -which are displayed in them, not the will and the individual.] - -[Footnote 503: "Cymbeline," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 504: The death of Ophelia, the obsequies of Imogen.] - -[Footnote 505: "Philaster," I.] - -[Footnote 506: Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess," I.] - -[Footnote 507: Ibid, II.] - -[Footnote 508: See the description in Nathan Drake, "Shakspeare and his -Times."] - -[Footnote 509: Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess," I.] - -[Footnote 510: Ibid. IV.] - -[Footnote 511: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 512: Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess," V. -Compare, as an illustration of the contrast of races, the Italian -pastorals, Tasso's "Aminta," Guarini's "Il Pastor fido," etc.] - - - - -CHAPTER THIRD - - -Ben Jonson - - -SECTION I.--The Man--His Life - - -When a new civilization brings a new art to light, there are about a -dozen men of talent who partly express the general idea, surrounding one -or two men of genius who express it thoroughly. Guillen de Castro, Perez -de Montalvan, Tirzo de Molina, Ruiz de Alarcon, Agustin Moreto, -surrounding Calderon and Lope de Vega; Crayer, Van Oost, Rombouts, Van -Thulden, Vandyke, Honthorst, surrounding Rubens; Ford, Marlowe, -Massinger, Webster, Beaumont, Fletcher, surrounding Shakespeare and Ben -Jonson. The first constitute the chorus, the others are the leading men. -They sing the same piece together, and at times the chorist is equal to -the solo artist; but only at times. Thus, in the dramas which I have -just referred to, the poet occasionally reaches the summit of his art, -hits upon a complete character, a burst of sublime passion; then he -falls back, gropes amid qualified successes, rough sketches, feeble -imitations, and at last takes refuge in the tricks of his trade. It is -not in him, but in great men like Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, that we -must look for the attainment of his idea and the fulness of his art. -"Numerous were the wit-combats," says Fuller, "betwixt him (Shakespeare) -and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an -English man-of-war. Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher -in learning; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare, with the -English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn -with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the -quickness of his wit and invention."[513] Such was Ben Jonson physically -and morally, and his portraits do but confirm this just and animated -outline: a vigorous, heavy, and uncouth person; a broad and long face, -early disfigured by scurvy, a square jaw, large cheeks; his animal -organs as much developed as those of his intellect: the sour aspect of a -man in a passion or on the verge of a passion; to which add the body of -an athlete, about forty years of age, "mountain belly, ungracious gait." -Such was the outside, and the inside is like it. He was a genuine -Englishman, big and coarsely framed, energetic, combative, proud, often -morose, and prone to strange splenetic imaginations. He told Drummond -that for a whole night he imagined "that he saw the Carthaginians and -Romans fighting on his great toe."[514] Not that he is melancholic by -nature; on the contrary, he loves to escape from himself by free and -noisy, unbridled merriment, by copious and varied converse, assisted by -good Canary wine, which he imbibes, and which ends by becoming a -necessity to him. These great phlegmatic butchers' frames require a -generous liquor to give them a tone, and to supply the place of the sun -which they lack. Expansive moreover, hospitable, even lavish, with a -frank imprudent spirit,[515] making him forget himself wholly before -Drummond, his Scotch host, an over-rigid and malicious pedant, who has -marred his ideas and vilified his character.[516] What we know of his -life is in harmony with his person; he suffered much, fought much, dared -much. He was studying at Cambridge, when his stepfather, a bricklayer, -recalled him, and taught him to use the trowel. He ran away, enlisted as -a common soldier, and served in the English army, at that time engaged -against the Spaniards in the Low Countries, killed and despoiled a man -in single combat, "in the view of both armies." He was a man of bodily -action, and he exercised his limbs in early life.[517] On his return to -England, at the age of nineteen, he went on the stage for his -livelihood, and occupied himself also in touching up dramas. Having been -challenged, he fought a duel, was seriously wounded, but killed his -adversary; for this he was cast into prison, and found himself "nigh the -gallows." A Catholic priest visited and converted him; quitting his -prison penniless, at twenty years of age, he married. At last, four -years later, his first successful play was acted. Children came, he must -earn bread for them; and he was not inclined to follow the beaten track -to the end, being persuaded that a fine philosophy--a special nobleness -and dignity—ought to be introduced into comedy--that it was necessary -to follow the example of the ancients, to imitate their severity and -their accuracy, to be above the theatrical racket and the common -improbabilities in which the vulgar delighted. He openly proclaimed his -intention in his prefaces, sharply railed at his rivals, proudly set -forth on the stage[518] his doctrines, his morality, his character. He -thus made bitter enemies, who defamed him outrageously and before their -audiences, whom he exasperated by the violence of his satires, and -against whom he struggled without intermission to the end. He did more, -he constituted himself a judge of the public corruption, sharply -attacked the reigning vices, "fearing no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's -stab."[519] He treated his hearers like schoolboys, and spoke to them -always like a censor and a master. If necessary, he ventured further. -His companions, Marston and Chapman, had been committed to prison for -some reflections on the Scotch in one of their pieces called -"Eastward-Hoe"; and the report spreading that they were in danger of -losing their noses and ears, Jonson, who had written part of the piece, -voluntarily surrendered himself a prisoner, and obtained their pardon. -On his return, amid the feasting and rejoicing, his mother showed him a -violent poison which she intended to put into his drink, to save him -from the execution of the sentence; and "to show that she was not a -coward," adds Jonson, "she had resolved to drink first." We see that in -vigorous actions he found examples in his own family. Toward the end of -his life, money was scarce with him; he was liberal, improvident; his -pockets always had holes in them, and his hand was always ready to give; -though he had written a vast quantity, he was still obliged to write in -order to live. Paralysis came on, his scurvy became worse, dropsy set -in. He could not leave his room, nor walk without assistance. His last -plays did not succeed. In the epilogue to the "New Inn" he says: - - -"If you expect more than you had to-night, -The maker is sick and sad.... -All that his faint and fait'ring tongue doth crave, -Is, that you not impute it to his brain, -That's yet unhurt, altho, set round with pain, -It cannot long hold out." - - -His enemies brutally insulted him: - - -"Thy Pegasus... -He had bequeathed his belly unto thee, -To hold that little learning which is fled -Into thy guts from out thy emptye head." - - -Inigo Jones, his colleague, deprived him of the patronage of the court. -He was obliged to beg a supply of money from the Lord Treasurer, then -from the Earl of Newcastle: - - -"Disease, the enemy, and his engineers, -Want, with the rest of his concealed compeers, -Have cast a trench about me, now five years.... -The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days; -But lies blocked up and straitened, narrowed in, -Fixed to the bed and boards, unlike to win -Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been."[520] - - -His wife and children were dead; he lived alone, forsaken, waited on by -an old woman. Thus almost always sadly and miserably is dragged out and -ends the last act of the human comedy. After so many years, after so -many sustained efforts, amid so much glory and genius, we find a poor -shattered body, drivelling and suffering, between a servant and a -priest. - - - - -SECTION II.--His Freedom and Precision of Style - - -This is the life of a combatant, bravely endured, worthy of the -seventeenth century by its crosses and its energy; courage and force -abounded throughout. Few writers have labored more, and more -conscientiously; his knowledge was vast, and in this age of eminent -scholars he was one of the best classics of his time, as deep as he was -accurate and thorough, having studied the most minute details and -understood the true spirit of ancient life. It was not enough for him to -have stored his mind from the best writers, to have their whole works -continually in his mind, to scatter his pages whether he would or no, -with recollections of them. He dug into the orators, critics, -scholiasts, grammarians, and compilers of inferior rank; he picked up -stray fragments; he took characters, jokes, refinements, from Athenæus, -Libanius, Philostratus. He had so well entered into and digested the -Greek and Latin ideas, that they were incorporated with his own. They -enter into his speech without incongruity; they spring forth in him as -vigorous as at their first birth; he originates even when he remembers. -On every subject he had this thirst for knowledge, and this gift of -mastering knowledge. He knew alchemy when he wrote the "Alchemist." He -is familiar with alembics, retorts, receivers, as if he had passed his -life seeking after the philosopher's stone. He explains incineration, -calcination, imbibition, rectification, reverberation, as well as -Agrippa and Paracelsus. If he speaks of cosmetics,[521] he brings out a -shopful of them; we might make out of his plays a dictionary of the -oaths and costumes of courtiers; he seems to have a specialty in all -branches. A still greater proof of his force is, that his learning in no -wise mars his vigor; heavy as is the mass with which he loads himself, -he carries it without stooping. This wonderful mass of reading and -observation suddenly begins to move, and falls like a mountain on the -overwhelmed reader. We must hear Sir Epicure Mammon unfold the vision of -splendors and debauchery, in which he means to plunge, when he has -learned to make gold. The refined and unchecked impurities of the Roman -decadence, the splendid obscenities of Heliogabalus, the gigantic -fancies of luxury and lewdness, tables of gold spread with foreign -dainties, draughts of dissolved pearls, nature devastated to provide a -single dish, the many crimes committed by sensuality against nature, -reason, and justice, the delight in defying and outraging law--all -these images pass before the eyes with the dash of a torrent and the -force of a great river. Phrase follows phrase without intermission, -ideas and facts crowd into the dialogue to paint a situation, to give -clearness to a character, produced from this deep memory, directed by -this solid logic, launched by this powerful reflection. It is a pleasure -to see him advance weighted with so many observations and recollections, -loaded with technical details and learned reminiscences, without -deviation or pause, a genuine literary Leviathan, like the war elephants -which used to bear towers, men, weapons, machines, on their backs, and -ran as swiftly with their freight as a nimble steed. - -In the great dash of this heavy attempt, he finds a path which suits -him. He has his style. Classical erudition and education made him a -classic, and he writes like his Greek models and his Roman masters. The -more we study the Latin races and literatures in contrast with the -Teutonic, the more fully we become convinced that the proper and -distinctive gift of the first is the art of development; that is, of -drawing up ideas in continuous rows, according to the rules of rhetoric -and eloquence, by studied transitions, with regular progress, without -shock or bounds. Jonson received from his acquaintance with the ancients -the habit of decomposing ideas, unfolding them bit by bit in natural -order, making himself understood and believed. From the first thought to -the final conclusion, he conducts the reader by a continuous and uniform -ascent. The track never fails with him as with Shakespeare. He does not -advance like the rest by abrupt intuitions, but by consecutive -deductions; we can walk with him without need of bounding, and we are -continually kept upon the straight path: antithesis of words unfolds -antithesis of thoughts; symmetrical phrases guide the mind through -difficult ideas; they are like barriers set on either side of the road -to prevent our falling into the ditch. We do not meet on our way -extraordinary, sudden, gorgeous images, which might dazzle or delay us; -we travel on, enlightened by moderate and sustained metaphors. Jonson -has all the methods of Latin art; even, when he wishes it, especially on -Latin subjects, he has the last and most erudite, the brilliant -conciseness of Seneca and Lucan, the squared, equipoised, filed-off -antithesis, the most happy and studied artifices of oratorical -architecture.[522] Other poets are nearly visionaries; Jonson is almost -a logician. - -Hence his talent, his successes, and his faults: if he has a better -style and better plots than the others, he is not, like them, a creator -of souls. He is too much of a theorist, too preoccupied by rules. His -argumentative habits spoil him when he seeks to shape and motion -complete and living men. No one is capable of fashioning these unless he -possesses, like Shakespeare, the imagination of a seer. The human being -is so complex that the logician who perceives his different elements in -succession can hardly study them all, much less gather them all in one -flash, so as to produce the dramatic response or action in which they -are concentrated and which should manifest them. To discover such -actions and responses, we need a kind of inspiration and fever. Then the -mind works as in a dream. The characters move within the poet, almost -involuntarily: he waits for them to speak, he remains motionless, -hearing their voices, wholly wrapt in contemplation, in order that he -may not disturb the inner drama which they are about to act in his soul. -That is his artifice: to let them alone. He is quite astonished at their -discourse; as he observes them he forgets that it is he who invents -them. Their mood, character, education, disposition of mind, situation, -attitude, and actions, form within him so well-connected a whole, and so -readily unite into palpable and solid beings, that he dares not -attribute to his reflection or reasoning a creation so vast and speedy. -Beings are organized in him as in nature; that is, of themselves, and by -a force which the combinations of his art could not replace.[523] Jonson -has nothing wherewith to replace it but these combinations of art. He -chooses a general idea--cunning, folly, severity--and makes a person out -of it. This person is called Crites, Asper, Sordido, Deliro, Pecunia, -Subtil, and the transparent name indicates the logical process which -produced it. The poet took an abstract quality, and putting together all -the actions to which it may give rise, trots it out on the stage in a -man's dress. His characters, like those of La Bruyère and Theophrastus, -were hammered out of solid deductions. Now it is a vice selected from -the catalogue of moral philosophy, sensuality thirsting for gold: this -perverse double inclination becomes a personage, Sir Epicure Mammon; -before the alchemist, before the famulus, before his friend, before his -mistress, in public or alone, all his words denote a greed of pleasure -and of gold, and they express nothing more.[524] Now it is a mania -gathered from the old sophists, a babbling with horror of noise; this -form of mental pathology becomes a personage, Morose; the poet has the -air of a doctor who has undertaken to record exactly all the desires of -speech, all the necessities of silence, and to record nothing else. Now -he picks out a ridicule, an affectation, a species of folly, from the -manners of the dandies and the courtiers; a mode of swearing, an -extravagant style, a habit of gesticulating, or any other oddity -contracted by vanity or fashion. The hero whom he covers with these -eccentricities is overloaded by them. He disappears beneath his enormous -trappings; he drags them about with him everywhere; he cannot get rid of -them for an instant. We no longer see the man under the dress; he is -like a manikin, oppressed under a cloak, too heavy for him. Sometimes, -doubtless, his habits of geometrical construction produce personages -almost life-like. Bobadil, the grave boaster; Captain Tucca, the begging -bully, inventive buffoon, ridiculous talker; Amorphus the traveller, a -pedantic doctor of good manners, laden with eccentric phrases, create as -much illusion as we can wish; but it is because they are flitting -comicalities and low characters. It is not necessary for a poet to study -such creatures; it is enough that he discovers in them three or four -leading features; it is of little consequence if they always present -themselves with the same attitudes; they produce laughter, like the -Countess d'Escarbagans or any of the Fâcheux in Molière; we want -nothing else of them. On the contrary, the others weary and repel us. -They are stage-masks, not living figures. Having acquired a fixed -expression, they persist to the end of the piece in their unvarying -grimace or their eternal frown. A man is not an abstract passion. He -stamps the vices and virtues which he possesses with his individual -mark. These vices and virtues receive, on entering into him, a bent and -form which they have not in others. No one is unmixed sensuality. Take a -thousand sensualists, and you will find a thousand different modes of -sensuality; for there are a thousand paths, a thousand circumstances and -degrees, in sensuality. If Jonson wanted to make Sir Epicure Mammon a -real being, he should have given him the kind of disposition, the -species of education, the manner of imagination, which produce -sensuality. When we wish to construct a man, we must dig down to the -foundations of mankind; that is, we must define to ourselves the -structure of his bodily machine, and the primitive gait of his mind. -Jonson has not dug sufficiently deep, and his constructions are -incomplete; he has built on the surface, and he has built but a single -story. He was not acquainted with the whole man and he ignored man's -basis; he put on the stage and gave a representation of moral treatises, -fragments of history, scraps of satire; he did not stamp new beings on -the imagination of mankind. - -He possesses all other gifts, and in particular the classical; first of -all, the talent for composition. For the first time we see a connected, -well-contrived plot, a complete intrigue, with its beginning, middle, -and end; subordinate actions well arranged, well combined; an interest -which grows and never flags; a leading truth which all the events tend -to demonstrate; a ruling idea which all the characters unite to -illustrate; in short, an art like that which Molière and Racine were -about to apply and teach. He does not, like Shakespeare, take a novel -from Greene, a chronicle from Holinshed, a life from Plutarch, such as -they are, to cut them into scenes, irrespective of likelihood, -indifferent as to order and unity, caring only to set up men, at times -wandering into poetic reveries, at need finishing up the piece abruptly -with a recognition or a butchery. He governs himself and his characters; -he wills and he knows all that they do, and all that he does. But beyond -his habits of Latin regularity, he possesses the great faculty of his -age and race--the sentiment of nature and existence, the exact knowledge -of precise detail, the power in frankly and boldly handling frank -passions. This gift is not wanting in any writer of the time; they do -not fear words that are true, shocking, and striking details of the -bedchamber or medical study; the prudery of modern England and the -refinement of monarchical France veil not the nudity of their figures, -or dim the coloring of their pictures. They live freely, amply, amidst -living things; they see the ins and outs of lust raging without any -feeling of shame, hypocrisy, or palliation; and they exhibit it as they -see it, Jonson as boldly as the rest, occasionally more boldly than the -rest, strengthened as he is by the vigor and ruggedness of his athletic -temperament, by the extraordinary exactness and abundance of his -observations and his knowledge. Add also his moral loftiness, his -asperity, his powerful chiding wrath, exasperated and bitter against -vice, his will strengthened by pride and by conscience: - - -"With an armed and resolved hand, -I'll strip the ragged follies of the time -Naked as at their birth... and with a whip of steel, -Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs. -I fear no mood stampt in a private brow, -When I am pleas'd t' unmask a public vice. -I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab, -Should I detect their hateful luxuries;"[525] - - -above all, a scorn of base compliance, an open disdain for - - -"Those jaded wits -That run a broken pace for common hire,"[526] - - -an enthusiasm, or deep love of - - -"A happy muse, -Borne on the wings of her immortal thought, -That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel, -And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs."[527] - - -Such are the energies which he brought to the drama and to comedy; they -were great enough to insure him a high and separate position. - - - - -SECTION III.--The Dramas Catiline and Sejanus - - -For whatever Jonson undertakes, whatever be his faults, haughtiness, -rough-handling, predilection for morality and the past, antiquarian and -censorious instincts, he is never little or dull. It signifies nothing -that in his latinized tragedies, "Sejanus, Catiline," he is fettered -by the worship of the old worn models of the Roman decadence; nothing -that he plays the scholar, manufactures Ciceronian harangues, hauls in -choruses imitated from Seneca, holds forth in the style of Lucan and the -rhetors of the empire; he more than once attains a genuine accent; -through his pedantry, heaviness, literary adoration of the ancients, -nature forces its way; he lights, at his first attempt, on the -crudities, horrors, gigantic lewdness, shameless depravity of imperial -Rome; he takes in hand and sets in motion the lusts and ferocities, the -passions of courtesans and princesses, the daring of assassins and of -great men, which produced Messalina, Agrippina, Catiline, Tiberius.[528] -In the Rome which he places before us we go boldly and straight to the -end; justice and pity oppose no barriers. Amid these customs of victors -and slaves, human nature is upset, corruption and villainy are held as -proofs of insight and energy. Observe how, in "Sejanus," assassination -is plotted and carried out with marvellous coolness. Livia discusses -with Sejanus the methods of poisoning her husband, in a clear style, -without circumlocution, as if the subject were how to gain a lawsuit or -to serve up a dinner. There are no equivocations, no hesitation, no -remorse in the Rome of Tiberius. Glory and virtue consist in power; -scruples are for base minds; the mark of a lofty heart is to desire all -and to dare all. Macro says rightly: - - -"Men's fortune there is virtue; reason their will; -Their license, law; and their observance, skill. -Occasion is their foil; conscience, their stain; -Profit, their lustre; and what else is, vain."[529] - - -Sejanus addresses Livia thus: - - -"Royal lady,... -Yet, now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength, -Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means -To your own good and greatness, I protest -Myself through rarified, and turn'd all aflame -In your affection."[530] - - -These are the loves of the wolf and his mate; he praises her for being -so ready to kill. And observe in one moment the morals of a prostitute -appear behind the manners of the poisoner. Sejanus goes out, and -immediately, like a courtesan, Livia turns to her physician, saying: - - -"How do I look to-day? -_Eudemus._ Excellent clear, believe it. This same fucus -Was well laid on. -_Livia._ Methinks 'tis here not white. -_E._ Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun -Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse, -You should have us'd of the white oil I gave you. -Sejanus, for your love! His very name -Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts.... -[_Paints her cheeks._] -"'Tis now well, lady, you should -Use of the dentrifice I prescrib'd you too, -To clear your teeth, and the prepar'd pomatum, -To smooth the skin. A lady cannot be -Too curious of her form, that still would hold -The heart of such a person, made her captive, -As you have his: who, to endear him more -In your clear eye, hath put away his wife...'" -Fair Apicata, and made spacious room -To your new pleasures. -_L._ Have not we return'd -That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery -Of all his counsels?... -_E._ When will you take some physic, lady? -_L._ When -I shall, Eudemus: but let Drusus' drug -Be first prepar'd. -_E._ Were Lygdus made, that's done.... -I'll send you a perfume, first to resolve -And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath -To cleanse and clear the cutis; against when -I'll have an excellent new fucus made -Resistive 'gainst the sun, the rain or wind, -Which you shall lay on with a breath or oil, -As you best like, and last some fourteen hours. -This change came timely, lady, for your health."[531] - - -He ends by congratulating her on her approaching change of husbands; -Drusus was injuring her complexion; Sejanus is far preferable; a -physiological and practical conclusion. The Roman apothecary kept on the -same shelf his medicine-chest, his chest of cosmetics, and his box of -poisons.[532] - -After this we find one after another all the scenes of Roman life -unfolded, the bargain of murder, the comedy of justice, the -shamelessness of flattery, the anguish and vacillation of the Senate. -When Sejanus wishes to buy a conscience, he questions, jokes, plays -round the offer he is about to make, throws it out as if in pleasantry, -so as to be able to withdraw it, if need be; tempt, on the crudities, -horrors, gigantic lewdness, shameless depravity of imperial Rome; he -takes in hand and sets in motion the lusts and ferocities, the passions -of courtesans and princesses, the daring of assassins and of great men, -which produced Messalina, Agrippina, Catiline, Tiberius.[533] In the -Rome which he places before us we go boldly and straight to the end; -justice and pity oppose no barriers. Amid these customs of victors and -slaves, human nature is upset, corruption and villainy are held as -proofs of insight and energy. Observe how, in "Sejanus," assassination -is plotted and carried out with marvellous coolness. Livia discusses -with Sejanus the methods of poisoning her husband, in a clear style, -without circumlocution, as if the subject were how to gain a lawsuit or -to serve up a dinner. There are no equivocations, no hesitation, no -remorse in the Rome of Tiberius. Glory and virtue consist in power; -scruples are for base minds; the mark of a lofty heart is to desire all -and to dare all. Macro says rightly: - - -"Men's fortune there is virtue; reason their will; -Their license, law; and their observance, skill. -Occasion is their foil; conscience, their stain; -Profit, their lustre; and what else is, vain."[534] - - -Sejanus addresses Livia thus: - - -"Royal lady,... -Yet, now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength, -Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means -To your own good and greatness, I protest -Myself through rarified, and turn'd all aflame -In your affection."[535] - - -These are the loves of the wolf and his mate; he praises her for being -so ready to kill. And observe in one moment the morals of a prostitute -appear behind the manners of the poisoner. Sejanus goes out, and -immediately, like a courtesan, Livia turns to her physician, saying: - - -"How do I look to-day? -_Eudemus._ Excellent clear, believe it. This same fucus -Was well laid on. -_Livia._ Methinks 'tis here not white. -_E._ Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun -Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse, -You should have us'd of the white oil I gave you. -Sejanus, for your love! His very name -Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts...." -[_Paints her cheeks._] -"'Tis now well, lady, you should -Use of the dentrifice I prescrib'd you too, -To clear your teeth, and the prepar'd pomatum, -To smooth the skin. A lady cannot be -Too curious of her form, that still would hold -The heart of such a person, made her captive, -As you have his: who, to endear him more -In your clear eye, hath put away his wife... -Fair Apicata, and made spacious room -To your new pleasures. -_L._ Have not we return'd -That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery -Of all his counsels?... -_E._ When will you take some physic, lady? -_L._ When -I shall, Eudemus: but let Drusus' drug -Be first prepar'd. -_E._ Were Lygdus made, that's done.... -I'll send you a perfume, first to resolve -And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath -To cleanse and clear the cutis; against when -I'll have an excellent new fucus made -Resistive 'gainst the sun, the rain or wind, -Which you shall lay on with a breath or oil, -As you best like, and last some fourteen hours. -This change came timely, lady, for your health."[536] - - -He ends by congratulating her on her approaching change of husbands; -Drusus was injuring her complexion; Sejanus is far preferable; a -physiological and practical conclusion. The Roman apothecary kept on the -same shelf his medicine-chest, his chest of cosmetics, and his box of -poisons.[537] - -After this we find one after another all the scenes of Roman life -unfolded, the bargain of murder, the comedy of justice, the -shamelessness of flattery, the anguish and vacillation of the Senate. -When Sejanus wishes to buy a conscience, he questions, jokes, plays -round the offer he is about to make, throws it out as if in pleasantry, -so as to be able to withdraw it, if need be; then, when the intelligent -look of the rascal, whom he is trafficking with, shows that he is -understood: - - -"Protest not, -Thy looks are vows to me.... -Thou art a man, made to make consuls. Go."[538] - - -Elsewhere, the senator Latiaris in his own house storms before his -friend Sabinus against tyranny, openly expresses a desire for liberty, -provoking him to speak. Then two spies who were hid "between the roof -and ceiling," cast themselves on Sabinus, crying, "Treason to Cæsar!" -and drag him, with his face covered, before the tribunal, thence to "be -thrown upon the Gemonies."[539] So, when the Senate is assembled, -Tiberius has chosen beforehand the accusers of Silius, and their parts -distributed to them. They mumble in a corner, whilst aloud is heard, in -the emperor's presence: - - -"Cæsar, -Live long and happy, great and royal Cæsar; -The gods preserve thee and thy modesty, -Thy wisdom and thy innocence.... -Guard -His meekness, Jove, his piety, his care, -His bounty."[540] - - -Then the herald cites the accused; Varro, the consul, pronounces the -indictment; After hurls upon them his bloodthirsty eloquence: the -senators get excited; we see laid bare, as in Tacitus and Juvenal, the -depths of Roman servility, hypocrisy, insensibility, the venomous craft -of Tiberius. At last, after so many others, the turn of Sejanus comes. -The fathers anxiously assemble in the temple of Apollo; for some days -past Tiberius has seemed to be trying to contradict himself; one day he -appoints the friends of his favorite to high places, and the next day -sets his enemies in eminent positions. The senators mark the face of -Sejanus, and know not what to anticipate; Sejanus is troubled, then -after a moment's cringing is more arrogant than ever. The plots are -confused, the rumors contradictory. Macro alone is in the confidence of -Tiberius, and soldiers are seen, drawn up at the porch of the temple, -ready to enter at the slightest commotion. The formula of convocation is -read, and the council marks the names of those who do not respond to the -summons; then Regulus addresses them, and announces that Cæsar - - -Propounds to this grave Senate, the bestowing -Upon the man he loves, honor'd Sejanus, -The tribunitial dignity and power: -Here are his letters, signed with his signet. -What pleaseth now the Fathers to be done? -"_Senators._ Read, read them, open, publicly read them. -_Cotta._ Cæsar hath honor'd his own greatness much -In thinking of this act. -_Trio._ It was a thought -Happy, and worthy Cæsar. -_Latiaris._ And the lord -As worthy it, on whom it is directed! -_Haterius._ Most worthy! -_Sanquinius._ Rome did never boast the virtue -That could give envy bounds, but his: Sejanus-- -_1st Sen._ Honor'd and noble! -_2d Sen._ Good and great Sejanus! -_Prœcones._ Silence!"[541] - - -Tiberius's letter is read. First, long, obscure, and vague phrases, -mingled with indirect protestations and accusations, foreboding -something and revealing nothing. Suddenly comes an insinuation against -Sejanus. The fathers are alarmed, but the next line reassures them. A -word or two further on the same insinuation is repeated with greater -exactness. "Some there be that would interpret this his public severity -to be particular ambition; and that, under a pretext of service to us, -he doth but remove his own lets: alleging the strengths he hath made to -himself, by the praetorian soldiers, by his faction in court and Senate, -by the offices he holds himself, and confers on others, his popularity -and dependents, his urging (and almost driving) us to this our unwilling -retirement, and lastly, his aspiring to be our son-in-law." The fathers -rise: "This is strange!" Their eager eyes are fixed on the letter, on -Sejanus, who perspires and grows pale; their thoughts are busy with -conjectures, and the words of the letter fall one by one, amidst a -sepulchral silence, caught up as they fall with all devouring and -attentive eagerness. The senators anxiously weigh the value of these -shifty expressions, fearing to compromise themselves with the favorite -or with the prince, all feeling that they must understand, if they value -their lives. - - -"'_Your wisdoms, conscript fathers, are able to examine, and censure -these suggestions. But, were they left to our absolving voice, we durst -pronounce them, as we think them, most malicious._' -_Senator._ O, he has restor'd all; list. -_Prœco. 'Yet are they offered to be averr'd, and on the lives of the -informers._'"[542] - - -At this word the letter becomes menacing. Those next Sejanus forsake -him. "Sit farther.... Let's remove!" The heavy Sanquinius leaps panting -over the benches. The soldiers come in; then Macro. And now, at last, -the letter orders the arrest of Sejanus. - - -"_Regulus._ Take him hence; -And all the gods guard Cæsar! -_Trio._ Take him hence. -_Haterius._ Hence. -_Cotta._ To the dungeon with him. -_Sanquinius._ He deserves it. -_Senator._ Crown all our doors with bays. -_San._ And let an ox, -With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led -Unto the Capitol. -_Hat._ And sacrific'd -To Jove, for Cæsar's safety. -_Tri._ All our gods -Be present still to Cæsar!... -_Cot._ Let all the traitor's titles be defac'd. -_Tri._ His images and statues be pull'd down.... -_Sen._ Liberty, liberty, liberty! Lead on, -And praise to Macro that hath saved Rome!"[543] - - -It is the baying of a furious pack of hounds, let loose at last on him, -under whose hand they had crouched, and who had for a long time beaten -and bruised them. Jonson discovered in his own energetic soul the energy -of these Roman passions; and the clearness of his mind, added to his -profound knowledge, powerless to construct characters, furnished him -with general ideas and striking incidents, which suffice to depict -manners. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Comedies - - -Moreover, it was to this that he turned his talent. Nearly all his work -consists of comedies, not sentimental and fanciful as Shakespeare's, but -imitative and satirical, written to represent and correct follies and -vices. He introduced a new model; he had a doctrine; his masters were -Terence and Plautus. He observes the unity of time and place, almost -exactly. He ridicules the authors who, in the same play, - - -"Make a child now swaddled, to proceed -Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed, -Past threescore years; or, with three rusty swords, -And help of some few foot and half-foot words, -Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars.... -He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see."[544] - - -He wishes to represent on the stage - - -"One such to-day, as other plays shou'd be; -Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas, -Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please: -Nor nimble squib is seen to' make afeard -The gentlewomen.... -But deeds, and language, such as men do use.... -You, that have so grac'd monsters, may like men."[545] - - -Men, as we see them in the streets, with their whims and humors-- - - -"When some one peculiar quality -Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw -All his affects, his spirits, and his powers -In their conductions, all to run one way, -This may be truly said to be a humor."[546] - - -It is these humors which he exposes to the light, not with the artist's -curiosity, but with the moralist's hate: - - -"I will scourge those apes, -And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, -As large as is the stage whereon we act; -Where they shall see the time's deformity -Anatomized in every nerve, and sinew, -With constant courage, and contempt of fear.... -My strict hand -Was made to seize on vice, and with a gripe -Squeeze out the humour of such spongy souls, -As lick up every idle vanity."[547] - - -Doubtless a determination so strong and decided does violence to the -dramatic spirit. Jonson's comedies are not rarely harsh; his characters -are too grotesque, laboriously constructed, mere automatons; the poet -thought less of producing living beings than of scotching a vice; the -scenes get arranged, or are confused together in a mechanical manner; we -see the process, we feel the satirical intention throughout; delicate -and easy-flowing imitation is absent, as well as the graceful fancy -which abounds in Shakespeare. But if Jonson comes across harsh passions, -visibly evil and vile, he will derive from his energy and wrath the -talent to render them odious and visible, and will produce a "Volpone," -a sublime work, the sharpest picture of the manners of the age, in which -is displayed the full brightness of evil lusts, in which lewdness, -cruelty, love of gold, shamelessness of vice, display a sinister yet -splendid poetry, worthy of one of Titian's bacchanals.[548] All this -makes itself apparent in the first scene, when Volpone says: - - -"Good morning to the day; and next, my gold!---- -Open the shrine, that I may see my saint." - - -This saint is his piles of gold, jewels, precious plate: - - -"Hail the world's soul, and mine!... O thou son of Sol, -But brighter than thy father, let me kiss, -With adoration, thee, and every relick -Of sacred treasure in this blessed room."[549] - - -Presently after, the dwarf, the eunuch, and the hermaphrodite of the -house sing a sort of pagan and fantastic interlude; they chant in -strange verses the metamorphoses of the hermaphrodite, who was first the -soul of Pythagoras. We are at Venice, in the palace of the magnifico -Volpone. These deformed creatures, the splendor of gold, this strange -and poetical buffoonery, carry the thought immediately to the sensual -city, queen of vices and of arts. - -The rich Volpone lives like an ancient Greek or Roman. Childless and -without relatives, playing the invalid, he makes all his flatterers hope -to be his heir, receives their gifts, - - -"Letting the cherry knock against their lips, -And draw it by their mouths, and back again."[550] - - -Glad to have their gold, but still more glad to deceive them, artistic -in wickedness as in avarice, and just as pleased to look at a contortion -of suffering as at the sparkle of a ruby. - -The advocate Voltore arrives, bearing a "huge piece of plate." Volpone -throws himself on his bed, wraps himself in furs, heaps up his pillows, -and coughs as if at the point of death: - - -"_Volpone._ I thank you, signior Voltore, -Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.... Your love -Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer'd.... -I cannot now last long.... I fell me going-- -Uh, uh, uh, uh!"[551] - - -He closes his eyes, as though exhausted: - - -"_Voltore._ Am I inscrib'd his heir for certain? -_Mosca_ (_Volpone's Parasite_). Are you! -I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe -To write me in your family. All my hopes -Depend upon your worship: I am lost, -Except the rising sun do shine on me. -_Volt._ It shall both shine and warm thee, Mosca. -_M._ Sir, -I am man, that hath not done your love -All the worst offices: here I wear your keys, -See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd, -Keep the poor inventory of your jewels, -Your plate and monies; am your steward, sir, -Husband your goods here. -_Volt._ But am I sole heir? -_M._ Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning -The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry -Upon the parchment. -_Volt._ Happy, happy me! -By what good chance, sweet Mosca? -_M._ Your desert, sir; -I know no second cause."[552] - - -And he details the abundance of the wealth in which Voltore is about to -revel, the gold which is to pour upon him, the opulence which is to flow -in his house as a river: - - -"When will you have your inventory brought, sir? -Or see a copy of the will?" - - -The imagination is fed with precise words, precise details. Thus, one -after another, the would-be heirs come like beasts of prey. The second -who arrives is an old miser, Corbaccio, deaf, "impotent," almost dying, -who, nevertheless, hopes to survive Volpone. To make more sure of it, he -would fain have Mosca give his master a narcotic. He has it about him, -this excellent opiate: he has had it prepared under his own eyes, he -suggests it. His joy on finding Volpone more ill than himself is -bitterly humorous: - - -"_Corbaccio._ How does your patron?... -_Mosca._ His mouth -Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. -_C._ Good. -_M._ A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, -And makes the color of his flesh like lead. -_C._ 'Tis good. -_M._ His pulse beats slow, and dull. -_C._ Good symptoms still. -_M._ And from his brain-- -_C._ I conceive you; good. -_M._ Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum, -Forth the resolved corners of his eyes. -_C._ Is't possible? Yet I am better, ha! -How does he, with the swimming of his head? -_M._ O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy; he now -Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: -You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. -_C._ Excellent, excellent! sure I shall outlast him: -This makes me young again, a score of years."[553] - - -If you would be his heir, says Mosca, the moment is favorable, but you -must not let yourself be forestalled. Voltore has been here, and -presented him with this piece of plate: - - -"_C._ See, Mosca, look, -Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines. -Will quite weigh down his plate.... -_M._ Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed; -There, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe -My master your sole heir.... -_C._ This plot -Did I think on before.... -_M._ And you so certain to survive him-- -_C._ Ay. -_M._ Being so lusty a man-- -_C._ 'Tis true."[554] - - -And the old man hobbles away, not hearing the insults and ridicule -thrown at him, he is so deaf. - -When he is gone the merchant Corvino arrives, bringing an orient pearl -and a splendid diamond: - - -"_Corvino._ Am I his heir? -_Mosca._ Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will -Till he be dead; but here has been Corbaccio, -Here has been Voltore, here were others too, -I cannot number 'em, they were so many; -All gaping here for legacies: but I, -Taking the vantage of his naming you, -_Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino_, took -Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him, -Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who -Should be executor? Corvino. And, -To any question he was silent to, -I still interpreted the nods he made, -Through weakness, for consent: and sent home th' others, -Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse. -_Cor._ O my dear Mosca!... Has he children? -_M._ Bastards, -Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, -Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk.... -Speak out: -You may be louder yet.... -Faith, I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, -As well as any woman that should keep him. -_C._ Do as you will; but I'll begone."[555] - - -Corvino presently departs; for the passions of the time have all the -beauty of frankness. And Volpone, casting aside his sick man's garb, -cries: - - -"My divine Mosca! -Thou hast to-day out gone thyself.... Prepare -Me music, dances, banquets, all delights; -The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures, -Than will Volpone."[556] - - -On this invitation, Mosca draws a most voluptuous portrait of Corvino's -wife, Celia. Smitten with a sudden desire, Volpone dresses himself as a -mountebank, and goes singing under her windows with all the -sprightliness of a quack; for he is naturally a comedian, like a true -Italian, of the same family as Scaramouch, as good an actor in the -public square as in his house. Having once seen Celia, he resolves to -obtain her at any price: - - -"Mosca, take my keys, -Gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion; -Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too: -So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca."[557] - - -Mosca then tells Corvino that some quack's oil has cured his master, and -that they are looking for a "young woman, lusty and full of juice," to -complete the cure: - - -"Have you no kinswoman? -Odso--Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir. -One o' the doctors offer'd there his daughter. -_Corvino._ How! -_Mosca._ Yes, signior Lupo, the physician. -_C._ His daughter! -_M._ And a virgin, sir.... -_C._ Wretch! -Covetous wretch."[558] - - -Though unreasonably jealous, Corvino is gradually induced to offer his -wife. He has given too much already, and would not lose his advantage. -He is like a half-ruined gamester, who with a shaking hand throws on the -green cloth the remainder of his fortune. He brings the poor sweet -woman, weeping and resisting. Excited by his own hidden pangs, he -becomes furious: - - -"Be damn'd! -Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair; -Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up -Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose; -Like a raw rochet!--Do not tempt me; come, -Yield, I am loth--Death! I will buy some slave -Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive; -And at my window hang you forth, devising -Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters, -Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, -And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast. -Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it! -_Celia._ Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr. -_Corvino._ Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserv'd it: -Think who it is intreats you. Prithee, sweet;-- -Good faith thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, -What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him, -Or touch him, but. For my sake.--At my suit.-- -This once.--No! not! I shall remember this. -Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?"[559] - - -Mosca turned a moment before, to Volpone: - - -"Sir, -Signior Corvino... hearing of the consultation had -So lately, for your health, is come to offer, -Or rather, sir, to prostitute.-- -_Corvino._ Thanks, sweet Mosca. -_Mosca._ Freely, unask'd, or unintreated. -_C._ Well. -_Mosca._ As the true fervent instance of his love, -His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty -Only of price in Venice.-- -_C._ 'Tis well urg'd."[560] - - -Where can we see such blows launched and driven hard, full in the face, -by the violent hand of satire? Celia is alone with Volpone, who, -throwing off his feigned sickness, comes upon her "as fresh, as hot, as -high, and in as jovial plight," as on the gala days of the Republic, -when he acted the part of the lovely Antinous. In his transport he sings -a love-song; his voluptuousness culminates in poetry; for poetry was -then in Italy the blossom of vice. He spreads before her pearls, -diamonds, carbuncles. He is in raptures at the sight of the treasures, -which he displays and sparkles before her eyes: - - -"Take these, -And wear, and lose them: yet remains an ear-ring -To purchase them again, and this whole state. -A gem but worth a private patrimony, -Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal, -The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales, -The brains of peacocks, and of estriches, -Shall be our food.... -Conscience? 'Tis the beggar's virtue.... -Thy baths shall be of the juice of July flowers, -Spirit of roses, and of violets, -The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath -Gather'd in bags, and mixt with Cretan wines. -Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber; -Which we will take, until my roof whirl round -With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance, -My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic, -Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales, -Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove, -Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine; -So, of the rest, till we have quite run through, -And wearied all the fables of the gods."[561] - - -We recognize Venice in this splendor of debauchery--Venice, the throne -of Aretinus, the country of Tintoretto and Giorgione. Volpone seizes -Celia: "Yield, or I'll force thee!" But suddenly Bonario, disinherited -son of Corbaccio, whom Mosca had concealed there with another design, -enters violently, delivers her, wounds Mosca, and accuses Volpone before -the tribunal, of imposture and rape. - -The three rascals who aim at being his heirs, work together to save -Volpone. Corbaccio disavows his son, and accuses him of parricide. -Corvino declares his wife an adulteress, the shameless mistress of -Bonario. Never on the stage was seen such energy of lying, such open -villany. The husband, who knows his wife to be innocent, is the most -eager: - - -"This woman (please your fatherhoods) is a whore, -Of most hot exercise, more than a partrich, -Upon record. -_1st Advocate._ No more. -_Corvino._ Neighs like a jennet. -_Notary._ Preserve the honor of the court. -_C._ I shall, -And modesty of your most reverend ears. -And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes -Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar, -That fine well-timber'd gallant; and that here -The letters may be read, thorough the horn, -That make the story perfect.... -_3d Adv._ His grief hath made him frantic. (_Celia swoons._) -_C._ Rare! Prettily feign'd! again!"[562] - - -They have Volpone brought in, like a dying man; manufacture false -"testimony," to which Voltore gives weight with his advocate's tongue, -with words worth a sequin apiece. They throw Celia and Bonario into -prison, and Volpone is saved. This public imposture is for him only -another comedy, a pleasant pastime, and a masterpiece. - - -"_Mosca._ To gull the court. -_Volpone._ And quite divert the torrent -Upon the innocent.... -_M._ You are not taken with it enough, methinks. -_V._ O, more than if I had enjoy'd the wench?"[563] - - -To conclude, he writes a will in Mosca's favor, has his death reported, -hides behind a curtain, and enjoys the looks of the would-be heirs. They -had just saved him from being thrown into prison, which makes the fun -all the better; the wickedness will be all the greater and more -exquisite. "Torture 'em rarely," Volpone says to Mosca. The latter -spreads the will on the table, and reads the inventory aloud. "Turkey -carpets nine. Two cabinets, one of ebony, the other mother-of-pearl. A -perfum'd box, made of an onyx." The heirs are stupefied with -disappointment, and Mosca drives them off with insults. He says to -Corvino: - - -"Why should you stay here? with what thought, what promise? -Hear you; do you not know, I know you an ass, -And that you would most fain have been a wittol, -If fortune would have let you? That you are -A declar'd cuckold, on good terms? This pearl, -You'll say, was yours? Right: this diamond? -I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here else? -It may be so. Why, think that these good works -May help to hide your bad. [_Exit Corvino._]... -_Corbaccio._ I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave; -Harlot, thou hast gull'd me. -_Mosca._ Yes, sir. Stop your mouth, -Or I shall draw the only tooth is left. -Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch, -With the three legs, that here, in hope of prey, -Have, any time this three years, snufft about, -With your most grov'ling nose, and would have hir'd -Me to the pois'ning of my patron, sir? -Are not you he that have to-day in court -Profess'd the disinheriting of your son? -Perjur'd yourself? Go home, and die, and stink."[564] - - -Volpone goes out disguised, comes to each of them in turn, and succeeds -in wringing their hearts. But Mosca, who has the will, acts with a high -hand, and demands of Volpone half his fortune. The dispute between the -two rascals discovers their impostures, and the master, the servant, -with the three would-be heirs, are sent to the galleys, to prison, to -the pillory--as Corvino says, to - - -"Have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish, -Bruis'd fruit, and rotten eggs.--'Tis well. I'm glad, -I shall not see my shame yet."[565] - - -No more vengeful comedy has been written, none more persistently athirst -to make vice suffer, to unmask, triumph over, and to punish it. - -Where can be the gayety of such a theatre? In caricature and farce. -There is a rough gayety, a sort of physical, external laughter which -suits this combative, drinking, blustering mood. It is thus that this -mood relaxes from war-waging and murderous satire; the pastime is -appropriate to the manners of the time, excellent to attract men who -look upon hanging as a good joke, and laugh to see the Puritan's ears -cut. Put yourself for an instant in their place, and you will think like -them, that "The Silent Woman" is a masterpiece. Morose is an old -monomaniac, who has a horror of noise, but loves to speak. He inhabits a -street so narrow that a carriage cannot enter it. He drives off with his -stick the bear-leaders and sword-players, who venture to pass under his -windows. He has sent away his servant whose shoes creaked; and Mute, the -new one, wears slippers "soled with wool," and only speaks in a whisper -through a tube. Morose ends by forbidding the whisper, and makes him -reply by signs. He is also rich, an uncle, and he ill-treats his nephew -Sir Dauphine Eugenie, a man of wit, but who lacks money. We anticipate -all the tortures which poor Morose is to suffer. Sir Dauphine finds him -a supposed silent woman, the beautiful Epicœne. Morose, enchanted by -her brief replies and her voice, which he can hardly hear, marries her, -to play his nephew a trick. It is his nephew who has played him a trick. -As soon as she is married, Epicœne speaks, scolds, argues as loud and -as long as a dozen women: "Why, did you think you had married a statue? -or a motion only? one of the French puppets, with the eyes turned with a -wire? or some innocent out of the hospital, that would stand with her -hands thus, and a plaise mouth, and look upon you?"[566] - -She orders the servants to speak louder; she opens the doors wide to her -friends. They arrive in shoals, offering their noisy congratulations to -Morose. Five or six women's tongues overwhelm him all at once with -compliments, questions, advice, remonstrances. A friend of Sir Dauphine -comes with a band of music, who play all together, suddenly, with their -whole force. Morose says, "O, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot, upon me! -This day I shall be their anvil to work on; they will grate me asunder. -'Tis worse than the noise of a saw."[567] A procession of servants is -seen coming, with dishes in their hands; it is the racket of a tavern -which Sir Dauphine is bringing to his uncle. The guests clash the -glasses, shout, drink healths; they have with them a drum and trumpets -which make great noise. Morose flees to the top of the house, puts "a -whole nest of night-caps" on his head and stuffs up his ears. Captain -Otter cries, "Sound, Tritons o' the Thames! _Nunc est bibendum, nunc -pede libero._ Villains, murderers, sons of the earth and traitors," -cries Morose from above, "what do you there?" The racket increases. Then -the captain, somewhat "jovial," maligns his wife, who falls upon him and -gives him a good beating. Blows, cries, music, laughter, resound like -thunder. It is the poetry of uproar. Here is a subject to shake coarse -nerves, and to make the mighty chests of the companions of Drake and -Essex shake with uncontrollable laughter. "Rogues, hell-hounds, -Stentors! ... They have rent my roof, walls, and all my windows asunder, -with their brazen throats!" Morose casts himself on his tormentors with -his long sword, breaks the instruments, drives away the musicians, -disperses the guests amidst an inexpressible uproar, gnashing his teeth, -looking haggard. Afterwards they pronounce him mad and discuss his -madness before him.[568] The disease in Greek is called _μανία_, in -Latin _insania, furor, vel ecstasis melancholica_; that is, _egressio_, -when a man _ex melancholico evadit fanaticus._... But he may be but -phreneticus yet, mistress; and phrenetis is only delirium, or so. They -talk of the books which he must read aloud to cure him. They add, by way -of consolation, that his wife talks in her sleep, "and snores like a -porpoise. O redeem me, fate; redeem me, fate!" cries the poor -man.[569] "For how many causes may a man be divorced, nephew?" Sir -Dauphine chooses two knaves, and disguises them, one as a priest, the -other as a lawyer, who launch at his head Latin terms of civil and canon -law, explain to Morose the twelve cases of nullity, jingle in his ears -one after another the most barbarous words in their obscure vocabulary, -wrangle, and make between them as much noise as a couple of bells in a -belfry. Following their advice, he declares himself impotent. The -wedding-guests propose to toss him in a blanket; others demand an -immediate inspection. Fall after fall, shame after shame; nothing serves -him: his wife declares that she consents to "take him with all his -faults." The lawyer proposes another legal method; Morose shall obtain a -divorce by proving that his wife is faithless. Two boasting knights, who -are present, declare that they have been her lovers. Morose, in -raptures, throws himself at their knees, and embraces them. Epicœne -weeps, and Morose seems to be delivered. Suddenly the lawyer decides -that the plan is of no avail, the infidelity having been committed -before the marriage. "O, this is worst of all worst worsts that hell -could have devis'd! marry a whore, and so much noise!" There is Morose -then, declared impotent and a deceived husband, at his own request, in -the eyes of the whole world, and moreover married forever. Sir Dauphine -comes in like a clever rascal, and as a succoring deity. "Allow me but -five hundred during life, uncle, and I free you." Morose signs the deed -of gift with alacrity; and his nephew shows him that Epicœne is a boy -in disguise.[570] Add to this enchanting farce the funny parts of the -two accomplished and gallant knights, who, after having boasted of their -bravery, receive gratefully, and before the ladies, flips and -kicks.[571] Never was coarse physical laughter more adroitly produced. -In this broad coarse gayety, this excess of noisy transport, you -recognize the stout roisterer, the stalwart drinker who swallowed -hogsheads of Canary, and made the windows of the Mermaid shake with his -bursts of humor. - - - - -SECTION V.--Limits of Jonson's Talent--His Smaller Poems--His Masques - - -Jonson did not go beyond this; he was not a philosopher like Molière, -able to grasp and dramatize the crisis of human life, education, -marriage, sickness, the chief characters of his country and century, the -courtier, the tradesman, the hypocrite, the man of the world.[572] He -remained on a lower level, in the comedy of plot,[573] the painting of -the grotesque,[574] the representation of too transient subjects of -ridicule,[575] too general vices.[576] If at times, as in the -"Alchemist," he has succeeded by the perfection of plot and the vigor of -satire, he has miscarried more frequently by the ponderousness of his -work and the lack of comic lightness. The critic in him mars the artist; -his literary calculations strip him of spontaneous invention; he is too -much of a writer and moralist, not enough of a mimic and an actor. But -he is loftier from another side, for he is a poet; almost all writers, -prose-authors, preachers even, were so at the time we speak of. Fancy -abounded, as well as the perception of colors and forms, the need and -wont of enjoying through the imagination and the eyes. Many of Jonson's -pieces, the "Staple of News, Cynthia's Revels," are fanciful and -allegorical comedies like those of Aristophanes. He there dallies with -the real, and beyond the real, with characters who are but theatrical -masks, abstractions personified, buffooneries, decorations, dances, -music, pretty laughing whims of a picturesque and sentimental -imagination. Thus, in "Cynthia's Revels," three children come on -"pleading possession of the cloke" of black velvet, which an actor -usually wore when he spoke the prologue. They draw lots for it; one of -the losers, in revenge, tells the audience beforehand the incidents of -the piece. The others interrupt him at every sentence, put their hands -on his mouth, and taking the cloak one after the other, begin to -criticise the spectators and authors. This child's play, these gestures -and loud voices, this little amusing dispute, divert the public from -their serious thoughts, and prepare them for the oddities which they are -to look upon. - -We are in Greece, in the valley of Gargaphie, where Diana[577] has -proclaimed "a solemn revels." Mercury and Cupid have come down, and -begin by quarrelling; the latter says: "My light feather-heel'd coz, -what are you any more than my uncle Jove's pander? a lacquey that runs -on errands for him, and can whisper a light message to a loose wench -with some round volubility?... One that sweeps the gods' drinking-room -every morning, and sets the cushions in order again, which they threw -one at another's head over night?"[578] - -They are good-tempered gods. Echo, awoke by Mercury, weeps for the "too -beauteous boy Narcissus": - - -"That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature, -Who, now transformed into this drooping flower, -Hangs the repentant head, back from the stream.... -Witness thy youth's dear sweets, here spent untasted, -Like a fair taper, with his own flame wasted!... -And with thy water let this curse remain, -As an inseparate plague, that who but taste -A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch, -Grow doatingly enamour'd on themselves."[579] - - -The courtiers and ladies drink thereof, and behold, a sort of a review -of the follies of the time, arranged, as in Aristophanes, in an -improbable farce, a brilliant show. A silly spendthrift, Asotus, wishes -to become a man of the court and of fashionable manners; he takes for -his master Amorphus, a learned traveller, expert in gallantry, who, to -believe himself, is - - -"An essence so sublimated and refined by travel... able... to speak the -mere extraction of language; one that... was your first that ever -enrich'd his country with the true laws of the duello; whose optics have -drunk the spirit of beauty in some eight-score and eighteen princes' -courts, where I have resided, and been there fortunate in the amours of -three hundred forty and five ladies, all nobly if not princely -descended,... in all so happy, as even admiration herself doth seem to -fasten her kisses upon me."[580] - - -Asotus learns at this good school the language of the court, fortifies -himself like other people with quibbles, learned oaths, and metaphors; -he fires off in succession supersubtle tirades, and duly imitates the -grimaces and tortuous style of his masters. Then, when he has drunk the -water of the fountain, becoming suddenly pert and rash, he proposes to -all comers a tournament of "court compliment." This odd tournament is -held before the ladies; it comprises four jousts, and at each the -trumpets sound. The combatants perform in succession "the _bare -accost_; the _better regard_; the _solemn address_;" and "the perfect -close."[581] In this grave buffoonery the courtiers are beaten. The -severe Crites, the moralist of the play, copies their language, and -pierces them with their own weapons. Already, with grand declamation, he -had rebuked them thus: - - -"O vanity, -How are thy painted beauties doated on, -By light, and empty idiots! how pursu'd -With open and extended appetite! -How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath, -Rais'd on their toes, to catch thy airy forms, -Still turning giddy, till they reel like drunkards, -That buy the merry madness of one hour, -With the long irksomeness of following time!"[582] - - -To complete the overthrow of the vices, appear two symbolical masques, -representing the contrary virtues. They pass gravely before the -spectators, in splendid array, and the noble verses exchanged by the -goddess and her companions raise the mind to the lofty regions of serene -morality, whither the poet desires to carry us: - - -"Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair, -Now the sun is laid to sleep, -Seated in thy silver chair, -State in wonted manner keep.... -Lay thy bow of pearl apart, -And thy crystal shining quiver; -Give unto the flying hart -Space to breathe, how short soever."[583] - - -In the end, bidding the dancers to unmask, Cynthia shows that the vices -have disguised themselves as virtues. She condemns them to make fit -reparation, and to bathe themselves in Helicon. Two by two they go off -singing a palinode, whilst the chorus sings the supplication "Good -Mercury defend us."[584] Is it an opera or a comedy? It is a lyrical -comedy; and if we do not discover in it the airy lightness of -Aristophanes, at least we encounter, as in the "Birds" and the "Frogs," -the contrasts and medleys of poetic invention, which, through caricature -and ode, the real and the impossible, the present and the past, sent -forth to the four quarters of the globe, simultaneously unites all kinds -of incompatibilities, and culls all flowers. - -Jonson went further than this, and entered the domain of pure poetry. He -wrote delicate, voluptuous, charming love poems, worthy of the ancient -idyllic muse.[585] Above all, he was the great, the inexhaustible -inventor of Masques, a kind of masquerades, ballets, poetic choruses, in -which all the magnificence and the imagination of the English -Renaissance is displayed. The Greek gods, and all the ancient Olympus, -the allegorical personages whom the artists of the time delineate in -their pictures; the antique heroes of popular legends; all worlds, the -actual, the abstract, the divine, the human, the ancient, the modern, -are searched by his hands, brought on the stage to furnish costumes, -harmonious groups, emblems, songs, whatever can excite, intoxicate the -artistic sense. The _élite_, moreover, of the kingdom is there on the -stage. They are not mountebanks moving about in borrowed clothes, -clumsily worn, for which they are still in debt to the tailor; they are -ladies of the court, great lords, the queen, in all the splendor of -their rank and pride, with real diamonds, bent on displaying their -riches, so that the whole splendor of the national life is concentrated -in the opera which they enact, like jewels in a casket. What dresses! -what profusion of splendors! what medley of strange characters, gipsies, -witches, gods, heroes, pontiffs, gnomes, fantastic beings! How many -metamorphoses, jousts, dances, marriage songs! What variety of scenery, -architecture, floating isles, triumphal arches, symbolic spheres! Gold -glitters; jewels flash; purple absorbs the lustre-lights in its costly -folds; streams of light shine upon the crumpled silks; diamond -necklaces, darting flame, clasp the bare bosoms of the ladies; strings -of pearls are displayed, loop after loop, upon the silver-sown brocaded -dresses; gold embroidery, weaving whimsical arabesques, depicts upon -their dresses flowers, fruits, and figures, setting picture within -picture. The steps of the throne bear groups of Cupids, each with a -torch in his hand.[586] On either side the fountains cast up plumes of -pearls; musicians, in purple and scarlet, laurel-crowned, make harmony -in the bowers. The trains of masques cross, commingling their groups; -"the one half in orange-tawny and silver, the other in sea-green and -silver. The bodies and short skirts (were of) white and gold to both." - -Such pageants Jonson wrote year after year, almost to the end of his -life, true feasts for the eyes, like the processions of Titian. Even -when he grew to be old, his imagination, like that of Titian, remained -abundant and fresh. Though forsaken, lying gasping on his bed, feeling -the approach of death, in his supreme bitterness he did not lose his -faculties, but wrote "The Sad Shepherd," the most graceful and pastoral -of his pieces. Consider that this beautiful dream arose in a -sick-chamber, amidst medicine bottles, physic, doctors, with a nurse at -his side, amidst the anxieties of poverty and the choking-fits of a -dropsy! He is transported to a green forest, in the days of Robin Hood, -amidst the gay chase and the great barking greyhounds. There are the -malicious fairies, who, like Oberon and Titania, lead men to flounder in -mishaps. There are open-souled lovers, who, like Daphne and Chloe, taste -with awe the painful sweetness of the first kiss. There lived Earine, -whom the stream has "suck'd in," whom her lover, in his madness, will -not cease to lament: - - -"Earine, -Who had her very being, and her name -With the first knots or buddings of the spring, -Born with the primrose or the violet, -Or earliest roses blown: when Cupid smil'd, -And Venus led the graces out to dance, -And all the flowers and sweets in nature's lap -Leap'd out, and made their solemn conjuration -To last but while she liv'd!"...[587] -"But she, as chaste as was her name, Earine, -Died undeflower'd: and now her sweet soul hovers -Here in the air above us."[588] - - -Above the poor old paralytic artist, poetry still hovers like a haze of -light. Yes, he had cumbered himself with science, clogged himself with -theories, constituted himself theatrical critic and social censor, -filled his soul with unrelenting indignation, fostered a combative and -morose disposition; but divine dreams never left him. He is the brother -of Shakespeare. - - - - -SECTION VI.--General Idea of Shakespeare - - -So now at last we are in the presence of one, whom we perceived before -us through all the vistas of the Renaissance, like some vast oak to -which all the forest ways converge. I will treat of Shapespeare by -himself. In order to take him in completely, we must have a wide and -open space. And yet how shall we comprehend him? how lay bare his inner -constitution? Lofty words, eulogies, are all used in vain; he needs no -praise, but comprehension merely; and he can only be comprehended by the -aid of science. As the complicated revolutions of the heavenly bodies -become intelligible only by use of a superior calculus, as the delicate -transformations of vegetation and life need for their explanation the -intervention of the most difficult chemical formulas, so the great works -of art can be interpreted only by the most advanced psychological -systems; and we need the loftiest of all these to attain to -Shakespeare's level--to the level of his age and his work, of his genius -and of his art. - -After all practical experience and accumulated observations of the soul, -we find as the result that wisdom and knowledge are in man only effects -and fortuities. Man has no permanent and distinct force to secure truth -to his intelligence, and common-sense to his conduct. On the contrary, -he is naturally unreasonable and deceived. The parts of his inner -mechanism are like the wheels of clock-work, which go of themselves, -blindly, carried away by impulse and weight, and which yet sometimes, by -virtue of a certain unison, end by indicating the hour. This final -intelligent motion is not natural, but fortuitous; not spontaneous, but -forced; not innate, but acquired. The clock did not always go regularly; -on the contrary, it had to be regulated little by little, with much -difficulty. Its regularity is not insured; it may go wrong at any time. -Its regularity is not complete; it only approximately marks the time. -The mechanical force of each piece is always ready to drag all the rest -from their proper action, and to disarrange the whole agreement. So -ideas, once in the mind, pull each their own way blindly and separately, -and their imperfect agreement threatens confusion every moment. Strictly -speaking, man is mad, as the body is ill, by nature; reason and health -come to us as a momentary success, a lucky accident.[589] If we forget -this, it is because we are now regulated, dulled, deadened, and because -our internal motion has become gradually, by friction and reparation, -half harmonized with the motion of things. But this is only a semblance; -and the dangerous primitive forces remain untamed and independent under -the order which seems to restrain them. Let a great danger arise, a -revolution take place, they will break out and explode, almost as -terribly as in earlier times. For an idea is not a mere inner mark, -employed to designate one aspect of things, inert, always ready to fall -into order with other similar ones, so as to make an exact whole. -However it may be reduced and disciplined, it still retains a sensible -tinge which shows its likeness to an hallucination; a degree of -individual persistence which shows its likeness to a monomania; a -network of singular affinities which shows its likeness to the ravings -of delirium. Being such, it is beyond question the rudiment of a -nightmare, a habit, an absurdity. Let it become once developed in its -entirety, as its tendency leads it,[590] and you will find that it is -essentially an active and complete image, a vision drawing along with it -a train of dreams and sensations, which increases of itself, suddenly, -by a sort of rank and absorbing growth, and which ends by possessing, -shaking, exhausting the whole man. After this, another, perhaps entirely -opposite, and so on successively: there is nothing else in man, no free -and distinct power: he is in himself but the process of these headlong -impulses and swarming imaginations: civilization has mutilated, -attenuated, but not destroyed them; shocks, collisions, transports, -sometimes at long intervals a sort of transient partial equilibrium: -this is his real life, the life of a lunatic, who now and then simulates -reason, but who is in reality "such stuff as dreams are made on";[591] -and this is man, as Shakespeare has conceived him. No writer, not even -Molière, has penetrated so far beneath the semblance of common-sense -and logic in which the human machine is enclosed, in order to -disentangle the brute powers which constitute its substance and its -mainspring. - -How did Shakespeare succeed? and by what extraordinary instinct did he -divine the remote conclusions, the deepest insights of physiology and -psychology? He had a complete imagination; his whole genius lies in that -complete imagination. These words seem commonplace and void of meaning. -Let us examine them closer, to understand what they contain. When we -think a thing, we, ordinary men, we only think a part of it; we see one -side, some isolated mark, sometimes two or three marks together; for -what is beyond, our sight fails us; the infinite network of its -infinitely complicated and multiplied properties escapes us; we feel -vaguely that there is something beyond our shallow ken, and this vague -suspicion is the only part of our idea which at all reveals to us the -great beyond. We are like tyro naturalists, quiet people of limited -understanding, who, wishing to represent an animal, recall its name and -ticket in the museum, with some indistinct image of its hide and figure; -but their mind stops there. If it so happens that they wish to complete -their knowledge, they lead their memory, by regular classifications, -over the principal characters of the animal, and slowly, discursively, -piecemeal, bring at last the bare anatomy before their eyes. To this -their idea is reduced, even when perfected; to this also most frequently -is our conception reduced, even when elaborated. What a distance there -is between this conception and the object, how imperfectly and meanly -the one represents the other, to what extent this mutilates that; how -the consecutive idea, disjoined in little, regularly arranged and inert -fragments, resembles but slightly the organized, living thing, created -simultaneously, ever in action, and ever transformed, words cannot -explain. Picture to yourself, instead of this poor dry idea, propped up -by a miserable mechanical linkwork of thought, the complete idea, that -is, an inner representation, so abundant and full that it exhausts all -the properties and relations of the object, all its inward and outward -aspects; that it exhausts them instantaneously; that it conceives of the -entire animal, its color, the play of the light upon its skin, its form, -the quivering of its outstretched limbs, the flash of its eyes, and at -the same time its passion of the moment, its excitement, its dash; and -beyond this its instincts, their composition, their causes, their -history; so that the hundred thousand characteristics which make up its -condition and its nature find their analogues in the imagination which -concentrates and reflects them: there you have the artist's conception, -the poet's--Shakespeare's; so superior to that of the logician, of the -mere savant or man of the world, the only one capable of penetrating to -the very essence of existences, of extricating the inner from beneath -the outer man, of feeling through sympathy, and imitating without -effort, the irregular oscillation of human imaginations and impressions, -of reproducing life with its infinite fluctuations, its apparent -contradictions, its concealed logic; in short, to create as nature -creates. This is what is done by the other artists of this age; they -have the same kind of mind, and the same idea of life: you will find in -Shakespeare only the same faculties, with a still stronger impulse; the -same idea, with a still more prominent relief. - - - - -[Footnote 513: Fuller's "Worthies," ed. Nuttall, 1840, 3 vols. III. 284.] - -[Footnote 514: There is a similar hallucination to be met with in the -life of Lord Castlereagh, who afterwards committed suicide.] - -[Footnote 515: His character lies between those of Fielding and Dr. -Johnson.] - -[Footnote 516: Mr. David Laing remarks, however, in Drummond's defence, -that as "Jonson died August 6, 1637, Drummond survived till December 4, -1649, and no portion of these Notes (Conversations) were made public till -1711, or sixty-two years after Drummond's death, and seventy-four after -Jonson's, which renders quite nugatory all Gifford's accusations of -Drummond's having published them 'without shame.' As to Drummond decoying -Jonson under his roof with any premeditated design on his reputation, as -Mr. Campbell has remarked, no one can seriously believe it."--"Archæologica -Scotica," vol. IV. page 243.—-Tr.] - -[Footnote 517: At the age of forty-four he went to Scotland on foot.] - -[Footnote 518: Parts of "Crites" and "Asper."] - -[Footnote 519: "Every Man out of his Humour," I; Gifford's "Jonson," -p. 30.] - -[Footnote 520: Ben Jonson's Poems, ed. Bell, An Epistle Mendicant, -to Richard, Lord Weston, Lord High Treasurer (1631), p. 244.] - -[Footnote 521: "The Devil is an Ass."] - -[Footnote 522: Sejanus, Catiline, passim.] - -[Footnote 523: Alfred de Musset, preface to "La Coupe et les Lèvres." -Plato: "Ion."] - -[Footnote 524: Compare Sir Epicure Mammon with Baron Hulot from Balzac's -"Cousine Bette." Balzac, who is learned like Jonson, creates real beings -like Shakespeare.] - -[Footnote 525: "Every Man out of his Humour," Prologue.] - -[Footnote 526: "Poetaster," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 527: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 528: See the second act of "Catiline."] - -[Footnote 529: "The Fall of Sejanus," III. last scene.] - -[Footnote 530: Ibid. II.] - -[Footnote 531: "The Fall of Sejanus." II.] - -[Footnote 532: See "Catiline," Act II; a very fine scene, no less plain -spoken and animated, on the dissipation of the higher ranks in Rome.] - -[Footnote 533: "The Fall of Sejanus," I.] - -[Footnote 534: Ibid. IV.] - -[Footnote 535: Ibid. III.] - -[Footnote 536: "The Fall of Sejanus," V.] - -[Footnote 537: "The Fall of Sejanus," V.] - -[Footnote 538: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 539: "Every Man in his Humour," Prologue.] - -[Footnote 540: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 541: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 542: "Every Man in his Humour," Prologue.] - -[Footnote 543: Compare "Volpone" with Regnard's "Légataire"; the end of -the sixteenth with the beginning of the eighteenth century.] - -[Footnote 544: "Volpone," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 545: "Volpone," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 546: Ibid. I. 3.] - -[Footnote 547: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 548: "Volpone," I. 4.] - -[Footnote 549: "Volpone," I. 4.] - -[Footnote 550: Ibid. I. 5.] - -[Footnote 551: "Volpone," I. 5.] - -[Footnote 552: Ibid. II. 2.] - -[Footnote 553: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 554: "Volpone," III. 5. We pray reader to pardon us for Ben -Jonson's broadness. If I omit it, I cannot depict the sixteenth century. -Grant the same the indulgence to the historian as to the anatomist.] - -[Footnote 555: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 556: "Volpone," III. 5.] - -[Footnote 557: "Volpone" IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 558: Ibid. V. 1.] - -[Footnote 559: "Volpone," V. 1.] - -[Footnote 560: Ibid. V. 8.] - -[Footnote 561: "Epicœne," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 562: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 563: Compare M. de Pourceaugnac in Molière.] - -[Footnote 564: "Epicœne," IV. I, 2.] - -[Footnote 565: Ibid. V.] - -[Footnote 566: Compare Polichinelle in "Le Malade imaginaire"; Géronte -in "Les Fourberies de Scapin."] - -[Footnote 567: Compare "L'École des Femmes, Tartuffe, Le Misanthrope, -Le Bourgeois-gentilhomme, Le Malade imaginaire, Georges Dandin."] - -[Footnote 568: Compare "Les Fourberies de Scapin."] - -[Footnote 569: Compare "Les Fâcheux."] - -[Footnote 570: Compare "Les Précieuses Ridicules."] - -[Footnote 571: Compare the plays of Destouches.] - -[Footnote 572: By Diana, Queen Elizabeth is meant.] - -[Footnote 573: "Cynthia's Revels," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 574: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 575: "Cynthia's Revels," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 576: Ibid. V. 2.] - -[Footnote 577: Ibid. I. 1.] - -[Footnote 578: Ibid. V. 3.] - -[Footnote 579: "Cynthia's Revels," last scene.] - -[Footnote 580: Celebration of Charis; "Miscellaneous Poems."] - -[Footnote 581: "Masque of Beauty."] - -[Footnote 582: "The Sad Shepherd," I. 2.] - -[Footnote 583: "The Sad Shepherd," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 584: This idea may be expanded psychologically: external -perception, memory, are real hallucinations, etc. This is the -analytical aspect: under another aspect reason and health are the -natural goals.] - -[Footnote 585: See Spinoza and Dugald Stewart: Conception in its natural -state is belief.] - -[Footnote 586: "Tempest," IV. 1.] - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTH - - -Shakespeare - - -I am about to describe an extraordinary species of mind, perplexing to -all the French modes of analysis and reasoning, all-powerful, excessive, -master of the sublime as well as of the base; the most creative mind -that ever engaged in the exact copy of the details of actual existence, -in the dazzling caprice of fancy, in the profound complications of -superhuman passions; a nature poetical, immoral, inspired, superior to -reason by the sudden revelations of its seer's madness; so extreme in -joy and grief, so abrupt of gait, so agitated and impetuous, in its -transports, that this great age alone could have cradled such a child. - - - - -SECTION I.--Life and Character of Shakespeare - - -Of Shakespeare all came from within--I mean from his soul and his -genius; circumstances and the externals contributed but slightly to his -development.[592] He was intimately bound up with his age; that is, he -knew by experience the manners of country, court, and town; he had -visited the heights, depths, the middle ranks of mankind; nothing more. -In all other respects his life was commonplace; its irregularities, -troubles, passions, successes, were, on the whole, such as we meet with -everywhere else.[593] His father, a glover and wool-stapler, in very -easy circumstances, having married a sort of country heiress, had become -high-bailiff and chief alderman in his little town; but when Shakespeare -was nearly fourteen he was on the verge of ruin, mortgaging his wife's -property, obliged to resign his municipal offices, and to remove his son -from school to assist him in his business. The young fellow applied -himself to it as well as he could, not without some scrapes and frolics: -if we are to believe tradition, he was one of the thirsty souls of the -place, with a mind to support the reputation of his little town in its -drinking powers. Once, they say, having been beaten at Bideford in one -of these ale-bouts, he returned staggering from the fight, or rather -could not return, and passed the night with his comrades under an -apple-tree by the roadside. Without doubt he had already begun to write -verses, to rove about like a genuine poet, taking part in the noisy -rustic feasts, the gay allegorical pastorals, the rich and bold outbreak -of pagan and poetical life, as it was then to be found in an English -village. At all events, he was not a pattern of propriety, and his -passions were as precocious as they were imprudent. While not yet -nineteen years old, he married the daughter of a substantial yeoman, -about eight years older than himself--and not too soon, as she was about -to become a mother.[594] Other of his outbreaks were no more fortunate. -It seems that he was fond of poaching, after the manner of the time, -being "much given to all unluckinesse in stealing venison and rabbits," -says the Rev. Richard Davies;[595] "particularly from Sir Thomas Lucy, -who had him oft whipt and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly -the country;... but his revenge was so great, that he is his Justice -Clodpate." Moreover, about this time Shakespeare's father was in prison, -his affairs were not prosperous, and he himself had three children, -following one close upon the other; he must live, and life was hardly -possible for him in his native town. He went to London, and took to the -stage: took the lowest parts, was a "servant" in the theatre, that is, -an apprentice, or perhaps a supernumerary. They even said that he had -begun still lower, and that to earn his bread he had held gentlemen's -horses at the door of the theatre.[596] At all events he tasted misery, -and felt, not in imagination, but in fact, the sharp thorn of care, -humiliation, disgust, forced labor, public discredit, the power of the -people. He was a comedian, one of "His Majesty's poor players"[597]--a -sad trade, degraded in all ages by the contrasts and the falsehoods -which it allows: still more degraded then by the brutalities of the -crowd, who not seldom would stone the actors, and by the severities of -the magistrates, who would sometimes condemn them to lose their ears. He -felt it, and spoke of it with bitterness: - - -"Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there -And made myself a motley to the view, -Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear."[598] - - -And again: - - -"When in disgrace with fortune[599] and men's eyes, -I all alone beweep my outcast state, -And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, -And look upon myself and curse my fate, -Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, -Featured like him, like him with friends possessed.... -With what I most enjoy contented least; -Yet in those thoughts myself almost despising."[600] - - -We shall find further on the traces of this long-enduring disgust, in -his melancholy characters, as where he says: - - -"For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, -The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, -The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, -The insolence of office and the spurns -The patient merit of the unworthy takes, -When he himself might his quietus make -With a bare bodkin?"[601] - - -But the worst of this undervalued position is, that it eats into the -soul. In the company of actors we become actors: it is vain to wish to -keep clean, if you live in a dirty place; it cannot be. No matter if a -man braces himself; necessity drives him into a corner and sullies him. -The machinery of the decorations, the tawdriness and medley of the -costumes, the smell of the tallow and the candles, in contrast with the -parade of refinement and loftiness, all the cheats and sordidness of the -representation, the bitter alternative of hissing or applause, the -keeping of the highest and lowest company, the habit of sporting with -human passions, easily unhinge the soul, drive it down the slope of -excess, tempt it to loose manners, green-room adventures, the loves of -strolling actresses. Shakespeare escaped them no more than Molière, and -grieved for it, like Molière: - - -"O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, -The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, -That did not better for my life provide -Than public means which public manners breeds."[602] - - -They used to relate in London how his comrade Burbadge, who played -Richard III, having a rendezvous with the wife of a citizen, Shakespeare -went before, was well received, and was pleasantly occupied, when -Burbage arrived, to whom he sent the message that William the Conqueror -came before Richard III.[603] We may take this as an example of the -tricks and somewhat coarse intrigues which are planned, and follow in -quick succession, on this stage. Outside the theatre he lived with -fashionable young nobles, Pembroke, Montgomery, Southampton,[604] and -others, whose hot and licentious youth gratified his imagination and -senses by the example of Italian pleasures and elegancies. Add to this -the rapture and transport of poetical nature, and this kind of afflux, -this boiling over of all the powers and desires which takes place in -brains of this kind, when the world for the first time opens before -them, and you will understand the "Venus and Adonis, the first heir of -his invention." In fact, it is a first cry, a cry in which the whole man -is displayed. Never was seen a heart so quivering to the touch of -beauty, of beauty of every kind, so delighted with the freshness and -splendor of things, so eager and so excited in adoration and enjoyment, -so violently and entirely carried to the very essence of voluptuousness. -His Venus is unique; no painting of Titian's has a more brilliant and -delicious coloring;[605] no strumpet-goddess of Tintoretto or Giorgione -is more soft and beautiful: - - -"With blindfold fury she begins to forage, -Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil.... -And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; -Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, -Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; -Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, -That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry."[606] - -"Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, -Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, -Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, -Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone; -Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, -And where she ends she doth anew begin."[607] - - -All is taken by storm, the senses first, the eyes dazzled by carnal -beauty, but the heart also from whence the poetry overflows: the fulness -of youth inundates even inanimate things; the country looks charming -amidst the rays of the rising sun, the air, saturated with brightness, -makes a gala-day: - - -"Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, -From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, -And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast -The sun riseth in his majesty; -Who doth the world so gloriously behold -That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold."[608] - - -An admirable debauch of imagination and rapture, yet disquieting; for -such a mood will carry one a long way.[609] No fair and frail dame in -London was without "Adonis" on her table.[610] Perhaps Shakespeare -perceived that he had transcended the bounds, for the tone of his next -poem, the "Rape of Lucrece," is quite different; but as he had already a -mind liberal enough to embrace at the same time, as he did afterwards in -his dramas, the two extremes of things, he continued none the less to -follow his bent. The "sweet abandonment of love" was the great -occupation of his life; he was tender-hearted, and he was a poet: -nothing more is required to be smitten, deceived, to suffer, to traverse -without pause the circle of illusions and troubles, which whirls and -whirls round, and never ends. - -He had many loves of this kind, amongst others one for a sort of Marion -Delorme,[611] a miserable deluding despotic passion, of which he felt -the burden and the shame, but from which nevertheless he could not and -would not free himself. Nothing can be sadder than his confessions, or -mark better the madness of love, and the sentiment of human weakness: - - -"When my love swears that she is made of truth, -I do believe her, though I know she lies."[612] - - -So spoke Alceste of Célimène;[613] but what a soiled Célimène is the -creature before whom Shakespeare kneels, with as much of scorn as of -desire! - - -"Those lips of thine, -That have profaned their scarlet ornaments -And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, -Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. -Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those -Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee."[614] - - -This is plain-speaking and deep shamelessness of soul, such as we find -only in the stews; and these are the intoxications, the excesses, the -delirium into which the most refined artists fall, when they resign -their own noble hand to these soft, voluptuous, and clinging ones. They -are higher than princes, and they descend to the lowest depths of -sensual passion. Good and evil then lose their names; all things are -inverted: - - -"How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame -Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, -Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! -O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! -That tongue that tells the story of thy days, -Making lascivious comments on thy sport, -Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise; -Naming thy name blesses an ill report."[615] - - -What are proofs, the will, reason, honor itself, when the passion is so -absorbing? What can be said further to a man who answers, "I know all -that you are going to say, and what does it all amount to?" Great loves -are inundations, which drown all repugnance and all delicacy of soul, -all preconceived opinions and all received principles. Thenceforth the -heart is dead to all ordinary pleasures: it can only feel and breathe on -one side. Shakespeare envies the keys of the instrument over which his -mistress's fingers run. If he looks at flowers, it is she whom he -pictures beyond them; and the extravagant splendors of dazzling poetry -spring up in him repeatedly, as soon as he thinks of those glowing black -eyes: - - -"From you have I been absent in the spring, -When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim, -Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, -That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him."[616] - - -He saw none of it: - - -"Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, -Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose."[617] - - -All this sweetness of spring was but her perfume and her shade: - - -"The forward violet thus I did chide: -'Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, -If not from my love's breath? The purple pride, -Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells -In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.' -The lily I condemned for thy hand, -And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: -The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, -One blushing shame, another white despair: -A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both -And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;... -More flowers I noted, yet I none could see -But sweet or color it had stol'n from thee."[618] - - -Passionate archness, delicious affectations, worthy of Heine and the -contemporaries of Dante, which tell us of long rapturous dreams -concentrated on one subject. Under a sway so imperious and sustained, -what sentiment could maintain its ground? That of family? He was married -and had children--a family which he went to see "once a year"; and it -was probably on his return from one of these journeys that he used the -words above quoted. Conscience? "Love is too young to know what -conscience is." Jealousy and anger? - - -"For, thou betraying me, I do betray -My nobler part to my gross body's treason."[619] - - -Repulses? - - -"He is contented thy poor drudge to be -To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side."[620] - - -He is no longer young; she loves another, a handsome, young, -light-haired fellow, his own dearest friend, whom he has presented to -her, and whom she wishes to seduce: - - -"Two loves I have of comfort and despair, -Which like two spirits do suggest me still: -The better angel is a man right fair, -The worser spirit a woman color'd ill. -To win me soon to hell, my female evil -Tempteth my better angel from my side."[621] - - -And when she has succeeded in this,[622] he dares not confess it to -himself, but suffers all, like Molière. What wretchedness is there in -these trifles of every-day life! How man's thoughts instinctively place -by Shakespeare's side the great unhappy French poet (Molière), also a -philosopher by nature, but more of a professional laugher, a mocker of -old men in love, a bitter railer at deceived husbands, who, after having -played in one of his most approved comedies, said aloud to a friend, "My -dear fellow, I am in despair; my wife does not love me!" Neither glory, -nor work, nor invention satisfies these vehement souls: love alone can -gratify them, because, with their senses and heart, it contents also -their brain; and all the powers of man, imagination like the rest, find -in it their concentration and their employment. "Love is my sin," he -said, as did Musset and Heine; and in the Sonnets we find traces of yet -other passions, equally abandoned; one in particular, seemingly for a -great lady. The first half of his dramas, "Midsummer Night's Dream," -"Romeo and Juliet," the "Two Gentlemen of Verona," preserve the warm -imprint more completely; and we have only to consider his latest women's -character,[623] to see with what exquisite tenderness, what full -adoration, he loved them to the end. - -In this is all his genius; his was one of those delicate souls which, -like a perfect instrument of music, vibrate of themselves at the -slightest touch. This fine sensibility was the first thing observed in -him. "My darling Shakespeare, Sweet Swan of Avon": these words of Ben -Jonson only confirm what his contemporaries reiterate. He was -affectionate and kind, "civil in demeanor, and excellent in the qualitie -he professes";[624] if he had the impulse, he had also the effusion of -true artists; he was loved, men were delighted in his company; nothing -is more sweet or winning than this charm, this half-feminine abandonment -in a man. His wit in conversation was ready, ingenious, nimble; his -gayety brilliant; his imagination fluent, and so copious, that, as his, -friends tell us, he never erased what he had written; at least when he -wrote out a scene for the second time, it was the idea which he would -change, not the words, by an after-glow of poetic thought, not with a -painful tinkering of the verse. All these characteristics are combined -into a single one: he had a sympathetic genius; I mean that naturally he -knew how to forget himself and become transfused into all the objects -which he conceived. Look around you at the great artists of your time, -try to approach them, to become acquainted with them, to see them as -they think, and you will observe the full force of this word. By an -extraordinary instinct, they put themselves at once in a position of -existences; men, animals, flowers, plants, landscapes, whatever the -objects are, living or not, they feel by intuition the forces and -tendencies which produce the visible external; and their soul, -infinitely complex, becomes by its ceaseless metamorphoses a sort of -abstract of the universe. This is why they seem to live more than other -men; they have no need to be taught, they divine. I have seen such a -man, a propos of a piece of armor, a costume, a collection of furniture, -enter into the Middle Ages more fully than three savants together. They -reconstruct, as they build, naturally, surely, by an inspiration which -is a winged chain of reasoning. Shakespeare had only an imperfect -education, "small Latin and less Greek," barely French and Italian,[625] -nothing else; he had not travelled, he had only read the current -literature of his day, he had picked up a few law words in the court of -his little town: reckon up, if you can, all that he knew of man and of -history. These men see more objects at a time; they grasp them more -closely than other men, more quickly and thoroughly; their mind is full, -and runs over. They do not rest in simple reasoning; at every idea their -whole being, reflections, images, emotions, are set a-quiver. See them -at it; they gesticulate, mimic their thought, brim over with -comparisons; even in their talk they are imaginative and original, with -familiarity and boldness of speech, sometimes happily, always -irregularly, according to the whims and starts of the adventurous -improvisation. The animation, the brilliancy of their language is -marvellous; so are their fits, the wide leaps which they couple widely -removed ideas, annihilating distance, passing from pathos to humor, from -vehemence to gentleness. This extraordinary rapture is the last thing to -quit them. If perchance ideas fail, or if their melancholy is too -violent, they still speak and produce, even if it be nonsense: they -become clowns, though at their own expense, and to their own hurt. I -know one of these men who will talk nonsense when he thinks he is dying, -or has a mind to kill himself; the inner wheel continues to turn, even -upon nothing, that wheel which man must needs see ever turning, even -though it tear him as it turns; his buffoonery is an outlet: you will -find him, this inextinguishable urchin, this ironical puppet, at -Ophelia's tomb, at Cleopatra's death-bed, at Juliet's funeral. High or -low, these men must always be at some extreme. They feel their good and -their ill too deeply; they expatiate too abundantly on each condition of -their soul, by a sort of involuntary novel. After their traducings and -the disgusts by which they debase themselves beyond measure they rise -and become exalted in a marvellous fashion, even trembling with pride -and joy. "Haply," says Shakespeare, after one of these dull moods: - - -"Haply I think on thee, and then my state, -Like to the lark at break of day arising -From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate."[626] - - -Then all fades away, as in a furnace where a stronger flare than usual -has left no substance fuel behind it. - - -"That time of year thou mayst in me behold -When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang -Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, -Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. -In me thou see'st the twilight of such day -As after sunset fadeth in the west, -Which by and by black night doth take away, -Death's second self, that seals up all in rest...."[627] - -"No longer mourn for me when I am dead -Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell -Give warning to the world that I am fled -From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: -Nay, if you read this line, remember not -The hand that writ it; for I love you so. -That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot -If thinking on me then should make you woe."[628] - - -These sudden alternatives of joy and sadness, divine transports and -grand melancholies, exquisite tenderness and womanly depressions, depict -the poet, extreme in emotions, ceaselessly troubled with grief or -merriment, feeling the slightest shock, more strong, more dainty in -enjoyment and suffering than other men, capable of more intense and -sweeter dreams, within whom is stirred an imaginary world of graceful or -terrible beings, all impassioned like their author. - -Such as I have described him, however, he found his resting-place. -Early, at least what regards outward appearances, he settled down to an -orderly, sensible, almost humdrum existence, engaged in business, -provident of the future. He remained on the stage for at least seventeen -years, though taking secondary parts;[629] he sets his wits at the same -time to the touching up of plays with so much activity, that Greene -called him "an upstart crow beautified with our feathers;... an absolute -Johannes factotum, in his owne conceyte the onely shake-scene in a -countrey."[630] At the age of thirty-three he had amassed money enough -to buy at Stratford a house with two barns and two gardens, and he went -on steadier and steadier in the same course. A man attains only to easy -circumstances by his own labor; if he gains wealth, it is by making -others labor for him. This is why, to the trades of actor and author, -Shakespeare added those of manager and director of a theatre. He -acquired a share in the Blackfriars and Globe theatres, farmed tithes, -bought large pieces of land, more houses, gave a dowry to his daughter -Susanna, and finally retired to his native town on his property, in his -own house, like a good landlord, an honest citizen, who manages his -fortune fitly, and takes his share of municipal work. He had an income -of two or three hundred pounds, which would be equivalent to about eight -or twelve hundred at the present time, and according to tradition, lived -cheerfully and on good terms with his neighbors; at all events, it does -not seem that he thought much about his literary glory, for he did not -even take the trouble to collect and publish his works. One of his -daughters married a physician, the other a wine merchant; the last did -not even know how to sign her name. He lent money, and cut a good figure -in this little world. Strange close; one which at first sight resembles -more that of a shopkeeper than of a poet. Must we attribute it to that -English instinct which places happiness in the life of a country -gentleman and a landlord with a good rent-roll, well connected, -surrounded by comforts, who quietly enjoys his undoubted -respectability,[631] his domestic authority, and his county standing? Or -rather, was Shakespeare, like Voltaire, a common-sense man, though of an -imaginative brain, keeping a sound judgment under the sparkling of his -genius, prudent from scepticism, saving through a desire for -independence, and capable, after going the round of human ideas, of -deciding with Candide,[632] that the best thing one can do in this world -is "to cultivate one's garden"? I had rather think, as his full and -solid head suggests,[633] that by the mere force of his overflowing -imagination he escaped, like Goethe, the perils of an overflowing -imagination; that in depicting passion, he succeeded, like Goethe, in -deadening passion; that the fire did not break out in his conduct, -because it found issue in his poetry; that his theatre kept pure his -life; and that, having passed, by sympathy, through every kind of folly -and wretchedness that is incident to human existence, he was able to -settle down amidst them with a calm and melancholic smile, listening, -for the sake of relaxation, to the aerial music of the fancies in which -he revelled.[634] I am willing to believe, lastly, that in frame as in -other things, he belonged to his great generation and his great age; -that with him, as with Rabelais, Titian, Michel Angelo, and Rubens, the -solidity of the muscles was a counterpoise to the sensibility of the -nerves; that in those days the human machine, more severely tried and -more firmly constructed, could withstand the storms of passion and the -fire of inspiration; that soul and body were still at equilibrium; that -genius was then a blossom, and not, as now, a disease. We can but make -conjectures about all this: if we would become acquainted more closely -with the man, we must seek him in his works. - - - - -SECTION II.--Shakespeare's Style--Copiousness--Excesses - - -Let us then look for the man, and in his style. The style explains the -work; whilst showing the principal features of the genius, it infers the -rest. When we have once grasped the dominant faculty, we see the whole -artist developed like a flower. - -Shakespeare imagines with copiousness and excess; he scatters metaphors -profusely over all he writes; every instant abstract ideas are changed -into images; it is a series of paintings which is unfolded in his mind. -He does not seek them, they come of themselves; they crowd within him, -covering his arguments; they dim with their brightness the pure light of -logic. He does not labor to explain or prove; picture on picture, image -on image, he is forever copying the strange and splendid visions which -are engendered one after another, and are heaped up within him. Compare -to our dull writers this passage, which I take at hazard from a tranquil -dialogue: - - -"The single and peculiar life is bound, -With all the strength and armor of the mind, -To keep itself from noyance; but much more -That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest -The lives of many. The cease of majesty -Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw -What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel, -Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, -To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things -Are mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, -Each small annexment, petty consequence, -Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone -Did the king sigh, but with a general groan."[635] - - -Here we have three successive images to express the same thought. It is -a whole blossoming; a bough grows from the trunk, from that another, -which is multiplied into numerous fresh branches. Instead of a smooth -road, traced by a regular line of dry and cunningly fixed landmarks, you -enter a wood, crowded with interwoven trees and luxuriant bushes, which -conceal and prevent your progress, which delight and dazzle your eyes by -the magnificence of their verdure and the wealth of their bloom. You are -astonished at first, modern mind that you are, business man, used to the -clear dissertations of classical poetry; you become cross; you think the -author is amusing himself, and that through conceit and bad taste he is -misleading you and himself in his garden thickets. By no means; if he -speaks thus, it is not from choice, but of necessity; metaphor is not -his whim, but the form of his thought. In the height of passion, he -imagines still. When Hamlet, in despair, remembers his father's noble -form, he sees the mythological pictures with which the taste of the age -filled the very streets: - - -"A station like the herald Mercury -New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill."[636] - - -This charming vision, in the midst of a bloody invective, proves that -there lurks a painter underneath the poet. Involuntarily and out of -season, he tears off the tragic mask which covered his face; and the -reader discovers, behind the contracted features of this terrible mask, -a graceful and inspired smile which he did not expect to see. - -Such an imagination must needs be vehement. Every metaphor is a -convulsion. Whosoever involuntarily and naturally transforms a dry idea -into an image, has his brain on fire; true metaphors are flaming -apparitions, which are like a picture in a flash of lightning. Never, I -think, in any nation of Europe, or in any age of history, has so grand a -passion been seen. Shakespeare's style is a compound of frenzied -expressions. No man has submitted words to such a contortion. Mingled -contrasts, tremendous exaggerations, apostrophes, exclamations; the -whole fury of the ode, confusion of ideas, accumulation of images, the -horrible and the divine, jumbled into the same line; it seems to my -fancy as though he never writes a word without shouting it. "What have I -done?" the queen asks Hamlet. He answers: - - -"Such an act -That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, -Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose -From the fair forehead of an innocent love, -And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows -As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed -As from the body of contraction plucks -The very soul, and sweet religion makes -A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; -Yea, this solidity and compound mass, -With tristful visage, as against the doom, -Is thought-sick at the act."[637] - - -It is the style of frenzy. Yet I have not given all. The metaphors are -all exaggerated, the ideas all verge on the absurd. All is transformed -and disfigured by the whirlwind of passion. The contagion of the crime, -which he denounces, has marred all nature. He no longer sees anything in -the world but corruption and lying. To vilify the virtuous were little; -he vilifies virtue herself. Inanimate things are sucked into this -whirlpool of grief. The sky's red tint at sunset, the pallid darkness -spread by night over the landscape, become the blush and the pallor of -shame, and the wretched man who speaks and weeps sees the whole world -totter with him in the dimness of despair. - -Hamlet, it will be said, is half-mad; this explains the vehemence of his -expressions. The truth is that Hamlet, here, is Shakespeare. Be the -situation terrible or peaceful, whether he is engaged on an invective or -a conversation, the style is excessive throughout. Shakespeare never -sees things tranquilly. All the powers of his mind are concentrated in -the present image or idea. He is buried and absorbed in it. With such a -genius, we are on the brink of an abyss; the eddying water dashes in -headlong, swallowing up whatever objects it meets, and only bringing -them to light transformed and mutilated. We pause stupefied before these -convulsive metaphors, which might have been written by a fevered hand in -a night's delirium, which gather a pageful of ideas and pictures in half -a sentence, which scorch the eyes they would enlighten. Words lose their -meaning; constructions are put out of joint; paradoxes of style, -apparently false expressions, which a man might occasionally venture -upon with diffidence in the transport of his rapture, become the -ordinary language. Shakespeare dazzles, repels, terrifies, disgusts, -oppresses; his verses are a piercing and sublime song, pitched in too -high a key, above the reach of our organs, which offends our ears, of -which our mind alone can divine the justice and beauty. - -Yet this is little; for that singular force of concentration is -redoubled by the suddenness of the dash which calls it into existence. -In Shakespeare there is no preparation, no adaptation, no development, -no care to make himself understood. Like a too fiery and powerful horse, -he bounds, but cannot run. He bridges in a couple of words an enormous -interval; is at the two poles in a single instant. The reader vainly -looks for the intermediate track; dazed by these prodigious leaps, he -wonders by what miracle the poet has entered upon a new idea the very -moment when he quitted the last, seeing perhaps between the two images a -long scale of transitions, which we mount with difficulty step by step, -but which he has spanned in a stride. Shakespeare flies, we creep. Hence -comes a style made up of conceits, bold images, shattered in an instant -by others still bolder, barely indicated ideas completed by others far -removed, no visible connection, but a visible incoherence; at every step -we halt, the track failing; and there, far above us, lo, stands the -poet, and we find that we have ventured in his footsteps, through a -craggy land, full of precipices, which he threads as if it were a -straightforward road, but on which our greatest efforts barely carry us -along. - -What will you think, further, if we observe that these vehement -expressions, so natural in their up-welling, instead of following one -after the other, slowly and with effort, are hurled out by hundreds, -with an impetuous ease and abundance, like the bubbling waves from a -welling spring, which are heaped together, rise one above another, and -find nowhere room enough to spread and exhaust themselves? You may find -in "Romeo and Juliet" a score of examples of this inexhaustible -inspiration. The two lovers pile up an infinite mass of metaphors, -impassioned exaggerations, clenches, contorted phrases, amorous -extravagances. Their language is like the trill of nightingales. -Shakespeare's wits, Mercutio, Beatrice, Rosalind, his clowns, buffoons, -sparkle with far-fetched jokes, which rattle out like a volley of -musketry. There is none of them but provides enough play on words to -stock a whole theatre. Lear's curses, or Queen Margaret's, would suffice -for all the madmen in an asylum, or all the oppressed of the earth. The -sonnets are a delirium of ideas and images, labored at with an obstinacy -enough to make a man giddy. His first poem, "Venus and Adonis," is the -sensual ecstasy of a Correggio, insatiable and excited. This exuberant -fecundity intensifies qualities already in excess, and multiplies a -hundred-fold the luxuriance of metaphor, the incoherence of style, and -the unbridled vehemence of expression.[638] - -All that I have said may be compressed into a few words. Objects were -taken into his mind organized and complete; they pass into ours -disjointed, decomposed, fragmentarily. He thought in the lump, we think -piecemeal; hence his style and our style--two languages not to be -reconciled. We, for our part, writers and reasoners, can note precisely -by a word each isolated fraction of an idea, and represent the due order -of its parts by the due order of our expressions. We advance gradually; -we follow the filiations, refer continually to the roots, try and treat -our words as numbers, our sentences as equations; we employ but general -terms, which every mind can understand, and regular constructions, into -which any mind can enter; we attain justness and clearness, not life. -Shakespeare lets justness and clearness look out for themselves, and -attains life. From amidst his' complex conception and his colored -semi-vision, he grasps a fragment, a quivering fibre, and shows it; it -is for you, from this fragment, to divine the rest. He, behind the word, -has a whole picture, an attitude, a long argument abridged, a mass of -swarming ideas; you know them, these abbreviative, condensive words: -these are they which we launch out amidst the fire of invention, in a -fit of passion--words of slang or of fashion, which appeal to local -memory or individual experience;[639] little desultory and incorrect -phrases, which, by their irregularity, express the suddenness and the -breaks of the inner sensation; trivial words, exaggerated figures.[640] -There is a gesture beneath each, a quick contraction of the brows, a -curl of laughing lips, a clown's trick, an unhinging of the whole -machine. None of them mark ideas, all suggest images; each is the -extremity and issue of a complete mimic action; none is the expression -and definition of a partial and limited idea. This is why Shakespeare is -strange and powerful, obscure and creative, beyond all the poets of his -or any other age; the most immoderate of all violators of language, the -most marvellous of all creators of souls, the farthest removed from -regular logic and classical reason, the one most capable of exciting in -us a world of forms and of placing living beings before us. - - - - -SECTION III.--Shakespeare's Language And Manners - - -Let us reconstruct this world, so as to find in it the imprint of its -creator. A poet does not copy at random the manners which surround him; -he selects from this vast material, and involuntarily brings upon the -stage the habits of the heart and conduct which best suit his talent. If -he is a logician, a moralist, an orator, as, for instance, one of the -French great tragic poets (Racine) of the seventeenth century, he will -only represent noble manners; he will avoid low characters; he will have -a horror of menials and the plebs; he will observe the greatest decorum -amidst the strongest outbreaks of passion; he will reject as scandalous -every low or indecent word; he will give us reason, loftiness, good -taste throughout; he will suppress the familiarity, childishness, -artlessness, gay banter of domestic life; he will blot out precise -details, special traits, and will carry tragedy into a serene and -sublime region, where his abstract personages, unencumbered by time and -space, after an exchange of eloquent harangues and able dissertations, -will kill each other becomingly, and as though they were merely -concluding a ceremony. Shakespeare does just the contrary, because his -genius is the exact opposite. His master faculty is an impassioned -imagination, freed from the shackles of reason and morality. He abandons -himself to it, and finds in man nothing that he would care to lop off. -He accepts nature and finds it beautiful in its entirety. He paints it -in its littlenesses, it deformities, its weaknesses, its excesses, its -irregularities, and its rages; he exhibits man at his meals, in bed, at -play, drunk, mad, sick; he adds that which ought not to be seen to that -which passes on the stage. He does not dream of ennobling, but of -copying human life, and aspires only to make his copy more energetic and -more striking than the original. - -Hence the morals of this drama; and first, the want of dignity. Dignity -arises from self-command. A man selects the most noble of his acts and -attitudes, and allows himself no other. Shakespeare's characters select -none, but allow themselves all. His kings are men, and fathers of -families. The terrible Leontes, who is about to order the death of his -wife and his friend, plays like a child with his son: caresses him, -gives him all the pretty pet names which mothers are wont to employ; he -dares be trivial; he gabbles like a nurse; he has her language and -fulfils her duties: - - -"_Leontes._ What, hast smutch'd thy nose? -They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, -We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:... -Come, sir page, -Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain! -Most dear'st! my collop... Looking on the lines -Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil -Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, -In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, -Lest it should bite its master.... -How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, -This squash, this gentleman!... My brother, -Are you so fond of your young prince as we -Do seem to be of ours? -_Polixenes._ If at home, sir, -He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, -Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy, -My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all: -He makes a July's day short as December, -And with his varying childness cures in me -Thoughts that would thick my blood."[641] - - -There are a score of such passages in Shakespeare. The great passions, -with him as in nature, are preceded or followed by trivial actions, -small-talk, commonplace sentiments. Strong emotions are accidents in our -life: to drink, to eat, to talk of indifferent things, to carry out -mechanically a habitual duty, to dream of some stale pleasure or some -ordinary annoyance, that is in which we employ all our time. Shakespeare -paints us as we are; his heroes bow, ask people for news, speak of rain -and fine weather, as often and as casually as ourselves, on the very eve -of falling into the extremity of misery, or of plunging into fatal -resolutions. Hamlet asks what's o'clock, finds the wind biting, talks of -feasts and music heard without; and this quiet talk, so unconnected with -the action, so full of slight, insignificant facts, which chance alone -has raised up and guided, lasts until the moment when his father's -ghost, rising in the darkness, reveals the assassination which it is his -duty to avenge. - -Reason tells us that our manners should be measured; this is why the -manners which Shakespeare paints are not so. Pure nature is violent, -passionate: it admits no excuses, suffers no middle course, takes no -count of circumstances, wills blindly, breaks out into railing, has the -irrationality, ardor, anger of children. Shakespeare's characters have -hot blood and a ready hand. They cannot restrain themselves, they -abandon themselves at once to their grief, indignation, love, and plunge -desperately down the steep slope, where their passion urges them. How -many need I quote? Timon, Posthumus, Cressida, all the young girls, all -the chief characters in the great dramas; everywhere Shakespeare paints -the unreflecting impetuosity of the impulse of the moment. Capulet tells -his daughter Juliet that in three days she is to marry Earl Paris, and -bids her be proud of it; she answers that she is not proud of it, and -yet she thanks the earl for this proof of love. Compare Capulet's fury -with the anger of Orgon,[642] and you may measure the difference of the -two poets and the two civilizations: - - -"_Capulet._ How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? -'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' -And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, -Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, -But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, -To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, -Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. -Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! -You tallow-face! -_Juliet._ Good father, I beseech you on my knees, -Hear me with patience but to speak a word. -_C._ Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch -I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, -Or never after look me in the face: -Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; -My fingers itch.... -_Lady C._ You are too hot. -_C._ God's bread! it makes me mad: -Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, -Alone, in company, still my care hath been -To have her match'd: and having now provided -A gentleman of noble parentage, -Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, -Stuff'd, as they say, with honorable parts, -Proportion'd as one's thoughts would wish a man; -And then to have a wretched puling fool, -A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, -To answer, '_I'll not wed; I cannot love, -I am too young; I pray you, pardon me_,'-- -But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you: -Graze where you will, you shall not house with me: -Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. -Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: -An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; -An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, -For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee."[643] - - -This method of exhorting one's child to marry is peculiar to Shakespeare -and the sixteenth century. Contradiction to these men was like a red rag -to a bull; it drove them mad. - -We might be sure that in this age, and on this stage, decency was a -thing unknown. It is wearisome, being a check; men got rid of it, -because it was wearisome. It is a gift of reason and morality; as -indecency is produced by nature and passion. Shakespeare's words are too -indecent to be translated. His characters call things by their dirty -names, and compel the thoughts to particular images of physical love. -The talk of gentlemen and ladies is full of coarse allusions; we should -have to find out an alehouse of the lowest description to hear like -words nowadays.[644] - -It would be in an alehouse too that we should have to look for the rude -jests and brutal kind of wit which form the staple of these -conversations. Kindly politeness is the slow fruit of advanced -reflection; it is a sort of humanity and kindliness applied to small -acts and everyday discourse; it bids man soften towards others, and -forget himself for the sake of others; it constrains genuine nature, -which is selfish and gross. This is why it is absent from the manners of -the drama we are considering. You will see carmen, out of sportiveness -and good humor, deal one another hard blows; so it is pretty well with -the conversation of the lords and ladies of Shakespeare who are in a -sportive mood; for instance, Beatrice and Benedick, very well bred folk -as things go,[645] with a great reputation for wit and politeness, whose -smart retorts create amusement for the bystanders. These "skirmishes of -wit" consist in telling one another plainly: You are a coward, a -glutton, an idiot, a buffoon, a rake, a brute! You are a parrot's -tongue, a fool, a... (the word is there). Benedick says: - - -"I will go... to the Antipodes... rather than hold three -words' conference with this harpy.... I cannot endure my -Lady Tongue.... -_Don Pedro._ You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. -_Beatrice._ So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should -prove the mother of fools."[646] - - -We can infer the tone they use when in anger. Emilia, in "Othello," -says: - - -"He call'd her whore; a beggar in his drink -Could not have laid such terms upon his callat."[647] - - -They have a vocabulary of foul words as complete as that of Rabelais, -and they exhaust it. They catch up handfuls of mud and hurl it at their -enemy, not conceiving themselves to be smirched. - -Their actions correspond. They go without shame or pity to the limits of -their passion. They kill, poison, violate, burn; the stage is full of -abominations. Shakespeare lugs upon the stage all the atrocious deeds of -the Civil Wars. These are the ways of wolves and hyenas. We must read of -Jack Cade's sedition[648] to gain an idea of this madness and fury. We -might imagine we were seeing infuriated beasts, the murderous -recklessness of a wolf in a sheepfold, the brutality of a hog fouling -and rolling himself in filth and blood. They destroy, kill, butcher each -other; with their feet in the blood of their victims, they call for food -and drink; they stick heads on pikes and make them kiss one another, and -they laugh. - - -"_Jack Cade._ There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for -a penny.... There shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my -score, and I will apparel them all in one livery.... And here sitting -upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the -pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our -reign.... Away, burn all the records of the realm; my mouth shall be the -parliament of England.... And henceforth all things shall be in -common.... What canst thou answer to my majesty for giving up of -Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France?... The proudest -peer in the realm shall not wear a head on his shoulders, unless he pay -me tribute; there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me -her maidenhead ere they have it. (_Re-enter rebels with the heads of -Lord Say and his son-in-law._) But is not this braver? Let them kiss one -another, for they loved well when they were alive."[649] - - -Man must not be let loose; we know not what lusts and rage may brood -under a sober guise. Nature was never so hideous, and this hideousness -is the truth. - -Are these cannibal manners only met with among the scum? Why, the -princes are worse. The Duke of Cornwall orders the old Earl of -Gloucester to be tied to a chair, because, owing to him, King Lear has -escaped: - - -"Fellows, hold the chair. -Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. -(_Gloucester is held down in the chair, while Cornwall plucks -out one of his eyes, and sets his foot on it._) -_Glou._ He that will think to live till he be old, -Give me some help! O cruel: O you gods! -_Regan._ One side will mock another; the other too. -_Cornwall._ If you see vengeance-- -_Servant._ Hold your hand, my lord: -I have served you ever since I was a child; -But better service have I never done you, -Than now to bid you hold. -_Regan._ How now, you dog! -_Serv._ If you did wear a beard upon your chin, -I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean? -_Corn._ My villain! (_Draws and runs at him._) -_Serv._ Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger. -(_Draws; they fight; Cornwall is wounded._) -_Regan._ Give me thy sword. A peasant stands up thus. -(_Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him._) -_Serv._ O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left -To see some mischief on him. O! (_Dies._) -_Corn._ Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! -Where is thy lustre now? -_Glou._ All dark and comfortless. Where's my son?... -_Regan._ Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell -His way to Dover."[650] - - -Such are the manners of that stage. They are unbridled, like those of -the age, and like the poet's imagination. To copy the common actions of -every-day life, the puerilities and feeblenesses to which the greatest -continually sink, the outbursts of passion which degrade them, the -indecent, harsh, or foul words, the atrocious deeds in which license -revels, the brutality and ferocity of primitive nature, is the work of a -free and unencumbered imagination. To copy this hideousness and these -excesses with a selection of such familiar, significant, precise -details, that they reveal under every word of every personage a complete -civilization, is the work of a concentrated and all-powerful -imagination. This species of manners and this energy of description -indicate the same faculty, unique and excessive, which the style had -already indicated. - - - - -SECTION IV.--Dramatis Personæ - - -On this common background stands out in striking relief a population of -distinct living figures, illuminated by an intense light. This creative -power is Shakespeare's great gift, and it communicates an extraordinary -significance to his words. Every phrase pronounced by one of its -characters enables us to see, besides the idea which it contains and the -emotion which prompted it, the aggregate of the qualities and the entire -character which produced it--the mood, physical attitude, bearing, look -of the man, all instantaneously, with a clearness and force approached -by no one. The words which strike our ears are not the thousandth part -of those we hear within; they are like sparks thrown off here and there; -the eyes catch rare flashes of flame; the mind alone perceives the vast -conflagration of which they are the signs and the effect. He gives us -two dramas in one: the first strange, convulsive, curtailed, visible; -the other consistent, immense, invisible; the one covers the other so -well, that as a rule we do not realize that we are perusing words: we -hear the roll of those terrible voices, we see contracted features, -glowing eyes, pallid faces; we see the agitation, the furious -resolutions which mount to the brain with the feverish blood, and -descend to the sharp-strung nerves. This property possessed by every -phrase to exhibit a world of sentiments and forms, comes from the fact -that the phrase is actually caused by a world of emotions and images. -Shakespeare, when he wrote, felt all that we feel, and much besides. He -had the prodigious faculty of seeing in a twinkling of the eye a -complete character, body, mind, past and present, in every detail and -every depth of his being, with the exact attitude and the expression of -face, which the situation demanded. A word here and there of Hamlet or -Othello would need for its explanation three pages of commentaries; each -of the half-understood thoughts, which the commentator may have -discovered, has left its trace in the turn of the phrase, in the nature -of the metaphor, in the order of the words; nowadays, in pursuing these -traces, we divine the thoughts. These innumerable traces have been -impressed in a second, within the compass of a line. In the next line -there are as many, impressed just as quickly, and in the same compass. -You can gauge the concentration and the velocity of the imagination -which creates thus. - -These characters are all of the same family. Good or bad, gross or -delicate, witty or stupid, Shakespeare gives them all the same kind of -spirit which is his own. He has made of them imaginative people, void of -will and reason, impassioned machines, vehemently jostled one against -another, who were outwardly whatever is most natural and most abandoned -in human nature. Let us act the play to ourselves, and see in all its -stages this clanship of figures, this prominence of portraits. - -Lowest of all are the stupid folk, babbling or brutish. Imagination -already exists there, where reason is not yet born; it exists also there -where reason is dead. The idiot and the brute blindly follow the -phantoms which exist in their benumbed or mechanical brains. No poet has -understood this mechanism like Shakespeare. His Caliban, for instance, a -deformed savage, fed on roots, growls like a beast under the hand of -Prospero, who has subdued him. He howls continually against his master, -though he knows that every curse will be paid back with "cramps and -aches." He is a chained wolf, trembling and fierce, who tries to bite -when approached, and who crouches when he see's the lash raised. He has -a foul sensuality, a loud base laugh, the gluttony of degraded humanity. -He wishes to violate Miranda in her sleep. He cries for his food, and -gorges himself when he gets it. A sailor who had landed in the island, -Stephano, gives him wine; he kisses his feet, and takes him for a god; -he asks if he has not dropped from heaven, and adores him. We find in -him rebellious and baffled passions, which are eager to rise again and -to be satiated. Stephano had beaten his comrade. Caliban cries, "Beat -Him enough: after a little time I'll beat him too." He prays Stephano to -come with him and murder Prospero in his sleep; he thirsts to lead him -there, dances through joy and sees his master already with his "weasand" -cut, and his brains scattered on the earth: - - -"Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou here, -This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. -Do that good mischief which may make this island -Thine own forever, and I, thy Caliban, -For aye thy foot-licker."[651] - - -Others, like Ajax and Cloten, are more like men, and yet it is pure mood -that Shakespeare depicts in them, as in Caliban. The clogging corporeal -machine, the mass of muscles, the thick blood sluggishly moving along in -the veins of these fighting men, oppress the intelligence, and leave no -life but for animal passions. Ajax uses his fists, and devours meat; -that is his existence; if he is jealous of Achilles, it is pretty much -as a bull is jealous of his fellow. He permits himself to be restrained -and led by Ulysses, without looking before him: the grossest flattery -decoys him. The Greeks have urged him to accept Hector's challenge. -Behold him puffed up with pride, scorning to answer anyone, not knowing -what he says or does. Thersites cries, "Good-morrow, Ajax"; and he -replies, "Thanks, Agamemnon." He has no further thought than to -contemplate his enormous frame, and roll majestically his big stupid -eyes. When the day of the fight has come, he strikes at Hector as on an -anvil. After a good while they are separated. "I am not warm yet," says -Ajax, "let us fight again."[652] Cloten is less massive than this -phlegmatic ox; but he is just as idiotic, just as vainglorious, just as -coarse. The beautiful Imogen, urged by his insults and his scullion -manners, tells him that his whole body is not worth as much a -Posthumus's meanest garment. He is stung to the quick, repeats the words -several times; he cannot shake off the idea, and runs at it again and -again with his head down, like an angry ram: - - -"_Cloten._ 'His garment?' Now, the devil-- -_Imogen._ To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently-- -_C._ 'His garment?'... You have abused me: 'His meanest -garment!'... I'll be revenged: 'His meanest garment!' Well."[653] - - -He gets some of Posthumus's garments, and goes to Milford Haven, -expecting to meet Imogen there. On his way he mutters thus: - - -"With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in -her eyes; there shall she see my valor, which will then be a torment to -her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his -dead body, and when my lust has dined--which, as I say, to vex her I -will execute in the clothes that she so praised--to the court I'll knock -her back, foot her home again."[654] - - -Others again, are but babblers: for example, Polonius, the grave -brainless counsellor; a great baby, not yet out of his "swathing -clouts"; a solemn booby, who rains on men a shower of counsels, -compliments, and maxims; a sort of court speaking-trumpet, useful in -grand ceremonies, with the air of a thinker, but fit only to spout -words. But the most complete of all these characters is that of the -nurse in "Romeo and Juliet," a gossip, loose in her talk, a regular -kitchen oracle, smelling of the stewpan and old boots, foolish, -impudent, immoral, but otherwise a good creature, and affectionate to -her nurse-child. Mark this disjointed and never-ending gossip's babble: - - -"_Nurse._ 'Faith I can tell her age unto an hour. -_Lady Capulet._ She's not fourteen.... -_Nurse._ Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. -Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- -Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; -She was too good for me: but, as I said, -On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; -That shall she, marry; I remember it well. -'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; -And she was wean'd--I never shall forget it-- -Of all the days of the year, upon that day: -For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, -Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; -My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- -Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, -When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple -Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, -To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! -Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, -To bid me trudge: -And since that time it is eleven years; -For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, -She could have run and waddled all about; -For even the day before, she broke her brow."[655] - - -Then she tells an indecent anecdote, which she begins over again four -times. She is silenced: what then? She has her anecdote in her head, and -cannot cease repeating it and laughing to herself. Endless repetitions -are the mind's first step. The vulgar do not pursue the straight line of -reasoning and of the story; they repeat their steps, as it were merely -marking time: struck with an image, they keep it for an hour before -their eyes, and are never tired of it. If they do advance, they turn -aside to a hundred subordinate ideas before they get at the phrase -required. They allow themselves to be diverted by all the thoughts which -come across them. This is what the nurse does; and when she brings -Juliet news of her lover, she torments and wearies her, less from a wish -to tease than from a habit of wandering from the point: - - -"_Nurse._ Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? -Do you not see that I am out of breath? -_Juliet._ How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath -To say to me that thou art out of breath? -Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; -Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: -Let me be satisfied: is't good or bad? -_N._ Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose -a man: Romeo! no, not he: though his face be better than any man's, -yet his legs excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a body, -though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is -not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. -Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? -_J._ No, no: but all this did I know before. -What says he of our marriage? what of that? -_N._ Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! -It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. -My back o' t'other side--O, my back, my back! -Beshrew your heart for sending me about, -To catch my death with jaunting up and down! -_J._ I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. -Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? -_N._ Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and -a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous--Where is your -mother?"[656] - - -It is never-ending. Her gabble is worse when she comes to announce to -Juliet the death of her cousin and the banishment of Romeo. It is the -shrill cry and chatter of an overgrown asthmatic magpie. She laments, -confuses the names, spins roundabout sentences, ends by asking for -_aqua-vitœ._ She curses Romeo, then brings him to Juliet's chamber. -Next day Juliet is ordered to marry Earl Paris; Juliet throws herself -into her nurse's arms, praying for comfort, advice, assistance. The -other finds the true remedy: Marry Paris, - - -"O, he's a lovely gentleman! -Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, -Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye -As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, -I think you are happy in this second match. -For it excels your first."[657] - - -This cool immorality, these weather-cock arguments, this fashion of -estimating love like a fishwoman, completes the portrait. - - - - -SECTION V.--Men of Wit - - -The mechanical imagination produces Shakespeare's fool-characters: a -quick, venturesome, dazzling, unquiet imagination, produces his men of -wit. Of wit there are many kinds. One, altogether French, which is but -reason, a foe to paradox, scorner of folly, a sort of incisive -common-sense, having no occupation but to render truth amusing and -evident, the most effective weapon with an intelligent and vain people: -such was the wit of Voltaire and the drawing-rooms. The other, that of -improvisators and artists, is a mere inventive rapture, paradoxical, -unshackled, exuberant, a sort of self-entertainment, a phantasmagoria of -images, flashes of wit, strange ideas, dazing and intoxicating, like the -movement and illumination in a ball-room. Such is the wit of Mercutio, -of the clowns, of Beatrice, Rosalind, and Benedick. They laugh, not from -a sense of the ridiculous, but from the desire to laugh. You must look -elsewhere for the campaigns with aggressive reason makes against human -folly. Here folly is in its full bloom. Our folk think of amusement, and -nothing more. They are good-humored; they let their wit prance gayly -over the possible and the impossible. They play upon words, contort -their sense, draw absurd and laughable inferences, send them back to one -another, and without intermission, as if with shuttlecocks, and vie with -each other in singularity and invention. They dress all their ideas in -strange or sparkling metaphors. The taste of the time was for -masquerades; their conversation is a masquerade of ideas. They say -nothing in a simple style; they only seek to heap together subtle -things, far-fetched, difficult to invent and to understand; all their -expressions are over-refined, unexpected, extraordinary; they strain -their thought, and change it into a caricature. "Alas, poor Romeo!" says -Mercutio, "he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; -shot through the ear with a love-song, the very pin of his heart cleft -with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft."[658] Benedick relates a -conversation he has just held with his mistress: "O, she misused me past -the endurance of a block! an oak, but with one green leaf on it would -have answered her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with -her."[659] These gay and perpetual extravagances show the bearing of the -speakers. They do not remain quietly seated in their chairs, like the -Marquesses in the "Misanthrope"; they whirl round, leap, paint their -faces, gesticulate boldly their ideas; their wit-rockets end with a -song. Young folk, soldiers and artists, they let off their fireworks of -phrases, and gambol round about. "There was a star danced, and under -that was I born."[660] This expression of Beatrice's aptly describes the -kind of poetical, sparkling, unreasoning, charming wit, more akin to -music than to literature, a sort of dream, which is spoken out aloud, -and whilst wide awake, not unlike that described by Mercutio: - - -"O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. -She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes -In shape no bigger than an agate-stone -On the fore-finger of an alderman, -Drawn with a team of little atomies -Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; -Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, -The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, -The traces of the smallest spider's web, -The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, -Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, -Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat, -Not half so big as a round little worm -Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; -Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, -Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, -Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. -And in this state she gallops night by night -Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; -O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, -O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, -O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.... -Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, -And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; -And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail -Tickling a person's nose as a' lies asleep, -Then dreams he of another benefice: -Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, -And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, -Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, -Of healths five-fathom deep: and then anon -Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, -And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two -And sleeps again. This is that very Mab -That plats the manes of horses in the night, -And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, -Which once untangled much misfortune bodes... -This is she."[661] - - - - -[Illustration: CHOICE EXAMPLES OF BOOK ILLUMINATION. -Fac-similes from Illuminated Manuscripts and Illustrated Books -of Early Date. - -_TITLE-PAGE OF THE HYPNEROTOMACHIA._ - -The present frontispiece belongs to a French translation of the work of -Poliphilo, the only book with decorated borders and insertions ever -published by the Venetian Aldi. They printed the Hypnerotomachia in -1499, and it was reproduced in a French translation, with the present -title-page by the Parisian printer, Jacques Kerver, in 1546. All the -profuse embellishments of the Aldine edition were retained, but the -title-page here reproduced is from a design of the famous French -sculptor, Jean Goujon.] - - - -Romeo interrupts him, or he would never end. Let the reader compare with -the dialogue of the French theatre this little poem - - -"Child of an idle brain, -Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,"[662] - - -introduced without incongruity in the midst of a conversation of the -sixteenth century, and he will understand the difference between the wit -which devotes itself to reasoning, or to record a subject for laughter, -and that imagination which is self-amused with its own act. - -Falstaff has the passions of an animal, and the imagination of a man of -wit. There is no character which better exemplifies the fire and -immorality of Shakespeare. Falstaff is a great supporter of disreputable -places, swearer, gamester, idler, wine-bibber, as low as he well can be. -He has a big belly, bloodshot eyes, bloated face, shaking legs; he -spends his life with his elbows among the tavern-jugs, or asleep on the -ground behind the arras; he only wakes to curse, lie, brag, and steal. -He is as big a swindler as Panurge, who had sixty-three ways of making -money, "of which the honestest was by sly theft." And what is worse, he -is an old man, a knight, a courtier, and well educated. Must he not be -odious and repulsive? By no means; we cannot help liking him. At bottom, -like his brother Panurge, he is "the best fellow in the world." He has -no malice in his composition; no other wish than to laugh and be amused. -When insulted, he bawls out louder than his attackers, and pays them -back with interest in coarse words and insults; but he owes them no -grudge for it. The next minute he is sitting down with them in a low -tavern, drinking their health like a brother and comrade. If he has -vices, he exposes them so frankly that we are obliged to forgive him -them. He seems to say to us, "Well, so I am, what then? I like drinking: -isn't the wine good? I take to my heels when hard hitting begins; don't -blows hurt? I get into debt, and do fools out their money; isn't it nice -to have money in your pocket? I brag; isn't it natural to want to be -well thought of?"--"Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of -innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days -of villainy? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and -therefore more frailty."[663] Falstaff is so frankly immoral, that he -ceases to be so. Conscience ends at a certain point; nature assumes its -place, and man rushes upon what he desires, without more thought of -being just or unjust than an animal in the neighboring wood. Falstaff, -engaged in recruiting, has sold exemptions to all the rich people, and -only enrolled starved and half-naked wretches. There's but a shirt and a -half in all his company: that does not trouble him. Bah: "they'll find -linen enough on every hedge." The prince, who has seen them, says, "I -did never see such pitiful rascals. Tut, tut," answers Falstaff, "good -enough to toss; food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better; -tush, man, mortal men, mortal men."[664] His second excuse is his -unfailing spirit. If ever there was a man who could jabber, it is he. -Insults and oaths, curses, jobations, protests, flow from him as from an -open barrel. He is never at a loss; he devises a shift for every -difficulty. Lies sprout out of him, fructify, increase, beget one -another, like mushrooms on a rich and rotten bed of earth. He lies still -more from his imagination and nature than from interest and necessity. -It is evident from the manner in which he strains his fictions. He says -he has fought alone against two men. The next moment it is four. -Presently we have seven, then eleven, then fourteen. He is stopped in -time, or he would soon be talking of a whole army. When unmasked, he -does not lose his temper, and is the first to laugh at his boastings. -"Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold.... What, shall we be merry? shall -we have a play extempore?"[665] He does the scolding part of King Henry -with so much truth that we might take him for a king, or an actor. This -big potbellied fellow, a coward, a cynic, a brawler, a drunkard, a lewd -rascal, a pothouse poet, is one of Shakespeare's favorites. The reason -is, that his morals are those of pure nature, and Shakespeare's mind is -congenial with his own. - - - - -SECTION VI.--Shakespeare's Women - - -Nature is shameless and gross amidst this mass of flesh, heavy with wine -and fatness. It is delicate in the delicate body of women, but as -unreasoning and impassioned in Desdemona as in Falstaff. Shakespeare's -women are charming children, who feel in excess and love passionately. -They have unconstrained manners, little rages, nice words of friendship, -a coquettish rebelliousness, a graceful volubility, which recall the -warbling and the prettiness of birds. The heroines of the French stage -are almost men; these are women, and in every sense of the word. More -imprudent than Desdemona a woman could not be. She is moved with pity -for Cassio, and asks a favor for him passionately, recklessly, be the -thing just or no, dangerous or no. She knows nothing of man's laws, and -does not think of them. All that she sees is, that Cassio is unhappy: - - -"Be thou assured, good Cassio... My lord shall never rest; -I'll watch him, tame and talk him out of patience; -His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; -I'll intermingle everything he does -With Cassio's suit."[666] - - -She asks her favor: - - -"_Othello._ Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. -_Desdemona._ But shall't be shortly? -_O._ The sooner, sweet, for you. -_Des._ Shall't be to-night at supper? -_O._ No, not to-night. -_Des._ To-morrow dinner, then? -_O._ I shall not dine at home; -I meet the captains at the citadel. -_Des._ Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; -On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn; -I prithee, name the time, but let it not -Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent."[667] - - -She is somewhat astonished to see herself refused: she scolds Othello. -He yields: who would not yield seeing a reproach in those lovely sulking -eyes? O, says she, with a pretty pout: - - -"This is not a boon; -'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, -Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, -Or sue to you to do peculiar profit -To your own person."[668] - - -A moment after, when he prays her to leave him alone for a while, mark -the innocent gayety, the ready observance, the playful child's tone: - - -"Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord.... -Emilia, come: Be as your fancies teach you; -Whate'er you be, I am obedient."[669] - - -This vivacity, this petulance, does not prevent shrinking modesty and -silent timidity: on the contrary, they spring from a common cause, -extreme sensibility. She who feels much and quickly has more reserve and -more passion than others; she breaks out or is silent; she says nothing -or everything. Such is this Imogen. - - -"So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, -And strokes death to her."[670] - - -Such is Virgilia, the sweet wife of Coriolanus; her heart is not a Roman -one; she is terrified at her husband's victories: when Volumnia -describes him stamping on the field of battle, and wiping his bloody -brow with his hand, she grows pale: - - -"His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood!... -Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!"[671] - - -She wishes to forget all that she knows of these dangers; she dare not -think of them. When asked if Coriolanus does not generally return -wounded, she cries, "O, no, no, no." She avoids this cruel picture, and -yet nurses a secret pang at the bottom of her heart. She will not leave -the house: "I'll not over the threshold till my lord return."[672] She -does not smile, will hardly admit a visitor; she would blame herself, as -for a lack of tenderness, for a moment's forgetfulness or gayety. When -he does return, she can only blush and weep. This exalted sensibility -must needs end in love. All Shakespeare's women love without measure, -and nearly all at first sight. At the first look Juliet cast on Romeo, -she says to the nurse: - - -"Go, ask his name: if he be married, -My grave is like to be my wedding bed."[673] - - -It is the revelation of their destiny. As Shakespeare has made them, -they cannot but love, and they must love till death. But this first look -is an ecstasy: and this sudden approach of love is a transport. Miranda -seeing Fernando, fancies that she sees "a thing divine." She halts -motionless, in the amazement of this sudden vision, at the sound of -these heavenly harmonies which rise from the depths of her heart. She -weeps, on seeing him drag the heavy logs; with her slender white hands -she would do the work whilst he reposed. Her compassion and tenderness -carry her away; she is no longer mistress of her words, she says what -she would not, what her father has forbidden her to disclose, what an -instant before she would never have confessed. The too full heart -overflows unwittingly, happy, and ashamed at the current of joy and new -sensations with which an unknown feeling has flooded her: - - -"_Miranda._ I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of.... -_Fernando._ Wherefore weep you? -_M._ At mine unworthiness that dare not offer -What I desire to give, and much less take -What I shall die to want.... -I am your wife, if you will marry me; -If not, I'll die your maid."[674] - - -This irresistible invasion of love transforms the whole character. The -shrinking and tender Desdemona, suddenly, in full Senate, before her -father, renounces her father; dreams not for an instant of asking his -pardon, or consoling him. She will leave for Cyprus with Othello, -through the enemy's fleet and the tempest. Everything vanishes before -the one and adored image which has taken entire and absolute possession -of her whole heart. So, extreme evils, bloody resolves, are only the -natural sequence of such love. Ophelia becomes mad, Juliet commits -suicide; no one but looks upon such madness and death as necessary. You -will not then discover virtue in these souls, for by virtue is implied a -determinate desire to do good, and a rational observance of duty. They -are only pure through delicacy or love. They recoil from vice as a gross -thing, not as an immoral thing. What they feel is not respect for the -marriage vow, but adoration of their husband. "O sweetest, fairest -lily!" So Cymbeline speaks of one of these frail and lovely flowers -which cannot be torn from the tree to which they have grown, whose least -impurity would tarnish their whiteness. When Imogen learns that her -husband means to kill her as being faithless, she does not revolt at the -outrage; she has no pride, but only love. "False to his bed!" She faints -at the thought that she is no longer loved. When Cordelia hears her -father, an irritable old man, already almost insane, ask her how she -loves him, she cannot make up her mind to say aloud the flattering -protestations which her sisters have been lavishing. She is ashamed to -display her tenderness before the world, and to buy a dowry by it. He -disinherits her, and drives her away; she holds her tongue. And when she -afterwards finds him abandoned and mad, she goes on her knees before -him, with such a touching emotion, she weeps over that dear insulted -head with so gentle a pity, that you might fancy it was the tender voice -of a desolate but delighted mother, kissing the pale lips of her child: - - -"O yon kind gods, -Cure this great breach in his abused nature! -The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up -Of this child-changed father!... -O my dear father! Restoration hang -Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss -Repair those violent harms that my two sisters -Have in thy reverence made!... Was this a face -To be opposed against the warring winds? -... Mine enemy's dog, -Though he had bit me, should have stood that night -Against my fire.... -How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?"[675] - - -If, in short, Shakespeare comes across a heroic character, worthy of -Corneille, a Roman, such as the mother of Coriolanus, he will explain by -passion what Corneille would have explained by heroism. He will depict -it violent and thirsting for the violent feelings of glory. She will not -be able to refrain herself. She will break out into accents of triumph -when she sees her son crowned; into imprecations of vengeance when she -sees him banished. She will descend to the vulgarities of pride and -anger; she will abandon herself to mad effusions of joy, to dreams of an -ambitious fancy,[676] and will prove once more that the impassioned -imagination of Shakespeare has left its trace in all the creatures whom -it has called forth. - - - - -SECTION VII.--Types of Villains - - -Nothing is easier to such a poet than to create perfect villains. -Throughout he is handling the unruly passions which make their -character, and he never hits upon the moral law which restrains them; -but at the same time, and by the same faculty, he changes the inanimate -masks, which the conventions of the stage mould on an identical pattern, -into living and illusory figures. How shall a demon be made to look as -real as a man? Iago is a soldier of fortune who has roved the world from -Syria to England, who, nursed in the lowest ranks, having had close -acquaintance with the horrors of the wars of the sixteenth century, had -drawn thence the maxims of a Turk and the philosophy of a butcher; -principles he has none left. "O my reputation, my reputation!" cries the -dishonored Cassio. "As I am an honest man," says Iago, "I thought you -had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in -reputation."[677] As for woman's virtue, he looks upon it like a man who -has kept company with slave-dealers. He estimates Desdemona's love as he -would estimate a mare's: that sort of thing lasts so long--then... And -then he airs an experimental theory with precise details and nasty -expressions like a stud doctor. "It cannot be that Desdemona should long -continue her love to the Moor, nor he his to her.... These Moors are -changeable in their wills;... the food that to him now is as luscious as -locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must -change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the -error of her choice."[678] Desdemona, on the shore, trying! to forget -her cares, begs him to sing the praises of her sex. For every portrait -he finds the most insulting insinuations. She insists, and bids him take -the case of a deserving woman. "Indeed," he replies, "she was a wight, -if ever such wight were,... to suckle fools and chronicle small -beer."[679] He also says, when Desdemona asks him what he would write in -praise of her: "O gentle lady do not put me to't, for I am nothing, if -not critical."[680] This is the key to his character. He despises man; -to him Desdemona is a little wanton wench, Cassio an elegant -word-shaper, Othello a mad bull, Roderigo an ass to be basted, thumped, -made to go. He diverts himself by setting these passions at issue; he -laughs at it as at a play. When Othello, swooning, shakes in his -convulsions, he rejoices at this capital result: "Work on, my medicine, -work! Thus credulous fools are caught."[681] You would take him for one -of the poisoners of the time, studying the effect of a new potion on a -dying dog. He only speaks in sarcasms; he has them ready for everyone, -even for those whom he does not know. When he wakes Brabantio to inform -him of the elopement of his daughter, he tells him the matter in coarse -terms, sharpening the sting of the bitter pleasantry, like a -conscientious executioner, rubbing his hands when he hears the culprit -groan under the knife. "Thou art a villain!" cries Brabantio. "You -are--a senator!" answers Iago. But the feature which really completes -him, and makes him take rank with Mephistopheles, is the atrocious truth -and the cogent reasoning by which he likens his crime to virtue.[682] -Cassio, under his advice, goes to see Desdemona, to obtain her -intercession for him; this visit is to be the ruin of Desdemona and -Cassio. Iago, left alone, hums for an instant quietly, then cries: - - -"And what's he then that says I play the villain? -When this advice is free I give and honest, -Probal to thinking and indeed the course -To win the Moor again."[683] - - -To all these features must be added a diabolical energy,[684] an -inexhaustible inventiveness in images, caricatures, obscenity, the -manners of a guard-room, the brutal bearing and tastes of a trooper, -habits of dissimulation, coolness, hatred, and patience, contracted amid -the perils and devices of a military life, and the continuous miseries -of long degradation and frustrated hope; you will understand how -Shakespeare could transform abstract treachery into a concrete form, and -how Iago's atrocious vengeance is only the natural consequence of his -character, life, and training. - - - - -SECTION VIII.--Principal Characters - - -How much more visible is this impassioned and unfettered genius of -Shakespeare in the great characters which sustain the whole weight of -the drama! The startling imagination, the furious velocity of the -manifold and exuberant ideas, passion let loose, rushing upon death and -crime, hallucinations, madness, all the ravages of delirium bursting -through will and reason: such are the forces and ravings which engender -them. Shall I speak of dazzling Cleopatra, who holds Antony in the -whirlwind of her devices and caprices, who fascinates and kills, who -scatters to the winds the lives of men as a handful of desert dust, the -fatal Eastern sorceress who sports with love and death, impetuous, -irresistible, child of air and fire, whose life is but a tempest, whose -thought, ever barbed and broken, is like the crackling of a lightning -flash? Of Othello, who, beset by the graphic picture of physical -adultery, cries at every word of Iago like a man on the rack; who, his -nerves hardened by twenty years of war and shipwreck, grows mad and -swoons for grief, and whose soul, poisoned by jealousy, is distracted -and disorganized in convulsions and in stupor? Or of old King Lear, -violent and weak, whose half-unseated reason is gradually toppled over -under the shocks of incredible treacheries, who presents the frightful -spectacle of madness, first increasing, then complete, of curses, -bowlings, superhuman sorrows, into which the transport of the first -access of fury carries him, and then of peaceful incoherence, chattering -imbecility, into which the shattered man subsides; a marvellous -creation, the supreme effort of pure imagination, a disease of reason, -which reason could never have conceived?[685] Amid so many portraitures -let us choose two or three to indicate the depth and nature of them all. -The critic is lost in Shakespeare, as in an immense town; he will -describe a couple of monuments, and entreat the reader to imagine the -city. - -Plutarch's Coriolanus is an austere, coldly haughty patrician, a general -of the army. In Shakespeare's hands he becomes a coarse soldier, a man -of the people as to his language and manners, an athlete of war, with a -voice like a trumpet; whose eyes by contradiction are filled with a rush -of blood and anger, proud and terrible in mood, a lion's soul in the -body of a bull. The philosopher Plutarch told of him a lofty philosophic -action, saying that he had been at pains to save his landlord in the -sack of Corioli. Shakespeare's Coriolanus has indeed the same -disposition, for he is really a good fellow; but when Lartius asks him -the name of this poor Volscian, in order to secure his liberty, he yawns -out: - - -"By Jupiter! forgot. -I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. -Have we no wine here?"[686] - - -He is hot, he has been fighting, he must drink; he leaves his Volscian -in chains, and thinks no more of him. He fights like a porter, with -shouts and insults, and the cries from that deep chest are heard above -the din of the battle like the sounds from a brazen trumpet. He has -scaled the walls of Corioli, he has butchered till he is gorged with -slaughter. Instantly he turns to the army of Cominius, and arrives red -with blood, "as he were flay'd. Come I too late?" Cominius begins to -compliment him. "Come I too late?" he repeats. The battle is not yet -finished: he embraces Cominius: - - -"O! let me clip ye -In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart -As merry as when our nuptial day was done."[687] - - -For the battle is a real holiday to him. Such senses, such a strong -frame, need the outcry, the din of battle, the excitement of death and -wounds. This haughty and indomitable heart needs the joy of victory and -destruction. Mark the display of his patrician arrogance and his -soldier's bearing, when he is offered the tenth of the spoils: - - -"I thank you, general; -But cannot make my heart consent to take -A bribe to pay my sword."[688] - - -The soldiers cry, Marcius! Marcius! and the trumpets sound. He gets into -a passion: rates the brawlers: - - -"No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd -My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch-- -... You shout me forth -In acclamations hyperbolical; -As if I loved my little should be dieted -In praises sauced with lies."[689] - - -They are reduced to loading him with honors: Cominius gives him a -war-horse; decrees him the cognomen of Coriolanus; the people shout -Caius Marcius Coriolanus! He replies: - - -"I will go wash; -And when my face is fair, you shall perceive -Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you. -I mean to stride your steed."[690] - - -This loud voice, loud laughter, blunt acknowledgment, of a man who can -act and shout better than speak, foretell the mode in which he will -treat the plebeians. He loads them with insults; he cannot find abuse -enough for the cobblers, tailors, envious cowards, down on their knees -for a coin. "To beg of Hob and Dick! Bid them wash their faces and -keep their teeth clean." But he must beg, if he would be consul; his -friends constrain him. It is then that the passionate soul, incapable of -self-restraint, such as Shakespeare knew how to paint, breaks forth -without hinderance. He is there in his candidate's gown, gnashing his -teeth, and getting up his lesson in this style: - - -"What must I say? -'I pray, sir'--Plague upon't! I cannot bring -My tongue to such a pace:--'Look, sir, my wounds! -I got them in my country's service, when -Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran -From the noise of our own drums.'"[691] - - -The tribunes have no difficulty in stopping the election of a candidate -who begs in this fashion. They taunt him in full Senate, reproach him -with his speech about the corn. He repeats it, with aggravations. Once -roused, neither danger nor prayer restrains him: - - -"His heart's his mouth: -And, being angry, does forget that ever -He heard the name of death."[692] - - -He rails against the people, the tribunes, ediles, flatterers of the -plebs. "Come, enough," says his friend Menenius. "Enough, with -over-measure," says Brutus the tribune. He retorts: - - -"No, take more: -What may be sworn by, both divine and human, -Seal what I end withal!... At once pluck out -The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick -The sweet which is their poison."[693] - - -The tribune cries, Treason! and bids seize him. He cries: - - -"Hence, old goat!... -Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones -Out of thy garments!"[694] - - -He strikes him, drives the mob off: he fancies himself amongst -Volscians. "On fair ground I could beat forty of them!" And when his -friends hurry him off, he threatens still, and - - -"Speak(s) o' the people -As if you (he) were a god to punish, not -A man of their infirmity."[695] - - -Yet he bends before his mother, for he has recognized in her a soul as -lofty and a courage as intractable as his own. He has submitted from his -infancy to the ascendancy of this pride which he admires. Volumnia -reminds him: "My praises made thee first a soldier." Without power over -himself, continually tossed on the fire of his too hot blood, he has -always been the arm, she the thought. He obeys from involuntary respect, -like a soldier before his general, but with what effort! - - -"_Coriolanus._ The smiles of knaves -Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up -The glances of my sight! a beggar's tongue -Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees -Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his -That hath received an alms!--I will not do't.... -_Volumnia._ ... Do as thou list. -Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me, -But owe thy pride thyself. -_Cor._ Pray, be content: -Mother, I am going to the market-place; -Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, -Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved -Of all the trades in Rome."[696] - - -He goes, and his friends speak for him. Except a few bitter asides, he -appears to be submissive. Then the tribunes pronounce the accusation, -and summon him to answer as a traitor: - - -"_Cor._ How! traitor! -_Men._ Nay, temperately: your promise. -_Cor._ The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the people! -Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! -Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, -In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in -Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, -'Thou liest,' unto thee with a voice as free -As I do pray the gods."[697] - - -His friends surround him, entreat him: he will not listen; he foams at -the mouth, he is like a wounded lion: - - -"Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, -Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger -But with a grain a day, I would not buy -Their mercy at the price of one fair word."[698] - - -The people vote exile, supporting by their shouts the sentence of the -tribune: - - -"_Cor._ You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate -As reek o' the rotten fens, whose love I prize -As the dead carcasses of unburied men -That do corrupt my air, I banish you.... Despising, -For you, the city, thus I turn my back: -There is a world elsewhere."[699] - - -Judge of his hatred by these raging words. It goes on increasing whilst -waiting for vengeance. We find him next with the Volscian army before -Rome. His friends kneel before him, he lets them kneel. Old Menenius, -who had loved him as a son, only comes now to be driven away. "Wife, -mother, child, I know not."[700] He knows not himself. For this strength -of hating in a noble heart is the same as the force of loving. He has -transports of tenderness as of rage, and can contain himself no more in -joy than in grief. He runs, spite of his resolution, to his wife's arms; -he bends his knee before his mother. He had summoned the Volscian chiefs -to make them witnesses of his refusals; and before them, he grants all, -and weeps. On his return to Corioli, an insulting word from Aufidius -maddens him, and drives him upon the daggers of the Volscians. Vices and -virtues, glory and misery, greatness and feebleness, the unbridled -passion which composes his nature, endowed him with all. - -If the life of Coriolanus is the history of a mood, that of Macbeth is -the history of a monomania. The witches' prophecy has sunk into his mind -at once, like a fixed idea. Gradually this idea corrupts the rest, and -transforms the whole man. He is haunted by it; he forgets the thanes who -surround him and "who stay upon his leisure"; he already sees in the -future an indistinct chaos of images of blood: - - -"... Why do I yield to that suggestion -Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair -And make my seated heart knock at my ribs?... -My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, -Shakes so my single state of man that function -Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is -But what is not."[701] - - -This is the language of hallucination. Macbeth's hallucination becomes -complete when his wife has persuaded him to assassinate the king. He -sees in the air a blood-stained dagger, "in form as palpable, as this -which now I draw." His whole brain is filled with grand and terrible -phantoms, which the mind of a common murderer could never have -conceived: the poetry of which indicates a generous heart, enslaved to -an idea of fate, and capable of remorse: - - -"... Now o'er the one half world -Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse -The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates -Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, -Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, -Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, -With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design -Moves like a ghost.... (_A bell rings._) -I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. -Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell -That summons thee to heaven or to hell."[702] - - -He has done the deed, and returns tottering, haggard, like a drunken -man. He is horrified at his bloody hands, "these hangman's hands." -Nothing now can cleanse them. The whole ocean might sweep over them, but -they would keep the hue of murder. "What hands are here? ha, they pluck -out mine eyes!" He is disturbed by a word which the sleeping -chamberlains uttered: - - -"One cried, 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; -As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. -Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' -When they did say, 'God bless us!'... -But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen!' -I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' -Stuck in my throat."[703] - - -Then comes a strange dream; a frightful vision of the punishment that -awaits him descends upon him. - -Above the beating of his heart, the tingling of the blood which seethes -in his brain, he had heard them cry: - - -"'Sleep no more! -Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep, -Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, -The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, -Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, -Chief nourisher in life's feast."[704] - - -And the voice, like an angel's trumpet, calls him by all his titles: - - -"'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor -Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more!'"[705] - - -This idea, incessantly repeated, beats in his brain, with monotonous and -quick strokes, like the tongue of a bell. Insanity begins; all the force -of his mind is occupied by keeping before him, in spite of himself, the -image of the man whom he has murdered in his sleep: - - -"To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. (_Knock._) -Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!"[706] - - -Thenceforth, in the rare intervals in which the fever of his mind is -assuaged, he is like a man worn out by a long malady. It is the sad -prostration of maniacs worn out by their fits of rage: - - -"Had I but died an hour before this chance, -I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant -There's nothing serious in mortality: -All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; -The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees -Is left this vault to brag of."[707] - - -When rest has restored force to the human machine, the fixed idea shakes -him again, and drives him onward, like a pitiless horseman, who has left -his panting horse only for a moment, to leap again into the saddle, and -spur him over precipices. The more he has done, the more he must do: - - -"I am in blood -Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, -Returning were as tedious as go o'er..."[708] - - -He kills in order to preserve the fruit of his murders. The fatal -circlet of gold attracts him like a magic jewel; and he beats down, from -a sort of blind instinct, the heads, which he sees between the crown and -him: - - -"But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, -Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep -In the affliction of these terrible dreams -That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, -Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace, -Than on the torture of the mind to lie -In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; -After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; -Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, -Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, -Can touch him further."[709] - - -Macbeth has ordered Banquo to be murdered, and in the midst of a great -feast he is informed of the success of his plan. He smiles, and proposes -Banquo's health. Suddenly, conscience-smitten, he sees the ghost of the -murdered man; for this phantom, which Shakespeare summons, is not a mere -stage-trick: we feel that here the supernatural is unnecessary, and that -Macbeth would create it even if hell would not send it. With muscles -twitching, dilated eyes, his mouth half open with deadly terror, he sees -it shake its bloody head, and cries with that hoarse voice, which is -only to be heard in maniacs' cells: - - -"Prithee, see there? Behold! look! lo! how say you? -Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. -If charnel-houses and our graves must send -Those that we bury back, our monuments -Shall be the maws of kites.... -Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,... -Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd -Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, -That, when the brains were out, the man would die, -And there an end; but now they rise again, -With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, -And push us from our stools:... -Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! -Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; -Thou hast no speculation in those eyes -Which thou dost glare with!"[710] - - -His body trembling like that of an epileptic, his teeth clenched, -foaming at the mouth, he sinks on the ground, his limbs writhe, shaken -with convulsive quiverings, whilst a dull sob swells his panting breast, -and dies in his swollen throat. What joy can remain for a man beset by -such visions? The wide dark country, which he surveys from his towering -castle, is but a field of death, haunted by ominous apparitions; -Scotland, which he is depopulating, a cemetery, - - -"Where... the dead man's knell -Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives -Expire before the flowers in their caps. -Dying or ere they sicken."[711] - - -His soul is "full of scorpions." He has "supp'd full with horrors," and -the loathsome odor of blood has disgusted him with all else. He goes -stumbling over the corpses which he has heaped up, with the mechanical -and desperate smile of a maniac-murderer. Thenceforth death, life, all -is one to him; the habit of murder has placed him out of the pale of -humanity. They tell him that his wife is dead: - - -"_Macbeth._ She should have died hereafter; -There would have been a time for such a word. -To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, -Creeps in this petty pace from day to day -To the last syllable of recorded time, -And all our yesterdays have lighted fools -The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! -Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player -That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, -And then is heard no more: it is a tale -Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, -Signifying nothing."[712] - - -There remains for him the hardening of the heart in crime, the fixed -belief in destiny. Hunted down by his enemies, "bearlike, tied to a -stake," he fights, troubled only by the prediction of the witches, sure -of being invulnerable so long as the man whom they have described does -not appear. Henceforth his thoughts dwell on a supernatural world, and -to the last he walks with his eyes fixed on the dream, which has -possessed him, from the first. - -The history of Hamlet, like that of Macbeth, is a story of moral -poisoning. Hamlet has a delicate soul, an impassioned imagination, like -that of Shakespeare. He has lived hitherto, occupied in noble studies, -skilful in mental and bodily exercises, with a taste for art, loved by -the noblest father, enamored of the purest and most charming girl, -confiding, generous, not yet having perceived, from the height of the -throne to which he was born, aught but the beauty, happiness, grandeur -of nature and humanity.[713] On this soul, which character and training -make more sensitive than others, misfortune suddenly falls, extreme, -overwhelming of the very kind to destroy all faith and every motive for -action: with one glance he has seen all the vileness of humanity; and -this insight is given him in his mother. His mind is yet intact; but -judge from the violence of his style, the crudity of his exact details, -the terrible tension of the whole nervous machine, whether he has not -already one foot on the verge of madness: - - -"O that this too, too solid flesh would melt, -Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! -Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd -His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! -How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, -Seem to me all the uses of this world! -Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, -That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature -Possess it merely. That it should come to this! -But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: -So excellent a king,... so loving to my mother -That he might not let e'en the winds of heaven -Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! -... And yet, within a month-- -Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!-- -A little month, or ere those shoes were old -With which she follow'd my poor father's body,... -Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears -Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, -She married. O, most wicked speed, to post -With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! -It is not nor it cannot come to good! -But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue!"[714] - - -Here already are contortions of thought, a beginning of hallucination, -the symptoms of what is to come after. In the middle of conversation the -image of his father rises before his mind. He thinks he sees him. How -then will it be when the "canonised bones have burst their cerements," -"the sepulchre hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws," and when the -ghost comes in the night, upon a high "platform" of land, to tell him of -the tortures of his prison of fire, and of the fratricide, who has -driven him thither? Hamlet grows faint, but grief strengthens him, and -he has a desire for living: - - -"Hold, hold, my heart; -And you my sinews, grow not instant old, -But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee! -Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat -In this distracted globe.--Remember thee? -Yea, from the table of my memory -I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, -All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,... -And thy commandment all alone shall live,... -O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! -My tables--meet it is I set it down, -That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; -At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark: -So, uncle, there you are."[715] (_Writing._) - - -This convulsive outburst, this fevered writing hand, this frenzy of -intentness, prelude the approach of a kind of monomania. When his -friends come up, he treats them with the speeches of a child or an -idiot. He is no longer master of his words; hollow phrases whirl in his -brain, and fall from his mouth as in a dream. They call him; he answers -by imitating the cry of a sportsman whistling to his falcon: "Hillo, ho, -ho, boy! come, bird, come." Whilst he is in the act of swearing them to -secrecy, the ghost below repeats "Swear." Hamlet cries, with a nervous -excitement and a fitful gayety: - - -"Ah ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, truepenny? -Come on--you hear this fellow in the cellarage-- -Consent to swear.... -_Ghost_ (_beneath_). Swear. -_Hamlet. Hic et ubique?_ then we'll shift our ground. -Come hither, gentlemen.... Swear by my sword. -_Ghost_ (_beneath_). Swear. -_Ham._ Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast? -A worthy pioneer!"[716] - - -Understand that as he says this his teeth chatter, "pale as his shirt, -his knees knocking each other." Intense anguish ends with a kind of -laughter, which is nothing else than a spasm. Thenceforth Hamlet speaks -as though he had a continuous nervous attack. His madness is feigned, I -admit; but his mind, as a door whose hinges are twisted, swings and -bangs with every wind with a mad haste and with a discordant noise. He -has no need to search for the strange ideas, apparent incoherencies, -exaggerations, the deluge of sarcasms which he accumulates. He finds -them within him; he does himself no violence, he simply gives himself up -to himself. When he has the piece played which is to unmask his uncle, -he raises himself, lounges on the floor, lays his head in Ophelia's lap; -he addresses the actors, and comments on the piece to the spectators; -his nerves are strung, his excited thought is like a surging and -crackling flame, and cannot find fuel enough in the multitude of objects -surrounding it, upon all of which it seizes. When the king rises -unmasked and troubled, Hamlet sings, and says, "Would not this, sir, and -a forest of feathers--if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me--with -two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of -players, sir!"[717] And he laughs terribly, for he is resolved on -murder. It is clear that this state is a disease, and that the man will -not survive it. - -In a soul so ardent of thought, and so mighty of feeling, what is left -but disgust and despair? We tinge all nature with the color of our -thoughts; we shape the world according to our own ideas; when our soul -is sick, we see nothing but sickness in the universe: - - -"This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this -most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging -firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it -appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of -vapors. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite -in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how -like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! -the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of -dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither."[718] - - -Henceforth his thought sullies whatever it touches. He rails bitterly -before Ophelia against marriage and love. Beauty! Innocence! Beauty is -but a means of prostituting innocence: "Get thee to a nunnery: why -wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?... What should such fellows as I -do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe -none of us."[719] - -When he has killed Polonius by accident, he hardly repents it; it is one -fool less. He jeers lugubriously: - - -"_King._ Now Hamlet, where's Polonius? -_Hamlet._ At supper. -_K._ At supper! where? -_H._ Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation -of politic worms are e'en at him."[720] - - -And he repeats in five or six fashions these gravedigger jests. His -thoughts already inhabit a churchyard; to this hopeless philosophy a -genuine man is a corpse. Public functions, honors, passions, pleasures, -projects, science, all this is but a borrowed mask, which death removes, -so that people may see what we are, an evil-smelling and grinning skull. -It is this sight he goes to see by Ophelia's grave. He counts the skulls -which the gravedigger turns up; this was a lawyer's, that a countier's. -What bows, intrigues, pretensions, arrogance! And here now is a clown -knocking it about with his spade, and playing "at loggats with 'em." -Cæsar and Alexander have turned to clay and make the earth fat; the -masters of the world have served to "patch a wall. Now get you to my -lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor -she must come; make her laugh at that."[721] When a man has come to -this, there is nothing left but to die. - -This heated imagination, which explains Hamlet's nervous disease and his -moral poisoning, explains also his conduct. If he hesitates to kill his -uncle, it is not from horror of blood or from our modern scruples. He -belongs to the sixteenth century. On board ship he wrote the order to -behead Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and to do so without giving them -"shriving-time." He killed Polonius, he caused Ophelia's death, and has -no great remorse for it. If for once he spared his uncle, it was because -he found him praying, and was afraid of sending him to heaven. He -thought he was killing him when he killed Polonius. What his imagination -robs him of, is the coolness and strength to go quietly and with -premeditation to plunge a sword into a breast. He can only do the thing -on a sudden suggestion; he must have a moment of enthusiasm; he must -think the king is behind the arras, or else, seeing that he himself is -poisoned, he must find his victim under his foil's point. He is not -master of his acts; opportunity dictates them; he cannot plan a murder, -but must improvise it. A too lively imagination exhausts the will, by -the strength of images which it heaps up, and by the fury of intentness -which absorbs it. You recognize in him a poet's soul, made not to act, -but to dream, which is lost in contemplating the phantoms of its -creation, which sees the imaginary world too clearly to play a part in -the real world; an artist whom evil chance has made a prince, whom worse -chance has made an avenger of crime, and who, destined by nature for -genius, is condemned by fortune to madness and unhappiness. Hamlet is -Shakespeare, and, at the close of this gallery of portraits which have -all some features of his own, Shakespeare has painted himself in the -most striking of all. - -If Racine or Corneille had framed a psychology, they would have said, -with Descartes: Man is an incorporeal soul, served by organs, endowed -with reason and will, dwelling in palaces or porticos, made for -conversation and society, whose harmonious and ideal action is developed -by discourse and replies, in a world constructed by logic beyond the -realms of time and place. - -If Shakespeare had framed a psychology, he would have said, with -Esquirol:[722] Man is a nervous machine, governed by a mood, disposed to -hallucinations, carried away by unbridled passions, essentially -unreasoning, a mixture of animal and poet, having instead of mind -rapture, instead of virtue sensibility, imagination for prompter and -guide, and led at random, by the most determinate and complex -circumstances, to sorrow, crime, madness, and death. - - - - -SECTION IX.--Characteristics of Shakespeare's Genius - - -Could such a poet always confine himself to the imitation of nature? -Will this poetical world which is going on in his brain never break -loose from the laws of the world of reality? Is he not powerful enough -to follow his own laws? He is; and the poetry of Shakespeare naturally -finds an outlet in the fantastical. This is the highest grade of -unreasoning and creative imagination. Despising ordinary logic, it -creates another; it unites facts and ideas in a new order, apparently -absurd, in reality regular; it lays open the land of dreams, and its -dreams seem to us the truth. - -When we enter upon Shakespeare's comedies, and even his -half-dramas,[723] it is as though we met him on the threshold, like an -actor to whom the prologue is committed, to prevent misunderstanding on -the part of the public, and to tell them: "Do not take too seriously -what you are about to hear: I am amusing myself. My brain, being full of -fancies, desired to array them, and here they are. Palaces, distant -landscapes, transparent clouds which blot in the morning the horizon -with their gray mists, the red and glorious flames into which the -evening sun descends, white cloisters in endless vista through the -ambient air, grottos, cottages, the fantastic pageant of all human -passions, the irregular sport of unlooked-for adventures--this is the -medley of forms, colors, sentiments, which I let become entangled and -confused in my presence, a many-tinted skein of glistening silks, a -slender arabesque, whose sinuous curves, crossing and mingled, bewilder -the mind by the whimsical variety of their infinite complications. Don't -regard it as a picture. Don't look for a precise composition, a sole and -increasing interest, the skilful management of a well-ordered and -congruous plot. I have tales and novels before me which I am cutting up -into scenes. Never mind the _finis_, I am amusing myself on the road. It -is not the end of the journey which pleases me, but the journey itself. -Is there any need in going so straight and quick? Do you only care to -know whether the poor merchant of Venice will escape Shylock's knife? -Here are two happy lovers, seated under the palace walls on a calm -night; wouldn't you like to listen to the peaceful reverie which arises -like a perfume from the bottom of their hearts?" - - -"'How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! -Here will we sit and let the sounds of music -Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night -Become the touches of sweet harmony. -Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven -Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: -There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, -But in his motion like an angel sings, -Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims; -Such harmony is in immortal souls; -But whilst this muddy vesture of decay -Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -(_Enter musicians._) -Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn: -With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear. -And draw her home with music. -_Jessica._ I am never merry when I hear sweet music.'"[724] - - -"Have I not the right, when I see the big laughing face of a clownish -servant, to stop near him, see him gesticulate, frolic, gossip, go -through his hundred pranks and his hundred grimaces, and treat myself to -the comedy of his spirit and gayety? Two fine gentlemen pass by. I hear -the rolling fire of their metaphors, and I follow their skirmish of wit. -Here in a corner is the artless arch face of a young wench. Do you -forbid me to linger by her, to watch her smiles, her sudden blushes, the -childish pout of her rosy lips, the coquetry of her pretty motions? You -are in a great hurry if the prattle of this fresh and musical voice -can't stop you. Is it no pleasure to view this succession of sentiments -and faces? Is your fancy so dull that you must have the mighty mechanism -of a geometrical plot to shake it? My sixteenth century playgoers were -easier to move. A sunbeam that had lost its way on an old wall, a -foolish song thrown into the middle of a drama, occupied their mind as -well as the blackest of catastrophes. After the horrible scene in which -Shylock brandished his butcher's knife before Antonio's bare breast, -they saw just as willingly the petty household wrangle, and the amusing -bit of raillery which ends the piece. Like soft moving water, their soul -rose and sank in an instant to the level of the poet's emotion, and -their sentiments readily flowed in the bed he had prepared for them. -They let him stray here and there on his journey, and did not forbid him -to make two voyages at once. They allowed several plots in one. If but -the slightest thread united them it was sufficient. Lorenzo eloped with -Jessica, Shylock was frustrated in his revenge, Portia's suitors failed -in the test imposed upon them; Portia, disguised as a doctor of laws, -took from her husband the ring which he had promised never to part with; -these three or four comedies, disunited, mingled, were shuffled and -unfolded together, like an unknotted skein in which threads of a hundred -colors are entwined. Together with diversity, my spectators allowed -improbability. Comedy is a slight winged creature, which flutters from -dream to dream, whose wings you would break if you held it captive in -the narrow prison of common-sense. Do not press its fictions too hard; -do not probe their contents. Let them float before your eyes like a -charming swift dream. Let the fleeting apparition plunge back into the -bright misty land from whence it came. For an instant it deluded you; -let it suffice. It is sweet to leave the world of realities behind you; -the mind rests amidst impossibilities. We are happy when delivered from -the rough chains of logic, to wander amongst strange adventures, to live -in sheer romance, and know that we are living there. I do not try to -deceive you, and make you believe in the world where I take you. A man -must disbelieve it in order to enjoy it. We must give ourselves up to -illusion, and feel that we are giving ourselves up to it. We must smile -as we listen. We smile in "The Winter's Tale" when Hermione descends -from her pedestal, and when, Leontes discovers his wife in the statue, -having believed her to be dead. We smile in "Cymbeline" when we see the -lone cavern in which the young princes have lived like savage hunters. -Improbability deprives emotions of their sting. The events interest or -touch us without making us suffer. At the very moment when sympathy is -too intense, we remind ourselves that it is all a fancy. They become -like distant objects, whose distance softens their outline, and wraps -them in a luminous veil of blue air. Your true comedy is an opera. We -listen to sentiments without thinking too much of plot. We follow the -tender or gay melodies without reflecting that they interrupt the -action. We dream elsewhere on hearing music; here I bid you dream on -hearing verse." - -Then the speaker of the prologue retires, and the actors come on. - -"As You Like It" is a caprice.[725] Action there is none; interest -barely; likelihood still less. And the whole is charming. Two cousins, -princes' daughters, come to a forest with a court clown, Celia disguised -as a shepherdess, Rosalind as a boy. They find here the old duke, -Rosalind's father, who, driven out of his duchy, lives with his friends -like a philosopher and a hunter. They find amorous shepherds, who with -songs and prayers pursue intractable shepherdesses. They discover or -they meet with lovers who become their husbands. Suddenly it is -announced that the wicked Duke Frederick, who had usurped the crown, has -just retired to a cloister, and restored the throne to the old exiled -duke. Everyone gets married, everyone dances, everything ends with a -"rustic revelry." Where is the pleasantness of these puerilities? First, -the fact of its being puerile; the absence of the serious is refreshing; -There are no events, and there is no plot. We gently follow the easy -current of graceful or melancholy emotions, which takes us away and -moves us about without wearying. The place adds to the illusion and -charm. It is an autumn forest, in which the sultry rays permeate the -blushing oak leaves, or the half-stripped, ashes tremble and smile to -the feeble breath of evening. The lovers wander by brooks that "brawl" -under antique roots. As you listen to them you see the slim birches, -whose cloak of lace grows glossy under the slant rays of the sun that -gilds them, and the thoughts wander down the mossy vistas in which their -footsteps are not heard. What better place could be chosen for the -comedy of sentiment and the play of heart-fancies? Is not this a fit -spot in which to listen to love-talk? Someone has seen Orlando, -Rosalind's lover, in this glade; she hears it and blushes. "Alas the -day!... What did he, when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? -Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains -he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again?" Then, -with a lower voice, somewhat hesitating: "Looks he as freshly as he did -the day he wrestled?" She is not yet exhausted: "Do you not know I am a -woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on."[726] One question -follows another, she closes the mouth of her friend, who is ready to -answer. At every word she jests, but agitated, blushing, with a forced -gayety; her bosom heaves, and her heart beats. Nevertheless she is -calmer when Orlando comes; bandies words with him; sheltered under her -disguise, she makes him confess that he loves Rosalind. Then she plagues -him, like the frolic, the wag, the coquette she is. "Why, how now, -Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover?" Orlando -repeats that he loves Rosalind, and she pleases herself by making him -repeat it more than once. She sparkles with wit, jests, mischievous -pranks; pretty fits of anger, feigned sulks, bursts of laughter, -deafening babble, engaging caprices. "Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am -in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent. What would you say to me -now, an I were your very, very Rosalind?" And every now and then she -repeats with an arch smile, "And I am your Rosalind; am I not your -Rosalind?"[727] Orlando protests that he would die. Die! Who ever -thought of dying for love? Leander? He took one bath too many in the -Hellespont; so poets have said he died for love. Troilus? A Greek broke -his head with a club; so poets have said he died for love. Come, come, -Rosalind will be softer. And then she plays at marriage with him, and -makes Celia pronounce the solemn words. She irritates and torments her -pretended husband; tells him all the whims she means to indulge in, all -the pranks she will play, all the teasing he will have to endure. The -retorts come one after another like fireworks. At every phrase we follow -the looks of these sparkling eyes, the curves of this laughing mouth, -the quick movements of this supple figure. It is a bird's petulance and -volubility. "O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know -how many fathom deep I am in love." Then she provokes her cousin Celia, -sports with her hair, calls her by every woman's name. Antitheses -without end, words all a-jumble, quibbles, pretty exaggerations, -word-racket; as you listen, you fancy it is the warbling of a -nightingale. The trill of repeated metaphors, the melodious roll of the -poetical gamut, the summer-warbling rustling under the foliage, change -the piece into a veritable opera. The three lovers end by chanting a -sort of trio. The first throws out a fancy, the others take it up. Four -times this strophe is renewed; and the symmetry of ideas, added to the -jingle of the rhymes, makes of a dialogue a concerto of love: - - -"_Phebe._ Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. -_Silvius._ It is to be all made of sighs and tears; -And so am I for Phebe. -_P._ And I for Ganymede. -_Orlando._ And I for Rosalind. -_Rosalind._ And I for no woman.... -_S._ It is to be all made of fantasy, -All made of passion, and all made of wishes, -All adoration, duty, and observance, -All humbleness, all patience and impatience, -All purity, all trial, all observance; -And so I am for Phebe. -_P._ And so am I for Ganymede. -_O._ And so am I for Rosalind. -_R._ And so am I for no woman."[728] - - -The necessity of singing is so urgent that a minute later songs break -out of themselves. The prose and the conversation end in lyric poetry. -We pass straight on into these odes. We do not find ourselves in a new -country. We feel the emotion and foolish gayety as if it were a holiday. -We see the graceful couple whom the song of the two pages brings before -us, passing in the misty light "o'er the green corn-field," amid the hum -of sportive insects, on the finest day of the flowering spring-time. -Unlikelihood grows natural, and we are not astonished when we see Hymen -leading the two brides by the hand to give them to their husbands. - -Whilst the young folk sing, the old folk talk. Their life also is a -novel, but a sad one. Shakespeare's delicate soul, bruised by the shocks -of social life, took refuge in contemplations of solitary life. To -forget the strife and annoyances of the world, he must bury himself in a -wide silent forest, and - - -"Under the shade of melancholy boughs, -Loose and neglect the creeping hours of time."[729] - - -We look at the bright images which the sun carves on the white -beech-boles, the shade of trembling leaves flickering on the thick moss, -the long waves of the summit of the trees; then the sharp sting of care -is blunted; we suffer no more, simply remembering that we suffered once; -we feel nothing but a gentle misanthropy, and being renewed, we are the -better for it. The old duke is happy in his exile. Solitude has given -him rest, delivered him from flattery, reconciled him to nature. He -pities the stags which he is obliged to hunt for food: - - -"Come, shall we go and kill us venison? -And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, -Being native burghers of this desert city, -Should in their own confines with forked heads -Have their round haunches gored."[730] - - -Nothing sweeter than this mixture of tender compassion, dreamy -philosophy, delicate sadness, poetical complaints, and rustic songs. One -of the lords sings: - - -"Blow, blow, thou winter wind, -Thou art not so unkind -As man's ingratitude; -Thy tooth is not so keen, -Because thou art not seen, -Although thy breath be rude. -Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: -Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: -Then, heigh-ho, the holly! -This life is most jolly."[731] - - -Amongst these lords is found a soul that suffers more, Jacques the -melancholy, one of Shakespeare's best-loved characters, a transparent -mask behind which we perceive the face of the poet. He is sad because he -is tender; he feels the contact of things too keenly, and what leaves -others indifferent, makes him weep.[732] He does not scold, he is sad; -he does not reason, he is moved; he has not the combative spirit of a -reforming moralist; his soul is sick and weary of life. Impassioned -imagination leads quickly to disgust. Like opium, it excites and -shatters. It leads man to the loftiest philosophy, then lets him down to -the whims of a child. Jacques leaves other men abruptly, and goes to the -quiet nooks to be alone. He loves his sadness, and would not exchange it -for joy. Meeting Orlando, he says: - - -"Rosalind is your love's name? -_Orlando._ Yes, just. -_Jacques._ I do not like her name."[733] - - -He has the fancies of a nervous woman. He is scandalized because Orlando -writes sonnets on the forest trees. He is eccentric, and finds subjects -of grief and gayety where others would see nothing of the sort: - - -"A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, -A motley fool; a miserable world! -As I do live by food, I met a fool; -Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, -And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, -In good set terms and yet a motley fool...." - - -Jacques hearing him moralize in such a manner begins to laugh "sans -intermission" that a fool could be so meditative: - - -"O noble fool; a worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.... -O that I were a fool! -I am ambitious for a motley coat."[734] - - -The next minute he returns to his melancholy dissertations, bright -pictures whose vivacity explains his character, and betrays Shakespeare, -hiding under his name: - - -"All the world's a stage, -And all the men and women merely players: -They have their exits and their entrances; -And one man in his time plays many parts, -His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, -Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. -And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel, -And shining morning face, creeping like snail -Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, -Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad -Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, -Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, -Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, -Seeking the bubble reputation -Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, -In fair round belly with good capon lined, -With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, -Full of wise saws and modern instances; -And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts -Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, -With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, -His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide -For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, -Turning again toward childish treble, pipes -And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, -That ends this strange eventful history, -In second childishness and mere oblivion, -Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."[735] - - -"As you Like it" is a half dream. "Midsummer Night's Dream" is a -complete one. - -The scene, buried in the far-off mist of fabulous antiquity, carries us -back to Theseus, Duke of Athens, who is preparing his palace for his -marriage with the beautiful queen of the Amazons. The style, loaded with -contorted images, fills the mind with strange and splendid visions, and -the airy elf-world divert the comedy into the fairy-land from whence it -sprung. - -Love is still the theme: of all sentiments, is it not the greatest -fancy-weaver? But love is not heard here in the charming, prattle of -Rosalind; it is glaring, like the season of the year. It does not brim -over in slight conversations, in supple and skipping prose; it breaks -forth into big rhyming odes, dressed in magnificent metaphors, sustained -by impassioned accents, such as a warm night, odorous and star-spangled, -inspires in a poet and a lover. Lysander and Hermia agree to meet. - - -"_Lysander._ To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold -Her silver visage in the watery glass, -Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, -A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, -Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal. -_Hermia._ And in the wood, where often you and I -Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie.... -There my Lysander and myself shall meet."[736] - - -They get lost, and fall asleep, wearied, under the trees. Puck squeezes -in the youth's eyes the juice of a magic flower, and changes his heart. -Presently, when he awakes, he will become enamored of the first woman he -sees. Meanwhile Demetrius, Hermia's rejected lover, wanders with Helena, -whom he rejects, in the solitary wood. The magic flower changes him in -turn, he now loves Helena. The lovers flee and pursue one another, -beneath the lofty trees, in the calm night. We smile at their -transports, their complaints, their ecstasies, and yet we join in them. -This passion is a dream, and yet it moves us: It is like those airy webs -which we find at morning on the crest of the hedgerows where the dew has -spread them, and whose weft sparkles like a jewel-casket. Nothing can be -more fragile, and nothing more graceful. The poet sports with emotions; -he mingles, confuses, redoubles, interweaves them; he twines and -untwines these loves like the mazes of a dance, and we see the noble and -tender figures pass by the verdant bushes, beneath the radiant eyes of -the stars, now wet with tears, now bright with rapture. They have the -abandonment of true love, not the grossness of sensual love. Nothing -causes us to fall from the ideal world in which Shakespeare conducts us. -Dazzled by beauty, they adore it, and the spectacle of their happiness, -their emotion, and their tenderness, is a kind of enchantment. - -Above these two couples flutters and hums the swarm of elves and -fairies. They also love. Titania, their queen, has a young boy for her -favorite, son of an Indian king, of whom Oberon, her husband, wishes to -deprive her. They quarrel, so that the elves creep for fear into the -acorn cups, in the golden primroses. Oberon, by way of vengeance, -touches Titania's sleeping eyes with the magic flower, and thus on -waking the nimblest and most charming of the fairies finds herself -enamored of a stupid blockhead with an ass's head. She kneels before -him; she sets on his "hairy temples a coronet of fresh and fragrant -flowers": - - -"And that same dew, which sometime on the buds -Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, -Stood now within the pretty floweret's eyes, -Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail."[737] - - -She calls round her all her fairy attendants; - - -"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; -Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; -Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, -With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; -The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, -And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs -And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, -To have my love to bed and to arise; -And pluck the wings from painted butterflies -To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.... -Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. -The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye; -And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, -Lamenting some enforced chastity. -Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently."[738] - - -It was necessary, for her love brayed horribly, and to all the offers of -Titania, replied with a petition for hay. What can be sadder and sweeter -than this irony of Shakespeare? What raillery against love, and what -tenderness for love! The sentiment is divine; its object unworthy. The -heart is ravished, the eyes blind. It is a golden butterfly, fluttering -in the mud; and Shakespeare, whilst painting its misery, preserves all -its beauty: - - -"Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, -While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, -And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, -And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.... -Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.... -So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle -Gently entwist; the female ivy so -Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. -O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!"[739] - - -At the return of morning, when - - -"The eastern gate, all fiery red, -Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, -Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams,"[740] - - -the enchantment ceases, Titania awakes on her couch of wild thyme and -drooping violets. She drives the monster away; her recollections of the -night are effaced in a vague twilight: - - -"These things seem small and undistinguishable, -Like far-off mountains turned into clouds."[741] - - -And the fairies - - -"Go seek some dew drops here -And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear."[742] - - -Such is Shakespeare's fantasy, a slight tissue of bold inventions, of -ardent passions, melancholy mockery, dazzling poetry, such as one of -Titania's elves would have made. Nothing could be more like the poet's -mind than these nimble genii, children of air and flame, whose flights -"compass the globe" in a second, who glide over the foam of the waves -and skip between the atoms of the winds. Ariel flies, an invisible -songster, around shipwrecked men to console them, discovers the thoughts -of traitors, pursues the savage beast Caliban, spreads gorgeous visions -before lovers, and does all in a lightning-flash: - - -"Where the bee sucks, there suck I: -In a cowslip's bell I lie.... -Merrily, merrily shall I live now -Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.... -I drink the air before me, and return -Or ere your pulse twice beat."[743] - - -Shakespeare glides over things on as swift a wing, by leaps as sudden, -with a touch as delicate. - -What a soul! what extent of action, and what sovereignty of an unique -faculty! what diverse creations, and what persistence of the same -impress! There they all are united, and all marked by the same sign, -void of will and reason, governed by mood, imagination, or pure passion, -destitute of the faculties contrary to those of the poet, dominated by -the corporeal type which his painter's eyes have conceived, endowed by -the habits of mind and by the vehement sensibility which he finds in -himself.[744] Go through the groups, and you will only discover in them -divers forms and divers states of the same power. Here, a herd of -brutes, dotards, and gossips, made up of a mechanical imagination; -further on, a company of men of wit, animated by a gay and foolish -imagination; then, a charming swarm of women whom their delicate -imagination raises so high, and their self-forgetting love carries so -far; elsewhere a band of villains, hardened by unbridled passions, -inspired by artistic rapture; in the centre a mournful train of grand -characters, whose excited brain is filled with sad or criminal visions, -and whom an inner destiny urges to murder, madness, or death. Ascend one -stage, and contemplate the whole scene: the aggregate bears the same -mark as the details. The drama reproduces promiscuously uglinesses, -basenesses, horrors, unclean details, profligate and ferocious manners, -the whole reality of life just as it is, when it is unrestrained by -decorum, common-sense, reason, and duty. Comedy, led through a -phantasmagoria of pictures, gets lost in the likely and the unlikely, -with no other connection but the caprice of an amused imagination, -wantonly disjointed and romantic, an opera without music, a concerto of -melancholy and tender sentiments, which bears the mind into the -supernatural world, and brings before our eyes on its fairy-wings the -genius which has created it. Look now. Do you not see the poet behind -the crowd of his creations? They have heralded his approach. They have -all shown somewhat of him. Ready, impetuous, impassioned, delicate, his -genius is pure imagination, touched more vividly and by slighter things -than ours. Hence his style, blooming with exuberant images, loaded with -exaggerated metaphors, whose strangeness is like incoherence, whose -wealth is superabundant, the work of a mind, which, at the least -incitement, produces too much and takes too wide leaps. Hence this -involuntary psychology, and this terrible penetration, which -instantaneously perceiving all the effects of a situation, and all the -details of a character, concentrates them in every response, and gives -to a figure a relief and a coloring which create illusion. Hence our -emotion and tenderness. We say to him, as Desdemona to Othello: "I love -thee for the battles, sieges, fortunes thou hast passed, and for the -distressful stroke that thy youth suffered." - - - - -[Footnote 587: Halliwell's "Life of Shakespeare."] - -[Footnote 588: Born 1564, died 1616. He adapted plays as early as 1591. -The first play entirely from his pen appeared in 1593.--Payne Collier.] - -[Footnote 589: Mr. Halliwell and other commentators try to prove that at -this time the preliminary trothplight was regarded as the real marriage; -that this trothplight had taken place, and that there was therefore no -irregularity in Shakespeare's conduct.] - -[Footnote 590: Halliwell, 123.] - -[Footnote 591: All these anecdotes are traditions, and consequently more -or less doubtful; but the other facts are authentic.] - -[Footnote 592: Terms of an extant document. He is named along with Burbage -and Greene.] - -[Footnote 593: Sonnet 110.] - -[Footnote 594: See Sonnets 91 and 111; also "Hamlet," III. 2. Many of -Hamlet's words would come better from the mouth of an actor than a -prince. See also the 66th Sonnet, "Tired with all these."] - -[Footnote 595: Sonnet 29.] - -[Footnote 596: "Hamlet," III. 1.] - -[Footnote 597: Sonnet 111.] - -[Footnote 598: Anecdote written in 1602 on the authority of Tooley the -actor.] - -[Footnote 599: The Earl of Southampton was nineteen years old when -Shakespeare dedicated his "Adonis" to him.] - -[Footnote 600: See Titian's picture. Loves of the Gods, at Blenheim.] - -[Footnote 601: "Venus and Adonis," lines 548-553.] - -[Footnote 602: Ibid. lines 55-60.] - -[Footnote 603: Ibid, lines 853-858.] - -[Footnote 604: Compare the first pieces of Alfred de Musset, "Contes -d'Italie et d'Espagne."] - -[Footnote 605: Crawley, quoted by Ph. Chasles, "Études sur Shakspeare."] - -[Footnote 606: A famed French courtesan (1613-1650), the heroine of a -drama of that name, by Victor Hugo, having for its subject-matter: -"Love purifies everything."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 607: Sonnet 138.] - -[Footnote 608: Two characters in Molière's "Misanthrope." The scene -referred to is Act V. Scene 7.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 609: Sonnet 142.] - -[Footnote 610: Sonnet 95.] - -[Footnote 611: Sonnet 98.] - -[Footnote 612: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 613: Sonnet 99.] - -[Footnote 614: Sonnet 151.] - -[Footnote 615: Sonnet 151.] - -[Footnote 616: Sonnet 144; also the "Passionate Pilgrim," 2.] - -[Footnote 617: This new interpretation of the Sonnets is due to the -ingenious and learned conjectures of M. Ph. Chasles.--For a short history -of these Sonnets, see Dyce's "Shakspeare," I. pp. 96-102. This learned -editor says: "I contend that allusions scattered through the whole series -are not to be hastily referred to the personal circumstances of -Shakspeare."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 618: Miranda, Desdemona, Viola. The following are the first -words of the Duke in "Twelfth Night": -"If music be the food of love, play on; -Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, -The appetite may sicken, and so die. -That strain again! it had a dying fall: -O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet -south, -That breathes upon a bank of violets, -Stealing and giving odor! Enough; -no more: -'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. -O spirit of love! how quick and fresh -art thou, -That, notwithstanding thy capacity -Receiveth as the sea, nought enters -there. -Of what validity and pitch soever, -But falls into abatement and low price. -Even in a minute: so full of shapes is -fancy -That it alone is high-fantastical."] - -[Footnote 619: H. Chettle, in repudiating Greene's sarcasm, attributed -it to him.] - -[Footnote 620: Dyce, "Shakespeare," I. 27: "Of French and Italian, I -apprehend, he knew but little."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 621: Sonnet 29.] - -[Footnote 622: Sonnet 73.] - -[Footnote 623: Sonnet 71.] - -[Footnote 624: The part in which he excelled was that of the ghost in -"Hamlet."] - -[Footnote 625: Greene's "A Groatsworth of Wit," etc.] - -[Footnote 626: "He was a respectable man. A good word; what does it -mean? He kept a gig."--From Thurtell's trial for the murder of Weare.] - -[Footnote 627: The model of an optimist, the hero of one of Voltaire's -tales.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 628: See his portraits, and in particular his bust.] - -[Footnote 629: Especially in his later plays: "Tempest, Twelfth Night."] - -[Footnote 630: "Hamlet," III. 3.] - -[Footnote 631: Act III. Scene 4.] - -[Footnote 632: Act III. Scene 4.] - -[Footnote 633: This is why, in the eyes of a writer of the seventeenth -century, Shakespeare's style is the most obscure, pretentious, painful, -barbarous, and absurd, that could be imagined.] - -[Footnote 634: Shakespeare's vocabulary is the most copious of all. It -comprises about 15,000 words; Milton's only 8,000.] - -[Footnote 635: See the conversation of Laertes and his sister, and of -Laertes and Polonius, in "Hamlet." The style is foreign to the situation; -and we see here plainly the natural and necessary process of -Shakespeare's thought.] - -[Footnote 636: "Winter's Tale," I. 2.] - -[Footnote 637: One of Molière's characters in "Tartuffe."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 638: "Romeo and Juliet," III. 5.] - -[Footnote 639: "Henry VIII," II. 3, and many other scenes.] - -[Footnote 640: "Much Ado about Nothing." See also the manner in which -Henry V in Shakespeare's "King Henry V" pays court to Katharine of -France (V. 2).] - -[Footnote 641: Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 642: Act IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 643: Second part of "Henry VI," IV. 6.] - -[Footnote 644: "Henry VI," 2d part, IV. 2, 6, 7.] - -[Footnote 645: "King Lear," III. 7.] - -[Footnote 646: "The Tempest," IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 647: See "Troilus and Cressida," II. 3, the jesting manner in -which the generals drive on this fierce brute.] - -[Footnote 648: "Cymbeline," II. 3.] - -[Footnote 649: Ibid. III. 5.] - -[Footnote 650: "Romeo and Juliet," I. 3.] - -[Footnote 651: "Romeo and Juliet," II. 5.] - -[Footnote 652: Ibid. III. 5.] - -[Footnote 653: "Romeo and Juliet," II. 4.] - -[Footnote 654: "Much Ado about Nothing," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 655: "Romeo and Juliet," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 656: Ibid. I. 4.] - -[Footnote 657: "Romeo and Juliet," I. 4.] - -[Footnote 658: First part of "King Henry IV," III. 3.] - -[Footnote 659: First Part of "King Henry IV," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 660: Ibid. II. 4.] - -[Footnote 661: "Othello," III. 3.] - -[Footnote 662: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 663: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 664: "Othello," III. 3.] - -[Footnote 665: "Cymbeline," III. 5.] - -[Footnote 666: "Coriolanus," I. 3.] - -[Footnote 667: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 668: "Romeo and Juliet," I. 5.] - -[Footnote 669: "The Tempest," III. 1.] - -[Footnote 670: "King Lear," IV. 7.] - -[Footnote 671: "O ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the gods -Requite your love! -If that I could for weeping, you should hear-- -Nay, and you shall hear some.... -I'll tell thee what; yet go: -Nay but thou shalt stay too: I would my son -Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, -His good sword in his hand."--Coriolanus, IV. 2. - -See again, "Coriolanus," I. 3, the frank and abandoned triumph of a woman -of the people, "I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a -man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man."] - -[Footnote 672: Ibid. I. 3.] - -[Footnote 673: "Othello," II. 3.] - -[Footnote 674: Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 675: "Othello," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 676: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 677: See the like cynicism and scepticism in Richard III. Both -begin by slandering human nature, and both are misanthropical of malice -prepense.] - -[Footnote 678: "Othello," II. 3.] - -[Footnote 679: See his conversation with Brabantio, then with Roderigo, -Act I.] - -[Footnote 680: See again, in Timon, and Hotspur more particularly, -perfect examples of vehement and unreasoning imagination.] - -[Footnote 681: "Coriolanus," I. 9.] - -[Footnote 682: Ibid. I. 6.] - -[Footnote 683: Ibid. I. 9.] - -[Footnote 684: "Coriolanus," I. 9.] - -[Footnote 685: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 686: Ibid. II. 3.] - -[Footnote 687: Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 688: "Coriolanus," III. 1.] - -[Footnote 689: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 690: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 691: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 692: "Coriolanus," III. 3.] - -[Footnote 693: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 694: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 695: Ibid. V. 2.] - -[Footnote 696: "Macbeth," I. 3.] - -[Footnote 697: Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 698: "Macbeth," II. 2.] - -[Footnote 699: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 700: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 701: Ibid. II. 3.] - -[Footnote 702: "Macbeth," II. 3.] - -[Footnote 703: Ibid. III. 4.] - -[Footnote 704: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 705: "Macbeth," III. 4.] - -[Footnote 706: Ibid. IV. 3.] - -[Footnote 707: "Macbeth," V. 5.] - -[Footnote 708: Goethe, "Wilhelm Meister."] - -[Footnote 709: "Hamlet," I. 2.] - -[Footnote 710: Ibid. I. 5.] - -[Footnote 711: "Hamlet," I. 5.] - -[Footnote 712: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 713: "Hamlet," II, 2.] - -[Footnote 714: Ibid. III, 1.] - -[Footnote 715: Ibid. IV. 3.] - -[Footnote 716: "Hamlet," V. 1.] - -[Footnote 717: A French physician (1772-1844), celebrated for his -endeavors to improve the treatment of the insane.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 718: "Twelfth Night, As You Like it, Tempest, Winter's -Tale," etc., "Cymbeline, Merchant of Venice," etc.] - -[Footnote 719: "Merchant of Venice," V. 1.] - -[Footnote 720: In English, a word is wanting to express the French -"fantaisie" used by M. Taine, in describing this scene: what in music -is called a capriccio. Tennyson calls the "Princess" a medley, but it -is ambiguous.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 721: "As You Like It," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 722: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 723: "As You Like It," V, 2.] - -[Footnote 724: "As You Like It," II. 7.] - -[Footnote 725: Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 726: Ibid. II. 7.] - -[Footnote 727: Compare Jacques with the Alceste of Molière. It is -the contrast between a misanthrope through reasoning and one through -imagination.] - -[Footnote 728: "As You Like It," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 729: Ibid. II. 7.] - -[Footnote 730: "As You Like It," II. 7.] - -[Footnote 731: "Midsummer Night's Dream," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 732: "Midsummer Night's Dream," IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 733: "Midsummer Night's Dream," III. 1.] - -[Footnote 734: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 735: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 736: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 737: "Midsummer Night's Dream," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 738: "Tempest," V. 1.] - -[Footnote 739: There is the same law in the organic and in the moral -world. It is what Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire calls unity of composition.] - - - - - -INDEX - - -_The Roman Numerals Refer to the Volumes.--The Arabic Figures to the Pages -of Each Volume._ - - -Abelard, I. 158, 160 -Addison, Joseph, II. 265, 292, 300, 311; -his life and writings, 327-359; III. 83, -95, 259, 272, 280, 306 -Adhelm, I. 58, see footnote 89, 69, 70, 185 -Agriculture, improvement in, in sixteenth -century, I. 172; in the nineteenth, -III. 43, 168 -Akenside, Mark, III. 36 -Alcuin, I. 64, 70 -Alexander VI, Pope, II. 5 -Alexandrian philosophy, I. 21, see footnote 5 -Alfred the Great, I. 64, 69 -Alison, Sir Archibald, III. 44 -Amory, Thomas, II. 438 -Angelo, Michel, I. 183, 366; III. 27 -Anglo-Saxon poetry, I. 53 -Ann of Cleaves, I. 186 -Anselm, I. 76 -Anthology the, I. 209, 240 -Arbuthnot, Dr. John, II. 381 -Architecture, Norman, I. 75, 127; the -Tudor style, 174 -Ariosto, I. 185, 222, see footnote 360, see footnote 366; II. 236 -Aristocracy British, in the nineteenth -century, III. 169 seq. -Arkwright, Sir Richard, II. 320 -Armada, the I. 173, 279 -Arnold, Dr. Thomas, III. 100, 178 -Arthur and Merlin, romance of, I. 77 -Ascham, Roger, I. 181, 246, see footnote 288; II. 3 -Athelstan, I. 36, 54 -Augier, Emile, III. 208 -Austen, Jane, III. 85 - -Bacon, Francis, Lord, I. 245, 255, see footnote 384; II. -34, 39; III. 268 seq. 284 -Bacon, Roger, I. 161 -Bain, Alexander, III. 185 -Bakewell, Robert, II. 320 -Bale, John, I. 186 -Balzac, Honoré de, I. 3; III. 215, 254 -Barclay, Alexander, I. 165 -Barclay, John, II. 292 -Barclay, Robert, I. 58 -Barrow, Isaac, II. 292, 295 seq. -Baxter, Richard, I. 268; II. 56, 292 -Bayly's (Lewis) Practice of Piety, II. 62 -Beattie, Tames, II. 440; III. 36 -Beauclerk, Henry, I. 76 -Beaumont, Francis, I. 291, see footnote 421, see footnote 423, -see footnote 459, see footnote 490, see footnote 494, -see footnote 495, see footnote 497, see footnote 506, -see footnote 509, see footnote 512; -II. 41, 45, 100 -Becket, Thomas à, I. 97 -Beckford, W., III. 77 -Bede, the Venerable, I. 64, see footnote 18, see footnote 69 -see footnote 73, see footnote 88, see footnote 89 -Bedford, Duke of (John Russell), II. 310 -Beethovan, Lewis van, III. 87 -Behn, Mrs. Aphra, II. 157, 254 -Bell, Currer. See Brontë, Charlotte -Bénoit de Sainte-Maure, I. 76 -Bentham, Jeremy, II. 320 -Bently, Richard, II. 303 -Beowolf, an Anglo-Saxon epic poem, I. -49 -Béranger, II. 11; III. 287 -Berkeley, Bishop, II. 303 -Berkley, Sir Charles, II. 141 -Berners, Lord, I. 186 -Best, Paul, II. 50 -Bible, English. See Wiclif, Tyndale -Blackmore, Sir Richard, II. 224 -Blount, Edward, I. 192 -Boccaccio, I. 126, 132; II. 266 -Bodley, Sir Thomas, I. 246 -Boethius, I. 64, see footnote 90 -Boileau, II. 144, 184, 224, 262, 284; III. 7, -4, 345 -Boleyn, Ann, I. 276 -Bolingbroke, Lord (Henry St. John), II. -275, 303; III. 8 -Bonner, Edmund, II. 33 -Borde, Andrew, I. 186 -Borgia, Cæsar, II. 5, 6 -Borgia, Lucretia, I. 182; II. 5 -Bossu (or Lebossu), II. 224 -Bossuet, I. 18; II. 233; III. 25, 306 -Boswell, James, II. 444 seq. -Bourchier. See Berners -Boyle, the Hon. Robert, II. 303 -Bridaine, Father, II. 298 -Britons, ancient, I. 38 -Brontë, Charlotte (Currer Bell), III. 85, -100, 185 -Browne, Sir Thomas, I. 245, 246, 252, -see footnote 382, see footnote 383; II. 34, 39 -Browning, Mrs., III. 100, 185 -Brunanburh, Athelstan's victory at, celebrated -in Saxon song, I. 54 -Buckingham, Duke of (John Sheffield), -II. 153, 180, 184 -Buckle, Henry Thomas, III. 154 seq., 176 -Bulwer, Sir Henry Lytton, III. 85, 185 -Bunyan, John, II. 58-70, 133 -Burke, Edmund, II. 303, 317-326, 444; III. -286, 306 -Burleigh, Lord (William Cecil), I. see footnote 407; -III. 286 -Burnet, Bishop, II. 202 -Burney, Francisca (Madame D'Arblay), -II. 283, 320, 444; III. 275 -Burns, Robert, II. 251; Sketch of his life -and works, III. 48-65 -Burton, Robert, I. see footnote 277, 248; II. 34, 100 -Busby, Dr. Richard, II. 256 -Bute, Lord, II. 273 seq., 310 -Butler, Bishop, II. 320 -Butler, Samuel, II. 137-140, 303 -Byng, Admiral, II. 310 -Byron, Lord, III. 11; his life and works, -102-151 - -Cædmon, hymns of, I. 57, 61; his metrical -paraphrase of parts of the Bible, -see footnote 83, 61, 185 -Calamy, Edmund, II. 58 -Calderon, I. 161, 279; II. 155 -Calvin, John, II. 11, 45, 301 -Camden, William, I. 246 -Campbell, Thomas, III. 76, 112 -Carew, Thomas, I. 238 -Carlyle, Thomas, I. 6; III. 100, 176; style -and mind, 308 seq.; vocation, 327 seq.; -philosophy, morality, and criticism, -336 seq.; conception of history, 348 -Carteret, John (Earl Granville), II. 311 -Castlereagh, Lord, I. see footnote 514 -Catherine, St., play of, I. 76 -Cellini, Benvenuto, I. 26, see footnote 169, see footnote 290 -see footnote 292, see footnote 293, see footnote 409 -Cervantes, I. 100, see footnote 360, 222; II. 410 -Chalmers, George, I. see footnote 95, see footnote 345, see footnote 346 -Chandos, Duke of (John Brydges), III. 8 -Chapman, George, I. 330 -Charles of Orleans, I. 84, 158 -Charles I of England, III. 276 -Charles II and his court, II. 140 seq. -Chateaubriand, I. 4; II. 346 -Chatham. See Pitt -Chaucer, I. 106, 126, 155, see footnote 153; II. 265 -Chesterfield, Lord, II. 278 seq., 444; III. 15 -Chevy Chase, ballad of, I. 125 -Chillingworth, William, I. 245; II. 35, 38, -300 -Christianity, introduction of, into Britain, -I. 56, 63 seq. -Chroniclers, French, I. 83 -Chroniclers, Saxon, I. 68 -Cibber, Colley, III. 8, 17 -Cimbrians, the, I. 41 -Clarendon, Lord Chancellor (Edward -Hyde), I. 245; II. 140 -Clarke, Dr. John, II. 289, 301 -Classic spirit in Europe, its origin and -nature, II. 170-173 -Classical authors translated, I. 180, 190 -Clive, Lord, III. 272 -Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, III. 73 -Collier, Jeremy, II. 225, 256 -Collins, William, III. 37 -Colman, George, II. 220 -Comedy-writers, English, II. 188 seq. -Comines, Philippe de, I. 124 -Commerce in sixteenth century, I. 172; -III. 165 seq. -Comte, Auguste, III. 362 -Condillac, Stephen-Bonnot de, III. 333, -363 -Congreve, William, II. 188-210, 283 -Conybeare, J. J., I. see footnote 64, see footnote 66, see footnote 74 -Corbet, Bishop, II. 35 -Corneille, II. 224, 236 -Cotton, Sir Robert, I. 246 -Court pageantries in the sixteenth century, -I. 176, 177 -Coventry, Sir John, II. 142 -Coverdale, Miles, II. 20 -Cowley, Abraham, I. 242; II. 34, 71 -Cowper, William, III. 67-73 -Crabbe, George, III. 71, 112 -Cranmer, Archbishop, II. 15, 23 -Crashaw, Richard, II. 34 -Criticism and History, III. 267 seq. -Cromwell, Oliver, I. 6; II. 35, 50; III. -276, 319, 351 -Crowne, John, II. 157 -Curll, Edmund, III. 18 - -Daniel, Samuel, I. 246 -Dante, I. 135, 158, 161; II. 110; III. 335 -Darwin, Charles, I. see footnote 1 -Davie, Adam, I. 93 -Davies, Sir John, II. 34 -Daye, John, II. 47 -Decker, Thomas, I. 281, see footnote 454 -De Foe, II. 307, 402-410; III. 169 -Delille, James, III. 21 -Denham, Sir John, II. 185-188 -Denmark, I. 34, 35 -Dennis, John, II. 331 -Descartes, II. 149, 233; III. 333 -Dickens, Charles, III. 85, 100; his novels, -187-221 -Domesday Book, I. 104, see footnote 149, see footnote 150, -see footnote 175 -Donne, John, I. see footnote 372, see footnote 373, see footnote 374, 241; -II. 35 -Dorat, C. J., III. 16, 140 -Dorset, Earl of (Charles Sackville), II. -179, 180 -Drake, Admiral, I. see footnote 273 -Drake, Dr. Nathan, I. see footnote 274, see footnote 275, see footnote 278 -see footnote 284, see footnote 329, see footnote 404, see footnote 508 -Drama, formation of the, I. 291 seq. -Drayton, Michael, I. 204, see footnote 330, see footnote 346; II. 34 -Drummond, William, II. 100 -Dryden, John, I. 18; II. 100; his comedies, -153-157, 184; his life and writings, -II. 222-272, 332; III. 5, 329 -Dudevant, Madame (George Sand), III. -207 -Dunstan, St., I. 36 -Durer, Albert, II. 9, 10 -Dyer, Sir Edward, I. see footnote 325 - -Earle, John, I. 246 -Eddas, the Scandinavian, I. 42; III. -123, 124 -Edgeworth, Maria, III. 253 -Edward VI, II. 28 -Edwy and Elgiva, story of, I. 38, see footnote 32 -Eliot, George. See Evans, Mary A. -England, climate of, I. 33 -English Constitution, formation of the, -I. 105 -Elizabeth, Queen, I. 175, 245, 270 -Elwin, Whitwell, III. 5 seq. -Erigena, John Scotus, I. 64, see footnote 89, 69 -Esménard, Joseph Alphonse, I. see footnote 256 -Essex, Robert, Earl of, I. 270, 273 -Etheredge, Sir George, II. 137, 158 -Evans, Mary A. (George Eliot), III. 85, -179, 185 -Eyck, Van, I. 151 - -Falkland, Lord, I. 245 -Farnese, Pietro Luigi, II. 6 -Farquhar, George, II. 188, 209 -Faust, III. 47 -Feltham, Owen, I. 246 -Fenn, Sir John, I. see footnote 267 -Ferguson, Dr. Adam, II. 304; III. 271 -Fermor, Mrs. Arabella, III. 15, 16 -Feudalism, the protection and character -of, I. 73 -Fichte, III. 335 -Fielding, Henry, I. 319; II. 135, 434-433, -450 -Fitmore, Sir Robert, II. 305 -Finsborough, Battle of, an Anglo-Saxon -poem, I. 54 -Fisher, John, Bishop of Rochester, I. -275; II. 26 -Flemish artists, I. 170, 178 -Fletcher, Giles, II. 34 -Fletcher, John, I. 291, 307; II. 45, 100 -Ford, John, I. 291, 297, 312; II. 248 -Fortescue, Sir John, I. 113, see footnote 171 -Fox, Charles James, II. 276, 311, 315 seq. -Fox, George, II. 52, 58, 133 -Fox, John, II. 13 seq. -Francis of Assisi, I. 161 -Freeman, Edward A., I. see footnote 98 -Frisians, the, I. 32, 33 -Froissart, I. 83, 102, 126, 127 -132, see footnote 195, see footnote 255 -Froude, J. A., I. see footnote 149, see footnote 411; II. 15 seq. -Fuller, Thomas, I. 318, see footnote 513 - -Gaimar, Geoffroy, I. 76, 92 -Gainsborough, Thomas, landscape painter, -II. 220 -Garrick, David, II. 444, 448 -Gaskell, Mrs. Elisabeth C., III. 85, 185 -Gay, John, II. 211, 279; III. 4. 29-32 -Geoffrey of Monmouth, I. see footnote 130 -German ideas, introduction of, in Europe -and England, III; 328 seq. -Germany, drinking habits in, II. 7 -Gibbon, Edward, II. 444 -Gladstone, William Ewart, III. 274 -Glencoe, Massacre of, III. 302 seq. -Glover, Richard, III. 37 -Godwin, William, II. 95 -Goethe, I. 6, 18, see footnote 441, see footnote 708; -II. 111, 118, 430; III. 48, 74, 125-131, 327 seq. -Goldsmith, Oliver, II. 211, 307, 440-443 -Goltzius, I. 196 -Gower, John, I. 90, 163, see footnote 127 -Grammont, Count de, II. 135, 169, 170 -Gray, Thomas, III. 36 -Greene, Robert, I. 206, see footnote 301, see footnote 333, 281, -see footnote 340, 306 -Grenville, George, II. 310 -Gresset, J. B. Lewis, III. 16 -Grey, Lady Jane, I. 180, 270 -Grostete, Robert, I. 90, 93 -Grote, George, III. 185 -Guicciardini, Ludovic, I. 173 -Guido, I. 16 -Guizot, I. see footnote 155; III. 276, 282, 305 -Guy of Warwick, I. 77, see footnote 143 - -Habington, William, I. 240 -Hakluyt, Richard, I. 246 -Hale, Sir Matthew, II. 16 -Hales, John, I. 245; II. 35, 37, 301 -Halifax, Charles, Montague, Earl of, II. -329, 334. 361, 366 -Hall, Bishop, Joseph, I. 246; II. 35 -Hallam, Henry, I. 118; III. 276 -Hamilton, Anthony, II. 136 seq. -Hamilton, Sir William, III. 185 -Hampden, John, III. 276 -Hampole, I. 93 -Hardyng, John, I. 269 -Harrington, Sir John, I. 237 -Harrison, William, I. 173 -Hastings, Warren, II. 317; III. 272, 285 -seq., 291 -Hawes, Stephen, I. 165 -Hegel, I. 18, see footnote 244; II. 271, 331 seq. -Heine, I. 2, see footnote 10, 360; III. 39, 48, 74, 87 -Hemling, Hans, I. 170 -Henry Beauclerk, I. 76 -Henry of Huntingdon, I. 36, see footnote 24, see footnote 34, see -footnote 35, 76 -Henry VIII and his Court, I. 269; II. 15 -Herbert, George, I. 240 -Herbert, Lord, I. 246 -Herder, John Godfrey von, I. 6 -Herrick, Robert, I. 204, 238, see footnote 371 -Hertford, Earl of, I. see footnote 402 -Hervey, Lord, III. 26 -Heywood, Mrs. Eliza, III. 18 -Heywood, John, I. 186, 280, see footnote 425, see footnote 488 -Hill, Aaron, III. 8 -History, philosophy of. See the Introduction, -passim. -Hobbes, Thomas, II. 147-152, 250 -Hogarth, William, II. 450-453; III. 18 -Holinslied's Chronicles, I. 176, 246, 275 -Holland, I. 31 -Homer and Spenser, I. 217 -Hooker, Richard, I. 245; II. 35 seq. -Horn, Ring, romance of, I. 77, 100 -Hoveden, John, I. 90 -Howard, John, II. 320 -Howe, John, III. 299 -Hugo, Victor, I. 2, see footnote 263, see footnote 606; II. 270; -III. 74, 87 -Hume, David, II. 304, 440; III. 294, 352 -Hunter, William, martyrdom of, II. -31, 32 -Hutcheson, Francis, II. 304, 320; III. 271 - -Iceland and its legends, I. 35, 42 -Independency in the sixteenth century, -II. 49 seq., 90 -Industry, British, in the nineteenth century, -III. 165 seq. -Irish, the ancient, I. 38 -Italian writings and ideas, taste for, in -sixteenth century, I. 181, 182; vices of -the Italian Renaissance, II. 3-7 - -James I and his Court, I. 237 -James II, III. 282 -Jewell, Bishop, I. 277 -Johnson, Samuel, I. 319; II. 303, 321, 444-453; -III. 10, 38, 345 -Joinville, Sire de, I. 83 -Jones, Inigo, I. see footnote 276, 321 -Jones, Sir William, II. 444 -Jonson, Ben, I. see footnote 282, 208, see footnote 394, see footnote 398, -280, see footnote 520; -II. 100; III. 155; sketch of his life, I. 318; his -learning, style, etc., 321; his -dramas, 327; his comedies, 333; -compared with Molière, 345; fanciful -comedies and smaller poems, 345 -Jordaens, Jacob, I. 178 -Jowett, Benjamin, III. 100, 334 -Judith, poem of, I. 60, 61 -Junius, Letters of, II. 311 seq.; III. 106 -Jutes, the, and their country, I. 31 - -Keats, John, III. 130 -Kemble, John M., I. see footnote 26, see footnote 35, see footnote 39, -see footnote 58, see footnote 59 -see footnote 63, see footnote 77 -Knighton, Henry, I. see footnote 186 -Knolles, Richard, I. 246 -Knox, John, II. 8, 28; III. 354 -Kyd, Thomas, I. 280 - -Lackland, John, I. 102 -LaHarpe, III. 345 -Lamartine, I. 2; III. 74, 87 -Lamb, Charles, III. 73, 76 -Languet, Hubert, I. 194 -Latimer, Bishop, I. 109; II. 17, 27 seq. -Lanfranc, first Norman Archbishop of -Canterbury, I. 76 -Langtoft, Peter, I. 90 -Laud, Archbishop, II. 38; III. 287 -Lavergne, Léonce de, I. see footnote 15 -Law, William, II. 303 -Layamon, I. 92, see footnote 131 -Lebrun, Ponce Denis Econchard, I. 163, see footnote 256 -Lee, Nathaniel, II. 241 -Leibnitz, III. 23 -Leighton, Dr. Alexander, II. 49, 88 -Lely, Sir Peter, II. 320 -Leo X, Pope, II. 4 -Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, I. 4 -Lingard, Dr. John, I. see footnote 18, see footnote 21, see footnote 30, -see footnote 32, see footnote 148 -Locke, John, II. 71, 300, 303 seq., 320 -Lockhart, John Gibson, III. 78 seq. -Lodge, Thomas, I. 204, 280 -Lombard, Peter, I. 157, see footnote 245 -Loménie de Brienne, Cardinal, III. 311 -London in Henry VIII's time, I. 173; -in the present day, III. 164 -Longchamps, William, I. 97 -Longus, Greek romance-writer, I. 209 -Lorris, Guillaume de, I. 84, 95 -Loyola, I. 161, 171; III. 273 -Ludlow, Edmund, II. 51 -Lulli, a renowned Italian composer, II. -233 -Lully, Raymond; I. 161 -Luther, Martin, I. 26, 171; II. 3-7; and the -Reformation, 7 -Lydgate, John, I. 158, 163, 164, see footnote 257, 165, see footnote 259 -Lyly, John, I. see footnote 287, 192, 194 -Lyly, William, I. 180 - -Macaulay, Thomas Babington (Lord), -III. 100; his works, 267-307 -Machiavelli, I. 183 -Mackenzie, Henry, III. 35, 51 -Mackintosh, Sir James, III. 276 -Macpherson, James, III. 36 -Malcolm, Sir John, III. 78 -Malherbe, Francis de, III. 329 -Malte-brun, Conrad, I. see footnote 8 -Mandeville, Bernard, II. 303 -Manners of the people in the sixteenth -century, I. 178 -Marguerite of Navarre, I. 132 -Marlborough, Duchess of, III. 26 -Marlborough, Duke of, II. 275, 307; III. -259 -Marlowe, Christopher, I. 211, see footnote 344, 280, see footnote 429, -see footnote 433, see footnote 344, see footnote 442, see footnote 445, -see footnote 446, see footnote 447, see footnote 449, see footnote 452; -III. 73; -his dramas, I. 282 -Marston, John, I. 320 -Martyr, Peter, II. 23 -Martyrs in the reign of Mary, II. 30-34 -Marvell, Andrew, II. 254 -Masques, under James I, I. 177, 348 -Massillon, II. 28 -Massinger, Philip, I. see footnote 400, 280, see footnote 424, see -footnote 459, see footnote 460, see footnote 462, 297 -Maundeville, Sir John, I. 91, see footnote 128, see footnote 129, see -footnote 130, 102 -May, Thomas, II. 57 -Medici, Lorenzo de, I. 182 -Melanchthon, Philip, II. 13, 23 -Merlin, I. 77, see footnote 124 -Meung, Jean de, I. 93, 162 -Michelet, Jules, I. 4, see footnote 71; III. 325 -Middleton, Thomas, I. see footnote 401, 273, 277, 291, see footnote 458 -Mill, John Stuart, III. 100, 176, 360-408 -Milton, John, I. 62, see footnote 86, 215, 245; II. 71-84; his -prose writings, 84-100; his poetry, 100-128, -347, 348; III. 272 -Molière, I. see footnote 347, see footnote 348, see footnote 489, see -footnote 563, see footnote 608, 361; II. 188 seq., 418; III. 214 -Mommsen, Theodor, I. see footnote 3 -Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, II. 424; -III. 8, 15 -Montesquieu, Ch., I. see footnote 4, 25 -Moore, Thomas, II. 440; III. 75 seq., 138 -More, Sir Thomas, I. 246, 275 -Müller, Max, III. 361 -Muller, Ottfried, I. 6 -Murray, John, III. 78, 138, 140 -Musset, Alfred de, I. 2, 199, see footnote 426, see footnote 427, see -footnote 459, see footnote 523, 358; -II. 267; III. 39, 74, 87, 430 seq. - -Nash, Thomas, I. 281 -Nayler, James, II. 53, 57 -Neal's History of the Puritans, II. 53, 88 -Newcastle, Duchess of (Margaret Lucas), -II. 187 -Newspaper, first daily, III. 44 -Newton, Sir Isaac, II. 289, 301 -Nicole, Peter, II. 283 -Norman Conquest, the, I. 71, 72, 73; its -effects on the national language and -literature, 87, 123; III. 151 -Normans, the character of, I. 74; how -they became French, 75; their taste -and architecture, 75; their literature, -chivalry, and success, 76; their position -and tyranny in England, 87; III. -152 -Nott, Dr. John, I. 191 -Novel, the English--its characteristics, -II. 402 seq.; the modern school of novelists, -III. 185 seq. -Nut-brown Maid, the--an ancient ballad, -I. see footnote 192 - -Oates, Titus, II. 257 -Occam, William, I. 161 -Occleve, Thomas, I. 163 -Ochin, Bernard, II. 23 -Oliphant, Mrs., II. 424 -Olivers, Thomas, II. 290 -Orrery, Earl of, III. 8 -Otway, Thomas, II. 241, 248 -Ouseley, Sir William, III. 78 -Overbury, Sir Thomas, I. see footnote 192, 246 -Owen, John, II. 58 - -Paganism of poetry and painting in -Italy in the sixteenth century, I. 181 -Paley, William, II. 300 -Palgrave, Sir Francis, I. see footnote 13, see footnote 344 -Parnell, Dr. Thomas, III. 4 -Pascal, III. 300, 400; III. 25, 306 -Pastoral poetry, I. 204 -Peele, George, I. 280 -Penn, William, II. 288; III. 299 -Pepys, Samuel, II. 142, 143, 146 -Percy, Thomas, III. 73 -Petrarch, I. 126, 185, 163 -Philips, Ambrose, III. 4 -Philosophy and history, III. 308 seq. -Philosophy and poetry, connection of, -I. 157 -Picts, I. 38 -Pickering, Dr. Gilbert, II. 223 -Piers Plowman's Crede, I. 122 -Piers Ploughman, Vision of, I. 120 -185 -Pitt, William, first Earl of Chatham, II. -276, 310 seq.; III. 275 -Pitt, William (second son of the preceding), -II. 311, 217 seq.; III. 65 -Pleiad, the, I. 18 -Pluche, Abbé, II. 342 -Poe, Edgar Allan, II. 405 -Pope, Alexander, II. 252, 328, 332, 381; -III. 5-28, 112, 117, 28O -Prayer-book, English, II. 23-27 -Preaching at the Reformation period, -II. 27 -Presbyterians and Independents in the -sixteenth century, II. 49 seq., 90 -Price, Dr. Richard, II. 304, 321; III. 271 -Priestly, Dr., III. 66 -Prior, Matthew, III. 4, 28 -Proclus, I. see footnote 5, see footnote 244 -Prynne, William, II. 57 -Pulci, an Italian painter, I. 182 -Pultock, Robert, II. 438 -Purchas, Samuel, I. 246 -Puritans, the, II. 45 seq., 132 seq. -Puttenham, George, I. 185, see footnote 294, 246 -Pym, John, III. 276 - -Quarles, Francis, I. 240, see footnote 371 - -Rabelais, I. 149, 222, see footnote 360, 265, 366; II. 144, 388, -438 -Racine, I. 371; II. 224, 284; III. 218, 306 -Raleigh, Sir Walter, I. 214, 246, 273; II, 34 -Rapin, II. 224 -Ray, John, II. 303 -Reformation in England made way for -by the Saxon character and the situation -of the Norman Church, I. 122, -165; II. 7 seq. -Reid, Thomas, II. 304, 320, 440 -Renaissance, the English; manners of -the time, I. 169; the theatre its -original product, 264 -Renan, Ernest, I. see footnote 3, see footnote 194 -Restoration, period of the, in England, -II. 131 seq., 209 -Revolution, period of the, in England, -II. 273 seq. -Reynolds, Sir Joshua, II. 220, 320, 444 -Richard Cœur de Lion, I. 101 -Richardson, Samuel, II. 135, 303, 412-424, -444; III. 8, 35 -Ridley, Nicholas, II. 30 -Ritson, Joseph, I. see footnote 157, see footnote 159, see footnote 162, -see footnote 164 -Robert of Brunne, I. 93 -Robert of Gloucester, I. 93 -Robertson, Dr. William, II. 440; III. 3, -38, 352 -Robespierre, II. 284 -Robin Hood ballads, I. 109, 178, 185 -Rochester, Earl of (John Wilmot), II. -143 seq., 184, 337; III. 28, 140 -Rogers, John, martyrdom of, II. 31 -Rogers, Samuel, III. 112 -Roland, Song of, I. 77, 81 -Rollo, a Norse leader, I. 74 -Ronsard, Peter de, I. 18 -Roscellinus, I. 160 -Roscommon, Earl of, II. 184 -Roses, wars of the, I. 114, 124, 169, 287 -Rotheland, Hugh de, I. 90 -Rousseau, Jean-Baptiste, III. 22 -Rousseau, Jean Jacques, II. 447; III. 16, 34 -Royer-Collard, Pierre-Paul, III. 392 -Rubens, I. 151, 177, 178, 232, 366; III. 27 -Rückert, III. 74 -Russel, Lord William, II. 141 - -Sacheverell, Dr., II. 273, 306 -Sacy, Lemaistre de, II. 22 -Sadeler, I. 196 -Sainte-Beuve, I. 6 -St. John. See Bolingbroke, Lord -Saint-Simon, I. 3; III. 217 -St. Theresa, I. 161 -Saintré, Jehan de, I. 102 -Sand, George. See Dudevant, Madame -Savage, Richard, III. 18 -Sawtré, William, I. 124 -Saxons, the, I. 31; characteristics of -the race, 71; contrast with the Normans, -74, 75; their endurance, 103; -their invasion of England, III. 151, 152 -Scaliger, III. 345 -Schelling, I. 22 -Schiller, III. 48, 74, 87 -Scotland in the seventeenth century, II. -134 -Scott, Sir Walter, I. 4; II. 222, 361 seq., -440; III. 74, 105, 107, 260; his novels and -poems, 78-85 -Scotus, Duns, I. 159 -Scudéry, Mademoiselle de, I. 195 -Sedley, Sir Charles, I. 240; II. 179 -Selden, John, I. 246 -Seres, William, II. 47 -Settle, Elkanah, II. 225, 240 -Sévigné, Madame de, III. 15, 306 -Shadwell, Thomas, II. 157, 240, 261 -Shaftesbury, Anthony Cooper, third -Earl of, II. 304 -Shakespeare, William, I. see footnote 169, see footnote 274, 186, see -footnote 301, see footnote 308, 206, see footnote 331, 245 -280; II. 230, 238 seq.; III. 155; general -idea of, I. 350; his life and character, -354; his style, 366, and manners, -372; his dramatis personæ, -377; his men of wit, 382, and -women, 386; his villains, 391, 392; -the principal characters in his plays, -393; fancy, imagination--ideas of -existence--love; harmony between the -artist and his work, 407 -Shelley, Percy Bysshe, III. 74, 95-100, 130 -Shenstone, William, III. 37 -Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, II. 212 seq., -311, 440 -Sherlock, Bishop, II. 292, 301, 412 -Shirley, James, I. 280; II. 153 -Sidney, Algernon, I. 245; II. 71, 141 -Sidney, Sir Phillip, I. 186, 194, 245, -266; II. 39; III. 155 -Skelton, John, I. 165 -Smart, Christopher, III. 37 -Smith, Adam, II. 304, 320 -Smith, Sidney, II. 282; III. 100 -Smollett, Tobias, II. 308, 433-437, 440 -Society in Great Britain in the present -day, III. 169 seq.; in England and in -France, 430 seq. -South, Dr. Robert, II. 292, 295 -Southern, Thomas, II. 241 -Southey, Robert, II. 438; III. 72, 76, 134, -287 -Speed, John, I. 246 -Spelman, Sir Henry, I. 246 -Spencer, Herbert, III. 185 -Spencer, Edmund, I. 186, 207, 213,245; -II. 71, 110; his life, character and -poetry, I. 214; II. 236; III. 155, 424 -Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, III. 100, 334 -Steele, Sir Richard, II. 311, 327; III. 259 -Stendhal, Count de, I. 25, see footnote 214, see footnote 471, see -footnote 487 -Sterling, John, III. 309 seq. -Sterne, Laurence, II. 437-440; III. 35 -Stewart, Dugald, II. 320, 440; III. 61 -Stillingfleet, Bishop, II. 292, 301 -Stowe, John, I. 246 -Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of, -III. 276 seq. -Strafford, William, I. 172 -Strype, John, I. 268 -Stubbes, John, I. see footnote 277, 179, see footnote 285 -Suckling, Sir John, I. 238, see footnote 371; II. 181 -Sue, Eugène, III. 220 -Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of, I. 185; -II. 16 -Swift, Jonathan, II. 135. 224, 303, 311, 327 -seq.; III. 259, 288; sketch of his life, II. -360-368; his wit, 368-371; his pamphlets, -371-379; his poetry, 380-389; his philosophy, -etc., 389-401 - -Taillefer, I. 79, 89 -Tasso, I. 222, see footnote 360, see footnote 366, see footnote 512 -Taylor, Jeremy, I. 246; II. 35, 38, 44 -Temple, Sir William, II. 173, 365, 389; -III. 3, 272 -Teniers, David, III. 83 -Tennyson, Alfred, III. 100, 185, 410-438 -Thackeray, William M. III. 85, 100; his -novels, 223-265 -Theatre, the, in the sixteenth century, I. -264; after the Restoration, II. 153-155, -188 seq., 226 seq. -Thibaut of Champagne, I. 84 -Thierry, Augustin, I. 4, see footnote 20, see footnote 69, see footnote 99, -see footnote 118, see footnote 119, see footnote 120, see footnote 157, -see footnote 178; III. 305 -Thiers, Louis Adolphe, III. 282, 305 -Thomson, James, III. 32-35 -Thorpe, John, I. see footnote 46, see footnote 48, see footnote 50, -see footnote 66, see footnote 72, see footnote 83, see footnote 87 -Tickell, Thomas, III. 4 -Tillotson, Archbishop, II. 292 seq. -Tindal, Matthew, II. 303 -Titian, I. 236, see footnote 600, 366 -Tocqueville, Alexis de, I. see footnote 3 -Toland, John, II. 303 -Toleration Act, the, III. 298, 299, 300 -Tomkins, Thomas, II. 32 -Townley, James, II. 220 -Turner, Sharon, I. see footnote 9, see footnote 28, see footnote 32, -see footnote 34, see footnote 35, see footnote 56, see footnote 65, -see footnote 66, see footnote 67, see footnote 28, see footnote 79, -see footnote 81, see footnote 95,54 -Tutchin, John, III. 18 -Tyndale, William, II. 19 seq., 28, 47 - -Urfé, Honoré d', I. see footnote 311, 315 -Usher, James, I. 246 - -Vanbrugh, Sir John, II. 187-209 -Vane, Sir Harry, II. 143 -Vega, Lope de, I. 161, 279; II. 155 -Village feasts of sixteenth century described, -I. 178 -Villehardouin, a French chronicler, I. -83, 102 -Vinci, Leonardo da, I. 16 -Voltaire, I. 16; II. 447; III. 22, 137, 346 -Vos, Martin de, I. 196 - -Wace, Robert, I. 76, 78, see footnote 106, see footnote 108, 89, see -footnote 130, see footnote 131 -Waller, Edmund, I. 240; II. 71, 153, 181-184; -III. 3 -Walpole, Horace, III. 15 -Walpole, Sir Robert, II. 274, 280 -Walton, Isaac, I. 246 -Warburton, Bishop, II. 303 -Warner, William, I. 212 -Warton, Thomas, I. see footnote 96, see footnote 122, see footnote 124, -see footnote 126, see footnote 127, see footnote 135, see footnote 137, -see footnote 145, see footnote 146, see footnote 147, see footnote 252, -see footnote 259, see footnote 287; III. 73 -Watt, James, II. 320 -Watteau, Anthony, III. 14 -Watts, Isaac, III. 37 -Webster, John, I. 291, 297; II. 248 -Wesley, John, II. 280-291 -Wetherell, Elizabeth, III. 179 -Wharton, Lord, III. 26 -Whitfield, George, II. 289-230 -Wiclif, John, I. 123, 286; II. 15 -Wilkes, John, II. 310 -William III, II. 173 -Wither, George, II. 35 -William of Malmesbury, I. 75 -William the Conqueror, I. 78 -Windham, William, II. 311 -Witenagemote, the, I. 46 -Wollastom William Hyde, III. 271 -Wolsey, Cardinal, I. 165; II. 16 -Wordsworth, William, III. 73, 88-95 -Wortley, Lady Mary. See Montagu -Wyatt, Sir Thomas, I. 185, 180, 187 -Wycherley, William, I. 18; II. 157-167, -178, 187, 188, 202, 250, 337 - -Yonge, Charlotte Mary, III. 179 -Young, Arthur, II. 320 -Young, Edward, III. 37 - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History of English Literature Volume 1 -(of 3), by Hippolyte Taine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 61308-0.txt or 61308-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/3/0/61308/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature in -memoriam of Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available -by The Internet Archive.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: History of English Literature Volume 1 (of 3) - -Author: Hippolyte Taine - -Commentator: J. Scott Clark - -Translator: Henry Van Laun - -Release Date: February 2, 2020 [EBook #61308] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature in -memoriam of Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available -by The Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/taine01_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - - -<h2>HISTORY OF</h2> - -<h2>ENGLISH LITERATURE</h2> - -<h3>HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE</h3> - -<h4>TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY -HENRY VAN LAUN</h4> - -<h4>WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY</h4> - -<h4>J. SCOTT CLARK, A. M.</h4> - -<h5>PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AT NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY</h5> - -<h5>REVISED EDITION</h5> - -<h5>VOLUME I</h5> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration1"></a> -<img src="images/illustration1.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center">SHAKESPEARE BEFORE SIR THOMAS LUCY.<br /> -<i>Photogravure from a painting by T. Brooks.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>This picture brings vividly before us an interesting incident of -Shakespeare's early days. He has just been caught red-handed in the -crime of poaching, and is now brought before Sir Thomas Lucy to answer -to the gamekeeper's charge. Though this incident seems well -authenticated, little is definitely known of this period of the great -dramatist's life. But we do know that that energy, which later achieved -so much, in his youth ran to waste in all kinds of lawless pleasures. -The artist here depicts Sir Thomas Lucy sitting stern and grave as he -listens to the constable's charge against Shakespeare. A slaughtered -deer has been brought in, as testimony against him. Shakespeare himself, -though seeming fully aware of the gravity of his offence, appears -nevertheless composed and prepared to answer the charge. Though the -magistrate may not be favorably impressed by the dauntless independence -of Shakespeare's bearing, we may be sure he excites the admiration of -the feminine members of the household, who are watching him with -interest. All the accessories of carved woodwork, leaded casements, and -tapestried walls interest us as depicting the interior of a typical -manor-house of the period.</p></blockquote> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/inner_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - - - -<h3>#THE WORLD'S# -GREAT CLASSICS</h3> - -<h3>LIBRARY -COMMITTE 1</h3> - -<h3>TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D. LLD. -RICHARD HENRY STODDARD -ARTHUR RICHMOND MARSH. A.B. -PAVL VAN DYKE, D.D. -ALBERT ELLERY BERGH</h3> - -<h4>•ILLUSTRATED•WITH•NEARLY•TWO• -•HUNDRED•PHOTOGRAVURES•ETCHINGS• -•COLORED•PLATES•AND•FULL• -•PAGE•PORTRAITS•OF•GREAT•AUTHORS•</h4> - -<h5>CLARENCE COOK—ART EDITOR</h5> - -<h5>•THE•COLONIAL•PRESS•</h5> - -<h5>•NEW•YORK•MDCCCXCIX•</h5> - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4>DEDICATION</h4> - -<p>Even at the present day, the historian of Civilization in Europe and in -France is amongst us, at the head of those historical studies which he -formerly encouraged so much. I myself have experienced his kindness, -learned by his conversation, consulted his books, and profited by that -intellectual and impartial breadth, that active and liberal sympathy, -with which he receives the labors and thoughts of others, even when -these ideas are not like his own. I consider it a duty and an honor to -inscribe this work to M. Guizot.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%;">H. A. TAINE.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4>SPECIAL INTRODUCTION</h4> - - -<p>The publication of M. Taine's "History of English Literature," in 1864, -and its translation into English, in 1872, mark an epoch in educational -history, especially in that of America. Prior to the appearance of this -work, the total knowledge of British writers gained in the school and -college life of the ordinary American youth was generally derived in the -form of blind memorization from one text-book. This book was a -combination of minute biographical detail with the generalities and -abstractions of criticism. The student, and the general reader as well, -did not really study the great writers at all; he simply memorized what -someone had written about them; and he tried, generally in vain, to -comprehend the real concrete significance of such critical terms as -"bald, nervous, sonorous," etc. But with the distribution of M. -Taine's great work came the beginning of better things. It was the first -step in an evolution by no means yet completed—a movement paralleled in -the development of methods of scientific study during the last four -decades. Forty years ago the pupil did not study oxygen, electricity, or -cellulose; he simply memorized what someone had written <i>about</i> these -elements. He never touched and rarely saw the things themselves, and he -counted himself fortunate if his instructor had the energy and the -facilities to perform before the wondering class a few stock -experiments. But all this has been changed. It is now universally -recognized that the only sound method of studying any science is the -laboratory method; that is, the study of the thing itself in all its -manifestations. In methods of studying literature the progress towards a -true scientific, that is, a laboratory method, has been much slower, but -it seems almost equally sure. We are just now in the intermediate stage, -where we study "editions with notes." Our educators, as a rule, have yet -to learn that to memorize biographical data and the mere generalities -and negations of criticism, or to trace out obscure <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span> allusions and -doubtful meanings, is not to study a writer in any broad or fruitful -sense. But the movement towards a true scientific method is already well -begun; and, as we have said, to M. Taine belongs the honor of taking the -initial step.</p> - -<p>With Taine's work in hand the thoughtful reader may realize to a large -extent the significance of Leslie Stephen's memorable dictum: "The whole -art of criticism consists in learning to know the human being who is -partially revealed to us in his written and spoken words." M. Taine's -pages continually attest his deep conviction that "the style is the -man," in a very comprehensive sense. In his Introduction to his "History -of English Literature," we find such statements as these:—"You study -the document only to know the man, just as you study the fossil shell -only to know the animal behind it; Genuine history is brought into -existence only when the historian begins to unravel... the living man, -toiling, impassioned, entrenched in his customs, with his voice and -features, his gestures and dress, distinct and complete as he from whom -we have just parted in the street; Twenty select phrases from Plato -and Aristophanes will teach you much more than a multitude of -dissertations and commentaries; The true critic is present at the -drama which was enacted in the soul of the artist or the writer; the -choice of a word, the brevity or length of a sentence, the nature -of a metaphor, the accent of a verse, the development of an -argument—everything is a symbol to him;... in short he works out its -(the text's) psychology; there is a cause for ambition, for courage, for -truth, as there is for muscular movement or animal heat." To put M. -Taine's great and characteristic merit into a sentence, we may say that -he was the first writer on English literature to apply to it the -fundamental principle, patent to every person of reflection, that we -necessarily think in concrete terms, and that, therefore, a treatise -must be valuable just in proportion to the concreteness of its -presentation.</p> - -<p>In order to show how great was the advance made by M. Taine's work over -its predecessors, let us take a classic English writer at random and -compare the treatment given him by M. Taine with that given in the -text-book already mentioned. Suppose we open to the discussion of -Addison. In the latter work we are told that he was born in 1672 and -died in 1719; that he was a son of Lancelot Addison, a clergyman of some -reputation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span> for learning; that Addison studied at the Charter House, -where he formed a friendship with Richard Steele; that he afterwards -entered Oxford; that he wrote various short poems and one long one, of -which six whole lines are given as a specimen. We are told, also, that -Addison held, in succession, certain political offices; that he -contributed one-sixth of the papers found in Steele's "Tatler," more -than one-half of those in the "Spectator," and one-third of those in the -"Guardian"; that he published a drama called "Cato," which, the book -informs us, is "cold, solemn, and pompous, written with scrupulous -regard for the classical unities." We learn, further, that Addison -married a countess, and died at the early age of forty-seven; that he -had a quarrel with Pope; that his papers published in the "Tatler," the -"Spectator," and the "Guardian" are marked by "fertility of invention -and singular felicity of treatment"; that their variety is wonderful, -and that everything is treated "with singular appropriateness and -unforced energy"; that "there is a singular harmony between the language -and the thought" (whatever that may mean); that Addison's delineations -of the characters of men are wonderfully delicate; that he possessed -humor in its highest and most delicate perfection; that his hymns -breathe a fervent and tender spirit of piety. Contrary to the usage of -its author, the text-book gives the whole sixteen lines of Addison's -most famous hymn—the longest illustrative quotation in the whole four -hundred pages—one blessed little oasis in a vast desert of dry -biographical minutiæ and the abstract generalities of criticism. In the -eight pages devoted to Addison there are not more than ten lines of real -criticism; and these consist, for the most part, of what, to the -ordinary reader, are meaningless adjectives or high-sounding epithets. -Yet this is one of the very best chapters in the book. It is certainly a -fair specimen of the barren method generally prevalent before the -appearance of M. Taine's work.</p> - -<p>Now let us compare his treatment of Addison. In the first place, -scattered through the eighteen pages devoted to that writer -(single-volume edition) we find no less than twenty-two illustrative -passages, varying in length from six to 176 lines of very fine print. In -his general treatment M. Taine begins by tracing the physical, social, -and moral environment of Addison, thus leading us up to the -consideration of the man and the writer by a natural process of -evolution. We are first shown what kind of a man to expect, and then we -are made acquainted with him. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span> And all this is done with the most vivid -and brilliant touches. Mere biographical details are either ignored or -given incidental mention. The opening paragraph is a <i>tableau vivant</i>, -which we see Addison at Oxford, "studious, peaceful, loving solitary -walks under the elm avenues." We are told how, from boyhood, "his memory -is stuffed with Latin verses"; how "this limited culture, leaving him -weaker, made him more refined" how "he acquired a taste for the elegance -and refinement, the triumphs and the artifices, of style"; how he became -"an epicure in literature"; how "he naturally loved beautiful things"; how -"Addison, good and just himself, trusted in God, also a being good and -just"; how he writes his lay sermons; how "he cannot suffer languishing -or lazy habits"; how "he is full of epigrams against flirtations, -extravagant toilets, useless visits"; how "he explains God, reducing him -to a mere magnified man"; with what literal precision he describes -Heaven; how he "inserts prayers in his papers and forbids oaths"; how he -made morality fashionable.</p> - -<p>These illustrations of M. Taine's method might be multiplied -indefinitely, but enough have surely been quoted to demonstrate how -vastly more vivid and concrete is the idea of Addison, the man and the -writer, gained by this method in comparison with that which was in -general vogue before the publication of M. Taine's book. In the one case -the reader has come into contact with a mere abstraction—a man of -straw, with not a single feature that impresses itself on the -imagination or the memory. In the other, he has come into communion with -a real living soul—a man "of like passions with ourselves."</p> - -<p>But the very qualities of the great French critic which make his book so -helpful are the source of his defects as a writer. These qualities are -national quite as much as individual. It is a truism that the French -people lead the world in the field of criticism as applied to both -literature and art. This superiority is strikingly illustrated also in -St. Beuve, and is due to a certain quickness of perception, a certain -power of concrete illustration, that seems inherent in the race of -cultivated Frenchmen. M. Taine himself well defines this ethnic trait -when he speaks of "France, with her Parisian culture, with her -drawing-room manners, with her untiring analysis of characters and -actions, her irony so ready to hit upon a weakness, her <i>finesse</i> so -practised in the discrimination of modes of thought." This national -talent is almost invariably associated with a nervous, sanguine -temperament <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>, which easily tends to extremes of expression. We are -therefore compelled to read M. Taine with some degree of caution when we -are seeking exact statement and strict limitation.</p> - -<p>Again, M. Taine is sometimes inaccurate or unjust from a lack of -sympathy. He sometimes finds it impossible to rid himself of his Gallic -predilections and aversions, especially when treating of the Puritan -character or the stolid English morality. He cannot appreciate the -religious conditions that surround his subject. He is always the -Frenchman discussing the English writer. He cannot forbear to contrast -the effect or the reception accorded to an author's work in England with -that which it would have received in France; as when he says, concerning -Addison's lay sermons in the "Spectator": "I know very well what success -a newspaper full of sermons would have in France"; and again: "If a -Frenchman was forbidden to swear, he would probably laugh at the first -word of the admonition." A little farther on he objects to what he -calls, with certainly picturesque concreteness, "the sticky plaster of -his (Addison's) morality"—an expression that has led to Minto's sharp -retort that Addison's morality was something which it is quite -impossible for the Gallic conscience to conceive. Another illustration -of that bias which compels us to be somewhat on our guard in reading -Taine is found in his treatment of Milton. Although we may admit that -the great Puritan poet peopled his paradise with characters having -altogether too strong a British tinge, we are almost shocked to hear -Taine and his disciple, Edmond Scherer, dilate upon Milton's Adam as -"your true paterfamilias, with a vote; an M. P., an old Oxford man," -etc., etc., or to hear them exclaim, "What a great many votes she (Eve) -will gain among the country squires when Adam stands for Parliament!" -Quite as striking is M. Taine's inability to understand Wordsworth.</p> - -<p>But, after making these and all other due admissions concerning Taine's -work, the fact stands that his "History of English Literature" meets -fully Lowell's quaint definition of a classic, when he says, "After all, -to be delightful is a classic." In reading this work we never feel that -we have in our hands a text-book or even a history. It is rather a -living, moving panorama. We see again the old miracles and moralities, -with their queer shifts and their stark incongruities; we see the -drawing-rooms and hear the conversation of the reign of Queen Anne, and -walk through Fleet Street with Johnson. In a word, we realize in no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> -small degree the full meaning of Leslie Stephen's dictum, in that we -really feel that we know, in some degree at least, "the human being who -is partially revealed to us in his written and spoken words."</p> - -<p>Of course, no introduction to this work would be complete without some -reference to the psychological theory on which it is based. We have -reserved this point to the last because, for the general reader, what -Taine says and how he says it, are far more interesting considerations -than any theories on which the book may be based. In a word, the author -held that both the character and the style of a writer are the outgrowth -of his social and natural environment. And this environment, in Taine's -opinion, affects not only the individual but the national character as -manifested in the national literature. In discussing any literary -production he would first ask: To what race and nation does the author -belong? What is the influence of his geographical position and of his -nation's advance in civilization? What about the duration of the -literary phase represented by the writer in question? In developing this -theory of the influence of environment M. Taine doubtless sometimes -treats as permanent scientific factors influences and circumstances that -are in their very nature variable. Yet this application of the theory is -as consistent and plausible as it is everywhere apparent. A few -illustrations of his psychological theory will make more plain than much -abstract discussion the almost fatalistic nature of his method. For -example, after vividly portraying the political and social conditions -that had surrounded Milton from his birth, the French critic asks: "Can -we expect urbanity here?" Again, in tracing Dryden's beginnings, he -says: "Such circumstances announce and prepare, not an artist, but a man -of letters." Much might be written of the detailed application of M. -Taine's psychological theory. But the reader has already been too long -detained from a perusal of the riches that fill the following pages. -Charles Lamb once wrote: "I prefer the affections to the sciences." The -majority of the readers of M. Taine will doubtless find so much to enjoy -in his brilliant pages that they will care little for his theories, and -will not allow certain defects in his sympathies to mar their enjoyment -of this monumental work.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%;">J. SCOTT CLARK <span class="pagenum"> <a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<h3><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></h3> - -<p><a href="#I._Historical_documents_serve_only_as_a_clue_to_reconstruct_the_visible_individual">I. Historical documents serve only as a clue to reconstruct the visible -individual</a><span class="linenum"> 1</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#II._The_outer_man_is_only_a_clue_to_study_the_inner_invisible_man">II. The outer man is only a clue to study the inner, invisible man</a><span class="linenum"> 5</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#III._The_state_and_the_actions_of_the_inner_and_invisible_man_have_their_causes_in_certain_general_ways_of_thought_and_feeling">III. The state and the actions of the inner and invisible man have their -causes in certain general<br /> -ways of thought and feeling</a><span class="linenum"> 8</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#IV._Chief_causes_of_thought_and_feeling_Their_historical_effects">Chief causes of thought and feeling. Their historical effects</a><span class="linenum"> 9</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#V._The_three_primordial_forces_Race">The three primordial forces.—Race</a><span class="linenum"> 13</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#surroundings">Surroundings</a><span class="linenum"> 14</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#epoch">Epoch</a><span class="linenum"> 16</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#VI._History_is_a_mechanical_and_psychological_problem_Within_certain_limits_man_can_foretell">VI. History is a mechanical and psychological problem. Within certain -limits man can foretell</a><span class="linenum"> 19</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#primordial_causes">Primordial Causes</a><span class="linenum"> 20</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#VII._Law_of_formation_of_a_group_Examples_and_indications">VII. Law of formation of a group. Examples and indications</a><span class="linenum"> 23</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#VIII._General_problem_and_future_of_history_Psychological_method_Value_of_literature_Purpose_in_writing_this_book">VIII. General problem and future of history. -Psychological method. Value of literature.<br /> -Purpose in writing this book</a><span class="linenum"> 24</span></p> - - -<h3><a href="#BOOK_I.--THE_SOURCE">BOOK I.—THE SOURCE</a></h3> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FIRST_I">CHAPTER FIRST</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Saxons">The Saxons</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Coast_of_the_North_Sea">SECTION I.—The Coast of the North Sea</a><span class="linenum"> 31</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--The_Northern_Barbarians">SECTION II.—The Northern Barbarians</a><span class="linenum"> 34</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Saxon_Ideas">SECTION III.—Saxon Ideas</a><span class="linenum"> 46</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Saxon_Heroes">SECTION IV.—Saxon Heroes</a><span class="linenum"> 46</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Pagan_Poems">SECTION V.—Pagan Poems</a><span class="linenum"> 53</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Christian_Poems">SECTION VI.—Christian Poems</a><span class="linenum"> 56</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Primitive_Saxon_Authors">SECTION VII.—Primitive Saxon Authors</a><span class="linenum"> 63</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Virility_of_the_Saxon_Race">SECTION VIII.—Virility of the Saxon Race</a><span class="linenum"> 71</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_SECOND_I">CHAPTER SECOND</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Normans">The Normans</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Feudal_Man">SECTION I.—The Feudal Man</a><span class="linenum"> 73</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Normans_and_Saxons_Contrasted">SECTION II.—Normans and Saxons Contrasted</a><span class="linenum"> 73</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--French_Form_of_Thought">SECTION III.—French Forms of Thought</a><span class="linenum"> 80</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--The_Normans_in_England">SECTION IV.—The Normans in England</a><span class="linenum"> 87</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--The_English_Tongue--Early_English_Literary_Impulses">SECTION V.—The English Tongue—Early English Literary Impulses</a><span class="linenum"> 91</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Feudal_Civilization">SECTION VI.—Feudal Civilization</a><span class="linenum">103</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Persistence_of_Saxon_Ideas">SECTION VII.—Persistence of Saxon Ideas</a><span class="linenum">108</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--The_English_Constitution">SECTION VIII.—The English Constitution</a><span class="linenum">113</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX.--Piers_Plowman_and_Wyclif">SECTION IX.—Piers Plowman and Wyclif</a><span class="linenum">119</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRD_I">CHAPTER THIRD</a><br /> -<a href="#The_New_Tongue">The New Tongue</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_First_Great_Poet">SECTION I.—The First Great Poet</a><span class="linenum">126</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--The_Decline_of_the_Middle_Ages">SECTION II.—The Decline of the Middle Ages</a><span class="linenum">127</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--The_Poetry_of_Chaucer">SECTION III.—The Poetry of Chaucer</a><span class="linenum">128</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Characteristics_of_the_Canterbury_Tales">SECTION IV.—Characteristics of the Canterbury Tales</a><span class="linenum">143</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--The_Art_of_Chaucer">SECTION V.—The Art of Chaucer</a><span class="linenum">150</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Scholastic_Philosophy">SECTION VI.—Scholastic Philosophy</a><span class="linenum">158</span></p> - - -<h3><a href="#BOOK_II.--THE_RENAISSANCE">BOOK II.—THE RENAISSANCE</a></h3> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FIRST_II">CHAPTER FIRST</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Pagan_Renaissance">The Pagan Renaissance</a></h4> - -<h5><a href="#PART_I.--Manners_of_the_Time"><i>PART I.—Manners of the Time</i></a></h5> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Ideas_of_the_Middle_Ages">SECTION I.—Ideas of the Middle Ages</a><span class="linenum">169</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Growth_of_New_Ideas">SECTION II.—Growth of New Ideas</a><span class="linenum">171</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Popular_Festivals">SECTION III.—Popular Festivals</a><span class="linenum">178</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Influence_of_Classic_Literature">SECTION IV.—Influence of Classic Literature</a><span class="linenum">180</span></p> - -<h5><a href="#PART_II.--Poetry"><i>PART II.—Poetry</i></a></h5> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Renaissance_of_Saxon_Genius">SECTION I.—Renaissance of Saxon Genius</a><span class="linenum">185</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--The_Earl_of_Surrey">SECTION II.—The Earl of Surrey</a><span class="linenum">185</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Surreys_Style">SECTION III.—Surrey's Style</a><span class="linenum">190</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Development_of_Artistic_Ideas">SECTION IV.—Development of Artistic Ideas</a><span class="linenum">192</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Wherein_Lies_the_Strength_of_the_Poetry_of_this_Period">SECTION V.—Wherein Lies the Strength of the Poetry of this Period</a><span class="linenum">204</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Edmund_Spenser">SECTION VI—Edmund Spenser</a><span class="linenum">214</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Spenser_in_his_Relation_to_the_Renaissance">SECTION VII.—Spenser in his Relation to the Renaissance</a><span class="linenum">221</span></p> - -<h5><a href="#PART_III.--Prose"><i>PART III.—Prose.</i></a></h5> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Decay_of_Poetry">SECTION I.—The Decay of Poetry</a><span class="linenum">237</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--The_Intellectual_Level_of_the_Renaissance">SECTION II.—The Intellectual Level of the Renaissance</a><span class="linenum">243</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Robert_Burton">SECTION III.—Robert Burton</a><span class="linenum">248</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Sir_Thomas_Browne">SECTION IV.—Sir Thomas Browne</a><span class="linenum">252</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Francis_Bacon">SECTION V.—Francis Bacon</a><span class="linenum">255</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_SECOND_II">CHAPTER SECOND</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Theatre">The Theatre</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Public_and_the_Stage">SECTION I.—The Public and the Stage</a><span class="linenum">264</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Manners_of_the_Sixteenth_Century">SECTION II.—Manners of the Sixteenth Century</a><span class="linenum">267</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Some_Aspects_of_the_English_Mind">SECTION III.—Some Aspects of the English Mind</a><span class="linenum">274</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--The_Poets_of_the_Period">SECTION IV.—The Poets of the Period</a><span class="linenum">279</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Formation_of_the_Drama">SECTION V.—Formation of the Drama</a><span class="linenum">291</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Furious_Passions--Exaggerated_Characters">SECTION VI.—Furious Passions—Exaggerated Characters</a><span class="linenum">296</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Female_Characters">SECTION VII.—Female Characters</a><span class="linenum">305</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRD_II">CHAPTER THIRD</a><br /> -<a href="#Ben_Jonson">Ben Jonson</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Man--His_Life">SECTION I.—The Man—His Life</a><span class="linenum">318</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--His_Freedom_and_Precision_of_Style">SECTION II.—His Freedom and Precision of Style</a><span class="linenum">321</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--The_Dramas_Catiline_and_Sejanus">SECTION III.—The Dramas Catiline and Sejanus</a><span class="linenum">327</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Comedies">SECTION IV.—Comedies</a><span class="linenum">333</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Limits_of_Jonsons_Talent--His_Smaller_Poems--His_Masques">SECTION V.—Limits of Jonson's Talent—His Smaller Poems—His Masques</a><span class="linenum">345</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--General_Idea_of_Shakespeare">SECTION VI.—General Idea of Shakespeare</a><span class="linenum">350</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FOURTH_II">CHAPTER FOURTH</a><br /> -<a href="#Shakespeare">Shakespeare</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Life_and_Character_of_Shakespeare">SECTION I.—Life and Character of Shakespeare</a><span class="linenum">354</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Shakespeares_Style--Copiousness--Excesses">SECTION II.—Shakespeare's Style—Copiousness—Excesses</a><span class="linenum">366</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Shakespeares_Language_And_Manners">SECTION III.—Shakespeare's Language And Manners</a><span class="linenum">371</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Dramatis_Personae">SECTION IV.—Dramatis Personæ</a><span class="linenum">377</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Men_of_Wit">SECTION V.—Men of Wit</a><span class="linenum">382</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Shakespeares_Women">SECTION VI.—Shakespeare's Women</a><span class="linenum">386</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Types_of_Villains">SECTION VII.—Types of Villains</a><span class="linenum">391</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Principal_Characters">SECTION VIII.—Principal Characters</a><span class="linenum">393</span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX.--Characteristics_of_Shakespeares_Genius">SECTION IX.—Characteristics of Shakespeare's Genius</a><span class="linenum">407</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#INDEX">INDEX</a></h4> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration2"></a> -<img src="images/illustration2.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center">HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE PAINE<br /> -<i>Photogravure from an engraving.</i> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p> -<blockquote> -<p>This picture shows the eminent French critic as he appeared thirty years -ago. At that period his fame as a literary savant was spreading to the -four quarters of the world, and he was lecturing daily to the crowds of -students who had flocked to Paris to study literature under his -guidance. In personal appearance he was unlike the traditional scholar, -but resembled, in his quick, nervous energy and plain business-like -ways, a keen-witted man of affairs. He was simple in dress, as the -picture shows, and it is a noteworthy fact that the honors he received -never caused him to lose his self-poise, or to cease his severe studies, -which he carried on with diligence to the very day of his death. His -face denotes the cool, critical, and well-balanced scholar, with the -initiative to enter new fields of thought, and the will-power to impress -his opinions upon others.</p></blockquote></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -<p>SHAKESPEARE BEFORE SIR THOMAS LUCY <span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Photogravure from the original painting</span><br /> -HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE PAINE<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration2">xii</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Photogravure from an engraving</span><br /> -GEOFFREY CHAUCER<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration3">132</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Photogravure from an old engraving</span><br /> -THE NEW PSALTER OF THE VIRGIN MARY<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration4">260</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Fifteenth Century</span><br /> -TITLE-PAGE OF THE HYPNEROTOMACHIA<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration5">384</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Sixteenth Century</span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE</h3> - - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="I._Historical_documents_serve_only_as_a_clue_to_reconstruct_the_visible_individual">I. Historical documents serve only as a clue to reconstruct the visible individual</a></h4> - - -<p>History, within a hundred years in Germany, and within sixty years in -France, has undergone a transformation, owing to a study of literatures.</p> - -<p>The discovery has been made that a literary work is not a mere play of -the imagination, the isolated caprice of an excited brain, but a -transcript of contemporary manners and customs and the sign of a -particular state of intellect. The conclusion derived from this is that, -through literary monuments, we can retrace the way in which men felt and -thought many centuries ago. This method has been tried and found -successful.</p> - -<p>We have meditated over these ways of feeling and thinking and have -accepted them as facts of prime significance. We have found that they -were dependent on most important events, that they explain these, and -that these explain them, and that henceforth it was necessary to give -them their place in history, and one of the highest. This place has been -assigned to them, and hence all is changed in history—the aim, the -method, the instrumentalities, and the conceptions of laws and of -causes. It is this change as now going on, and which must continue to go -on, that is here attempted to be set forth.</p> - -<p>On turning over the large stiff pages of a folio volume, or the yellow -leaves of a manuscript, in short, a poem, a code of laws, a confession -of faith, what is your first comment? You say to yourself that the work -before you is not of its own creation. It is simply a mold like a fossil -shell, an imprint similar to one of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> those forms embedded in a stone by -an animal which once lived and perished. Beneath the shell was an animal -and behind the document there was a man. Why do you study the shell -unless to form some idea of the animal? In the same way do you study the -document in order to comprehend the man; both shell and document are -dead fragments and of value only as indications of the complete living -being. The aim is to reach this being; this is what you strive to -reconstruct. It is a mistake to study the document as if it existed -alone by itself. That is treating things merely as a pedant, and you -subject yourself to the illusions of a book-worm. At bottom mythologies -and languages are not existences; the only realities are human beings -who have employed words and imagery adapted to their organs and to suit -the original cast of their intellects. A creed is nothing in itself. Who -made it? Look at this or that portrait of the sixteenth century, the -stern, energetic features of an archbishop or of an English martyr. -Nothing exists except through the individual; it is necessary to know -the individual himself. Let the parentage of creeds be established, or -the classification of poems, or the growth of constitutions, or the -transformations of idioms, and we have only cleared the ground. True -history begins when the historian has discerned beyond the mists of ages -the living, active man, endowed with passions, furnished with habits, -special in voice, feature, gesture, and costume, distinctive and -complete, like anybody that you have just encountered in the street. Let -us strive then, as far as possible, to get rid of this great interval of -time which prevents us from observing the man with our eyes, the eyes of -our own head. What revelations do we find in the calendered leaves of a -modern poem? A modern poet, a man like De Musset, Victor Hugo, -Lamartine, or Heine, graduated from a college and travelled, wearing a -dress-coat and gloves, favored by ladies, bowing fifty times and -uttering a dozen witticisms in an evening, reading daily newspapers, -generally occupying an apartment on the second story, not over-cheerful -on account of his nerves, and especially because, in this dense -democracy in which we stifle each other, the discredit of official rank -exaggerates his pretensions by raising his importance, and, owing to the -delicacy of his personal sensations, leading him to regard himself as a -Deity. Such is what we detect behind modern meditations and sonnets. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<p>Again, behind a tragedy of the seventeenth century there is a poet, one, -for example, like Racine, refined, discreet, a courtier, a fine talker, -with majestic perruque and ribboned shoes, a monarchist and zealous -Christian, "God having given him the grace not to blush in any society -on account of zeal for his king or for the Gospel," clever in -interesting the monarch, translating into proper French "the <i>gaulois</i> -of Amyot," deferential to the great, always knowing how to keep his -place in their company, assiduous and respectful at Marly as at -Versailles, amid the formal creations of a decorative landscape and the -reverential bows, graces, intrigues, and finesses of the braided -seigniors who get up early every morning to obtain the reversion of an -office, together with the charming ladies who count on their fingers the -pedigrees which entitle them to a seat on a footstool. On this point -consult Saint-Simon and the engravings of Pérelle, the same as you have -just consulted Balzac and the water-color drawings of Eugène Lami.</p> - -<p>In like manner, on reading a Greek tragedy, our first care is to figure -to ourselves the Greeks, that is to say, men who lived half-naked in the -gymnasiums or on a public square under a brilliant sky, in full view of -the noblest and most delicate landscape, busy in rendering their bodies -strong and agile, in conversing together, in arguing, in voting, in -carrying out patriotic piracies, and yet idle and temperate, the -furniture of their houses consisting of three earthen jars and their -food of two pots of anchovies preserved in oil, served by slaves who -afford them the time to cultivate their minds and to exercise their -limbs, with no other concern than that of having the most beautiful -city, the most beautiful processions, the most beautiful ideas, and the -most beautiful men. In this respect, a statue like the "Meleager" or the -"Theseus" of the Parthenon, or again a sight of the blue and lustrous -Mediterranean, resembling a silken tunic out of which islands arise like -marble bodies, together with a dozen choice phrases selected from the -works of Plato and Aristophanes, teach us more than any number of -dissertations and commentaries.</p> - -<p>And so again, in order to understand an Indian Purana, one must begin by -imagining the father of a family who, "having seen a son on his son's -knees," follows the law and, with axe and pitcher, seeks solitude under -a banyan trees, talks no more, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> multiplies his fastings, lives naked with -four fires around him under the fifth fire, that terrible sun which -endlessly devours and resuscitates all living things; who fixes his -imagination in turn for weeks at a time on the foot of Brahma, then on -his knee, on his thigh, on his navel, and so on, until, beneath the -strain of this intense meditation, hallucinations appear, when all the -forms of being, mingling together and transformed into each other, -oscillate to and fro in this vertiginous brain until the motionless man, -with suspended breath and fixed eyeballs, beholds the universe melting -away like vapor over the vacant immensity of the Being in which he hopes -for absorption. In this case the best of teachings would be a journey in -India; but, for lack of a better one, take the narratives of travellers -along with works in geography, botany, and ethnology. In any event, -there must be the same research. A language, a law, a creed, is never -other than an abstraction; the perfect thing is found in the active man, -the visible corporeal figure which eats, walks, fights, and labors. Set -aside the theories of constitutions and their results, of religions and -their systems, and try to observe men in their workshops or offices, in -their fields along with their own sky and soil, with their own homes, -clothes, occupations and repasts, just as you see them when, on landing -in England or in Italy, you remark their features and gestures, their -roads and their inns, the citizen on his promenades and the workman -taking a drink. Let us strive as much as possible to supply the place of -the actual, personal, sensible observation that is no longer -practicable, this being the only way in which we can really know the -man; let us make the past present; to judge of an object it must be -present; no experience can be had of what is absent. Undoubtedly, this -sort of reconstruction is always imperfect; only an imperfect judgment -can be based on it; but let us do the best we can; incomplete knowledge -is better than none at all, or than knowledge which is erroneous, and -there is no other way of obtaining knowledge approximatively of bygone -times than by seeing approximatively the men of former times.</p> - -<p>Such is the first step in history. This, step was taken in Europe at the -end of the last century when the imagination took fresh flight under the -auspices of Lessing and Walter Scott, and a little later in France under -Chateaubriand, Augustin Thierry, Michelet, and others. We now come to -the second step. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="II._The_outer_man_is_only_a_clue_to_study_the_inner_invisible_man">II. The outer man is only a clue to study the inner invisible man</a></h4> - - -<p>On observing the visible man with your own eyes what do you try to find -in him? The invisible man. These words which your ears catch, those -gestures, those airs of the head, his attire and sensible operations of -all kinds, are, for you, merely so many expressions; these express -something, a soul. An inward man is hidden beneath the outward man, and -the latter simply manifests the former. You have observed the house in -which he lives, his furniture, his costume, in order to discover his -habits and tastes, the degree of his refinement or rusticity, his -extravagance or economy, his follies or his cleverness. You have -listened to his conversation and noted the inflections of his voice, the -attitudes he has assumed, so as to judge of his spirit, self-abandonment -or gayety, his energy or his rigidity. You consider his writings, works -of art, financial and political schemes, with a view to measure the -reach and limits of his intelligence, his creative power and -self-command, to ascertain the usual order, kind, and force of his -conceptions, in what way he thinks and how he resolves. All these -externals are so many avenues converging to one centre, and you follow -these only to reach that centre; here is the real man, namely, that -group of faculties and of sentiments which produces the rest. Behold a -new world, an infinite world; for each visible action involves an -infinite train of reasonings and emotions, new or old sensations which -have combined to bring this into light and which, like long ledges of -rock sunk deep in the earth, have cropped out above the surface and -attained their level. It is this subterranean world which forms the -second aim, the special object of the historian. If his critical -education suffices, he is able to discriminate under every ornament in -architecture, under every stroke of the brush in a picture, under each -phrase of literary composition, the particular sentiment out of which -the ornament, the stroke, and the phrase have sprung; he is a spectator -of the inward drama which has developed itself in the breast of the -artist or writer; the choice of words, the length or shortness of the -period, the species of metaphor, the accent of a verse, the chain of -reasoning—all are to him an indication; while his eyes are reading the -text his mind and soul are following the steady flow and ever-changing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -series of emotions and conceptions from which this text has issued; he -is working out its psychology. Should you desire to study this -operation, regard the promoter and model of all the high culture of the -epoch, Goethe, who, before composing his "Iphigenia" spent days in -making drawings of the most perfect statues and who, at last, his eyes -filled with the noble forms of antique scenery and his mind penetrated -by the harmonious beauty of antique life, succeeded in reproducing -internally, with such exactness, the habits and yearnings of Greek -imagination as to provide us with an almost twin sister of the -"Antigone" of Sophocles and of the goddesses of Phidias. This exact and -demonstrated divination of bygone sentiments has, in our days, given a -new life to history. There was almost complete ignorance of this in the -last century; men of every race and of every epoch were represented as -about alike, the Greek, the barbarian, the Hindoo, the man of the -Renaissance and the man of the eighteenth century, cast in the same mold -and after the same pattern, and after a certain abstract conception -which served for the whole human species. There was a knowledge of man -but not of men. There was no penetration into the soul itself; nothing -of the infinite diversity and wonderful complexity of souls had been -detected; it was not known that the moral organization of a people or of -an age is as special and distinct as the physical structure of a family -of plants or of an order of animals. History to-day, like zoölogy, has -found its anatomy, and whatever branch of it is studied, whether -philology, languages or mythologies, it is in this way that labor must -be given to make it produce new fruit. Among so many writers who, since -Herder, Ottfried Müller, and Goethe have steadily followed and -rectified this great effort, let the reader take two historians and two -works, one "The Life and Letters of Cromwell" by Carlyle, and the other -the "Port Royal" of Sainte-Beuve. He will see how precisely, how -clearly, and how profoundly we detect the soul of a man beneath his -actions and works; how, under an old general and in place of an -ambitious man vulgarly hypocritical, we find one tormented by the -disordered reveries of a gloomy imagination, but practical in instinct -and faculties, thoroughly English and strange and incomprehensible to -whoever has not studied the climate and the race; how, with about a -hundred scattered letters and a dozen or more mutilated speeches, we -follow <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> him from his farm and his team to his general's tent and to his -Protector's throne, in his transformation and in his development, in his -struggles of conscience and in his statesman's resolutions, in such a -way that the mechanism of his thought and action becomes visible and the -ever renewed and fitful tragedy, within which racked this great gloomy -soul, passes like the tragedies of Shakespeare into the souls of those -who behold them. We see how, behind convent disputes and the obstinacy -of nuns, we recover one of the great provinces of human psychology; how -fifty or more characters, rendered invisible through the uniformity of a -narration careful of the properties, come forth in full daylight, each -standing out clear in its countless diversities; how, underneath -theological dissertations and monotonous sermons, we discern the -throbbings of ever-breathing hearts, the excitements and depressions of -the religious life, the unforeseen reaction and pell-mell stir of -natural feeling, the infiltrations of surrounding society, the -intermittent triumphs of grace, presenting so many shades of difference -that the fullest description and most flexible style can scarcely garner -in the vast harvest which the critic has caused to germinate in this -abandoned field. And the same elsewhere. Germany, with its genius, so -pliant, so broad, so prompt in transformations, so fitted for the -reproduction of the remotest and strangest states of human thought; -England, with its matter-of-fact mind, so suited to the grappling with -moral problems, to making them clear by figures, weights, and measures, -by geography and statistics, by texts and common sense; France, at -length, with its Parisian culture and drawing-room habits, with its -unceasing analysis of characters and of works, with its ever ready irony -at detecting weaknesses, with its skilled finesse in discriminating -shades of thought—all have ploughed over the same ground, and we now -begin to comprehend that no region of history exists in which this deep -sub-soil should not be reached if we would secure adequate crops between -the furrows.</p> - -<p>Such is the second step, and we are now in train to follow it out. Such -is the proper aim of contemporary criticism. No one has done this work -so judiciously and on so grand a scale as Sainte-Beuve; in this respect, -we are all his pupils; literary, philosophic, and religious criticism in -books, and even in the newspapers, is to-day entirely changed by his -method. Ulterior <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> evolution must start from this point. I have often -attempted to expose what this evolution is; in my opinion, it is a new -road open to history and which I shall strive to describe more in -detail.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="III._The_state_and_the_actions_of_the_inner_and_invisible_man_have_their_causes_in_certain_general_ways_of_thought_and_feeling">III. The state and the actions of the inner and invisible man have their -causes in certain general ways of thought and feeling</a></h4> - - -<p>After having observed in a man and noted down one, two, three, and then -a multitude of, sentiments, do these suffice and does your knowledge of -him seem complete? Does a memorandum book constitute a psychology? It is -not a psychology, and here, as elsewhere, the search for causes must -follow the collection of facts. It matters not what the facts may be, -whether physical or moral, they always spring from causes; there are -causes for ambition, for courage, for veracity, as well as for -digestion, for muscular action, and for animal heat. Vice and virtue are -products like vitriol and sugar; every complex fact grows out of the -simple facts with which it is affiliated and on which it depends. We -must therefore try to ascertain what simple facts underlie moral -qualities the same as we ascertain those that underlie physical -qualities, and, for example, let us take the first fact that comes to -hand, a religious system of music, that of a Protestant church. A -certain inward cause has inclined the minds of worshippers towards these -grave, monotonous melodies, a cause much greater than its effect; that -is to say, a general conception of the veritable outward forms of -worship which man owes to God; it is this general conception which has -shaped the architecture of the temple, cast out statues, dispensed with -paintings, effaced ornaments, shortened ceremonies, confined the members -of a congregation to high pews which cut off the view, and governed the -thousand details of decoration, posture, and all other externals. This -conception itself again proceeds from a more general cause, an idea of -human conduct in general, inward and outward, prayers, actions, -dispositions of every sort that man is bound to maintain toward the -Deity; it is this which has enthroned the doctrine of grace, lessened -the importance of the clergy, transformed the sacraments, suppressed -observances, and changed the religion of discipline into one of -morality. This conception, in its turn, depends on a third one, still -more general, that of moral perfection as this is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> found in a perfect -God, the impeccable judge, the stern overseer, who regards every soul as -sinful, meriting punishment, incapable of virtue or of salvation, except -through a stricken conscience which He provokes and the renewal of the -heart which He brings about. Here is the master conception, consisting -of duty erected into the absolute sovereign of human life, and which -prostrates all other ideals at the feet of the moral ideal. Here we -reach what is deepest in man; for, to explain this conception, we must -consider the race he belongs to, say the German, the Northman, the -formation and character of his intellect, his ways in general of -thinking and feeling, that tardiness and frigidity of sensation which -keeps him from rashly and easily falling under the empire of sensual -enjoyments, that bluntness of taste, that irregularity and those -outbursts of conception which arrest in him the birth of refined and -harmonious forms and methods; that disdain of appearances, that yearning -for truth, that attachment to abstract, bare ideas which develop -conscience in him at the expense of everything else. Here the search -comes to an end. We have reached a certain primitive disposition, a -particular trait belonging to sensations of all kinds, to every -conception peculiar to an age or to a race, to characteristics -inseparable from every idea and feeling that stir in the human breast. -Such are the grand causes, for these are universal and permanent causes, -present in every case and at every moment, everywhere, and always -active, indestructible, and inevitably dominant in the end, since, -whatever accidents cross their path, being limited and partial, end in -yielding to the obscure and incessant repetition of their energy; so -that the general structure of things and all the main features of events -are their work, all religions and philosophies, all poetic and -industrial systems, all forms of society and of the family, all, in -fine, being imprints bearing the stamp of their seal.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="IV._Chief_causes_of_thought_and_feeling_Their_historical_effects">IV. Chief causes of thought and feeling. Their historical effects</a></h4> - - -<p>There is, then, a system in human ideas and sentiments, the prime motor -of which consists in general traits, certain characteristics of thought -and feeling common to men belonging to a particular race, epoch, or -country. Just as crystals in mineralogy, whatever their diversity, -proceed from a few simple <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> physical forms, so do civilizations in -history, however these may differ, proceed from a few spiritual forms. -One is explained by a primitive geometrical element as the other is -explained by a primitive psychological element. In order to comprehend -the entire group of mineralogical species we must first study a regular -solid in the general, its facets and angles, and observe in this -abridged form the innumerable transformations of which it is -susceptible. In like manner, if we would comprehend the entire group of -historic varieties we must consider beforehand a human soul in the -general, with its two or three fundamental faculties, and, in this -abridgment, observe the principal forms it may present. This sort of -ideal tableau, the geometrical as well as psychological, is not very -complex, and we soon detect the limitations of organic conditions to -which civilizations, the same as crystals, are forcibly confined. What -do we find in man at the point of departure? Images or representations -of objects, namely, that which floats before him internally, lasts a -certain time, is effaced, and then returns after contemplating this or -that tree or animal, in short, some sensible object. This forms the -material basis of the rest and the development of this material basis is -twofold, speculative or positive, just as these representations end in a -general conception or in an active resolution. Such is man, summarily -abridged. It is here, within these narrow confines, that human -diversities are encountered, now in the matter itself and again in the -primordial twofold development. However insignificant in the elements -they are of vast significance in the mass, while the slightest change in -the factors leads to gigantic changes in the results. According as the -representation is distinct, as if stamped by a coining-press, or -confused and blurred; according as it concentrates in itself a larger or -smaller number of the characters of an object; according as it is -violent and accompanied with impulsions or tranquil and surrounded with -calmness, so are all the operations and the whole running-gear of the -human machine entirely transformed. In like manner again, according as -the ulterior development of the representation varies, so does the whole -development of the man vary. If the general conception in which this -ends is merely a dry notation in Chinese fashion, language becomes a -kind of algebra, religion and poetry are reduced to a minimum, -philosophy is brought down to a sort of moral and practical common -sense, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> science to a collection of recipes, classifications, and -utilitarian mnemonics, the mind itself taking a wholly positive turn. -If, on the contrary, the general conception in which the representation -culminates is a poetic and figurative creation, a living symbol, as with -the Aryan races, language becomes a sort of shaded and tinted epic in -which each word stands as a personage, poesy and religion assume -magnificent and inexhaustible richness, and metaphysics develops with -breadth and subtlety without any consideration of positive bearings; the -whole intellect, notwithstanding the deviation and inevitable weaknesses -of the effort, is captivated by the beautiful and sublime, thus -conceiving an ideal type which, through its nobleness and harmony, -gathers to itself all the affections and enthusiasms of humanity. If, on -the other hand, the general conception in which the representation -culminates is poetic but abrupt, is reached not gradually but by sudden -intuition, if the original operation is not a regular development but a -violent explosion—then, as with the Semitic races, metaphysical power -is wanting; the religious conception becomes that of a royal God, -consuming and solitary; science cannot take shape, the intellect grows -rigid and too headstrong to reproduce the delicate ordering of nature; -poetry cannot give birth to aught but a series of vehement, grandiose -exclamations, while language no longer renders the concatenation of -reasoning and eloquence, man being reduced to lyric enthusiasm, to -ungovernable passion, and to narrow and fanatical action. It is in this -interval between the particular representation and the universal -conception that the germs of the greatest human differences are found. -Some races, like the classic, for example, pass from the former to the -latter by a graduated scale of ideas regularly classified and more and -more general; others, like the Germanic, traverse the interval in leaps, -with uniformity and after prolonged and uncertain groping. Others, like -the Romans and the English, stop at the lowest stages; others, like the -Hindoos and Germans, mount to the uppermost. If, now, after considering -the passage from the representation to the idea, we regard the passage -from the representation to the resolution, we find here elementary -differences of like importance and of the same order, according as the -impression is vivid, as in Southern climes, or faint, as in Northern -climes, as it ends in instantaneous action as with barbarians, or -tardily as with civilized <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> nations, as it is capable or not of growth, of -inequality, of persistence and of association. The entire system of -human passion, all the risks of public peace and security, all labor and -action, spring from these sources. It is the same with the other -primordial differences; their effects embrace an entire civilization, -and may be likened to those algebraic formulæ which, within narrow -bounds, describe beforehand the curve of which these form the law. Not -that this law always prevails to the end; sometimes, perturbations -arise, but, even when this happens, it is not because the law is -defective, but because it has not operated alone. New elements have -entered into combination with old ones; powerful foreign forces have -interfered to oppose primitive forces. The race has emigrated, as with -the ancient Aryans, and the change of climate has led to a change in the -whole intellectual economy and structure of society. A people has been -conquered like the Saxon nation, and the new political structure has -imposed on it customs, capacities, and desires which it did not possess. -The nation has established itself permanently in the midst of -downtrodden and threatening subjects, as with the ancient Spartans, -while the necessity of living, as in an armed encampment, has violently -turned the whole moral and social organization in one unique direction. -At all events, the mechanism of human history is like this. We always -find the primitive mainspring consisting of some widespread tendency of -soul and intellect, either innate and natural to the race or acquired by -it and due to some circumstance forced upon it. These great given -mainsprings gradually produce their effects, that is to say, at the end -of a few centuries they place the nation in a new religious, literary, -social, and economic state; a new condition which, combined with their -renewed effort, produces another condition, sometimes a good one, -sometimes a bad one, now slowly, now rapidly, and so on; so that the -entire development of each distinct civilization may be considered as -the effect of one permanent force which, at every moment, varies its -work by modifying the circumstances where it acts. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="V._The_three_primordial_forces_Race">V. The three primordial forces.—Race</a></h4> - - -<p>Three different sources contribute to the production of this elementary -moral state, race, environment, and epoch. What we call race consists of -those innate and hereditary dispositions which man brings with him into -the world and which are generally accompanied with marked differences of -temperament and of bodily structure. They vary in different nations. -Naturally, there are varieties of men as there are varieties of cattle -and horses, some brave and intelligent, and others timid and of limited -capacity; some capable of superior conceptions and creations, and others -reduced to rudimentary ideas and contrivances; some specially fitted for -certain works, and more richly furnished with certain instincts, as we -see in the better endowed species of dogs, some for running and others -for fighting, some for hunting and others for guarding houses and -flocks. We have here a distinct force; so distinct that, in spite of the -enormous deviations which both the other motors impress upon it, we -still recognize, and which a race like the Aryan people, scattered from -the Ganges to the Hebrides, established under all climates, ranged along -every degree of civilization, transformed by thirty centuries of -revolutions, shows nevertheless in its languages, in its religions, in -its literatures, and in its philosophies, the community of blood and of -intellect which still to-day binds together all its offshoots. However -they may differ, their parentage is not lost; barbarism, culture and -grafting, differences of atmosphere and of soil, fortunate or -unfortunate occurrences, have operated in vain; the grand -characteristics of the original form have lasted, and we find that the -two or three leading features of the primitive imprint are again -apparent under the subsequent imprints with which time has overlaid -them. There is nothing surprising in this extraordinary tenacity. -Although the immensity of the distance allows us to catch only a glimpse -in a dubious light of the origin of species,<a name="NoteRef_1_1" id="NoteRef_1_1"></a><a href="#Note_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> the events of history -throw sufficient light on events anterior to history to explain the -almost unshaken solidity of primordial traits. At the moment of -encountering them, fifteen, twenty, and thirty centuries before our era, -in an Aryan, Egyptian, or Chinese, they represent the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> work of a much -greater number of centuries, perhaps the work of many myriads of -centuries. For, as soon as an animal is born it must adapt itself to its -<span id="surroundings">surroundings</span>; it breathes in another way, it renews itself differently, -it is otherwise stimulated according as the atmosphere, the food, and -the temperature are different. A different climate and situation create -different necessities and hence activities of a different kind; and -hence, again, a system of different habits, and, finally a system of -different aptitudes and instincts. Man, thus compelled to put himself in -equilibrium with circumstances, contracts a corresponding temperament -and character, and his character, like his temperament, are acquisitions -all the more stable because of the outward impression being more deeply -imprinted in him by more frequent repetitions and transmitted to his -offspring by more ancient heredity. So that at each moment of time, the -character of a people may be considered as a summary of all antecedent -actions and sensations; that is to say, as a quantity and as a weighty -mass, not infinite,<a name="NoteRef_2_1" id="NoteRef_2_1"></a><a href="#Note_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> since all things in nature are limited, but -disproportionate to the rest and almost impossible to raise, since each -minute of an almost infinite past has contributed to render it heavier, -and, in order to turn the scale, it would require, on the other side, a -still greater accumulation of actions and sensations. Such is the first -and most abundant source of these master faculties from which historic -events are derived; and we see at once that if it is powerful it is -owing to its not being a mere source, but a sort of lake, and like a -deep reservoir wherein other sources have poured their waters for a -multitude of centuries.</p> - -<p>When we have thus verified the internal structure of a race we must -consider the environment in which it lives. For man is not alone in the -world; nature envelops him and other men surround him; accidental and -secondary folds come and overspread the primitive and permanent fold, -while physical or social circumstances derange or complete the natural -groundwork surrendered to them. At one time climate has had its effect. -Although the history of Aryan nations can be only obscurely traced from -their common country to their final abodes, we can nevertheless affirm -that the profound difference which is apparent between the Germanic -races on the one hand, and the Hellenic and Latin races on the other, -proceeds in great part from the differences <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> between the countries in -which they have established themselves—the former in cold and moist -countries, in the depths of gloomy forests and swamps, or on the borders -of a wild ocean, confined to melancholic or rude sensations, inclined to -drunkenness and gross feeding, leading a militant and carnivorous life; -the latter, on the contrary, living amidst the finest scenery, alongside -of a brilliant, sparkling sea inviting navigation and commerce, exempt -from the grosser cravings of the stomach, disposed at the start to -social habits and customs, to political organization, to the sentiments -and faculties which develop the art of speaking, the capacity for -enjoyment and invention in the sciences, in art, and in literature. At -another time, political events have operated, as in the two Italian -civilizations: the first one tending wholly to action, to conquest, to -government, and to legislation, through the primitive situation of a -city of refuge, a frontier emporium, and of an armed aristocracy which, -importing and enrolling foreigners and the vanquished under it, sets two -hostile bodies facing each other, with no outlet for its internal -troubles and rapacious instincts but systematic warfare; the second one, -excluded from unity and political ambition on a grand scale by the -permanency of its municipal system, by the cosmopolite situation of its -pope and by the military intervention of neighboring states, and -following the bent of its magnificent and harmonious genius, is wholly -carried over to the worship of voluptuousness and beauty. Finally, at -another time, social conditions have imposed their stamp as, eighteen -centuries ago, by Christianity, and twenty-five centuries ago by -Buddhism, when, around the Mediterranean as in Hindostan, the extreme -effects of Aryan conquest and organization led to intolerable -oppression, the crushing of the individual, utter despair, the whole -world under the ban of a curse, with the development of metaphysics and -visions, until man, in this dungeon of despondency, feeling his heart -melt, conceived of abnegation, charity, tender love, gentleness, -humility, human brotherhood, here in the idea of universal nothingness, -and there under that of the fatherhood of God. Look around at the -regulative instincts and faculties implanted in a race; in brief, the -turn of mind according to which it thinks and acts at the present day; -we shall find most frequently that its work is due to one of these -prolonged situations, to these enveloping circumstances, to these -persistent gigantic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> pressures brought to bear on a mass of men who, one -by one, and all collectively, from one generation to another, have been -unceasingly bent and fashioned by them, in Spain a crusade of eight -centuries against the Mohammedans, prolonged yet longer even to the -exhaustion of the nation through the expulsion of the Moors, through the -spoliation of the Jews, through the establishment of the Inquisition, -through the Catholic wars; in England, a political establishment of -eight centuries which maintains man erect and respectful, independent -and obedient, all accustomed to struggling together in a body under the -sanction of law; in France, a Latin organization which, at first imposed -on docile barbarians, then levelled to the ground under the universal -demolition, forms itself anew under the latent workings of national -instinct, developing under hereditary monarchs and ending in a sort of -equalized, centralized, administrative republic under dynasties exposed -to revolutions. Such are the most efficacious among the observable -causes which mold the primitive man; they are to nations what education, -pursuit, condition, and abode are to individuals, and seem to comprise -all, since the external forces which fashion human matter, and by which -the outward acts on the inward, are comprehended in them.</p> - -<p>There is, nevertheless, a third order of causes, for, with the forces -within and without, there is the work these have already produced -together, which work itself contributes towards producing the ensuing -work; beside the permanent impulsion and the given environment there is -the acquired momentum. When national character and surrounding -circumstances operate it is not on a <i>tabula rasa</i>, but on one already -bearing imprints. According as this <i>tabula</i> is taken at one or at -another moment so is the imprint different, and this suffices to render -the total effect different. Consider, for example, two moments of a -literature or of an art, French tragedy under Corneille and under -Voltaire, and Greek drama under Æschylus and under Euripides, Latin -poetry under Lucretius and under Claudian, and Italian painting under Da -Vinci and under Guido. Assuredly, there is no change of general -conception at either of these two extreme points; ever the same human -type must be portrayed or represented in action; the cast of the verse, -the dramatic structure, the physical form have all persisted. But there -is this among these differences, that one of the artists is a precursor -and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> other a successor, that the first one has no model and the -second one has a model; that the former sees things face to face, and -that the latter sees them through the intermediation of the former, that -many departments of art have become more perfect, that the simplicity -and grandeur of the impression have diminished, that what is pleasing -and refined in form has augmented—in short, that the first work has -determined the second. In this respect, it is with a people as with a -plant; the same sap at the same temperature and in the same soil -produces, at different stages of its successive elaborations, different -developments, buds, flowers, fruits, and seeds, in such a way that the -condition of the following is always that of the preceding and is born -of its death. Now, if you no longer regard a brief moment, as above, but -one of those grand periods of development which embraces one or many -centuries like the Middle Ages, or our last classic period, the -conclusion is the same. A certain dominating conception has prevailed -throughout; mankind, during two hundred years, during five hundred -years, have represented to themselves a certain ideal figure of man, in -mediæval times the knight and the monk, in our classic period the -courtier and refined talker; this creative and universal conception has -monopolized the entire field of action and thought, and, after spreading -its involuntarily systematic works over the world, it languished and -then died out, and now a new idea has arisen, destined to a like -domination and to equally multiplied creations. Note here that the -latter depends in part on the former, and that it is the former, which, -combining its effect with those of national genius and surrounding -circumstances, will impose their bent and their direction on new-born -things. It is according to this law that great historic currents are -formed, meaning by this, the long rule of a form of intellect or of a -master idea, like that period of spontaneous creations called the -Renaissance, or that period of oratorical classifications called the -Classic Age, or that series of mystic systems called the Alexandrine and -Christian <span id="epoch"></span>, or that series of mythological efflorescences found at -the origins of Germany, India, and Greece. Here as elsewhere, we are -dealing merely with a mechanical problem: the total effect is a compound -wholly determined by the grandeur and direction of the forces which -produce it. The sole difference which separates these moral problems -from physical problems lies in this, that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> in the former the directions -and grandeur cannot be estimated by or stated in figures with the same -precision as in the latter. If a want, a faculty, is a quantity capable -of degrees, the same as pressure or weight, this quantity is not -measurable like that of the pressure or weight. We cannot fix it in an -exact or approximative formula; we can obtain or give of it only a -literary impression; we are reduced to noting and citing the prominent -facts which make it manifest and which nearly, or roughly, indicate -about what grade on the scale it must be ranged at. And yet, -notwithstanding the methods of notation are not the same in the moral -sciences as in the physical sciences, nevertheless, as matter is the -same in both, and is equally composed of forces, directions and -magnitudes, we can still show that in one as in the other, the final -effect takes place according to the same law. This is great or small, -according as the fundamental forces are great or small and act more or -less precisely in the same sense, according as the distinct effects of -race, environment and epoch combine to enforce each other or combine to -neutralize each other. Thus are explained the long impotences and the -brilliant successes which appear irregularly and with no apparent reason -in the life of a people; the causes of these consist in internal -concordances and contrarieties. There was one of these concordances -when, in the seventeenth century, the social disposition and -conversational spirit innate in France encountered drawing-room -formalities and the moment of oratorical analysis; when, in the -nineteenth century, the flexible, profound genius of Germany encountered -the age of philosophic synthesis and of cosmopolite criticism. One of -these contrarieties happened when, in the seventeenth century, the -blunt, isolated genius of England awkwardly tried to don the new polish -of urbanity, and when, in the sixteenth century, the lucid, prosaic -French intellect tried to gestate a living poesy. It is this secret -concordance of creative forces which produced the exquisite courtesy and -noble cast of literature under Louis XIV and Bossuet, and the grandiose -metaphysics and broad critical sympathy under Hegel and Goethe. It is -this secret contrariety of creative forces which produced the literary -incompleteness, the licentious plays, the abortive drama of Dryden and -Wycherly, the poor Greek importations, the gropings, the minute beauties -and fragments of Ronsard and the Pleiad. We may confidently affirm that -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> unknown creations toward which the current of coming ages is bearing -us will spring from and be governed by these primordial forces; that, if -these forces could be measured and computed we might deduce from them, -as from a formula, the characters of future civilization; and that if, -notwithstanding the evident rudeness of our notations, and the -fundamental inexactitude of our measures, we would nowadays form some -idea of our general destinies, we must base our conjectures on an -examination of these forces. For, in enumerating them, we run through -the full circle of active forces; and when the race, the environment, -and the moment have been considered—that is to say the inner -mainspring, the pressure from without, and the impulsion already -acquired—we have exhausted not only all real causes but again all -possible causes of movement.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="VI._History_is_a_mechanical_and_psychological_problem_Within_certain_limits_man_can_foretell">VI. History is a mechanical and psychological problem. Within certain -limits man can foretell</a></h4> - - -<p>There remains to be ascertained in what way these causes, applied to a -nation or to a century, distribute their effects. Like a spring issuing -from an elevated spot and diffusing its waters, according to the height, -from ledge to ledge, until it finally reaches the low ground, so does -the tendency of mind or of soul in a people, due to race, epoch, or -environment, diffuse itself in different proportions, and by regular -descent, over the different series of facts which compose its -civilization.<a name="NoteRef_3_3" id="NoteRef_3_3"></a><a href="#Note_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> In preparing the geographical map of a country, -starting at its watershed, we see the slopes, just below this common -point, dividing themselves into five or six principal basins, and then -each of the latter into several others, and so on until the whole -country, with its thousands of inequalities of surface, is included in -the ramifications of this network. In like manner, in preparing the -psychological map of the events and sentiments belonging to a certain -human civilization, we find at the start five or six well determined -provinces—religion, art, philosophy, the state, the family, and -industries; next, in each of these provinces, natural departments, and -then finally, in each of these departments, still smaller territories <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -until we arrive at those countless details of life which we observe -daily in ourselves and around us. If, again, we examine and compare -together these various groups of facts we at once find that they are -composed of parts and that all have parts in common. Let us take first -the three principal products of human intelligence—religion, art, and -philosophy. What is a philosophy but a conception of nature and of its -<span id="primordial_causes"></span> under the form of abstractions and formulas? What -underlies a religion and an art if not a conception of this same nature, -and of these same primordial causes, under the form of more or less -determinate symbols, and of more or less distinct personages, with this -difference, that in the first case we believe that they exist, and in -the second case that they do not exist. Let the reader consider some of -the great creations of the intellect in India, in Scandinavia, in -Persia, in Rome, in Greece, and he will find that art everywhere is a -sort of philosophy become sensible, religion a sort of poem regarded as -true, and philosophy a sort of art and religion, desiccated and reduced -to pure abstractions. There is, then, in the centre of each of these -groups a common element, the conception of the world and its origin, and -if they differ amongst each other it is because each combines with the -common element a distinct element; here the power of abstraction, there -the faculty of personifying with belief, and, finally, the talent for -personifying without belief. Let us now take the two leading products of -human association, the Family and the State. What constitutes the State -other than the sentiment of obedience by which a multitude of men -collect together under the authority of a chief? And what constitutes -the Family other than the sentiment of obedience by which a wife and -children act together under the direction of a father and husband? -The Family is a natural, primitive, limited state, as the State is an -artificial, ulterior, and expanded Family, while beneath the differences -which arise from the number, origin, and condition of its members, we -distinguish, in the small as in the large community, a like fundamental -disposition of mind which brings them together and unites them. Suppose, -now, that this common element receives from the environment, the epoch, -and the race peculiar characteristics, and it is clear that all the -groups into which it enters will be proportionately modified. If the -sentiment of obedience is merely one of fear,<a name="NoteRef_4_4" id="NoteRef_4_4"></a><a href="#Note_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> you encounter, as in -most of the Oriental states, the brutality of despotism, a prodigality -of vigorous punishments, the exploitation of the subject, servile -habits, insecurity of property, impoverished production, female slavery, -and the customs of the harem. If the sentiment of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> obedience is rooted in -the instinct of discipline, sociability, and honor, you find, as in -France, a complete military organization, a superb administrative -hierarchy, a weak public spirit with outbursts of patriotism, the -unhesitating docility of the subject along with the hotheadedness of the -revolutionist, the obsequiousness of the courtier along with the reverse -of the gentleman, the charm of refined conversation along with home and -family bickerings, conjugal equality together with matrimonial -incompatibilities under the necessary constraints of the law. If, -finally, the sentiment of obedience is rooted in the instinct of -subordination and in the idea of duty, you perceive, as in Germanic -nations, the security and contentment of the household, the firm -foundations of domestic life, the slow and imperfect development of -worldly matters, innate respect for established rank, superstitious -reverence for the past, maintenance of social inequalities, natural and -habitual deference to the law. Similarly in a race, just as there is a -difference of aptitude for general ideas, so will its religion, art, and -philosophy be different. If man is naturally fitted for broader -universal conceptions and inclined at the same time to their -derangement, through the nervous irritability of an overexcited -organization, we find, as in India, a surprising richness of gigantic -religious creations, a splendid bloom of extravagant transparent epics, -a strange concatenation of subtle, imaginative philosophic systems, all -so intimately associated and so interpenetrated with a common sap, that -we at once recognize them, by their amplitude, by their color, and by -their disorder, as productions of the same climate and of the same -spirit. If, on the contrary, the naturally sound and well-balanced man -is content to restrict his conceptions to narrow bounds in order to cast -them in more precise forms, we see, as in Greece, a theology of artists -and narrators, special gods that are soon separated from objects and -almost transformed at once into substantial personages, the sentiment of -universal unity nearly effaced and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> scarcely maintained in the vague -notion of destiny, a philosophy, rather than subtle and compact, -grandiose and systematic, narrow metaphysically<a name="NoteRef_5_5" id="NoteRef_5_5"></a><a href="#Note_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> but incomparable in -its logic, sophistry, and morality, si poesy and arts superior to -anything we have seen in lucidity, naturalness, proportion, truth, and -beauty. If, finally, man is reduced to narrow conceptions deprived of -any speculative subtlety, and at the same time finds that he is absorbed -and completely hardened by practical interests, we see, as in Rome, -rudimentary deities, mere empty names, good for denoting the petty -details of agriculture, generation, and the household, veritable -marriage and farming labels, and, therefore, a null or borrowed -mythology, philosophy, and poesy. Here, as elsewhere, comes in the law -of mutual dependencies.<a name="NoteRef_6_1" id="NoteRef_6_1"></a><a href="#Note_6_1" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> A civilization is a living unit, the parts of -which hold together the same as the parts of an organic body. Just as in -an animal, the instincts, teeth, limbs, bones, and muscular apparatus -are bound together in such a way that a variation of one determines a -corresponding variation in the others, and out of which a skilful -naturalist, with a few bits, imagines and reconstructs an almost -complete body, so, in a civilization, do religion, philosophy, the -family scheme, literature and the arts form a system in which each local -change involves a general change, so that an experienced historian, who -studies one portion apart from the others, sees beforehand and partially -predicts the characteristics of the rest. There is nothing vague in this -dependence. The regulation of all this in the living body consists, -first, of the tendency to manifest a certain primordial type, and, next, -the necessity of its possessing organs which can supply its wants and -put itself in harmony with itself in order to live. The regulation in a -civilization consists in the presence in each great human creation of an -elementary producer equally present in other surrounding creations, that -is, some faculty and aptitude, some efficient and marked disposition, -which, with its own peculiar character, introduces this with that into -all operations in which it takes part, and which, according to its -variations, causes variation in all the works in which it cooperates. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="VII._Law_of_formation_of_a_group_Examples_and_indications">VII. Law of formation of a group. Examples and indications</a></h4> - - -<p>Having reached this point, we can obtain a glimpse of the principal -features of human transformation, and can now search for the general -laws which regulate not only events, but classes of events; not only -this religion or that literature, but the whole group of religions or of -literatures. If, for example, it is admitted that a religion is a -metaphysical poem associated with belief; if it is recognized, besides, -that there are certain races and certain environments in which belief, -poetic faculty, and metaphysical faculty display themselves in common -with unwonted vigor; if we consider that Christianity and Buddhism were -developed at periods of grand systematizations and in the midst of -sufferings like the oppression which stirred up the fanatics of -Cevennes; if, on the other hand, it is recognized that primitive -religions are born at the dawn of human reason, during the richest -expansion of human imagination, at times of the greatest <i>naïveté</i> and -of the greatest credulity; if we consider, again, that Mohammedanism -appeared along with the advent of poetic prose and of the conception of -material unity, amongst a people destitute of science and at the moment -of a sudden development of the intellect—we might conclude that -religion is born and declines, is reformed and transformed, according as -circumstances fortify and bring together, with more or less precision -and energy, its three generative instincts; and we would then comprehend -why religion is endemic in India among specially exalted imaginative and -philosophic intellects; why it blooms out so wonderfully and so grandly -in the Middle Ages, in an oppressive society, amongst new languages and -literatures; why it develops again in the sixteenth century with a new -character and an heroic enthusiasm, at the time of an universal -renaissance and at the awakening of the Germanic races; why it swarms -out in so many bizarre sects in the rude democracy of America and under -the bureaucratic despotism of Russia; why, in fine, it is seen spreading -out in the Europe of to-day in such different proportions and with such -special traits, according to such differences of race and of -civilizations. And so for every kind of human production, for letters, -music, the arts of design, philosophy, the sciences, state industries, -and the rest. Each has <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> some moral tendency for its direct cause, or a -concurrence of moral tendencies; given the cause, it appears; the cause -withdrawn, it disappears; the weakness or intensity of the cause is the -measure of its own weakness or intensity. It is bound to that like any -physical phenomenon to its condition, like dew to the chilliness of a -surrounding atmosphere, like dilatation to heat. Couples exist in the -moral world as they exist in the physical world, as rigorously linked -together and as universally diffused. Whatever in one case produces, -alters, or suppresses the first term, produces, alters, and suppresses -the second term as a necessary consequence. Whatever cools the -surrounding atmosphere causes the fall of dew. Whatever develops -credulity, along with poetic conceptions of the universe, engenders -religion. Thus have things come about, and thus will they continue to -come about. As soon as the adequate and necessary condition of one of -these vast apparitions becomes known to us our mind has a hold on the -future as well as on the past. We can confidently state under what -circumstances it will reappear, foretell without rashness many portions -of its future history, and sketch with precaution some of the traits of -its ulterior development.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="VIII._General_problem_and_future_of_history_Psychological_method_Value_of_literature_Purpose_in_writing_this_book">VIII. General problem and future of history. Psychological method. -Value of literature. Purpose in writing this book</a></h4> - - -<p>History has reached this point at the present day, or rather it is -nearly there, on the threshold of this inquest. The question as now -stated is this: Given a literature, a philosophy, a society, an art, a -certain group of arts, what is the moral state of things which produces -it? And what are the conditions of race, epoch, and environment the best -adapted to produce this moral state? There is a distinct moral state for -each of these formations and for each of their branches; there is one -for art in general as well as for each particular art; for architecture, -painting, sculpture, music, and poetry, each with a germ of its own in -the large field of human psychology; each has its own law, and it is by -virtue of this law that we see each shoot up, apparently haphazard, -singly and alone, amidst the miscarriages of their neighbors, like -painting in Flanders and Holland in the seventeenth century, like poetry -in England in the sixteenth century, like music in Germany in the -eighteenth century. At this moment, and in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> these countries, the -conditions for one art and not for the others are fulfilled, and one -branch only has bloomed out amidst the general sterility. It is these -laws of human vegetation which history must now search for; it is this -special psychology of each special formation which must be got at; it is -the composition of a complete table of these peculiar conditions that -must now be worked out. There is nothing more delicate and nothing more -difficult. Montesquieu undertook it, but in his day the interest in -history was too recent for him to be successful; nobody, indeed, had any -idea of the road that was to be followed, and even at the present day we -scarcely begin to obtain a glimpse of it. Just as astronomy, at bottom, -is a mechanical problem, and physiology, likewise, a chemical problem, -so is history, at bottom, a problem of psychology. There is a particular -system of inner impressions and operations which fashions the artist, -the believer, the musician, the painter, the nomad, the social man; for -each of these, the filiation, intensity, and interdependence of ideas -and of emotions are different; each has his own moral history, and his -own special organization, along with some master tendency and with some -dominant trait. To explain each of these would require a chapter devoted -to a profound internal analysis, and that is a work that can scarcely be -called sketched out at the present day. But one man, Stendhal, through a -certain turn of mind and a peculiar education, has attempted it, and -even yet most of his readers find his works paradoxical and obscure. His -talent and ideas were too premature. His admirable insight, his profound -sayings carelessly thrown out, the astonishing precision of his notes -and logic, were not understood; people were not aware that, under the -appearances and talk of a man of the world, he explained the most -complex of internal mechanisms; that his finger touched the great -mainspring, that he brought scientific processes to bear in the history -of the heart, the art of employing figures, of decomposing, of deducing; -that he was the first to point out fundamental causes such as -nationalities, climates, and temperaments; in short, that he treated -sentiments as they should be treated, that is to say, as a naturalist -and physicist, by making classifications and estimating forces. On -account of all this he was pronounced dry and eccentric and allowed to -live in isolation, composing novels, books of travel and taking notes, -for which he counted upon, and has <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> obtained, about a dozen or so of -readers. And yet his works are those in which we of the present day may -find the most satisfactory efforts that have been made to clear the road -I have just striven to describe. Nobody has taught one better how to -observe with one's own eyes, first, to regard humanity around us and -life as it is, and next, old and authentic documents; how to read more -than merely the black and white of the page; how to detect under old -print and the scrawl of the text the veritable sentiment and the train -of thought, the mental state in which the words were penned. In his -writings, as in those of Sainte-Beuve and in those of the German -critics, the reader will find how much is to be derived from a literary -document; if this document is rich and we know how to interpret it, we -will find in it the psychology of a particular soul, often that of an -age, and sometimes that of a race. In this respect, a great poem, a good -novel, the confessions of a superior man, are more instructive than a -mass of historians and histories; I would give fifty volumes of charters -and a hundred diplomatic files for the memoirs of Cellini, the epistles -of Saint Paul, the table-talk of Luther, or the comedies of -Aristophanes. Herein lies the value of literary productions. They are -instructive because they are beautiful; their usefulness increases with -their perfection; and if they provide us with documents, it is because -they are monuments. The more visible a book renders sentiments the more -literary it is, for it is the special office of literature to take note -of sentiments. The more important the sentiments noted in a book the -higher its rank in literature, for it is by representing what sort of a -life a nation or an epoch leads, that a writer rallies to himself the -sympathies of a nation or of an epoch. Hence, among the documents which -bring before our eyes the sentiments of preceding generations, a -literature, and especially a great literature, is incomparably the best. -It resembles those admirable instruments of remarkable sensitiveness -which physicists make use of to detect and measure the most profound and -delicate changes that occur in a human body. There is nothing -approaching this in constitutions or religions; the articles of a code -or of a catechism do no more than depict mind in gross and without -finesse; if there are documents which show life and spirit in politics -and in creeds, they are the eloquent discourses of the pulpit and the -tribune, memoirs and personal confessions, all belonging to literature, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -so that, outside of itself, literature embodies whatever is good -elsewhere. It is mainly in studying literatures that we are able to -produce moral history, and arrive at some knowledge of the psychological -laws on which events depend.</p> - -<p>I have undertaken to write a history of a literature and to ascertain -the psychology of a people; in selecting this one, it is not without a -motive. A people had to be taken possessing a vast and complete -literature, which is rarely found. There are few nations which, -throughout their existence, have thought and written well in the full -sense of the word. Among the ancients, Latin literature is null at the -beginning, and afterward borrowed and an imitation. Among the moderns, -German literature is nearly a blank for two centuries.<a name="NoteRef_7_1" id="NoteRef_7_1"></a><a href="#Note_7_1" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Italian and -Spanish literatures come to an end in the middle of the seventeenth -century. Ancient Greece, and modern France and England, alone offer a -complete series of great and expressive monuments. I have chosen the -English because, as this still exists and is open to direct observation, -it can be better studied than that of an extinct civilization of which -fragments only remain; and because, being different, it offers better -than that of France very marked characteristics in the eyes of a -Frenchman. Moreover, outside of what is peculiar to English -civilization, apart from a spontaneous development, it presents a forced -deviation due to the latest and most effective conquest to which the -country was subject; the three given conditions out of which it -issues—race, climate, and the Norman conquest—are clearly and -distinctly visible in its literary monuments; so that we study in this -history the two most potent motors of human transformation, namely, -nature and constraint, and we study them, without any break or -uncertainty, in a series of authentic and complete monuments. I have -tried to define these primitive motors, to show their gradual effects, -and explain how their insensible operation has brought religions and -literary productions into full light, and how the inward mechanism is -developed by which the barbarous Saxon became the Englishman of the -present day. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_1_1" id="Note_1_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Darwin, "The Origin of Species." Prosper Lucas, "De -l'Hérédité."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_2_1" id="Note_2_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>Spinosa, "Ethics," part IV., axiom.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_3_3" id="Note_3_3"></a><a href="#NoteRef_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>For this scale of coordinate effects consult, "Langues -Sémitiques," by Renan, ch. I; "Comparison des civilisations Grecque -et Romaine," vol. I., ch. I., 3d ed., by Mommsen; "Conséquences -de la démocratie," vol. III., by De Tocqueville.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_4_4" id="Note_4_4"></a><a href="#NoteRef_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>"L'Esprit des Lois," by Montesquieu; the essential -principles of the three governments.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_5_5" id="Note_5_5"></a><a href="#NoteRef_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>The birth of the Alexandrine philosophy is due to contact -with the Orient. Aristotle's metaphysical views stand alone. Moreover, -with him as with Plato, they afford merely a glimpse. By way of -contrast see systematic power in Plotinus, Proclus, Schelling, and -Hegel, or again in the admirable boldness of Brahmanic and Buddhist -speculation.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_6_1" id="Note_6_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_6_1"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>I have very often made attempts to state this law, -especially in the preface to "Essais de Critique et d'Histoire."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_7_1" id="Note_7_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_7_1"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>From 1550 to 1750.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> -<h4><a id="BOOK_I.--THE_SOURCE">BOOK I.—THE SOURCE</a></h4> - - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FIRST_I">CHAPTER FIRST</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_Saxons">The Saxons</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Coast_of_the_North_Sea">SECTION I.—The Coast of the North Sea</a></h4> - - -<p>As you coast the North Sea from the Scheldt to Jutland, you will mark in -the first place that the characteristic feature is the want of slope; -marsh, waste, shoal; the rivers hardly drag themselves along, swollen -and sluggish, with long, black-looking waves; the flooding stream oozes -over the banks, and appears further on in stagnant pools. In Holland the -soil is but a sediment of mud; here and there only does the earth cover -it with a crust, shallow and brittle, the mere alluvium of the river, -which the river seems ever about to destroy. Thick clouds hover above, -being fed by ceaseless exhalations. They lazily turn their violet -flanks, grow black, suddenly descend in heavy showers; the vapor, like a -furnace-smoke, crawls forever on the horizon. Thus watered, plants -multiply; in the angle between Jutland and the continent, in a fat muddy -soil, "the verdure is as fresh as that of England."<a name="NoteRef_8_8" id="NoteRef_8_8"></a><a href="#Note_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Immense forests -covered the land even after the eleventh century. The sap of this humid -country, thick and potent, circulates in man as in the plants; man's -respiration, nutrition, sensations and habits affect also his faculties -and his frame.</p> - -<p>The land produced after this fashion has one enemy, to wit, the sea. -Holland maintains its existence only by virtue of its dykes. In 1654 -those in Jutland burst, and fifteen thousand of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> the inhabitants were -swallowed up. One need only see the blast of the North swirl down upon -the low level of the soil, wan and ominous:<a name="NoteRef_9_9" id="NoteRef_9_9"></a><a href="#Note_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> the vast yellow sea -dashes against the narrow belt of flat coast which seems incapable of a -moment's resistance; the wind howls and bellows; the sea-mews cry; the -poor little ships flee as fast as they can, bending almost to the -gunwale, and endeavor to find a refuge in the mouth of the river, which -seems as hostile as the sea. A sad and precarious existence, as it were -face to face with a beast of prey. The Frisians, in their ancient laws, -speak already of the league they have made against "the ferocious -ocean." Even in a calm this sea is unsafe. "Before me rolleth a waste of -water... and above me go rolling the storm-clouds, the formless dark -gray daughters of air, which from the sea, in cloudy buckets scoop up -the water, ever wearied lifting and lifting, and then pour it again in -the sea, a mournful, wearisome business. Over the sea, flat on his face, -lies the monstrous terrible North wind, sighing and sinking his voice as -in secret, like an old grumbler, for once in good humor, unto the ocean -he talks, and he tells her wonderful stories."<a name="NoteRef_10_10" id="NoteRef_10_10"></a><a href="#Note_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> Rain, wind, and surge -leave room for naught but gloomy and melancholy thoughts. The very joy -of the billows has in it an inexplicable restlessness and harshness. -From Holland to Jutland, a string of small deluged islands<a name="NoteRef_11_1" id="NoteRef_11_1"></a><a href="#Note_11_1" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> bears -witness to their ravages; the shifting sands which the tide drifts up -obstruct and impede the banks and entrance of the rivers.<a name="NoteRef_12_1" id="NoteRef_12_1"></a><a href="#Note_12_1" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> The first -Roman fleet, a thousand sail, perished there; to this day ships wait a -month or more in sight of port, tossed upon the great white waves, not -daring to risk themselves in the shifting winding channel, notorious for -its wrecks. In winter a breast-plate of ice covers the two streams; the -sea drives back the frozen masses as they descend; they pile themselves -with a crash upon the sandbanks, and sway to and fro; now and then you -may see a vessel, seized as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> in a vice, split in two beneath their -violence. Picture, in this foggy clime, amid hoar-frost and storm, in -these marshes and forests, half-naked savages, a kind of wild beasts, -fishers and hunters, but especially hunters of men; these are they, -Saxons, Angles, Jutes, Frisians;<a name="NoteRef_13_13" id="NoteRef_13_13"></a><a href="#Note_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> later on, Danes, who during the -fifth and the ninth centuries, with their swords and battle-axes, took -and kept the island of Britain.</p> - -<p>A rude and foggy land, like their own, except in the depth of its sea -and the safety of its coasts, which one day will call up real fleets and -mighty vessels; green England—the word rises to the lips and expresses -all. Here also moisture pervades everything; even in summer the mist -rises; even on clear days you perceive it fresh from the great -sea-girdle, or rising from vast but ever slushy meadows, undulating with -hill and dale, intersected with hedges to the limit of the horizon. Here -and there a sunbeam strikes on the higher grasses with burning flash, -and the splendor of the verdure dazzles and almost blinds you. The -overflowing water straightens the flabby stems; they grow up, rank, -weak, and filled with sap; a sap ever renewed, for the gray mists creep -under a stratum of motionless vapor, and at distant intervals the rim of -heaven is drenched by heavy showers. "There are yet commons as at the -time of the Conquest, deserted, abandoned,<a name="NoteRef_14_1" id="NoteRef_14_1"></a><a href="#Note_14_1" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> wild, covered with furze -and thorny plants, with here and there a horse grazing in solitude. -Joyless scene, unproductive soil!<a name="NoteRef_15_15" id="NoteRef_15_15"></a><a href="#Note_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> What a labor it has been to -humanize it! What impression it must have made on the men of the South, -the Romans of Cæsar! I thought, when I saw it, of the ancient Saxons, -wanderers from West and North, who came to settle in this land of marsh -and fogs, on the border of primeval forests, on the banks of these great -muddy streams, which roll down their slime to meet the waves.<a name="NoteRef_16_1" id="NoteRef_16_1"></a><a href="#Note_16_1" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> They -must have lived as hunters and swineherds; growing, as before, brawny, -fierce, gloomy. Take civilization from this soil, and there will remain -to the inhabitants only war, the chase, gluttony, drunkenness. Smiling -love, sweet poetic dreams, art, refined and nimble thought, are for the -happy <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> shores of the Mediterranean. Here the barbarian, ill housed in his -mud-hovel, who hears the rain pattering whole days among the oak -leaves—what dreams can he have, gazing upon his mud-pools and his -sombre sky?"</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--The_Northern_Barbarians">SECTION II.—The Northern Barbarians</a></h4> - - -<p>Huge white bodies, cool-blooded, with fierce blue eyes, reddish flaxen -hair; ravenous stomachs, filled with meat and cheese, heated by strong -drinks; of a cold temperament, slow to love,<a name="NoteRef_17_1" id="NoteRef_17_1"></a><a href="#Note_17_1" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> home-stayers, prone to -brutal drunkenness: these are to this day the features which descent and -climate preserve in the race, and these are what the Roman historians -discovered in their former country. There is no living, in these lands, -without abundance of solid food; bad weather keeps people at home; -strong drinks are necessary to cheer them; the senses become blunted, -the muscles are braced, the will vigorous. In every country the body of -man is rooted deep into the soil of nature; and in this instance still -deeper, because, being uncultivated, he is less removed from nature. In -Germany storm-beaten, in wretched boats of hide, amid the hardships and -dangers of seafaring life, they were pre-eminently adapted for endurance -and enterprise, inured to misfortune, scorners of danger. Pirates at -first: of all kinds of hunting the man-hunt is most profitable and most -noble; they left the care of the land and flocks to the women and -slaves; seafaring, war, and pillage<a name="NoteRef_18_18" id="NoteRef_18_18"></a><a href="#Note_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> was their whole idea of a -freeman's work. They dashed to sea in their two-sailed barks, landed -anywhere, killed everything; and having sacrificed in honor of their -gods the tithe of their prisoners, and leaving behind them the red light -of their burnings, went farther on to begin again. "Lord," says a -certain litany, "deliver us from the fury of the Jutes. Of all -barbarians<a name="NoteRef_19_1" id="NoteRef_19_1"></a><a href="#Note_19_1" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> these are strongest of body and heart, the most -formidable,"—we may add, the most cruelly ferocious. When murder -becomes a trade, it becomes a pleasure. About the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> eighth century, the -final decay of the great Roman corpse which Charlemagne had tried to -revive, and which was settling down into corruption, called them like -vultures to the prey. Those who had remained in Denmark, with their -brothers of Norway, fanatical pagans, incensed against the Christians, -made a descent on all the surrounding coasts. Their sea-kings,<a name="NoteRef_20_20" id="NoteRef_20_20"></a><a href="#Note_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> "who -had never slept under the smoky rafters of a roof, who had never drained -the ale-horn by an inhabited hearth," laughed at wind and storms, and -sang: "The blast of the tempest aids our oars; the bellowing of heaven, -the howling of the thunder, hurt us not; the hurricane is our servant, -and drives us whither we wish to go. We hewed with our swords," says a -song attributed to Ragnar Lodbrog; "was it not like that hour when my -bright bride I seated by me on the couch?" One of them, at the monastery -of Peterborough, kills with his own hand all the monks, to the number of -eighty-four; others, having taken King Ælla, divided his ribs from the -spine, drew his lungs out, threw salt into his wounds. Harold Harefoot, -having seized his rival Alfred, with six hundred men, had them maimed, -blinded, hamstrung, scalped, or embowelled.<a name="NoteRef_21_21" id="NoteRef_21_21"></a><a href="#Note_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Torture and carnage, -greed of danger, fury of destruction, obstinate and frenzied bravery of -an over-strong temperament, the unchaining of the butcherly -instincts—such traits meet us at every step in the old Sagas. The -daughter of the Danish Jarl, seeing Egil taking his seat near her, -repels him with scorn, reproaching him with "seldom having provided the -wolves with hot meat, with never having seen for the whole autumn a -raven croaking over the carnage." But Egil seized her and pacified her -by singing: "I have marched with my bloody sword, and the raven has -followed me. Furiously we fought, the fire passed over the dwellings of -men; we have sent to sleep in blood those who kept the gates." From such -table-talk, and such maidenly tastes, we may judge of the rest.<a name="NoteRef_22_1" id="NoteRef_22_1"></a><a href="#Note_22_1" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> - -<p>Behold them now in England, more settled and wealthier: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> do you expect to -find them much changed? Changed it may be, but for the worse, like the -Franks, like all barbarians who pass from action to enjoyment. They are -more gluttonous, carving their hogs, filling themselves with flesh, -swallowing down deep draughts of mead, ale, spiced wines, all the -strong, coarse drinks which they can procure, and so they are cheered -and stimulated. Add to this the pleasure of the fight. Not easily with -such instincts can they attain to culture; to find a natural and ready -culture, we must look amongst the sober and sprightly populations of the -south. Here the sluggish and heavy<a name="NoteRef_23_1" id="NoteRef_23_1"></a><a href="#Note_23_1" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> temperament remains long buried -in a brutal life; people of the Latin race never at a first glance see -in them aught but large gross beasts, clumsy and ridiculous when not -dangerous and enraged. Up to the sixteenth century, says an old -historian, the great body of the nation were little else than herdsmen, -keepers of cattle and sheep; up to the end of the eighteenth drunkenness -was the recreation of the higher ranks; it is still that of the lower; -and all the refinement and softening influence of civilization have not -abolished amongst them the use of the rod and the fist. If the -carnivorous, warlike, drinking savage, proof against the climate, still -shows beneath the conventions of our modern society and the softness of -our modern polish, imagine what he must have been when, landing with his -band upon a wasted or desert country, and becoming for the first time a -settler, he saw extending to the horizon the common pastures of the -border country, and the great primitive forests which furnished stags -for the chase and acorns for his pigs. The ancient histories tell us -that they had a great and a coarse appetite.<a name="NoteRef_24_24" id="NoteRef_24_24"></a><a href="#Note_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> Even at the time of the -Conquest the custom of drinking to excess was a common vice with men of -the highest rank, and they passed in this way whole days and nights -without intermission. Henry of Huntingdon, in the twelfth century, -lamenting the ancient hospitality, says that the Norman kings provided -their courtiers with only one meal a day, while the Saxon kings used to -provide four. One day, when Athelstan went with his nobles to visit his -relative Ethelfleda, the provision of mead was exhausted at the first -salutation, owing to the copiousness of the draughts; but Dunstan, -forecasting <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> the extent of the royal appetite, had furnish the house so -that the cup-bearers, as is the custom at royal feasts, were able the -whole day to serve it out in horns and other vessels, and the liquor was -not found to be deficient. When the guests were satisfied, the harp -passed from hand to hand, and the rude harmony of their deep voices -swelled under the vaulted roof. The monasteries themselves in Edgard's -time kept up games, songs, and dances till midnight. To shout, to drink, -to gesticulate, to feel their veins heated and swollen with wine, to -hear and see around them the riotous orgies, this was the first need of -the barbarians.<a name="NoteRef_25_1" id="NoteRef_25_1"></a><a href="#Note_25_1" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> The heavy human brute gluts himself with sensations -and with noise.</p> - -<p>For such appetites there was a stronger food—I mean blows and battle. -In vain they attached themselves to the soil, became tillers of the -ground, in distinct communities and distinct regions, shut<a name="NoteRef_26_26" id="NoteRef_26_26"></a><a href="#Note_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> in their -march with their kindred and comrades, bound together, separated from -the mass, enclosed by sacred landmarks, by primeval oaks on which they -cut the figures of birds and beasts, by poles set up in the midst of the -marsh, which whosoever removed was punished with cruel tortures. In vain -these Marches and Ga's<a name="NoteRef_27_1" id="NoteRef_27_1"></a><a href="#Note_27_1" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> were grouped into states, and finally formed -a half-regulated society, with assemblies and laws, under the lead of a -single king; its very structure indicates the necessities to supply -which it was created. They united in order to maintain peace; treaties -of peace occupy their Parliaments; provisions for peace are the matter -of their laws. War was waged daily and everywhere; the aim of life was, -not to be slain, ransomed, mutilated, pillaged, hanged, and of course, -if it was a woman, violated.<a name="NoteRef_28_28" id="NoteRef_28_28"></a><a href="#Note_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> Every man was obliged to appear armed, -and to be ready, with his burgh or his township, to repel marauders, who -went about in bands.<a name="NoteRef_29_1" id="NoteRef_29_1"></a><a href="#Note_29_1" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> The animal was yet too powerful, too impetuous, -too untamed. Anger and covetousness in the first place brought him upon -his prey. Their history, I mean that of the Heptarchy, is like <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> a history -of "kites and crows."<a name="NoteRef_30_30" id="NoteRef_30_30"></a><a href="#Note_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> They slew the Britons or reduced them to -slavery, fought the remnant of the Welsh, Irish, and Picts, massacred -one another, were hewn down and cut to pieces by the Danes. In a hundred -years, out of fourteen kings of Northumbria, seven were slain and six -deposed. Penda of Mercia killed five kings, and in order to take the -town of Bamborough, demolished all the neighboring villages, heaped -their ruins into an immense pile, sufficient to burn all the -inhabitants, undertook to exterminate the Northumbrians, and perished -himself by the sword at the age of eighty. Many amongst them were put to -death by the thanes; one thane was burned alive; brothers slew one -another treacherously. With us civilization has interposed, between the -desire and its fulfilment, the counteracting and softening preventive of -reflection and calculation; here, the impulse is sudden, and murder and -every kind of excess spring from it instantaneously. King Edwy<a name="NoteRef_31_1" id="NoteRef_31_1"></a><a href="#Note_31_1" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> -having married Elgiva, his relation within the prohibited degrees, -quitted the hall where he was drinking on the very day of his -coronation, to be with her. The nobles thought themselves insulted, and -immediately Abbot Dunstan went himself to seek the young man. "He found -the adulteress," says the monk Osbern, "her mother, and the king -together on the bed of debauch. He dragged the king thence violently, -and setting the crown upon his head, brought him back to the nobles." -Afterwards Elgiva sent men to put out Dunstan's eyes, and then, in a -revolt, saved herself and the king by hiding in the country; but the men -of the North having seized her, "hamstrung her, and then subjected her -to the death which she deserved."<a name="NoteRef_32_32" id="NoteRef_32_32"></a><a href="#Note_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> Barbarity follows barbarity. At -Bristol, at the time of the Conquest, as we are told by a historian of -the time,<a name="NoteRef_33_1" id="NoteRef_33_1"></a><a href="#Note_33_1" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> it was the custom to buy men and women in all parts of -England, and to carry them to Ireland for sale in order to make money. -The buyers usually made the young women pregnant, and took them to -market in that condition, in order to insure a better price. "You might -have seen with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> sorrow long files of young people of both sexes and of -the greatest beauty, bound with ropes, and daily exposed for sale. ... -They sold in this manner as slaves their nearest relatives, and even -their own children." And the chronicler adds that, having abandoned this -practice, they "thus set an example to all the rest of England." Would -you know the manners of the highest ranks, in the family of the last -king?<a name="NoteRef_34_34" id="NoteRef_34_34"></a><a href="#Note_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> At a feast in the king's hall, Harold was serving Edward the -Confessor with wine, when Tostig, his brother, moved by envy, seized him -by the hair. They were separated. Tostig went to Hereford, where Harold -had ordered a royal banquet to be prepared. There he seized his -brother's attendants, and cutting off their heads and limbs, he placed -them in the vessels of wine, ale, mead, and cider, and sent a message to -the king: "If you go to your farm, you will find there plenty of salt -meat, but you will do well to carry some more with you." Harold's other -brother, Sweyn, had violated the abbess Elgiva, assassinated Beorn the -thane, and being banished from the country had turned pirate. When we -regard their deeds of violence, their ferocity, their cannibal jests, we -see that they were not far removed from the sea-kings, or from the -followers of Odin, who ate raw flesh, hung men as victims on the sacred -trees of Upsala, and killed themselves to make sure of dying as they had -lived, in blood. A score of times the old ferocious instinct reappears -beneath the thin crust of Christianity. In the eleventh century, -Siward,<a name="NoteRef_35_35" id="NoteRef_35_35"></a><a href="#Note_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> the great Earl of Northumberland, was afflicted with a -dysentery; and feeling his death near, exclaimed, "What a shame for me -not to have been permitted to die in so many battles, and to end thus by -a cow's death! At least put on my breastplate, gird on my sword, set my -helmet on my head, my shield in my left hand, my battle-axe in my right, -so that a stout warrior, like myself, may die as a warrior." They did as -he bade, and thus died he honorably in his armor. They had made one -step, and only one, from barbarism. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Saxon_Ideas">SECTION III.—Saxon Ideas</a></h4> - - -<p>Under this native barbarism there were noble dispositions, unknown to -the Roman world, which were destined to produce a better people out of -its ruins. In the first place, "a certain earnestness, which leads them -out of frivolous sentiments to noble ones."<a name="NoteRef_36_1" id="NoteRef_36_1"></a><a href="#Note_36_1" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> From their origin in -Germany this is what we find them, severe in manners, with grave -inclinations and a manly dignity. They live solitary, each one near the -spring or the wood which has taken his fancy.<a name="NoteRef_37_1" id="NoteRef_37_1"></a><a href="#Note_37_1" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> Even in villages the -cottages were detached; they must have independence and free air. They -had no taste for voluptuousness; love was tardy, education severe, their -food simple; all the recreation they indulged in was the hunting of the -aurochs, and a dance amongst naked swords. Violent intoxication and -perilous wagers were their weakest points; they sought in preference not -mild pleasures, but strong excitement. In everything, even in their rude -and masculine instincts, they were men. Each in his own home, on his -land and in his hut, was his own master, upright and free, in no wise -restrained or shackled. If the commonweal received anything from him, it -was because he gave it. He gave his vote in arms in all great -conferences, passed judgment in the assembly, made alliances and wars on -his own account, moved from place to place, showed activity and -daring.<a name="NoteRef_38_1" id="NoteRef_38_1"></a><a href="#Note_38_1" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> The modern Englishman existed entire in this Saxon. If he -bends, it is because he is quite willing to bend; he is no less capable -of self-denial than of independence; self-sacrifice is not uncommon, a -man cares not for his blood or his life. In Homer the warrior often -gives way, and is not blamed if he flees. In the Sagas, in the Edda, he -must be over-brave; in Germany the coward is drowned in the mud, under a -hurdle. Through all outbreaks of primitive brutality gleams obscurely -the grand idea of duty, which is, the self-constraint exercised in view -of some noble end. Marriage was pure amongst them, chastity instinctive. -Amongst the Saxons the adulterer was punished by death; the adulteress -was obliged to hang herself, or was stabbed by the knives of her -companions. The wives of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> the Cimbrians, when they could not obtain from -Marius assurance of their chastity, slew themselves with their own -hands. They thought there was something sacred in a woman; they married -but one, and kept faith with her. In fifteen centuries the idea of -marriage is unchanged amongst them. The wife, on entering her husband's -home, is aware that she gives herself altogether,<a name="NoteRef_39_39" id="NoteRef_39_39"></a><a href="#Note_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> "that she will -have but one body, one life with him; that she will have no thought, no -desire beyond; that she will be the companion of his perils and labors; -that she will suffer and dare as much as he, both in peace and war." And -he, like her, knows that he gives himself. Having chosen his chief, he -forgets himself in him, assigns to him his own glory, serves him to the -death. "He is infamous as long as he lives, who returns from the field -of battle without his chief."<a name="NoteRef_40_1" id="NoteRef_40_1"></a><a href="#Note_40_1" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> It was on this voluntary subordination -that feudal society was based. Man in this race can accept a superior, -can be capable of devotion and respect. Thrown back upon himself by the -gloom and severity of his climate, he has discovered moral beauty while -others discover sensuous beauty. This kind of naked brute, who lies all -day by his fireside, sluggish and dirty, always eating and drinking,<a name="NoteRef_41_1" id="NoteRef_41_1"></a><a href="#Note_41_1" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> -whose rusty faculties cannot follow the clear and fine outlines of -happily created poetic forms, catches a glimpse of the sublime in his -troubled dreams. He does not see it, but simply feels it; his religion -is already within, as it will be in the sixteenth century, when he will -cast off the sensuous worship imported from Rome, and hallow the faith -of the heart.<a name="NoteRef_42_1" id="NoteRef_42_1"></a><a href="#Note_42_1" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> His gods are not enclosed in walls; he has no idols. -What he designates by divine names is something invisible and grand, -which floats through nature, and is conceived beyond nature,<a name="NoteRef_43_1" id="NoteRef_43_1"></a><a href="#Note_43_1" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> a -mysterious infinity which the sense cannot touch, but which "reverence -alone can feel"; and when, later on, the legends define and alter this -vague divination of natural powers, one idea remains at the bottom of -this chaos of giant-dreams, namely, that the world is a warfare, and -heroism the highest good. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the beginning, say the old Icelandic legends,<a name="NoteRef_44_1" id="NoteRef_44_1"></a><a href="#Note_44_1" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> there were two -worlds, Niflheim the frozen, and Muspell the burning. From the falling -snow-flakes was born the giant Ymir. "There was in times of old, where -Ymir dwelt, nor sand nor sea, nor gelid waves; earth existed not, nor -heaven above; 'twas a chaotic chasm, and grass nowhere." There was but -Ymir, the horrible frozen Ocean, with his children, sprung from his feet -and his armpits; then their shapeless progeny, Terrors of the abyss, -barren Mountains, Whirlwinds of the North, and other malevolent beings, -enemies of the sun and of life; then the cow Andhumbla, born also of -melting snow, brings to light, whilst licking the hoar-frost from the -rocks, a man Bur, whose grandsons kill the giant Ymir. "From his flesh -the earth was formed, and from his bones the hills, the heaven from the -skull of that ice-cold giant, and from his blood the sea; but of his -brains the heavy clouds are all created." Then arose war between the -monsters of winter and the luminous fertile gods, Odin the founder, -Baldur the mild and benevolent, Thor the summer-thunder, who purifies -the air, and nourishes the earth with showers. Long fought the gods -against the frozen Jötuns, against the dark bestial powers, the Wolf -Fenrir, the great Serpent, whom they drown in the sea, the treacherous -Loki, whom they bind to the rocks, beneath a viper whose venom drops -continually on his face. Long will the heroes who by a bloody death -deserve to be placed "in the halls of Odin, and there wage a combat -every day," assist the gods in their mighty war. A day will, however, -arrive when gods and men will be conquered. Then</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"trembles Yggdrasil's ash yet standing; groans that ancient tree, and -the Jötun Loki is loosed. The shadows groan on the ways of Hel,<a name="NoteRef_45_1" id="NoteRef_45_1"></a><a href="#Note_45_1" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> -until the fire of Surt has consumed the tree. Hrym steers from the east, -the waters rise, the mundane snake is coiled in jötun-rage. The worm -beats the water, and the eagle screams; the pale of beak tears -carcasses; (the ship) Naglfar is loosed. Surt from the South comes with -flickering flame; shines from his sword the Val-god's sun. The stony -hills are dashed together, the giantesses totter; men tread the path of -Hel, and heaven is cloven. The sun darkens, earth in ocean sinks, fall -from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> heaven the bright stars, fire's breath assails the all-nourishing -tree, towering fire plays against heaven itself."<a name="NoteRef_46_46" id="NoteRef_46_46"></a><a href="#Note_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The gods perish, devoured one by one by the monsters; and the celestial -legend, sad and grand now like the life of man, bears witness to the -hearts of warriors and heroes.</p> - -<p>There is no fear of pain, no care for life; they count it as dross when -the idea has seized upon them. The trembling of the nerves, the -repugnance of animal instinct which starts back before wounds and death, -are all lost in an irresistible determination. See how in their epic<a name="NoteRef_47_1" id="NoteRef_47_1"></a><a href="#Note_47_1" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> -the sublime springs up amid the horrible, like a bright purple flower -amid a pool of blood. Sigurd has plunged his sword into the dragon -Fafnir, and at that very moment they looked on one another; and Fafnir -asks, as he dies, "Who art thou? and who is thy father? and what thy -kin, that thou wert so hardy as to bear weapons against me? A hardy -heart urged me on thereto, and a strong hand and this sharp sword.... -Seldom hath hardy eld a faint-heart youth." After this triumphant -eagle's cry Sigurd cuts out the worm's heart; but Regin, brother of -Fafnir, drinks blood from the wound, and falls asleep. Sigurd, who was -roasting the heart, raises his finger thoughtlessly to his lips. -Forthwith he understands the language of the birds. The eagles scream -above him in the branches. They warn him to mistrust Regin. Sigurd cuts -off the latter's head, eats of Fafnir's heart, drinks his blood and his -brother's. Amongst all these murders their courage and poetry grow. -Sigurd has subdued Brynhild, the untamed maiden, by passing through the -flaming fire; they share one couch for three nights, his naked sword -betwixt them. "Nor the damsel did he kiss, nor did the Hunnish king to -his arm lift her. He the blooming maid to Giuki's son delivered," -because, according to his oath, he must send her to her betrothed -Gunnar. She, setting her love upon him, "Alone she sat without, at eve -of day, began aloud with herself to speak: 'Sigurd must be mine; I must -die, or that blooming youth clasp in my arms.'" But seeing him married, -she brings about his death. "Laughed then Brynhild, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> Budli's daughter, -once only, from her whole soul, when in her bed she listened to the loud -lament of Giuki's daughter." She put on her golden corslet, pierced -herself with the sword's point, and as a last request said:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Let in the plain be raised a pile so spacious, that for us all like -room may be; let them burn the Hun (Sigurd) on the one side of me, on -the other side my household slaves, with collars splendid, two at our -heads, and two hawks; let also lie between us both the keen-edged sword, -as when we both one couch ascended; also five female thralls, eight male -slaves of gentle birth fostered with me."<a name="NoteRef_48_48" id="NoteRef_48_48"></a><a href="#Note_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>All were burnt together; yet Gudrun the widow continued motionless by -the corpse, and could not weep. The wives of the jarls came to console -her, and each of them told her own sorrows, all the calamities of great -devastations and the old life of barbarism.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Then spoke Giaflang, Giuki's sister: 'Lo, up on earth I live most -loveless, who of five mates must see the ending, of daughters twain and -three sisters, of brethren eight, and abide behind lonely.' Then spake -Herborg, Queen of Hunland: 'Crueller tale have I to tell of my seven -sons, down in the Southlands, and the eight man, my mate, felled in the -death-mead. Father and mother, and four brothers on the wide sea the -winds and death played with; the billows beat on the bulwark boards. -Alone must I sing o'er them, alone must I array them, alone must my -hands deal with their departing; and all this was in one season's -wearing, and none was left for love or solace. Then was I bound a prey -of the battle when that same season wore to its ending; as a tiring may -must I bind the shoon of the duke's high dame, every day at dawning. -From her jealous hate gat I heavy mocking, cruel lashes she laid upon -me."<a name="NoteRef_49_1" id="NoteRef_49_1"></a><a href="#Note_49_1" class="fnanchor">[49]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>All was in vain; no word could draw tears from those dry eyes. They were -obliged to lay the bloody corpse before her, ere her tears would come. -Then tears flowed through the pillow; as "the geese withal that were in -the home-field, the fair fowls the may owned, fell a-screaming." She -would have died, like Sigrun, on the corpse of him whom alone she had -loved, if they had not deprived her of memory by a magic potion. Thus -affected, she departs in order to marry Atli, king of the Huns; and yet -she goes against her will, with gloomy forebodings: for murder begets -murder; and her brothers, the murderers of Sigurd, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> having been drawn to -Atli's court, fall in their turn into a snare like that which they had -themselves laid. Then Gunnar was bound, and they tried to make him -deliver up the treasure. He answers with a barbarian's laugh:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"'Högni's heart in my hand shall lie, cut bloody from the breast of the -valiant chief, the king's son, with a dull-edged knife.' They the heart -cut out from Hialli's breast; on a dish, bleeding, laid it, and it to -Gunnar bare. Then said Gunnar, lord of men: 'Here have I the heart of -the timid Hialli, unlike the heart of the bold Högni; for much it -trembles as in the dish it lies; it trembled more by half while in his -breast it lay.' Högni laughed when to his heart they cut the living -crest-crasher; no lament uttered he. All bleeding on a dish they laid -it, and it to Gunnar bare. Calmly said Gunnar, the warrior Niflung: -'Here have I the heart of the bold Högni, unlike the heart of the timid -Hialli; for it little trembles as in the dish it lies: it trembled less -while in his breast it lay. So far shalt thou, Atli! be from the eyes of -men as thou wilt from the treasures be. In my power alone is all the -hidden Niflung's gold, now that Högni lives not. Ever was I wavering -while we both lived: now am I so no longer, as I alone survive.'"<a name="NoteRef_50_50" id="NoteRef_50_50"></a><a href="#Note_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>It was the last insult of the self-confident man, who values neither his -own life nor that of another, so that he can satiate his vengeance. They -cast him into the serpent's den, and there he died, striking his harp -with his foot. But the inextinguishable flame of vengeance passed from -his heart to that of his sister. Corpse after corpse fall on each other; -a mighty fury hurls them open-eyed to death. She killed the children she -had by Atli, and one day on his return from the carnage, gave him their -hearts to eat, served in honey, and laughed coldly as she told him on -what he had fed. "Uproar was on the benches, portentous the cry of men, -noise beneath the costly hangings. The children of the Huns wept; all -wept save Gudrun, who never wept or for her bear-fierce brothers, or for -her dear sons, young, simple."<a name="NoteRef_51_1" id="NoteRef_51_1"></a><a href="#Note_51_1" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> Judge from this heap of ruin and -carnage to what excess the will is strung. There were men amongst them, -Berserkirs,<a name="NoteRef_52_1" id="NoteRef_52_1"></a><a href="#Note_52_1" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> who in battle seized with a sort of madness, showed a -sudden and superhuman strength, and ceased to feel their wounds. This is -the conception of a hero as engendered by this race in its infancy. Is -it not strange to see them place their happiness in battle, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> their beauty -in death? Is there any people, Hindoo, Persian, Greek, or Gallic, which -has formed so tragic a conception of life? Is there any which has -peopled its infantine mind with such gloomy dreams? Is there any which -has so entirely banished from its dreams the sweetness of enjoyment, and -the softness of pleasure? Endeavors, tenacious and mournful endeavors, -an ecstasy of endeavors—such was their chosen condition. Carlyle said -well, that in the sombre obstinacy of an English laborer still survives -the tacit rage of the Scandinavian warrior. Strife for strife's -sake—such is their pleasure. With what sadness, madness, destruction, -such a disposition breaks its bonds, we shall see in Shakespeare and -Byron; with what vigor and purpose it can limit and employ itself when -possessed by moral ideas, we shall see in the case of the Puritans.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Saxon_Heroes">SECTION IV.—Saxon Heroes</a></h4> - - -<p>They have established themselves in England; and however disordered the -society which binds them together, it is founded, as in Germany, on -generous sentiment. War is at every door, I am aware, but warlike -virtues are within every house; courage chiefly, then fidelity. Under -the brute there is a free man, and a man of spirit. There is no man -amongst them who, at his own risk,<a name="NoteRef_53_1" id="NoteRef_53_1"></a><a href="#Note_53_1" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> will not make alliance, go forth -to fight, undertake adventures. There is no group of free men amongst -them, who, in their Witenagemote, is not forever concluding alliances -one with another. Every clan, in its own district, forms a league of -which all the members, "brothers of the sword," defend each other, and -demand revenge for the spilling of blood, at the price of their own. -Every chief in his hall reckons that he has friends, not mercenaries, in -the faithful ones who drink his beer, and who, having received as marks -of his esteem and confidence, bracelets, swords, and suits of armor, -will cast themselves between him and danger on the day of battle.<a name="NoteRef_54_1" id="NoteRef_54_1"></a><a href="#Note_54_1" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> -Independence and boldness rage amongst this young nation with violence -and excess; but these are of themselves noble things; and no less noble -are the sentiments which serve them for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> discipline—to wit, an -affectionate devotion, and respect for plighted faith. These appear in -their laws, and break forth in their poetry. Amongst them greatness of -heart gives matter for imagination. Their characters are not selfish and -shifty, like those of Homer. They are brave hearts, simple and strong, -faithful to their relatives, to their master in arms, firm and steadfast -to enemies and friends, abounding in courage, and ready for sacrifice. -"Old as I am," says one, "I will not budge hence. I mean to die by my -lord's side, near this man I have loved so much. He kept his word, the -word he had given to his chief, to the distributor of gifts, promising -him that they should return to the town, safe and sound to their homes, -or that they would fall both together, in the thick of the carnage, -covered with wounds. He lies by his master's side, like a faithful -servant." Though awkward in speech, their old poets find touching words -when they have to paint these manly friendships. We cannot without -emotion hear them relate how the old "king embraced the best of his -thanes, and put his arms about his neck, how the tears flowed down the -cheeks of the gray-haired chief.... The valiant man was so dear to him. -He could not stop the flood which mounted from his breast. In his heart, -deep in the chords of his soul, he sighed in secret after the beloved -man." Few as are the songs which remain to us, they return to this -subject again and again. The wanderer in a reverie dreams about his -lord:<a name="NoteRef_55_1" id="NoteRef_55_1"></a><a href="#Note_55_1" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> It seems to him in his spirit as if he kisses and embraces -him, and lays head and hands upon his knees, as oft before in the olden -time, when he rejoiced in his gifts. Then he wakes—a man without -friends. He sees before him the desert tracks, the seabirds dipping in -the waves, stretching wide their wings, the frost and the snow, mingled -with falling hail. Then his heart's wounds press more heavily. The exile -says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"In blithe habits full oft we, too, agreed that nought else should -divide us except death alone; at length this is changed, and as if it -had never been is now our friendship. To endure enmities man orders me -to dwell in the bowers of the forest, under the oak-tree in this earthy -cave. Cold is this earth-dwelling: I am quite wearied out. Dim are the -dells, high up are the mountains, a bitter city of twigs, with briars -overgrown, a joyless abode.... My friends are in the earth; those loved -in life, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> the tomb holds them. The grave is guarding, while I above alone -am going. Under the oak-tree, beyond this earth-cave, there I must sit -the long summer-day."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Amid their perilous mode of life, and the perpetual appeal to arms, -there exists no sentiment more warm than friendship, nor any virtue -stronger than loyalty.</p> - -<p>Thus supported by powerful affection and trysted word, society is kept -wholesome. Marriage is like the state. We find women associating with -the men, at their feasts, sober and respected.<a name="NoteRef_56_56" id="NoteRef_56_56"></a><a href="#Note_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> She speaks, and they -listen to her; no need for concealing or enslaving her, in order to -restrain or retain her. She is a person and not a thing. The law demands -her consent to marriage, surrounds her with guarantees, accords her -protection. She can inherit, possess, bequeath, appear in courts of -justice, in county assemblies, in the great congress of the elders. -Frequently the name of the queen and of several other ladies is -inscribed in the proceedings of the Witenagemote. Law and tradition -maintain her integrity, as if she were a man, and side by side with men. -Her affections captivate her, as if she were a man, and side by side -with men. In Alfred<a name="NoteRef_57_1" id="NoteRef_57_1"></a><a href="#Note_57_1" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> there is a portrait of the wife, which for -purity and elevation equals all that we can devise with our modern -refinements. "Thy wife now lives for thee—for thee alone. She has -enough of all kind of wealth for this present life, but she scorns them -all for thy sake alone. She has forsaken them all, because she had not -thee with them. Thy absence makes her think that all she possesses is -nought. Thus, for love of thee, she is wasted away, and lies near death -for tears and grief." Already, in the legends of the Edda, we have seen -the maiden Sigrun at the tomb of Helgi, "as glad as the voracious hawks -of Odin, when they of slaughter know, of warm prey," desiring to sleep -still in the arms of death, and die at last on his grave. Nothing here -like the love we find in the primitive poetry of France, Provence, -Spain, and Greece. There is an absence of gayety, of delight; outside of -marriage it is only a ferocious appetite, an outbreak of the instinct of -the beast. It appears nowhere with its charm and its smile; there is no -love-song in this ancient poetry. The reason is, that with them love is -not an amusement <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> and a pleasure, but a promise and a devotion. All is -grave, even sombre, in civil relations as well as in conjugal society. -As in Germany, amid the sadness of a melancholic temperament and the -savagery of a barbarous life, the most tragic human faculties, the deep -power of love and the grand power of will, are the only ones that sway -and act.</p> - -<p>This is why the hero, as in Germany, is truly heroic. Let us speak of -him at length; we possess one of their poems, that of Beowulf, almost -entire. Here are the stories, which the thanes, seated on their stools, -by the light of their torches, listened to as they drank the ale of -their king: we can glean thence their manners and sentiments, as in the -Iliad and the Odyssey those of the Greeks. Beowulf is a hero, a -knight-errant before the days of chivalry, as the leaders of the German -bands were feudal chiefs before the institution of feudalism.<a name="NoteRef_58_58" id="NoteRef_58_58"></a><a href="#Note_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> He has -"rowed upon the sea, his naked sword hard in his hand, amidst the fierce -waves and coldest of storms, and the rage of winter hurtled over the -waves of the deep." The sea-monsters, "the many-colored foes, drew him -to the bottom of the sea, and held him fast in their gripe." But he -reached "the wretches with his point and with his war-bill. The mighty -sea-beast received the war-rush through his-hands," and he slew nine -Nicors (sea-monsters). And now behold him, as he comes across the waves -to succor the old King Hrothgar, who with his vassals sits afflicted in -his great mead-hall, high and curved with pinnacles. For "a grim -stranger, Grendel, a mighty haunter of the marshes," had entered his -hall during the night, seized thirty of the thanes who were asleep, and -returned in his war-craft with their carcasses; for twelve years the -dreadful ogre, the beastly and greedy creature, father of Orks and -Jötuns, devoured men and emptied the best of houses. Beowulf, the great -warrior, offers to grapple with the fiend, and foe to foe contend for -life, without the bearing of either sword or ample shield, for he has -"learned also that the wretch for his cursed hide recketh not of -weapons," asking only that if death takes him, they will bear forth his -bloody corpse and bury it; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> mark his fen-dwelling, and send to Hygelác, -his chief, the best of war-shrouds that guards his breast.</p> - -<p>He is lying in the hall, "trusting in his proud strength; and when the -mists of night arose, lo, Grendel comes, tears open the door," seized a -sleeping warrior: "he tore him unawares, he bit his body, he drank the -blood from the veins, he swallowed him with continual tearings." But -Beowulf seized him in turn, and "raised himself upon his elbow."</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The lordly hall thundered, the ale was spilled,... both were enraged; -savage and strong warders; the house resounded; then was it a great -wonder that the wine-hall withstood the beasts of war, that it fell not -upon the earth, the fair palace; but it was thus fast.... The noise -arose, new enough; a fearful terror fell on the North Danes, on each of -those who from the wall heard the outcry, God's denier sing his dreadful -lay, his song of defeat, lament his wound.<a name="NoteRef_59_59" id="NoteRef_59_59"></a><a href="#Note_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a>... The foul wretch -awaited the mortal wound; a mighty gash was evident upon his shoulder; -the sinews sprung asunder, the junctures of the bones burst; success in -war was given to Beowulf. Thence must Grendel fly sick unto death, among -the refuges of the fens, to seek his joyless dwelling. He all the better -knew that the end of his life, the number of his days was gone by."<a name="NoteRef_60_1" id="NoteRef_60_1"></a><a href="#Note_60_1" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>For he had left on the ground, "hand, arm, and shoulder"; and "in the -lake of Nicors, where he was driven, the rough wave was boiling with -blood, the foul spring of waves all mingled, hot with poison; the dye, -discolored with death, bubbled with warlike gore." There remained a -female monster, his mother, who, like him, "was doomed to inhabit the -terror of waters, the cold streams," who came by night, and amidst drawn -swords tore and devoured another man, Æschere, the king's best friend. -A lamentation arose in the palace, and Beowulf offered himself again. -They went to the den, a hidden land, the refuge of the wolf, near the -windy promontories, where a mountain stream rusheth downwards under the -darkness of the hills, a flood beneath the earth; the wood fast by its -roots overshadoweth the water; there may one by night behold a marvel, -fire upon the flood; the stepper over the heath, when wearied out by the -hounds, sooner will give up his soul, his life upon the brink, than -plunge therein to hide his head. Strange dragons and serpents swam -there; "from time to time the horn sang a dirge, a terrible song." -Beowulf plunged into the wave, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> descended, passed monsters who tore his -coat of mail, to the ogress, the hateful manslayer, who, seizing him in -her grasp, bore him off to her dwelling. A pale gleam shone brightly, -and there, face to face, the good champion perceived</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"the she-wolf of the abyss, the mighty sea-woman; he gave the war-onset -with his battle-bill; he held not back the swing of the sword, so that -on her head the ring-mail sang aloud a greedy war-song.... The beam of -war would not bite. Then caught the prince of the War-Geáts Grendel's -mother by the shoulders... twisted the homicide, so that she bent upon -the floor... She drew her knife broad, brown-edged (and tried to -pierce), the twisted breast-net which protected his life.... Then saw he -among the weapons a bill fortunate in victory, an old gigantic sword, -doughty of edge, ready for use, the work of giants. He seized the belted -hilt; the warrior of the Scyldings, fierce and savage whirled the -ring-mail; despairing of life, he struck furiously, so that it grappled -hard with her about the neck; it broke the bone-rings, the bill passed -through all the doomed body; she sank upon the floor; the sword was -bloody, the man rejoiced in his deed; the beam shone, light stood -within, even as from heaven mildly shines the lamp of the -firmament."<a name="NoteRef_61_1" id="NoteRef_61_1"></a><a href="#Note_61_1" class="fnanchor">[61]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Then he saw Grendel dead in a corner of the hall; and four of his -companions, having with difficulty raised the monstrous head, bore it by -the hair to the palace of the king.</p> - -<p>That was his first labor; and the rest of his life was similar. When he -had reigned fifty years on earth, a dragon, who had been robbed of his -treasure, came from the hill and burned men and houses "with waves of -fire. Then did the refuge of earls command to make for him a -variegated shield, all of iron; he knew well enough that a shield of -wood could not help him, lindenwood opposed to fire.... The prince of -rings was then too proud to seek the wide flier with a troop, with a -large company; he feared not for himself that battle, nor did he make -any account of the dragon's war, his laboriousness and valor." And yet -he was sad, and went unwillingly, for he was "fated to abide the end." -Then "he was ware of a cavern, a mound under the earth, nigh to the sea -wave, the clashing of waters, which cave was full within of embossed -ornaments and wires.... Then the king, hard in war, sat upon the -promontory, whilst he, the prince of the Geáts, bade farewell to his -household comrades.... I, the old guardian of my people, seek <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> a feud." -He "let words proceed from his breast," the dragon came, vomiting fire; -the blade bit not his body, and the king "suffered painfully, involved -in fire." His comrades had "turned to the wood, to save their lives," -all save Wiglaf, who "went through the fatal smoke," knowing well "that -it was not the old custom" to abandon relation and prince, "that he -alone... shall suffer distress, shall sink in battle. The worm came -furious, the foul insidious stranger, variegated with waves of fire,... -hot and warlike fierce, he clutched the whole neck with bitter banes; he -was bloodied with life-gore, the blood boiled in waves."<a name="NoteRef_62_1" id="NoteRef_62_1"></a><a href="#Note_62_1" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> They, with -their swords, carved the worm in the midst. Yet the wound of the king -became burning and swelled; "he soon discovered that poison boiled in -his breast within, and sat by the wall upon a stone"; "he looked upon -the work of giants, how the eternal cavern held within stone arches fast -upon pillars." Then he said—</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have held this people fifty years; there was not any king of my -neighbors, who dared to greet me with warriors, to oppress me with -terror.... I held mine own well, I sought not treacherous malice, nor -swore unjustly many oaths; on account of all this, I, sick with mortal -wounds, may have joy.... Now do thou go immediately to behold the hoard -under the hoary stone, my dear Wiglaf.... Now, I have purchased with my -death a hoard of treasures; it will be yet of advantage at the need of -the people.... I give thanks... that I might before my dying day obtain -such for my peoples... longer may I not here be."<a name="NoteRef_63_63" id="NoteRef_63_63"></a><a href="#Note_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This is thorough and real generosity, not exaggerated and pretended, as -it will be later on in the romantic imaginations of babbling clerics, -mere composers of adventure. Fiction as yet is not far removed from -fact; the man breathes manifest beneath the hero. Rude as the poetry is, -its hero is grand; he is so, simply by his deeds. Faithful, first to his -prince, then to his people, he went alone, in a strange land, to venture -himself for the delivery of his fellow-men; he forgets himself in death, -while thinking only that it profits others. "Each one of us," he says in -one place, "must abide the end of his present life." Let, therefore, -each do justice, if he can, before his death. Compare with him the -monsters whom he destroys, the last traditions <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> of the ancient wars -against inferior races, and of the primitive religion; think of his life -of danger, nights upon the waves, man grappling with the brute creation; -man's indomitable will crushing the breasts of beasts; man's powerful -muscles which, when exerted, tear the flesh of the monsters; you will -see reappear through the mist of legends, and under the light of poetry, -the valiant men who, amid the madness of war and the raging of their own -mood, began to settle a people and to found a state.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Pagan_Poems">SECTION V.—Pagan Poems</a></h4> - - -<p>One poem nearly whole and two or three fragments are all that remain of -this lay-poetry of England. The rest of the pagan current, German and -barbarian, was arrested or overwhelmed, first by the influx of the -Christian religion, then by the conquest of the Norman-French. But what -remains more than suffices to show the strange and powerful poetic -genius of the race, and to exhibit beforehand the flower in the bud.</p> - -<p>If there has ever been anywhere a deep and serious poetic sentiment, it -is here. They do not speak, they sing, or rather they shout. Each little -verse is an acclamation, which breaks forth like a growl; their strong -breasts heave with a groan of anger or enthusiasm, and a vehement or -indistinct phrase or expression rises suddenly, almost in spite of them, -to their lips. There is no art, no natural talent, for describing singly -and in order the different parts of an object or an event. The fifty -rays of light which every phenomenon emits in succession to a regular -and well-directed intellect, come to them at once in a glowing and -confused mass, disabling them by their force and convergence. Listen to -their genuine war-chants, unchecked and violent, as became their -terrible voices. To this day, at this distance of time, separated as -they are by manners, speech, ten centuries, we seem to hear them still:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The army goes forth: the birds sing, the cricket chirps, the -war-weapons sound, the lance clangs against the shield. Now shineth the -moon, wandering under the sky. Now arise deeds of woe, which the enmity -of this people prepares to do.... Then in the court came the tumult of -war-carnage. They seized with their hands the hollow wood of the shield. -They smote through the bones of the head. The roofs of the castle -resounded, until Garulf fell in battle, the first of earth-dwelling <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> men, -son of Guthlaf. Around him lay many brave men dying. The raven whirled -about, dark and sombre, like a willow leaf. There was a sparkling of -blades, as if all Finsburg were on fire. Never have I heard of a more -worthy battle in war."<a name="NoteRef_64_64" id="NoteRef_64_64"></a><a href="#Note_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This is the song on Athelstan's victory at Brunanburh:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Here Athelstan king, of earls the lord, the giver of the bracelets of -the nobles, and his brother also, Edmund the ætheling, the Elder a -lasting glory won by slaughter in battle, with the edges of swords, at -Brunanburh. The wall of shields they cleaved, they hewed the noble -banners: with the rest of the family, the children of Edward.... -Pursuing, they destroyed the Scottish people and the ship-fleet.... The -field was colored with the warriors' blood! After that the sun on -high,... the greatest star! glided over the earth, God's candle bright! -till the noble creature hastened to her setting. There lay soldiers many -with darts struck down, Northern men over their shields shot. So were -the Scots; weary of ruddy battle.... The screamers of war they left -behind; the raven to enjoy, the dismal kite, and the black raven with -horned beak, and the hoarse toad; the eagle, afterwards to feast on the -white flesh; the greedy battle-hawk, and the grey beast, the wolf in the -wood."<a name="NoteRef_65_65" id="NoteRef_65_65"></a><a href="#Note_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Here all is imagery. In their impassioned minds events are not bald, -with the dry propriety of an exact description; each fits in with its -pomp of sound, shape, coloring; it is almost a vision which is raised, -complete, with its accompanying emotions, joy, fury, excitement. In -their speech, arrows are "the serpents of Hel, shot from bows of horn"; -ships are "great sea-steeds," the sea is "a chalice of waves," the -helmet is "the castle of the head"; they need an extraordinary speech to -express their vehement sensations, so that after a time, in Iceland, -where this kind of poetry was carried on to excess, the earlier -inspiration failed, art replaced nature, the Skalds were reduced to a -distorted and obscure jargon. But whatever be the imagery, here, as in -Iceland, though unique, it is too feeble. The poets have not satisfied -their inner emotion, if it is only expressed by a single word. Time -after time they return to and repeat their idea. "The sun on high, the -great star, God's brilliant candle, the noble creature!" Four times -successively they employ the same thought, and each time under a new -aspect. All its different aspects rise simultaneously before the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -barbarian's eyes, and each word was like a fit of the semi-hallucination -which possessed him. Verily, in such a condition, the regularity of -speech and of ideas is disturbed at every turn. The succession of -thought in the visionary is not the same as in a reasoning mind. One -color induces another; from sound he passes to sound; his imagination is -like a diorama of unexplained pictures. His phrases recur and change; he -emits the word that comes to his lips without hesitation; he leaps over -wide intervals from idea to idea. The more his mind is transported, the -quicker and wider the intervals traversed. With one spring he visits the -poles of his horizon, and touches in one moment objects which seemed to -have the world between them. His ideas are entangled without order; -without notice, abruptly, the poet will return to the idea he has -quitted, and insert it in the thought to which he is giving expression. -It is impossible to translate these incongruous ideas, which quite -disconcert our modern style. At times they are unintelligible.<a name="NoteRef_66_66" id="NoteRef_66_66"></a><a href="#Note_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> -Articles, particles, everything capable of illuminating thought, of -marking the connection of terms, of producing regularity of ideas, all -rational and logical artifices, are neglected.<a name="NoteRef_67_67" id="NoteRef_67_67"></a><a href="#Note_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> Passion bellows forth -like a great shapeless beast; and that is all. It rises and starts in -little abrupt lines; it is the acme of barbarism. Homer's happy poetry -is copiously developed, in full narrative, with rich and extended -imagery. All the details of a complete picture are not too much for him; -he loves to look at things, he lingers over them, rejoices in their -beauty, dresses them in splendid words; he is like the Greek girls, who -thought themselves ugly if they did not bedeck arms and shoulders with -all the gold coins from their purse, and all the treasures from their -caskets; his long verses flow by with their cadences, and spread out -like a purple robe under an Ionian sun. Here the clumsy-fingered poet -crowds and clashes his ideas in a narrow measure; if measure there be, -he barely observes it; all his ornament is three words beginning with -the same letter. His chief care is to abridge, to imprison thought in a -kind of mutilated cry.<a name="NoteRef_68_68" id="NoteRef_68_68"></a><a href="#Note_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> The force of the internal impression, which, -not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> knowing how to unfold itself, becomes condensed and doubled by -accumulation; the harshness of the outward expression, which, -subservient to the energy and shocks of the inner sentiment, seek only -to exhibit it intact and original, in spite of and at the expense of all -order and beauty—such are the characteristics of their poetry, and -these also will be the characteristics of the poetry which is to follow.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Christian_Poems">SECTION VI.—Christian Poems</a></h4> - - -<p>A race so constituted was predisposed to Christianity, by its gloom, its -aversion to sensual and reckless living, its inclination for the serious -and sublime. When their sedentary habits had reconciled their souls to a -long period of ease, and weakened the fury which fed their sanguinary -religion, they readily inclined to a new faith. The vague adoration of -the great powers of nature, which eternally fight for mutual -destruction, and, when destroyed, rise up again to the combat, had long -since disappeared in the dim distance. Society, on its formation, -introduced the idea of peace and the need for justice, and the war-gods -faded from the minds of men, with the passions which had created them. A -century and a half after the invasion by the Saxons,<a name="NoteRef_69_69" id="NoteRef_69_69"></a><a href="#Note_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> Roman -missionaries, bearing a silver cross with a picture of Christ, came in -procession chanting a litany. Presently the high priest of the -Northumbrians declared in presence of the nobles that the old gods were -powerless, and confessed that formerly "he knew nothing of that which he -adored"; and he among the first, lance in hand, assisted to demolish -their temple. Then a chief rose in the assembly, and said:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"You remember, it may be, O king, that which sometimes happens in winter -when you are seated at table with your earls and thanes. Your fire is -lighted, and your hall warmed, and without is rain and snow and storm. -Then comes a swallow flying across the hall; he enters by one door, and -leaves by another. The brief moment while he is within is pleasant to -him; he feels not rain nor cheerless winter weather; but the moment is -brief—the bird flies away in the twinkling of an eye, and he passes -from winter to winter. Such, methinks, is the life of man on earth, -compared with the uncertain time beyond. It appears for a while; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> but -what is the time which comes after—the time which was before? We know -not. If, then, this new doctrine may teach us somewhat of greater -certainty, it were well that we should regard it."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>This restlessness, this feeling of the infinite and dark beyond, this -sober, melancholy eloquence, were the harbingers of spiritual life.<a name="NoteRef_70_1" id="NoteRef_70_1"></a><a href="#Note_70_1" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> -We find nothing like it amongst the nations of the south, naturally -pagan, and preoccupied with the present life. These utter barbarians -embrace Christianity straightway, through sheer force of mood and clime. -To no purpose are they brutal, heavy, shackled by infantine -superstitions, capable, like King Canute, of buying for a hundred golden -talents the arm of Augustine. They possess the idea of God. This grand -God of the Bible, omnipotent and unique, who disappears almost entirely -in the Middle Ages,<a name="NoteRef_71_71" id="NoteRef_71_71"></a><a href="#Note_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> obscured by His court and His family, endures -amongst them in spite of absurd or grotesque legends. They do not blot -Him out under pious romances, by the elevation of the saints, or under -feminine caresses, to benefit the infant Jesus and the Virgin. Their -grandeur and their severity raise them to His high level; they are not -tempted, like artistic and talkative nations, to replace religion by a -fair and agreeable narrative. More than any race in Europe, they -approach, by the simplicity and energy of their conceptions, the old -Hebraic spirit. Enthusiasm is their natural condition; and their new -Deity fills them with admiration, as their ancient deities inspired them -with fury. They have hymns, genuine odes, which are but a concrete of -exclamations. They have no development; they are incapable of -restraining or explaining their passion; it bursts forth, in raptures, -at the vision of the Almighty. The heart alone speaks here—a strong, -barbarous heart. Cædmon, their old poet,<a name="NoteRef_72_72" id="NoteRef_72_72"></a><a href="#Note_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> says Bede, was a more -ignorant man than the others, who knew no poetry; so that in the hall, -when they handed him the harp, he was obliged to withdraw, being unable -to sing like his companions. Once, keeping night-watch over the stable, -he fell asleep. A stranger appeared to him, and asked him to sing -something, and these words came into his head: "Now we ought to praise -the Lord of heaven, the power of the Creator, and His skill, the deeds <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> -of the Father of glory; how he, being eternal God, is the author of all -marvels; who, almighty guardian of the human race, created first for the -sons of men the heavens as the roof of their dwelling, and then the -earth." Remembering this when he woke,<a name="NoteRef_73_73" id="NoteRef_73_73"></a><a href="#Note_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> he came to the town, and they -brought him before the learned men, before the abbess Hilda, who, when -they had heard him, thought that he had received a gift from heaven, and -made him a monk in the abbey. There he spent his life listening to -portions of Holy Writ, which were explained to him in Saxon, "ruminating -over them like a pure animal, turned them into most sweet verse." Thus -is true poetry born. These men pray with all the emotion of a new soul; -they kneel; they adore; the less they know the more they think. Someone -has said that the first and most sincere hymn is this one word O! Theirs -were hardly longer; they only repeated time after time some deep -passionate word, with monotonous vehemence. "In heaven art Thou, our aid -and succor, resplendent with happiness! All things bow before Thee, -before the glory of Thy Spirit. With one voice they call upon Christ; -they all cry: Holy, holy art Thou, King of the angels of heaven, our -Lord! and Thy judgments are just and great; they reign forever and in -all places, in the multitude of Thy works." We are reminded of the songs -of the servants of Odin, tonsured now, and clad in the garments of -monks. Their poetry is the same; they think of God, as of Odin, in a -string of short, accumulated, passionate images, like a succession of -lightning-flashes; the Christian hymns are a sequel to the pagan. One of -them, Adhelm, stood on a bridge leading to the town where he lived, and -repeated warlike and profane odes as well as religious poetry, in order -to attract and instruct the men of his time. He could do it without -changing his key. In one of them, a funeral song, Death speaks. It was -one of the last Saxon compositions, containing a terrible Christianity, -which seems at the same time to have sprung from the blackest depths of -the Edda. The brief metre sounds abruptly, with measured stroke, like -the passing bell. It is as if we hear the dull resounding responses -which roll through the church, while the rain beats on the dim glass, -and the broken clouds sail mournfully in the sky; and our eyes, glued to -the pale face of a dead man feel beforehand <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> the horror of the damp grave -into which the living are about to cast him.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"For thee was a house built ere thou wert born; for thee was a mould -shapen ere thou of thy mother earnest. Its height is not determined, nor -its depth measured; nor is it closed up (however long it may be) until I -thee bring where thou shalt remain; until I shall measure thee and the -sod of the earth. Thy house is not highly built; it is unhigh and low. -When thou art in it, the heel-ways are low, the sideways unhigh. The -roof is built thy breast full high; so thou shalt in earth dwell full -cold, dim, and dark. Doorless is that house, and dark it is within. -There thou art fast detained, and Death holds the key. Loathly is that -earth-house, and grim to dwell in. There thou shalt dwell, and worms -shall share thee. Thus thou art laid, and leavest thy friends. Thou hast -no friend that will come to thee, who will ever inquire how that house -liketh thee, who shall ever open for thee the door, and seek thee, for -soon thou becomest loathly and hateful to look upon."<a name="NoteRef_74_74" id="NoteRef_74_74"></a><a href="#Note_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Has Jeremy Taylor a more gloomy picture? The two religious poetries, -Christian and pagan, are so like, that one might mingle their -incongruities, images, and legends. In Beowulf, altogether pagan, the -Deity appears as Odin, more mighty and serene, and differs from the -other only as a peaceful Bretwalda<a name="NoteRef_75_1" id="NoteRef_75_1"></a><a href="#Note_75_1" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> differs from an adventurous and -heroic bandit-chief. The Scandinavian monsters, Jötuns, enemies of the -Æsir,<a name="NoteRef_76_1" id="NoteRef_76_1"></a><a href="#Note_76_1" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> have not vanished; but they descend from Cain, and the giants -drowned by the flood.<a name="NoteRef_77_77" id="NoteRef_77_77"></a><a href="#Note_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> Their new hell is nearly the ancient -Nástrand,<a name="NoteRef_78_1" id="NoteRef_78_1"></a><a href="#Note_78_1" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> "a dwelling deadly cold, full of bloody eagles and pale -adders"; and the dreadful last day of judgment, when all will crumble -into dust, and make way for a purer world, resembles the final -destruction of Edda, that "twilight of the gods," which will end in a -victorious regeneration, an everlasting joy "under a fairer sun."</p> - -<p>By this natural conformity they were able to make their religious poems -indeed poems. Power in spiritual productions arises only from the -sincerity of personal and original sentiment. If they can relate -religious tragedies, it is because their soul was tragic, and in a -degree biblical. They introduce into <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> their verses, like the old prophets -of Israel, their fierce vehemence, their murderous hatreds, their -fanaticism, all the shudderings of their flesh and blood. One of them, -whose poem is mutilated, has related the history of Judith—with what -inspiration we shall see. It needed a barbarian to display in such -strong light excesses, tumult, murder, vengeance, and combat.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Then was Holofernes exhilarated with wine; in the halls of his guests -he laughed and shouted, he roared and dinned. Then might the children of -men afar off hear how the stern one stormed and clamored, animated and -elated with wine. He admonished amply that they should bear it well to -those sitting on the bench. So was the wicked one over all the day, the -lord and his men, drunk with wine, the stern dispenser of wealth; till -that they swimming lay over drunk, all his nobility, as they were -death-slain."<a name="NoteRef_79_79" id="NoteRef_79_79"></a><a href="#Note_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The night having arrived, he commands them to bring into his tent "the -illustrious virgin"; then, going to visit her, he falls drunk on his -bed. The moment was come for "the maid of the Creator, the holy woman."</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"She took the heathen man fast by his hair; she drew him by his limbs -towards her disgracefully; and the mischiefful odious man at her -pleasure laid; so as the wretch she might the easiest well command. She -with the twisted locks struck the hateful enemy, meditating hate, with -the red sword, till she had half cut off his neck; so that he lay in a -swoon, drunk and mortally wounded. He was not then dead, not entirely -lifeless. She struck then earnest, the woman illustrious in strength, -another time the heathen hound, till that his head rolled forth upon the -floor. The foul one lay without a coffer; backward his spirit turned -under the abyss, and there was plunged below, with sulphur fastened; -forever afterward wounded by worms. Bound in torments, hard imprisoned, -in hell he burns. After his course he need not hope, with darkness -overwhelmed, that he may escape from that mansion of worms; but there he -shall remain; ever and ever, without end, henceforth in that -cavern-house, void of the joys of hope."<a name="NoteRef_80_1" id="NoteRef_80_1"></a><a href="#Note_80_1" class="fnanchor">[80]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Had anyone ever heard a sterner accent of satisfied hate? When Clovis -listened to the Passion play, he cried, "Why was I not there with my -Franks!" So here the old warrior instinct swelled into flame over the -Hebrew wars. As soon as Judith returned,</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Men under helms (went out) from the holy city at the dawn itself. They -dinned shields; men roared loudly. At this rejoiced the lank <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> wolf in the -wood, and the wan raven, the fowl greedy of slaughter, both from the -west, that the sons of men for them should have thought to prepare their -fill on corpses. And to them flew in their paths the active devourer, -the eagle, hoary in his feathers. The willowed kite, with his horned -beak, sang the song of Hilda. The noble warriors proceeded, they in -mail, to the battle, furnished with shields, with swelling banners. ... -They then speedily let fly forth showers of arrows, the serpents of -Hilda, from their horn bows; the spears on the ground hard stormed. Loud -raged the plunderers of battle; they sent their darts into the throng of -the chiefs.... They that awhile before the reproach of the foreigners, -the taunts of the heathen endured."<a name="NoteRef_81_81" id="NoteRef_81_81"></a><a href="#Note_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Amongst all these unknown poets<a name="NoteRef_82_1" id="NoteRef_82_1"></a><a href="#Note_82_1" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> there is one whose name we know, -Cædmon, perhaps the old Cædmon who wrote the first hymn; like him, at -all events, who, paraphrasing the Bible with a barbarian's vigor and -sublimity, has shown the grandeur and fury of the sentiment with which -the men of these times entered into their new religion. He also sings -when he speaks; when he mentions the ark, it is with a profusion of -poetic names, "the floating house, the greatest of floating chambers, -the wooden fortress, the moving roof, the cavern, the great sea-chest," -and many more. Every time he thinks of it, he sees it with his mind, -like a quick luminous vision, and each time under a new aspect, now -undulating on the muddy waves, between two ridges of foam, now casting -over the water its enormous shadow, black and high like a castle, "now -enclosing in its cavernous sides" the endless swarm of caged beasts. -Like the others, he wrestles with God in his heart; triumphs like a -warrior over destruction and victory; and in relating the death of -Pharaoh, can hardly speak from anger, or see, because the blood mounts -to his eyes.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The folk was affrighted, the flood-dread seized on their sad souls; -ocean wailed with death, the mountain heights were with blood -be-steamed, the sea foamed gore, crying was in the waves, the water full -of weapons, a death-mist rose; the Egyptians were turned back; trembling -they fled, they felt fear: would that host gladly find their homes; -their vaunt grew sadder: against them, as a cloud, rose the fell rolling -of the waves; there came not any of that host to home, but from behind -enclosed them fate with the wave. Where ways ere lay sea raged. Their -might was merged, the streams stood, the storm rose high to heaven; the -loudest army-cry the hostile uttered; the air above was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> thickened with -dying voices.... Ocean raged, drew itself up on high, the storms rose, -the corpses rolled."<a name="NoteRef_83_83" id="NoteRef_83_83"></a><a href="#Note_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Is the song of the Exodus more abrupt, more vehement, or more savage? -These men can speak of the creation like the Bible, because they speak -of destruction like the Bible. They have only to look into their own -hearts in order to discover an emotion sufficiently strong to raise -their souls to the height of their Creator. This emotion existed already -in their pagan legends; and Cædmon, in order to recount the origin of -things, has only to turn to the ancient dreams, such as have been -preserved in the prophecies of the Edda.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"There had not here as yet, save cavern-shade, aught been; but this wide -abyss stood deep and dim, strange to its Lord, idle and useless; on -which looked with his eyes the King firm of mind, and beheld these -places void of joys; saw the dark cloud lower in eternal night, swart -under heaven, dark and waste, until this worldly creation through the -word existed of the Glory-King.... The earth as yet was not green with -grass; ocean cover'd, swart in eternal night, far and wide the dusky -ways."<a name="NoteRef_84_1" id="NoteRef_84_1"></a><a href="#Note_84_1" class="fnanchor">[84]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this manner will Milton hereafter speak, the descendant of the Hebrew -seers, last of the Scandinavian seers, but assisted in the development -of his thought by all the resources of Latin culture and civilization. -And yet he will add nothing to the primitive sentiment. Religious -instinct is not acquired; it belongs to the blood, and is inherited with -it. So it is with other instincts; pride in the first place, indomitable -self-conscious energy, which sets man in opposition to all domination, -and inures him against all pain. Milton's Satan exists already in -Cædmon's, as the picture exists in the sketch; because both have their -model in the race; and Caedmon found his originals in the northern -warriors, as Milton did in the Puritans:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Why shall I for his favor serve, bend to him in such vassalage? I may -be a god as he. Stand by me, strong associates, who will not fail me in -the strife. Heroes stern of mood, they have chosen me for chief, -renowned warriors! with such may one devise counsel, with such capture -his adherents; they are my zealous friends, faithful in their thoughts; -I may be their chieftain, sway in this realm; thus to me it seemeth not -right that I in aught need cringe to God for any good; I will no longer -be his vassal."<a name="NoteRef_85_1" id="NoteRef_85_1"></a><a href="#Note_85_1" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He is overcome: shall he be subdued? He is cast into the place "where -torment they suffer, burning heat intense, in midst of hell, fire, and -broad flames; so also the bitter seeks smoke and darkness"; will he -repent? At first he is astonished, he despairs; but it is a hero's -despair.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"This narrow place is most unlike that other that we ere knew,<a name="NoteRef_86_86" id="NoteRef_86_86"></a><a href="#Note_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> high -in heaven's kingdom, which my master bestow'd on me.... Oh, had I power -of my hands, and might one season be without, be one winter's space, -then with this host I—But around me lie iron bonds, presseth this cord -of chain: I am powerless! me have so hard the clasps of hell, so firmly -grasped! Here is a vast fire above and underneath, never did I see a -loathlier landskip; the flame abateth not, hot over hell. Me hath the -clasping of these rings, this hard-polish'd band, impeded in my course, -debarr'd me from my way; my feet are bound, my hands manacled,... so -that with aught I cannot from these limb-bonds escape."<a name="NoteRef_87_87" id="NoteRef_87_87"></a><a href="#Note_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>As there is nothing to be done against God, it is His new creature, man, -whom he must attack. To him who has lost everything, vengeance is left; -and if the conquered can enjoy this, he will find himself happy; "he -will sleep softly, even under his chains."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Primitive_Saxon_Authors">SECTION VII.—Primitive Saxon Authors</a></h4> - - -<p>Here the foreign culture ceased. Beyond Christianity it could not graft -upon this barbarous stock any fruitful or living branch. All the -circumstances which elsewhere mellowed the wild sap, failed here. The -Saxons found Britain abandoned by the Romans; they had not yielded, like -their brothers on the Continent, to the ascendancy of a superior -civilization; they had not become mingled with the inhabitants of the -land; they had always treated them like enemies or slaves, pursuing like -wolves those who escaped to the mountains of the west, treating like -beasts of burden those whom they had conquered with the land. While the -Germans of Gaul, Italy, and Spain became Romans, the Saxons retained -their language, their genius and manners, and created in Britain a -Germany outside of Germany. A hundred and fifty years after the Saxon -invasion, the introduction of Christianity and the dawn of security -attained by a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> society inclining to peace, gave birth to a kind of -literature; and we meet with the venerable Bede, and later on, Alcuin, -John Scotus Erigena, and some others, commentators, translators, -teachers of barbarians, who tried not to originate but to compile, to -pick out and explain from the great Greek and Latin encyclopædia -something which might suit the men of their time. But the wars with the -Danes came and crushed this humble plant, which, if left to itself, -would have come to nothing.<a name="NoteRef_88_88" id="NoteRef_88_88"></a><a href="#Note_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> When Alfred<a name="NoteRef_89_89" id="NoteRef_89_89"></a><a href="#Note_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> the Deliverer became -king, "there were very few ecclesiastics," he says, "on this side of the -Humber, who could understand in English their own Latin prayers, or -translate any Latin writing into English. On the other side of the -Humber I think there were scarce any; there were so few that, in truth, -I cannot remember a single man south of the Thames, when I took the -kingdom, who was capable of it." He tried, like Charlemagne, to instruct -his people, and turned into Saxon for their use several works, above all -some moral books, as the "de Consolatione" of Boethius; but this very -translation bears witness to the barbarism of his audience. He adapts -the text in order to bring it down to their intelligence; the pretty -verses of Boethius, somewhat pretentious, labored, elegant, crowded with -classical allusions of a refined and compact style worthy of Seneca, -become an artless, long-drawn-out and yet desultory prose, like a -nurse's fairy tale, explaining everything, recommencing and breaking off -its phrases, making ten turns about a single detail; so low was it -necessary to stoop to the level of this new intelligence, which had -never thought or known anything. Here follows the Latin of Boethius, so -affected, so pretty, with the English translation affixed:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Quondam funera conjugis</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vates Threicius gemens,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Postquam flebilibus modis</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Silvas currere, mobiles</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Amnes stare coegerat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Junxitque intrepidum latus</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sævis cerva leonibus,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nec visum timuit lepus</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Jam cantu placidum canem;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cum flagrantior intima</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fervor pectoris ureret,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nec qui cuncta subegerant</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mulcerent dominum modi;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Immites superos querens,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Infernas adiit domos.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Illic blanda sonantibus</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Chordis carmina temperans,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quidquid praecipuis Deæ</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Matris fontibus hauserat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quod luctus dabat impotens,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quod luctum geminans amor,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Deflet Tartara commovens,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Et dulci veniam prece</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Umbrarum dominos rogat.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stupet tergeminus novo</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Captus carmine janitor;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quæ sontes agitant metu</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ultrices scelerum Deæ</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Jam mœstæ lacrymis madent.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Non Ixionium caput</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Velox præcipitat rota,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Et longa site perditus</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Spernit flumina Tantalus.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vultur dum satur est modis</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Non traxit Tityi jecur.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tandem, vincimur, arbiter</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Umbrarum miserans ait.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Donemus comitem viro,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Emptam carmine conjugem.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sed lex dona coerceat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nec, dum Tartara liquerit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fas sit lumina flectere.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quis legem det amantibus!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Major lex fit amor sibi.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heu! noctis prope terminos</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Orpheus Eurydicem suam</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vidit, perdidit, occidit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vos hæc fabula respicit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quicunque in superum diem</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mentem ducere quæritis.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nam qui tartareum in specus</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Victus lumina flexerit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quidquid præcipuum trahit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Perdit, dum videt inferos."</span></p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 30%;">—<i>Book III. Metre 12.</i></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The English translation follows:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"It happened formerly that there was a harper in the country called -Thrace, which was in Greece. The harper was inconceivably good. His name -was Orpheus. He had a very excellent wife, called Eurydice. Then began -men to say concerning the harper, that he could harp so that the wood -moved, and the stones stirred themselves at the sound, and wild beasts -would run thereto, and stand as if they were tame; so still, that though -men or hounds pursued them, they shunned them not. Then said they, that -the harper's wife should die, and her soul should be led to hell. Then -should the harper become so sorrowful that he could not remain among the -men, but frequented the wood, and sat on the mountains, both day and -night, weeping and harping, so that the woods shook, and the rivers -stood still, and no hart shunned any lion, nor hare any hound; nor did -cattle know any hatred, or any fear of others, for the pleasure of the -sound. Then it seemed to the harper that nothing in this world pleased -him. Then thought he that he would seek the gods of hell, and endeavor -to allure them with his harp, and pray that they would give him back his -wife. When he came thither, then should there come towards him the dog -of hell, whose name was Cerberus—he should have three heads—and began -to wag his tail, and play with him for his harping. Then was there also -a very horrible gatekeeper, whose name should be Charon. He had also -three heads, and he was very old. Then began the harper to beseech him -that he would protect him while he was there, and bring him thence again -safe. Then did he promise that to him, because he was desirous of the -unaccustomed sound. Then went he further until he met the fierce -goddesses, whom the common people call Parcæ, of whom they say, that -they know no respect for any man, but punish every man according to his -deeds; and of whom they say, that they control every man's fortune. Then -began he to implore their mercy. Then began they to weep with him. Then -went he farther, and all the inhabitants of hell ran towards him, and -led him to their king: and all began to speak with him, and to pray that -which he prayed. And the restless wheel which Ixion, the king of the -Lapithæ, was bound to for his guilt, that stood still for his harping. -And Tantalus the king, who in this world was immoderately greedy, and -whom that same vice of greediness followed there, he became quiet. And -the vulture should cease, so that he tore not the liver of Tityus the -king, which before therewith tormented him. And all the punishments of -the inhabitants of hell were suspended, whilst he harped before the -king. When he long and long had harped, then spoke the king of the -inhabitants of hell, and said, Let us give the man his wife, for he has -earned her by his harping. He then commanded him that he should well -observe that he never looked backwards after he departed hence; and -said, if he looked backwards, that he should lose the woman. But men can -with great difficulty, if at all, restrain love! Wellaway! What! Orpheus -then led his wife with him till he came to the boundary of light and -darkness. Then went his wife after him. When he came forth into the -light, then looked <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> be behind his back towards the woman. Then was she -immediately lost to him. This fable teaches every man who desires to fly -the darkness of hell, and to come to the light of the true good, that he -look not about him to his old vices, so that he practise them again as -fully as he did before. For whosoever with full will turns his mind to -the vices which he had before forsaken, and practises them, and they -then fully please him, and he never thinks of forsaking them; then loses -he all his former good unless he again amend it."<a name="NoteRef_90_90" id="NoteRef_90_90"></a><a href="#Note_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>A man speaks thus when he wishes to impress upon the mind of his hearers -an idea which is not clear to them. Boethius had for his audience -senators, men of culture, who understood as well as we the slightest -mythological allusion. Alfred is obliged to take them up and develop -them, like a father or a master, who draws his little boy between his -knees, and relates to him names, qualities, crimes and their -punishments, which the Latin only hints at. But the ignorance is such -that the teacher himself needs correction. He takes the Parcæ for the -Erinyes, and gives Charon three heads like Cerberus. There is no -adornment in his version; no delicacy as in the original. Alfred has -hard work to make himself understood. What, for instance, becomes of the -noble Platonic moral, the apt interpretation after the style of -Iamblichus and Porphyry? It is altogether dulled. He has to call -everything by its name, and turn the eyes of his people to tangible and -visible things. It is a sermon suited to his audience of thanes; the -Danes whom he had converted by the sword needed a clear moral. If he had -translated for them exactly the last words of Boethius, they would have -opened wide their big stupid eyes and fallen asleep.</p> - -<p>For the whole talent of an uncultivated mind lies in the force and -oneness of its sensations. Beyond that it is powerless. The art of -thinking and reasoning lies above it. These men lost all genius when -they lost their fever-heat. They lisped awkwardly and heavily dry -chronicles, a sort of historical almanacs. You might think them -peasants, who, returning from their toil, came and scribbled with chalk -on a smoky table the date of a year of scarcity, the price of corn, the -changes in the weather, a death. Even so, side by side with the meagre -Bible chronicles, which set down the successions of kings, and of Jewish -massacres, are exhibited the exaltation of the psalms and the transports -of prophecy. The same lyric poet can be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> alternately a brute and a -genius, because his genius comes and goes like a disease, and instead of -having it he simply is ruled by it.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"AD. 611. This year Cynegils succeeded to the government in Wessex, and -held it one-and-thirty winters. Cynegils was the son of Ceol, Ceol of -Cutha, Cutha of Cynric.</p> - -<p>"614. This year Cynegils and Cnichelm fought at Bampton, and slew two -thousand and forty-six of the Welsh.</p> - -<p>"678. This year appeared the comet-star in August, and shone every -morning during three months like a sunbeam. Bishop Wilfrid being driven -from his bishopric by King Everth, two bishops were consecrated in his -stead.</p> - -<p>"901. This year died Alfred, the son of Ethelwulf, six nights before the -mass of All Saints. He was king over all the English nation, except that -part that was under the power of the Danes. He held the government one -year and a half less than thirty winters; and then Edward his son took -to the government.</p> - -<p>"902. This year there was the great fight at the Holme, between the men -of Kent and the Danes.</p> - -<p>"1077. This year were reconciled the King of the Franks, and William, -King of England. But it was continued only a little while. This year was -London burned, one night before the Assumption of St. Mary, so terribly -as it never was before since it was built."<a name="NoteRef_91_1" id="NoteRef_91_1"></a><a href="#Note_91_1" class="fnanchor">[91]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>It is thus the poor monks speak, with monotonous dryness, who, after -Alfred's time, gather up and take note of great visible events; sparsely -scattered we find a few moral reflections, a passionate emotion, nothing -more. In the tenth century we see King Edgar give a manor to a bishop, -on condition that he will put into Saxon the monastic regulation written -in Latin by Saint Benedict. Alfred himself was almost the last man of -culture; he, like Charlemagne, became so only by dint of determination -and patience. In vain the great spirits of this age endeavor to link -themselves to the relics of the fine, ancient civilization, and to raise -themselves above the chaotic and muddy ignorance in which the others -flounder. They rise almost alone, and on their death the rest sink again -into the mire. It is the human beast that remains master; the mind -cannot find a place amidst the outbursts and the desires of the flesh, -gluttony and brute force. Even in the little circle where he moves, his -labor comes to nought. The model which he proposed to himself oppresses -and enchains him in a cramping imitation; he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> aspires but to be a good -copyist; he produces a gathering of centos which he calls Latin verses; -he applies himself to the discovery of expressions, sanctioned by good -models; he succeeds only in elaborating an emphatic, spoiled Latin, -bristling with incongruities. In place of ideas, the most profound -amongst them serve up the defunct doctrines of defunct authors. They -compile religious manuals and philosophical manuals from the Fathers. -Erigena, the most learned, goes to the extent of reproducing the old -complicated dreams of Alexandrian metaphysics. How far these -speculations and reminiscences soar above the barbarous crowd which -howls and bustles in the depths below, no words can express. There was a -certain king of Kent in the seventh century who could not write. Imagine -bachelors of theology discussing before an audience of wagoners, not -Parisian wagoners, but such as survive in Auvergne or in the Vosges. -Among these clerks, who think like studious scholars in accordance with -their favorite authors, and are doubly separated from the world as -scholars and monks, Alfred alone, by his position as a layman and a -practical man, descends in his Saxon translations and his Saxon verses -to the common level; and we have seen that his effort, like that of -Charlemagne, was fruitless. There was an impassable wall between the old -learned literature and the present chaotic barbarism. Incapable, yet -compelled, to fit into the ancient mould, they gave it a twist. Unable -to reproduce ideas, they reproduced a metre. They tried to eclipse their -rivals in versification by the refinement of their composition, and the -prestige of a difficulty overcome. So, in our own colleges, the good -scholars imitate the clever divisions and symmetry of Claudian rather -than the ease and variety of Vergil. They put their feet in irons, and -showed their smartness by running in shackles; they weighted themselves -with rules of modern rhyme and rules of ancient metre; they added the -necessity of beginning each verse with the same letter that began the -last. A few, like Adhelm, wrote square acrostics, in which the first -line, repeated at the end, was found also to the left and right of the -piece. Thus made up of the first and last letters of each verse, it -forms a border to the whole piece, and the morsel of verse is like a -piece of tapestry. Strange literary tricks, which changed the poet into -an artisan. They bear witness to the difficulties which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> then impeded -culture and nature, and spoiled at once the Latin form and the Saxon -genius.</p> - -<p>Beyond this barrier, which drew an impassable line between civilization -and barbarism, there was another, no less impassable, between the Latin -and Saxon genius. The strong German imagination, in which glowing and -obscure visions suddenly meet and abruptly overflow, was in contrast -with the reasoning spirit, in which ideas gather and are developed only -in a regular order; so that if the barbarian, in his classical attempts, -retained any part of his primitive instincts, he succeeded only in -producing a grotesque and frightful monster. One of them, this very -Adhelm, a relative of King Ina, who sang on the town-bridge profane and -sacred hymns alternately, too much imbued with Saxon poesy, simply to -imitate the antique models, adorned his Latin prose and verse with all -the "English magnificence."<a name="NoteRef_92_1" id="NoteRef_92_1"></a><a href="#Note_92_1" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> You might compare him to a barbarian who -seizes a flute from the skilled hands of a player of Augustus's court, -in order to blow on it with inflated lungs, as if it were the bellowing -horn of an aurochs. The sober speech of the Roman orators and senators -becomes in his hands full of exaggerated and incoherent images; he -violently connects words, uniting them in a sudden and extravagant -manner; he heaps up his colors, and utters extraordinary and -unintelligible nonsense, like that of the later Skalds; in short, he is -a latinized Skald, dragging into his new tongue the ornaments of -Scandinavian poetry, such as alliteration, by dint of which he -congregates in one of his epistles fifteen consecutive words, all -beginning with the same letter; and in order to make up his fifteen, he -introduces a barbarous Græcism amongst the Latin words.<a name="NoteRef_93_1" id="NoteRef_93_1"></a><a href="#Note_93_1" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> Amongst the -others, the writers of legends, you will meet many times with -deformation of Latin, distorted by the outburst of a too vivid -imagination; it breaks out even in their scholastic and scientific -writing. Here is part of a dialogue between Alcuin and prince Pepin, a -son of Charlemagne, and he uses like formulas the little poetic and bold -phrases which abound in the national poetry. "What is winter? the -banishment of summer. What is spring? the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> painter of the earth. What is -the year? the world's chariot. What is the sun? the splendor of the -world, the beauty of heaven, the grace of nature, the honor of day, the -distributor of the hours. What is the sea? the path of audacity, the -boundary of the earth, the receptacle of the rivers, the fountain of -showers." More, he ends his instructions with enigmas, in the spirit of -the Skalds, such as we still find in the old manuscripts with the -barbarian songs. It was the last feature of the national genius, which, -when it labors to understand a matter, neglects dry, clear, consecutive -deduction, to employ grotesque, remote, oft-repeated imagery, and -replaces analysis by intuition.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Virility_of_the_Saxon_Race">SECTION VIII.—Virility of the Saxon Race</a></h4> - - -<p>Such was this race, the last born of the sister races, which, in the -decay of the other two, the Latin and the Greek, brings to the world a -new civilization, with a new character and genius. Inferior to these in -many respects, it surpasses them in not a few. Amidst the woods and mire -and snows, under a sad, inclement sky, gross instincts have gained the -day during this long barbarism. The German has not acquired gay humor, -unreserved facility, the feeling for harmonious beauty; his great -phlegmatic body continues savage and stiff, greedy and brutal; his rude -and unpliable mind is still inclined to savagery, and restive under -culture. Dull and congealed, his ideas cannot expand with facility and -freedom, with a natural sequence and an instinctive regularity. But this -spirit, void of the sentiment of the beautiful, is all the more apt for -the sentiment of the true. The deep and incisive impression which he -receives from contact with objects, and which as yet he can only express -by a cry, will afterwards liberate him from the Latin rhetoric, and will -vent itself on things rather than on words. Moreover, under the -constraint of climate and solitude, by the habit of resistance and -effort, his ideal is changed. Manly and moral instincts have gained the -empire over him; and amongst them the need of independence, the -disposition for serious and strict manners, the inclination for devotion -and veneration, the worship of heroism. Here are the foundations and the -elements of a civilization, slower but sounder, less careful of what is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -agreeable and elegant, more based on justice and truth.<a name="NoteRef_94_1" id="NoteRef_94_1"></a><a href="#Note_94_1" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> Hitherto at -least the race is intact, intact in its primitive coarseness; the Roman -cultivation could neither develop nor deform it. If Christianity took -root, it was owing to natural affinities, but it produced no change in -the native genius. Now approaches a new conquest, which is to bring this -time men, as well as ideas. The Saxons, meanwhile, after the wont of -German races, vigorous and fertile, have within the past six centuries -multiplied enormously. They were now about two millions, and the Norman -army numbered sixty thousand.<a name="NoteRef_95_95" id="NoteRef_95_95"></a><a href="#Note_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> In vain these Normans become -transformed, gallicized; by their origin, and substantially in -themselves they are still the relatives of those whom they conquered. In -vain they imported their manners and their poesy, and introduced into -the language a third part of its words; this language continues -altogether German in element and in substance.<a name="NoteRef_96_96" id="NoteRef_96_96"></a><a href="#Note_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> Though the grammar -changed, it changed integrally, by an internal action, in the same sense -as its continental cognates. At the end of three hundred years the -conquerors themselves were conquered; their speech became English; and -owing to frequent intermarriage, the English blood ended by gaining the -predominance over the Norman blood in their veins. The race finally -remains Saxon. If the old poetic genius disappears after the Conquest, -it is as a river disappears, and flows for a while underground. In five -centuries it will emerge once more. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_8_8" id="Note_8_8"></a><a href="#NoteRef_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>Malte-Brun, IV. 398. Not counting bays, gulfs, and canals, -the sixteenth part of the country is covered by water. The dialect -of Jutland bears still a great resemblance to English.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_9_9" id="Note_9_9"></a><a href="#NoteRef_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>See Ruysdaal's painting in Mr. Baring's collection. -Of the three Saxon islands, North Strandt, Busen, and Heligoland, -North Strandt was inundated by the sea in 1300, 1483, 1532, 1615, -and almost destroyed in 1634. Busen is a level plain, beaten by -storms, which it has been found necessary to surround by a dyke. -Heligoland was laid waste by the sea in 800, 1300, 1500, 1649, the -last time so violently that only a portion of it remained.—Turner, -"History of Anglo-Saxons," 1852, I. 97.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_10_10" id="Note_10_10"></a><a href="#NoteRef_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>Heine, "The North Sea," translated by Charles G. -Leland. See Tacitus, "Annals," book 2, for the impressions of the -Romans, "truculentia cœli."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_11_1" id="Note_11_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_11_1"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Watten, Platen, Sande, Düneninseln.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_12_1" id="Note_12_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_12_1"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>Nine or ten miles out near Heligoland, are the -nearest soundings of about fifty fathoms.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_13_13" id="Note_13_13"></a><a href="#NoteRef_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>Palgrave, "Saxon Commonwealth," vol. I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_14_1" id="Note_14_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_14_1"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>"Notes of a Journey in England."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_15_15" id="Note_15_15"></a><a href="#NoteRef_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>Léonce de Lavergne, "De l'Agriculture anglaise." -"The soil is much worse than that of France."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_16_1" id="Note_16_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_16_1"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>There are at least four rivers in England passing -by the name of "Ouse," which is only another form of "ooze."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_17_1" id="Note_17_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_17_1"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>Tacitus, "De moribus Germanorum," passim: Diem -noctemque continuare potando, nulli proborum.—Sera juvenum -Venus.—Totos dies juxta focum atque ignem agunt. Dargaud, "Voyage -en Danemark. They take six meals per day, the first at five -o'clock in the morning. One should see the faces and meals at -Hamburg and at Amsterdam."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_18_18" id="Note_18_18"></a><a href="#NoteRef_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>Bede, v. 10. Sidonius, VIII. 6. Lingard, "History -of England," 1854, I. chap. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_19_1" id="Note_19_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_19_1"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>Zozimos, III. 147. Amm. Marcellinus, XXVIII. 526.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_20_20" id="Note_20_20"></a><a href="#NoteRef_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>Aug. Thierry, "Hist. S. Edmundi," VI. 441. See -Ynglingasaga, and especially Egil's Saga.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_21_21" id="Note_21_21"></a><a href="#NoteRef_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>Lingard, "History of England," I. 164, says, however, -"Every tenth man out of the six hundred received his liberty, -and of the rest a few were selected for slavery."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_22_1" id="Note_22_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_22_1"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>Franks, Frisians, Saxons, Danes, up the gaps that -exist in the history of Norwegians, Icelanders are one and the -same people. Their language, laws, religion, poetry, differ -but little. The more northern continue longest in their primitive -manners. Germany in the fourth and fifth centuries, Denmark and -Norway in the seventh and eighth. Iceland in the tenth and eleventh -centuries, present the same condition, and the muniments of each -country will fill up the gaps that exist in the history of the others.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_23_1" id="Note_23_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_23_1"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>Tacitus, De moribus Germanotum, XXII: Gens nec -astuta nec callida.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_24_24" id="Note_24_24"></a><a href="#NoteRef_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a>William of Malmesbury. Henry of Huntingdon, VI. 365.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_25_1" id="Note_25_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_25_1"><span class="label">[25]</span></a>Tacitus, "De moribus Germanorum," XXII, XXIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_26_26" id="Note_26_26"></a><a href="#NoteRef_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a>Kemble, "Saxons in England," 1849, I. 70, II. 184. -"The Acts of an Anglo-Saxon parliament are a series of treaties -of peace between all the associations which make up the State; -a continual revision and renewal of the alliances offensive and -defensive of all the free men. They are universally mutual contracts -for the maintenance of the frid or peace."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_27_1" id="Note_27_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_27_1"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>A large district; the word is still existing in -German, as Rheingau, Breiasgau.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_28_28" id="Note_28_28"></a><a href="#NoteRef_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a>Turner, "History of the Anglo-Saxons," II. 440, -Laws of Ina.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_29_1" id="Note_29_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_29_1"><span class="label">[29]</span></a>Such a band consisted of thirty-five men or more.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_30_30" id="Note_30_30"></a><a href="#NoteRef_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a>Milton's expression. Lingard's History, I. chap. 3. -This history bears much resemblance to that of the Franks in Gaul. -See Gregory of Tours. The Saxons, like the Franks, somewhat softened, -but rather degenerated, were pillaged and massacred by those of their -Northern brothers who still remained in a savage state.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_31_1" id="Note_31_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_31_1"><span class="label">[31]</span></a>Vita S. Dunstani, "Anglia Sacra," II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_32_32" id="Note_32_32"></a><a href="#NoteRef_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a>It is amusing to compare the story of Edwy and Elgiva -in Turner, II. 216, etc., and then Lingard, I. 132, etc. The -first accuses Dunstan, the other defends him.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_33_1" id="Note_33_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_33_1"><span class="label">[33]</span></a>"Life of Bishop Wolstan."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_34_34" id="Note_34_34"></a><a href="#NoteRef_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a>Tantæ sævitiæ erant fratres illi quod, cum alicujus -nitidam villam conspicerent, dominatorem de nocte interfici juberent, -totamque progeniem illius possessionemque defuncti obtinerent. -Turner, III. 27. Henry of Huntingdon, VI. 367.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_35_35" id="Note_35_35"></a><a href="#NoteRef_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a>"Pene gigas statura," says the chronicler. Henry of -Huntingdon, VI. 367. Kemble, I. 393. Turner, II. 318.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_36_1" id="Note_36_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_36_1"><span class="label">[36]</span></a>Grimm, "Mythology," 53, Preface.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_37_1" id="Note_37_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_37_1"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>Tacitus, XX. XXIII., XI., XII. et passim. We may -still see the traces of this taste in English dwellings.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_38_1" id="Note_38_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_38_1"><span class="label">[38]</span></a>Ibid. XIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_39_39" id="Note_39_39"></a><a href="#NoteRef_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a>Tacitus, XIX., VIII., XVI. Kemble, I. 232.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_40_1" id="Note_40_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_40_1"><span class="label">[40]</span></a>Tacitus, XIV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_41_1" id="Note_41_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_41_1"><span class="label">[41]</span></a>"In omni domo, nudi et sordidi... Plus per otium -transigunt, dediti somno, ciboque, otos dies juxta focum atque -ignem agunt."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_42_1" id="Note_42_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_42_1"><span class="label">[42]</span></a>Grimm, 53, Preface. Tacitus, X.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_43_1" id="Note_43_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_43_1"><span class="label">[43]</span></a>"Deorum nominibus appellant secretum illud, quod -sola reverentia vident." Later on, at Upsala for instance, they -had images (Adam of Bremen, "Historia Ecclesiastica"). Wuotan (Odin), -signifies etymologically the All-Powerful, him who penetrates -and circulates through everything (Grimm, "Mythology").</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_44_1" id="Note_44_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_44_1"><span class="label">[44]</span></a>"Sæmundar Edda, Snorra Edda," ed. Copenhagen, three -vols., passim. Mr. Bergmann has translated several of these poems -into French, which Mr. Taine quotes. The translator has generally -made use of the edition of Mr. Thorpe, London, 1866.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_45_1" id="Note_45_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_45_1"><span class="label">[45]</span></a>Hel, the goddess of death, born of Loki and Angrboda.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_46_46" id="Note_46_46"></a><a href="#NoteRef_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a>Thorpe, "The Edda of Sæmund, the Vala's Prophecy," -str. 48-56, p. 9 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_47_1" id="Note_47_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_47_1"><span class="label">[47]</span></a>"Fafnismâl Edda." This epic is common to the Northern -races, as is the Iliad to the Greek populations, and is found almost -entire in Germany in the Nibelungen Lied. The translator has also -used Magnusson and Morris's poetical version of the "Völsunga -Saga," and certain songs of the "Elder Edda," London, 1870.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_48_48" id="Note_48_48"></a><a href="#NoteRef_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a>"Thorpe, The Edda of Sæmund, Third Lay of Sigurd -Fafnicide," str. 62-64, p. 83.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_49_1" id="Note_49_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_49_1"><span class="label">[49]</span></a>Magnusson and Morris, "Story of the Volsungs and -Nibelungs, Lamentation of Guaran," p. 118 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_50_50" id="Note_50_50"></a><a href="#NoteRef_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a>Thorpe, "The Edda of Sæmund, Lay of Atli," str. -21-27, p. 117.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_51_1" id="Note_51_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_51_1"><span class="label">[51]</span></a>Ibid., str. 38, p. 119.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_52_1" id="Note_52_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_52_1"><span class="label">[52]</span></a>This word signifies men who fought without a breastplate, -perhaps in shirts only; Scottice, "Baresarks."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_53_1" id="Note_53_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_53_1"><span class="label">[53]</span></a>See the "Life of Sweyn," of Hereward, etc., even up -to the time of the Conquest.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_54_1" id="Note_54_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_54_1"><span class="label">[54]</span></a>Beowulf, passim. Death of Byrhtnoth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_55_1" id="Note_55_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_55_1"><span class="label">[55]</span></a>"The Wanderer, the Exile's Song, Codex Exoniensis," -published by Thorpe.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_56_56" id="Note_56_56"></a><a href="#NoteRef_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a>Turner, "History of the Anglo-saxons", III. 63.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_57_1" id="Note_57_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_57_1"><span class="label">[57]</span></a>Alfred borrows his portrait from Boethius, but -almost entirely rewrites it.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_58_58" id="Note_58_58"></a><a href="#NoteRef_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a>Kemble thinks that the origin of this poem is very -ancient, perhaps contemporary with the invasion of the Angles -and Saxons, but that the version we possess is later than the -seventh century.—Kemble's "Beowulf," text and translation, 1833. -The characters are Danish.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_59_59" id="Note_59_59"></a><a href="#NoteRef_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a>Kemble's "Beowulf," XI. p. 32.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_60_1" id="Note_60_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_60_1"><span class="label">[60]</span></a>Ibid. XII. p. 34.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_61_1" id="Note_61_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_61_1"><span class="label">[61]</span></a>"Beowulf," XXII., XXIII. p. 62 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_62_1" id="Note_62_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_62_1"><span class="label">[62]</span></a>"Beowulf," XXXIII., XXXVI. p. 94 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_63_63" id="Note_63_63"></a><a href="#NoteRef_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a>Ibid, XXXVII., XXXVIII. p. 110 et passim. I have -throughout always used the very words of Kemble's translation.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_64_64" id="Note_64_64"></a><a href="#NoteRef_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a>Conybeare's "Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry," -1826, "Battle of Finsborough," p. 175. The complete collection of -Anglo-Saxon poetry has been published by M. Grein.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_65_65" id="Note_65_65"></a><a href="#NoteRef_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a>Turner, "History of Anglo-Saxons," III. book 9, -ch. I. p. 245.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_66_66" id="Note_66_66"></a><a href="#NoteRef_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a>The cleverest Anglo-Saxon scholars, Turner, Conybeare, -Thorpe, recognize this difficulty.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_67_67" id="Note_67_67"></a><a href="#NoteRef_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a>Turner, III. 231 et passim. The translations in French, -however literal, do injustice to the text; that language is too clear, -too logical. No Frenchman can understand this extraordinary phase of -intellect, except by taking a dictionary, and deciphering some pages -of Anglo-Saxon for a fortnight.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_68_68" id="Note_68_68"></a><a href="#NoteRef_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a>Turner remarks that the same idea expressed by King -Alfred, in prose and then in verse takes in the first case seven -words, in the second five.—"History of the Anglo-Saxons," III. 235.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_69_69" id="Note_69_69"></a><a href="#NoteRef_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a>596-625. Aug. Thierry, I. 81; Bede, XII. 2.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_70_1" id="Note_70_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_70_1"><span class="label">[70]</span></a>Jouffroy, "Problem of Human Destiny."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_71_71" id="Note_71_71"></a><a href="#NoteRef_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a>Michelet, preface to "La Renaissance"; Didron, -"Histoire de Dieu."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_72_72" id="Note_72_72"></a><a href="#NoteRef_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a>About 630. See "Codex Exoniensis," Thorpe.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_73_73" id="Note_73_73"></a><a href="#NoteRef_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a>Bede, IV. 24.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_74_74" id="Note_74_74"></a><a href="#NoteRef_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a>Conybeare's "Illustrations," p. 271.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_75_1" id="Note_75_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_75_1"><span class="label">[75]</span></a>Bretwalda was a species of warking, or temporary and -elective chief of all the Saxons.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_76_1" id="Note_76_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_76_1"><span class="label">[76]</span></a>The Æsir (sing. As) are the gods of the Scandinavian -nations, of whom Odin was the chief.—Tr.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_77_77" id="Note_77_77"></a><a href="#NoteRef_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a>Kemble, I. I. XII. In this chapter he has collected -many features which show the endurance of the ancient mythology.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_78_1" id="Note_78_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_78_1"><span class="label">[78]</span></a>Nástrand is the strand or shore of the dead.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_79_79" id="Note_79_79"></a><a href="#NoteRef_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a>Turner, "History of Anglo-Saxons," III. book 9, ch. 3, -p. 271.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_80_1" id="Note_80_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_80_1"><span class="label">[80]</span></a>Ibid. III. book o, ch. 3, p. 272.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_81_81" id="Note_81_81"></a><a href="#NoteRef_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a>Turner, "History of Anglo-Saxons," III. book 9, ch. 3, -p. 274.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_82_1" id="Note_82_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_82_1"><span class="label">[82]</span></a>Grein, "Bibliothek der Angelsæchsischen poesie."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_83_83" id="Note_83_83"></a><a href="#NoteRef_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a>Thorpe, "Cædmon," 1832, XLVII. p. 206.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_84_1" id="Note_84_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_84_1"><span class="label">[84]</span></a>Ibid. II. p. 7. A likeness exists between this song -and corresponding portions of the Edda.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_85_1" id="Note_85_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_85_1"><span class="label">[85]</span></a>Ibid. IV. p. 18.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_86_86" id="Note_86_86"></a><a href="#NoteRef_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a>This is Milton's opening also. (See "Paradise Lost," -book I. verse 242, etc.) One would think that he must have had some -knowledge of Cædmon from the translation of Junius.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_87_87" id="Note_87_87"></a><a href="#NoteRef_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a>Thorpe, "Cædmon," IV. p. 23.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_88_88" id="Note_88_88"></a><a href="#NoteRef_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a>They themselves feel their impotence and decrepitude. -Bede, dividing the history of the world into six periods, says that -the fifth, which stretches from the return out of Babylon to the -birth of Christ, is the senile period; the sixth is the present, -"ætas decrepita, totius morte sæculi consummanda."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_89_89" id="Note_89_89"></a><a href="#NoteRef_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a>Died in 901; Adhelm died 709, Bede died 735, Alcuin -lived under Charlemagne, Erigena under Charles the Bald (843-877).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_90_90" id="Note_90_90"></a><a href="#NoteRef_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a>Fox's "Alfred's Boethius," chap. 35, sec. 6, 1864.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_91_1" id="Note_91_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_91_1"><span class="label">[91]</span></a>All these extracts are taken from Ingram's "Saxon -Chronicle," 1823.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_92_1" id="Note_92_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_92_1"><span class="label">[92]</span></a>William of Malmesbury's expression.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_93_1" id="Note_93_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_93_1"><span class="label">[93]</span></a>Primitus (pantorum procerum prætorumque pio potissimum -paternoque præsertim privilegio) panegyricum poemataque passim -prosatori sub polo promulgantes, stridula vocum symphonia ac melodiæ -cantilenæque carmine modulaturi hymnizemus.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_94_1" id="Note_94_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_94_1"><span class="label">[94]</span></a>In Iceland, the country of the fiercest sea-kings, -crimes are unknown; prisons have been turned to other uses; -fines are the only punishment.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_95_95" id="Note_95_95"></a><a href="#NoteRef_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a>Following Doomsday Book, Mr. Turner reckons at -three hundred thousand the heads of families mentioned. If each -family consisted of five persons, that would make one million -five hundred thousand people. He adds five hundred thousand -for the four northern counties, for London and several large -towns, for the monks and provincial clergy not enumerated.... -We must accept these figures with caution. Still they agree -with those of Mackintosh, George Chalmers, and several others. -Many facts show that the Saxon population was very numerous, -and quite out of proportion to the Norman population.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_96_96" id="Note_96_96"></a><a href="#NoteRef_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a>Warton, "History of English Poetry," 1840, 3 vols., -Preface.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_SECOND_I">CHAPTER SECOND</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_Normans">The Normans</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Feudal_Man">SECTION I.—The Feudal Man</a></h4> - - -<p>A century and a half had passed on the Continent since, amid the -universal decay and dissolution, a new society had been formed, and new -men had risen up. Brave men had at length made a stand against the -Norsemen and the robbers. They had planted their feet in the soil, and -the moving chaos of the general subsidence had become fixed by the -effort of their great hearts and of their arms. At the mouths of the -rivers, in the defiles of the mountains, on the margin of the waste -borders, at all perilous passes, they had built their forts, each for -himself, each on his own land, each with his faithful band; and they had -lived like a scattered but watchful army, encamped and confederate in -their castles, sword in hand in front of the enemy. Beneath this -discipline a formidable people had been formed, fierce hearts in strong -bodies,<a name="NoteRef_97_1" id="NoteRef_97_1"></a><a href="#Note_97_1" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> intolerant of restraint, longing for violent deeds, born for -constant warfare because steeped in permanent warfare, heroes and -robbers, who, as an escape from their solitude, plunged into adventures, -and went, that they might conquer a country or win Paradise, to Sicily, -to Portugal, to Spain, to Palestine, to England.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Normans_and_Saxons_Contrasted">SECTION II.—Normans and Saxons Contrasted</a></h4> - - -<p>On September 27, 1066, at the mouth of the Somme, there was a great -sight to be seen; four hundred large sailing vessels, more than a -thousand transports, and sixty thousand men, were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> on the point of -embarking.<a name="NoteRef_98_98" id="NoteRef_98_98"></a><a href="#Note_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> The sun shone splendidly after long rain; trumpets -sounded, the cries of this armed multitude rose to heaven; as far as the -eye could see, on the shore, in the wide-spreading river, on the sea -which opens out thence broad and shining, masts and sails extended like -a forest; the enormous fleet set out wafted by the south wind.<a name="NoteRef_99_99" id="NoteRef_99_99"></a><a href="#Note_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a> The -people which it carried were said to have come from Norway, and they -might have been taken for kinsmen of the Saxons, with whom they were to -fight; but there were with them a multitude of adventurers, crowding -from all quarters, far and near, from north and south, from Maine and -Anjou, from Poitou and Brittany, from Ile-de-France and Flanders, from -Aquitaine and Burgundy;<a name="NoteRef_100_1" id="NoteRef_100_1"></a><a href="#Note_100_1" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> and, in short, the expedition itself was -French.</p> - -<p>How comes it that, having kept its name, it had changed its nature? and -what series of renovations had made a Latin out of a German people? The -reason is, that this people, when they came to Neustria, were neither a -national body, nor a pure race. They were but a band; and as such, -marrying the women of the country, they introduced foreign blood into -their children. They were a Scandinavian band, but swelled by all the -bold knaves and all the wretched desperadoes who wandered about the -conquered country;<a name="NoteRef_101_1" id="NoteRef_101_1"></a><a href="#Note_101_1" class="fnanchor">[101]</a> and as such they received foreign blood into -their veins. Moreover, if the nomadic band was mixed, the settled band -was much more so; and peace by its transfusions, like war by its -recruits, had changed the character of the primitive blood. When Rollo, -having divided the land amongst his followers, hung the thieves and -their abettors, people from every country gathered to him. Security, -good stern justice, were so rare, that they were enough to repeople a -land.<a name="NoteRef_102_1" id="NoteRef_102_1"></a><a href="#Note_102_1" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> He invited strangers, say the old writers, "and made one -people out of so many folk of different natures." This assemblage of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -barbarians, refugees, robbers, immigrants, spoke Romance or French so -quickly, that the second Duke, wishing to have his son taught Danish, -had to send him to Bayeux, where it was still spoken. The great masses -always form the race in the end, and generally the genius and language. -Thus this people, so transformed, quickly became polished; the composite -race showed itself of a ready genius, far more wary than the Saxons -across the Channel, closely resembling their neighbors of Picardy, -Champagne, and Ile-de-France. "The Saxons," says an old writer,<a name="NoteRef_103_1" id="NoteRef_103_1"></a><a href="#Note_103_1" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> -"vied with each other in their drinking feats, and wasted their income -by day and night in feasting, whilst they lived in wretched hovels; the -French and Normans, on the other hand, living inexpensively in their -fine, large houses, were besides refined in their food and studiously -careful in their dress." The former, still weighted by the German -phlegm, were gluttons and drunkards, now and then aroused by poetical -enthusiasm; the latter, made sprightlier by their transplantation and -their alloy, felt the cravings of the mind already making themselves -manifest. "You might see amongst them churches in every village, and -monasteries in the cities, towering on high, and built in a style -unknown before," first in Normandy, and later in England.<a name="NoteRef_104_1" id="NoteRef_104_1"></a><a href="#Note_104_1" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> Taste had -come to them at once—that is, the desire to please the eye, and to -express a thought by outward representation, which was quite a new idea: -the circular arch was raised on one or on a cluster of columns; elegant -mouldings were placed about the windows; the rose window made its -appearance, simple, yet, like the flower which gives it its name "<i>rose -des buissons</i>"; and the Norman style unfolded itself, original yet -proportioned between the Gothic, whose richness it foreshadowed, and the -Romance, whose solidity it recalled.</p> - -<p>With taste, just as natural and just as quickly, was developed the -spirit of inquiry. Nations are like children; with some the tongue is -readily loosened, and they comprehend at once; with others it is -loosened with difficulty, and they are slow of comprehension. The men we -are here speaking of had educated themselves nimbly, as Frenchmen do. -They were the first in France who unravelled the language, regulating it -and writing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> it so well, that to this day we understand their codes and -their poems. In a century and a half they were so far cultivated as to -find the Saxons "unlettered and rude."<a name="NoteRef_105_1" id="NoteRef_105_1"></a><a href="#Note_105_1" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> That was the excuse they -made for banishing them from the abbeys and all valuable ecclesiastical -offices. And, in fact, this excuse was rational, for they instinctively -hated gross stupidity. Between the Conquest and the death of King John, -they established five hundred and fifty-seven schools in England. Henry -Beauclerk, son of the Conqueror, was trained in the sciences; so were -Henry II and his three sons; Richard, the eldest of these, was a poet. -Lanfranc, first Norman Archbishop of Canterbury, a subtle logician, ably -argued the Real Presence; Anselm, his successor, the first thinker of -the age, thought he had discovered a new proof of the existence of God, -and tried to make religion philosophical by adopting as his maxim, -"<i>Crede ut intelligas.</i>" The notion was doubtless grand, especially in -the eleventh century; and they could not have gone more promptly to -work. Of course the science I speak of was but scholastic, and these -terrible folios slay more understandings than they confirm. But people -must begin as they can; and syllogism, even in Latin, even in theology, -is yet an exercise of the mind and a proof of the understanding. Among -the continental priests who settled in England, one established a -library; another, founder of a school, made the scholars perform the -play of Saint Catherine; a third wrote in polished Latin, "epigrams as -pointed as those of Martial." Such were the recreations of an -intelligent race, eager for ideas, of ready and flexible genius, whose -clear thought was not clouded, like that of the Saxon brain, by drunken -hallucinations and the vapors of a greedy and well-filled stomach. They -loved conversations, tales of adventure. Side by side with their Latin -chroniclers, Henry of Huntingdon, William of Malmesbury, thoughtful men -already, who could not only relate, but criticise here and there, there -were rhyming chronicles in the vulgar tongue, as those of Geoffroy -Gaimar, Bénoît de Sainte-Maure, Robert Wace. Do not imagine that their -verse-writers were sterile of words or lacking in details. They were -talkers, tale-tellers, speakers above all, ready of tongue, and never -stinted in speech. Not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> singers by any means; they speak—this is their -strong point, in their poems as in their chronicles. They were the -earliest who wrote the "Song of Roland"; upon this they accumulated a -multitude of songs concerning Charlemagne and his peers, concerning -Arthur and Merlin, the Greeks and Romans, King Horn, Guy of Warwick, -every prince and every people. Their minstrels (<i>trouvères</i>), like -their knights, draw in abundance from Welsh, Franks, and Latins, and -descend upon East and West in the wide field of adventure. They address -themselves to a spirit of inquiry, as the Saxons to enthusiasm, and -dilute in their long, clear, and flowing narratives the lively colors of -German and Breton traditions; battles, surprises, single combats, -embassies, speeches, processions, ceremonies, huntings, a variety of -amusing events, employ their ready and wandering imaginations. At first, -in the "Song of Roland," it is still kept in check; it walks with long -strides, but only walks. Presently its wings have grown; incidents are -multiplied; giants and monsters abound, the natural disappears, the song -of the jongleur grows a poem under the hands of the <i>trouvère</i>; he -would speak, like Nestor of old, five, even six years running, and not -grow tired or stop. Forty thousand verses are not too much to satisfy -their gabble; a facile mind, copious, inquisitive, descriptive, such is -the genius of the race. The Gauls, their fathers, used to delay -travellers on the road to make them tell their stories, and boasted, -like these, "of fighting well and talking with ease."</p> - -<p>With chivalric poetry, they are not wanting in chivalry; principally, it -may be, because they are strong, and a strong man loves to prove his -strength by knocking down his neighbors; but also from a desire of fame, -and as a point of honor. By this one word honor the whole spirit of -warfare is changed. Saxon poets painted war as a murderous fury, as a -blind madness which shook flesh and blood, and awakened the instincts of -the beast of prey; Norman poets describe it as a tourney. The new -passion which they introduce is that of vanity and gallantry; Guy of -Warwick dismounts all the knights in Europe, in order to deserve the -hand of the prude and scornful Félice. The tourney itself is but a -ceremony, somewhat brutal I admit, since it turns upon the breaking of -arms and limbs, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> but yet brilliant and French. To show skill and courage, -display the magnificence of dress and armor, be applauded by and please -the ladies—such feelings indicate men of greater sociality, more under -the influence of public opinion, less the slaves of their own passions, -void both of lyric inspiration and savage enthusiasm, gifted by a -different genius, because inclined to other pleasures.</p> - -<p>Such were the men who at this moment were disembarking in England to -introduce their new manners and a new spirit, French at bottom, in mind -and speech, though with special and provincial features; of all the most -matter-of-fact, with an eye to the main chance, calculating, having the -nerve and the dash of our own soldiers, but with the tricks and -precautions of lawyers; heroic undertakers of profitable enterprises; -having gone to Sicily and Naples, and ready to travel to Constantinople -or Antioch, so it be to take a country or bring back money; subtle -politicians, accustomed in Sicily to hire themselves to the highest -bidder, and capable of doing a stroke of business in the heat of the -Crusade, like Bohémond, who, before Antioch, speculated on the dearth -of his Christian allies, and would only open the town to them under -condition of their keeping it for himself; methodical and persevering -conquerors, expert in administration, and fond of scribbling on paper, -like this very William, who was able to organize such an expedition, and -such an army, and kept a written roll of the same, and who proceeded to -register the whole of England in his Domesday Book. Sixteen days after -the disembarkation, the contrast between the two nations was manifested -at Hastings by its visible effects.</p> - -<p>The Saxons "ate and drank the whole night. You might have seen them -struggling much, and leaping and singing," with shouts of laughter and -noisy joy.<a name="NoteRef_106_106" id="NoteRef_106_106"></a><a href="#Note_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> In the morning they packed behind their palisades the -dense masses of their heavy infantry, and with battle-axe hung round -their neck awaited the attack. The wary Normans weighed the chances of -heaven and hell, and tried to enlist God upon their side. Robert Wace, -their historian and compatriot, is no more troubled by poetical -imagination than they were by warlike inspiration; and on the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> eve of the -battle his mind is as prosaic and clear as theirs.<a name="NoteRef_107_1" id="NoteRef_107_1"></a><a href="#Note_107_1" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> The same spirit -showed itself in the battle. They were for the most part bowmen and -horsemen, well skilled, nimble, and clever. Taillefer, the <i>jongleur</i>, -who asked for the honor of striking the first blow, went singing, like a -true French volunteer, performing tricks all the while.<a name="NoteRef_108_108" id="NoteRef_108_108"></a><a href="#Note_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> Having -arrived before the English, he cast his lance three times in the air, -then his sword, and caught them again by the handle; and Harold's clumsy -foot-soldiers, who only knew how to cleave coats of mail by blows from -their battle-axes, "were astonished, saying to one another that it was -magic." As for William, amongst a score of prudent and cunning actions, -he performed two well-calculated ones, which, in this sore -embarrassment, brought him safe out of his difficulties. He ordered his -archers to shoot into the air; the arrows wounded many of the Saxons in -the face and one of them pierced Harold in the eye. After this he -simulated flight; the Saxons, intoxicated with joy and wrath, quitted -their entrenchments, and exposed themselves to the lances of his -horsemen. During the remainder of the contest they only make a stand by -small companies, fight with fury, and end by being slaughtered. The -strong, mettlesome, brutal race threw themselves on the enemy like a -savage bull; the dexterous Norman hunters wounded them adroitly, knocked -them down, and placed them under the yoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--French_Form_of_Thought">SECTION III.—French Forms of Thought</a></h4> - - -<p>What then is this French race, which by arms and letters make such a -splendid entrance upon the world, and is so manifestly destined to rule, -that in the East, for example, their name of Franks will be given to all -the nations of the West? Wherein consists this new spirit, this -precocious pioneer, this key of all Middle-Age civilization? There is in -every mind of the kind a fundamental activity which, when incessantly -repeated, moulds its plan, and gives it its direction; in town or -country, cultivated or not, in its infancy and its age, it spends its -existence and employs its energy in conceiving an event or an object. -This is its original and perpetual process; and whether it change its -region, return, advance, prolong, or alter its course, its whole motion -is but a series of consecutive steps; so that the least alteration in -the size, quickness, or precision of its primitive stride transforms and -regulates the whole course, as in a tree the structure of the first -shoot determines the whole foliage, and governs the whole growth.<a name="NoteRef_109_1" id="NoteRef_109_1"></a><a href="#Note_109_1" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> -When the Frenchman conceives an event or an object, he conceives quickly -and distinctly; there is no internal disturbance, no previous -fermentation of confused and violent ideas, which, becoming concentrated -and elaborated, end in a noisy outbreak. The movement of his -intelligence is nimble and prompt, like that of his limbs; at once and -without effort he seizes upon his idea. But he seizes that alone; he -leaves on one side all the long entangling off-shoots whereby it is -entwined and twisted amongst its neighboring ideas; he does not -embarrass himself with nor think of them; he detaches, plucks, touches -but slightly, and that is all. He is deprived, or if you prefer it, he -is exempt from those sudden half-visions which disturb a man, and open -up to him instantaneously vast deeps and far perspectives. Images are -excited by internal commotion; he, not being so moved, imagines not. He -is only moved superficially; he is without large sympathy; he does not -perceive an object as it is, complex and combined, but in parts, with a -discursive and superficial knowledge. That is why no race in Europe is -less poetical. Let us look at their epics; none are more prosaic. They <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -are not wanting in number: "The Song of Roland, Garin le Loherain," -"Ogier le Danois,"<a name="NoteRef_110_1" id="NoteRef_110_1"></a><a href="#Note_110_1" class="fnanchor">[110]</a> "Berthe aux grands Pieds." There is a library of -them. Though their manners are heroic and their spirit fresh, though -they have originality, and deal with grand events, yet, spite of this, -the narrative is as dull as that of the babbling Norman chroniclers. -Doubtless when Homer relates he is as clear as they are, and he develops -as they do: but his magnificent titles of rosy-fingered Morn, the -wide-bosomed Air, the divine and nourishing Earth, the earth-shaking -Ocean, come in every instant and expand their purple bloom over the -speeches and battles, and the grand abounding similes which interrupt -the narrative tell of a people more inclined to enjoy beauty than to -proceed straight to fact. But here we have facts, always facts, nothing -but facts; the Frenchman wants to know if the hero will kill the -traitor, the lover wed the maiden; he must not be delayed by poetry or -painting. He advances nimbly to the end of the story, not lingering for -dreams of the heart or wealth of landscape. There is no splendor, no -color, in his narrative; his style is quite bare, and without figures; -you may read ten thousand verses in these old poems without meeting one. -Shall we open the most ancient, the most original, the most eloquent, at -the most moving point, the "Song of Roland," when Roland is dying? The -narrator is moved, and yet his language remains the same, smooth, -accentless, so penetrated by the prosaic spirit, and so void of the -poetic! He gives an abstract of motives, a summary of events, a series -of causes for grief, a series of causes for consolation.<a name="NoteRef_111_1" id="NoteRef_111_1"></a><a href="#Note_111_1" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> Nothing -more. These men regard the circumstance or the action by itself, and -adhere to this view. Their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> idea remains exact, clear, and simple, and -does not raise up a similar image to be confused with the first, to -color or transform itself. It remains dry; they conceive the divisions -of the object one by one, without ever collecting them, as the Saxons -would, in an abrupt, impassioned, glowing semi-vision. Nothing is more -opposed to their genius than the genuine songs and profound hymns, such -as the English monks were singing beneath the low vaults of their -churches. They would be disconcerted by the unevenness and obscurity of -such language. They are not capable of such an access of enthusiasm and -such excess of emotion. They never cry out, they speak, or rather they -converse, and that at moments when the soul, overwhelmed by its trouble, -might be expected to cease thinking and feeling. Thus Amis, in a -mystery-play, being leprous, calmly requires his friend Amille to slay -his two sons, in order that their blood may heal him of his leprosy; and -Amille replies still more calmly.<a name="NoteRef_112_1" id="NoteRef_112_1"></a><a href="#Note_112_1" class="fnanchor">[112]</a> If ever they try to sing, even in -heaven, "a roundelay high and clear," they will produce little rhymed -arguments, as dull as the dullest talk.<a name="NoteRef_113_1" id="NoteRef_113_1"></a><a href="#Note_113_1" class="fnanchor">[113]</a> Pursue this literature to -its conclusion; regard it, like that of the Skalds, at the time of its -decadence, when its vices, being exaggerated, display, like those of the -Skalds, only still more strongly the kind of mind which produced it. The -Skalds fall off into nonsense; it loses itself into babble and -platitude. The Saxon could not master his craving for exaltation; the -Frenchman could not restrain the volubility of his tongue. He is too -diffuse and too clear; the Saxon is too obscure and brief. The one was -excessively agitated and carried away; the other explains and develops -without measure. From the twelfth century the Gestes spun out degenerate -into rhapsodies and psalmodies of thirty or forty thousand verses. -Theology enters into them; poetry becomes an interminable, intolerable -litany, where the ideas, expounded, developed, and repeated <i>ad -infinitum</i>, without one outburst of emotion or one touch of originality, -flow like a clear and insipid stream, and send off their reader, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> by dint -of their monotonous rhymes, into a comfortable slumber. What a -deplorable abundance of distinct and facile ideas! We meet with it again -in the seventeenth century, in the literary gossip which took place at -the feet of men of distinction; it is the fault and the talent of the -race. With this involuntary art of perceiving, and isolating -instantaneously and clearly each part of every object, people can speak, -even for speaking's sake, and forever.</p> - -<p>Such is the primitive process; how will it be continued? Here appears a -new trait in the French genius, the most valuable of all. It is -necessary to comprehension that the second idea shall be contiguous to -the first; otherwise that genius is thrown out of its course and -arrested; it cannot proceed by irregular bounds; it must walk step by -step, on a straight road; order is innate in it; without study, and in -the first place, it disjoints and decomposes the object or event, -however complicated and entangled it may be, and sets the parts one by -one in succession to each other, according to their natural connection. -True, it is still in a state of barbarism; yet its intelligence is a -reasoning faculty, which spreads, though unwittingly. Nothing is more -clear than the style of the old French narratives and of the earliest -poems: we do not perceive that we are following a narrator, so easy is -the gait, so even the road he opens to us, so smoothly and gradually -every idea glides into the next; and this is why he narrates so well. -The chroniclers Villehardouin, Joinville, Froissart, the fathers of -prose, have an ease and clearness approached by none, and beyond all, a -charm, a grace, which they had not to go out of their way to find. Grace -is a national possession in France, and springs from the native delicacy -which has a horror of incongruities; the instinct of Frenchmen avoids -violent shocks in works of taste as well as in works of argument; they -desire that their sentiments and ideas shall harmonize, and not clash. -Throughout they have this measured spirit, exquisitely refined.<a name="NoteRef_114_1" id="NoteRef_114_1"></a><a href="#Note_114_1" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> -They take care, on a sad subject, not to push emotion to its limits; -they avoid big words. Think how Joinville relates in six lines the death -of the poor sick priest who wished to finish celebrating the mass, and -"nevermore did sing, and died." Open a mystery-play, "Théophilus," or -that of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> "Queen of Hungary," for instance: when they are going to -burn her and her child, she says two short lines about "this gentle dew -which is so pure an innocent," nothing more. Take a fabliau, even a -dramatic one: when the penitent knight, who has undertaken to fill a -barrel with his tears, dies in the hermit's company, he asks from him -only one last gift: "Do but embrace me, and then I'll die in the arms of -my friend." Could a more touching sentiment be expressed in more sober -language? We must say of their poetry what is said of certain pictures: -This is made out of nothing. Is there in the world anything more -delicately graceful than the verses of Guillaume de Lorris? Allegory -clothes his ideas so as to dim their too great brightness; ideal, -figures, half transparent, float about the lover, luminous, yet in a -cloud, and lead him amidst all the delicate and gentle-hued ideas to the -rose, whose "sweet odor embalms all the plain." This refinement goes so -far, that in Thibaut of Champagne and in Charles of Orleans it turns to -affectation and insipidity. In them all impressions grow more slender; -the perfume is so weak that one often fails to catch it; on their knees -before their lady they whisper their waggeries and conceits; they love -politely and wittily, they arrange ingeniously in a bouquet their -"painted words," all the flowers of "fresh and beautiful language"; they -know how to mark fleeting ideas in their flight, soft melancholy, vague -reverie; they are as elegant as talkative, and as charming as the most -amiable abbés of the eighteenth century. This lightness of touch is -proper to the race, and appears as plainly under the armor and amid the -massacres of the Middle Ages as mid the courtesies and the musk-scented, -wadded coats of the last court. You will find it in their coloring as in -their sentiments. They are not struck by the magnificence of nature, -they see only her pretty side; they paint the beauty of a woman by a -single feature, which is only polite, saying, "She is more gracious than -the rose in May." They do not experience the terrible emotion, ecstasy, -sudden oppression of heart which is displayed in the poetry of -neighboring nations; they say discreetly, "She began to smile, which -vastly became her." They add, when they are in a descriptive humor, -"that she had a sweet and perfumed breath," and a body "white as -new-fallen snow on a branch." They do not aspire higher; beauty pleases, -but does not transport <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> them. They enjoy agreeable emotions, but are not -fitted for deep sensations. The full rejuvenescence of being, the warm -air of spring which renews and penetrates all existence, suggests but a -pleasing couplet; they remark in passing, "Now is winter gone, the -hawthorn blossoms, the rose expands," and so pass on about their -business. It is a light gladsomeness, soon gone, like that which an -April landscape affords. For an instant the author glances at the mist -of the streams rising about the willow trees, that pleasant vapor which -imprisons the brightness of the morning; then, humming a burden of a -song, he returns to his narrative. He seeks amusement, and herein lies -his power.</p> - -<p>In life, as in literature, it is pleasure he aims at, not sensual -pleasure or emotion. He is lively, not voluptuous; dainty, not a -glutton. He takes love for a pastime, not for an intoxication. It is a -pretty fruit which he plucks, tastes, and leaves. And we must remark yet -further, that the best of the fruit in his eyes is the fact of its being -forbidden. He says to himself that he is duping a husband, that "he -deceives a cruel woman, and thinks he ought to obtain a pope's -indulgence for the deed."<a name="NoteRef_115_1" id="NoteRef_115_1"></a><a href="#Note_115_1" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> He wishes to be merry—it is the state he -prefers, the end and aim of his life; and especially to laugh at other -people. The short verse of his fabliaux gambols and leaps like a -schoolboy released from school, over all things respected or -respectable; criticising the Church, women, the great, the monks. -Scoffers, banterers, our fathers have abundance both of expression and -matter; and the matter comes to them so naturally, that without culture, -and surrounded by coarseness, they are as delicate in their raillery as -the most refined. They touch upon ridicule lightly, they mock without -emphasis, as it were innocently; their style is so harmonious, that at -first sight we make a mistake, and do not see any harm in it. They seem -artless; they look so very demure; only a word shows the imperceptible -smile: it is the ass, for example, which they call the high priest, by -reason of his padded cassock and his serious air, and who gravely begins -"to play the organ." At the close of the history, the delicate sense of -comicality has touched you, though you cannot say how. They do not call -things by their names, especially in love matters; they let you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> guess -it; they assume that you are as sharp and knowing as themselves.<a name="NoteRef_116_1" id="NoteRef_116_1"></a><a href="#Note_116_1" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> A -man might discriminate, embellish at times, perhaps refine upon them, -but their first traits are incomparable. When the fox approaches the -raven to steal the cheese, he begins as a hypocrite, piously and -cautiously, and as one of the family. He calls the raven his "good -father Don Rohart, who sings so well"; he praises his voice, "so sweet -and fine. You would be the best singer in the world if you kept clear -of nuts." Reynard is a rogue, an artist in the way of invention, not a -mere glutton; he loves roguery for its own sake; he rejoices in his -superiority, and draws out his mockery. When Tibert, the cat, by his -counsel hung himself at the bell-rope, wishing to ring it, he uses -irony, enjoys and relishes it, pretends to wax impatient with the poor -fool whom he has caught, calls him proud, complains because the other -does not answer, and because he wishes to rise to the clouds-and visit -the saints. And from beginning to end this long epic of Reynard the Fox -is the same; the raillery never ceases, and never fails to be agreeable. -Reynard has so much wit that he is pardoned for everything. The -necessity for laughter is national—so indigenous to the French, that a -stranger cannot understand, and is shocked by it. This pleasure does not -resemble physical joy in any respect, which is to be despised for its -grossness; on the contrary, it sharpens the intelligence, and brings to -light many a delicate or ticklish idea. The fabliaux are full of truths -about men, and still more about women, about people of low rank, and -still more about those of high rank; it is a method of philosophizing by -stealth and boldly, in spite of conventionalism, and in opposition to -the powers that be. This taste has nothing in common either with open -satire, which is offensive because it is cruel; on the contrary, it -provokes good humor. We soon see that the jester is not ill-disposed, -that he does not wish to wound: if he stings, it is as a bee, without -venom; an instant later he is not thinking of it; if need be, he will -take himself as an object of his pleasantry; all he wishes is to keep up -in himself and in us sparkling and pleasing ideas. Do we not see here in -advance an abstract of the whole French literature, the incapacity for -great poetry, the sudden and durable perfection <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> of prose, the excellence -of all the moods of conversation and eloquence, the reign and tyranny of -taste and method, the art and theory of development and arrangement, the -gift of being measured, clear, amusing, and piquant? We have taught -Europe how ideas fall into order, and which ideas are agreeable; and -this is what our Frenchmen of the eleventh century are about to teach -their Saxons during five or six centuries, first with the lance, next -with the stick, next with the birch.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--The_Normans_in_England">SECTION IV.—The Normans in England</a></h4> - - -<p>Consider, then, this Frenchman or Norman, this man from Anjou or Maine, -who in his well-knit coat of mail, with sword and lance, came to seek -his fortune in England. He took the manor of some slain Saxon, and -settled himself in it with his soldiers and comrades, gave them land, -houses, the right of levying taxes, on condition of their fighting under -him and for him, as men-at-arms, marshals, standard-bearers; it was a -league in case of danger. In fact, they were in a hostile and conquered -country, and they have to maintain themselves. Each one hastened to -build for himself a place of refuge, castle or fortress,<a name="NoteRef_117_1" id="NoteRef_117_1"></a><a href="#Note_117_1" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> well -fortified, of solid stone, with narrow windows, strengthened with -battlements, garrisoned by soldiers, pierced with loopholes. Then these -men went to Salisbury, to the number of sixty thousand, all holders of -land, having at least enough to maintain a man with horse or arms. -There, placing their hands in William's they promised him fealty and -assistance; and the king's edict declared that they must be all united -and bound together like brothers in arms, to defend and succor each -other. They are an armed colony, stationary, like the Spartans amongst -the Helots; and they make laws accordingly. When a Frenchman is found -dead in any district, the inhabitants are to give up the murderer, or -failing to do so, they must pay forty-seven marks as a fine; if the dead -man is English, it rests with the people of the place to prove it by the -oath of four near relatives of the deceased. They are to beware of -killing a stag, boar, or fawn; for an offence against the forest-laws -they will lose their eyes. They have nothing of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> all their property -assured to them except as alms, or on condition of paying tribute, or by -taking the oath of allegiance. Here a free Saxon proprietor is made a -body-slave on his own estate.<a name="NoteRef_118_118" id="NoteRef_118_118"></a><a href="#Note_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> Here a noble and rich Saxon lady -feels on her shoulder the weight of the hand of a Norman valet, who is -become by force her husband or her lover. There were Saxons of one sol, -or of two sols, according to the sum which they gained for their -masters; they sold them, hired them, worked them on joint account, like -an ox or an ass. One Norman abbot has his Saxon predecessors dug up, -their bones thrown without the gates. Another keeps men-at-arms, who -bring his recalcitrant monks to reason by blows of their swords. -Imagine, if you can, the pride of these new lords, conquerors, -strangers, masters, nourished by habits of violent activity, and by the -savagery, ignorance, and passions of feudal life. "They thought they -might do whatsoever they pleased," say the old chroniclers. "They shed -blood indiscriminately, snatched the morsel of bread from the mouth of -the wretched, and seized upon all the money, the goods, the land."<a name="NoteRef_119_119" id="NoteRef_119_119"></a><a href="#Note_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> -Thus "all the folk in the low country were at great pains to seem humble -before Ivo Taillebois, and only to address him with one knee on the -ground; but although they made a point of paying him every honor, and -giving him all and more than all which they owed him in the way of rent -and service, he harassed, tormented, tortured, imprisoned them, set his -dogs upon their cattle,... broke the legs and backbones of their beasts -of burden,... and sent men to attack their servants on the road with -sticks and swords."<a name="NoteRef_120_120" id="NoteRef_120_120"></a><a href="#Note_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> The Normans would not and could not borrow any -idea or custom from such boors;<a name="NoteRef_121_1" id="NoteRef_121_1"></a><a href="#Note_121_1" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> they despised them as coarse and -stupid. They stood amongst them, as the Spaniards amongst the Americans -in the sixteenth century, superior in force and culture, more versed in -letters, more expert in the arts of luxury. They preserved their manners -and their speech. England, to all outward appearance—the court of the -king, the castles of the nobles, the palaces of the bishops, the houses -of the wealthy—was French; and the Scandinavian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> people, of whom sixty -years ago the Saxon kings used to have poems sung to them, thought that -the nation had forgotten its language, and treated it in their laws as -though it were no longer their sister.</p> - -<p>It was a French literature, then, which was at this time domiciled -across the channel,<a name="NoteRef_122_122" id="NoteRef_122_122"></a><a href="#Note_122_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a> and the conquerors tried to make it purely -French, purged from all Saxon alloy. They made such a point of this that -the nobles in the reign of Henry II sent their sons to France, to -preserve them from barbarisms. "For two hundred years," says -Higden,<a name="NoteRef_123_1" id="NoteRef_123_1"></a><a href="#Note_123_1" class="fnanchor">[123]</a> "children in scole, agenst the usage and manir of all other -nations beeth compelled for to leve hire own langage, and for to -construe hir lessons and hire thynges in Frensche." The statutes of the -universities obliged the students to converse either in French or Latin. -"Gentilmen children beeth taught to speke Frensche from the tyme that -they bith rokked in hire cradell; and uplondissche men will likne -himself to gentylmen, and fondeth with greet besynesse for to speke -Frensche." Of course the poetry is French. The Norman brought his -minstrel with him; there was Taillefer, the <i>jongleur</i>, who sang the -"Song of Roland" at the battle of Hastings; there was Adeline, the -<i>jongleuse</i>, received an estate in the partition which followed the -Conquest. The Norman who ridicules the Saxon kings, who dug up the Saxon -saints and cast them without the walls of the church, loved none but -French ideas and verses. It was into French verse that Robert Wace -rendered the legendary history of the England which was conquered, and -the actual history of the Normandy in which he continued to live. Enter -one of the abbeys where the minstrels come to sing, "where the clerks -after dinner and supper read poems, the chronicles of kingdoms, the -wonders of the world,"<a name="NoteRef_124_124" id="NoteRef_124_124"></a><a href="#Note_124_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> you will only find Latin or French verses, -Latin or French prose. What becomes of English? Obscure, despised, we -hear it no more, except in the mouths of degraded franklins, outlaws of -the forest, swineherds, peasants, the lowest orders. It is no longer, or -scarcely written; gradually we find in the Saxon Chronicle that the -idiom alters, is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> extinguished; the Chronicle itself ceases within a -century after the Conquest.<a name="NoteRef_125_1" id="NoteRef_125_1"></a><a href="#Note_125_1" class="fnanchor">[125]</a> The people who have leisure or security -enough to read or write are French; for them authors devise and compose; -literature always adapts itself to the taste of those who can appreciate -and pay for it. Even the English<a name="NoteRef_126_126" id="NoteRef_126_126"></a><a href="#Note_126_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a> endeavor to write in French: thus -Robert Grostête, in his allegorical poem on Christ; Peter Langtoft, in -his "Chronicle of England," and in his "Life of Thomas à Becket"; Hugh -de Rotheland, in his poem of "Hippomedon"; John Hoveden, and many -others. Several write the first half of the verse in English, and the -second in French; a strange sign of the ascendancy which is moulding and -oppressing them. Even in the fifteenth century<a name="NoteRef_127_127" id="NoteRef_127_127"></a><a href="#Note_127_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a> many of these poor -folk are employed in this task; French is the language of the court, -from it arose all poetry and elegance; he is but a clodhopper who is -inapt at that style. They apply themselves to it as our old scholars did -to Latin verses; they are gallicized as those were latinized, by -constraint, with a sort of fear, knowing well that they are but -schoolboys and provincials. Gower, one of their best poets, at the end -of his French works, excuses himself humbly for not having "<i>de -Français la faconde. Pardonnez moi</i>," he says, "<i>que de ce je forsvoie; -je suis Anglais.</i>"</p> - -<p>And yet, after all, neither the race nor the tongue has perished. It is -necessary that the Norman should learn English, in order to command his -tenants; his Saxon wife speaks it to him, and his sons receive it from -the lips of their nurse; the contagion is strong, for he is obliged to -send them to France, to preserve them from the jargon which on his -domain threatens to overwhelm and spoil them. From generation to -generation the contagion spreads; they breathe it in the air, with the -foresters in the chase, the farmers in the field, the sailors on the -ships: for these coarse people, shut in by their animal existence, are -not the kind to learn a foreign language; by the simple weight of their -dullness they impose their idiom on their conquerors, at all events such -words as pertain to living things. Scholarly speech, the language of -law, abstract and philosophical expressions—in short, all words -depending on reflection and culture may be French, since there is -nothing to prevent it. This is just what <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> happens; these kind of ideas -and this kind of speech are not understood by the commonalty, who, not -being able to touch them, cannot change them. This produces a French, a -colonial French, doubtless perverted, pronounced with closed mouth, with -a contortion of the organs of speech, "after the school of -Stratford-atte-Bow"; yet it is still French. On the other hand, as -regards the speech employed about common actions and visible objects, it -is the people, the Saxons, who fix it; these living words are too firmly -rooted in his experience to allow of being parted with, and thus the -whole substance of the language comes from him. Here, then, we have the -Norman who, slowly and constrainedly, speaks and understands English, a -deformed, gallicized English, yet English, in sap and root; but he has -taken his time about it, for it has required two centuries. It was only -under Henry III that the new tongue is complete, with the new -constitution; and that, after the like fashion, by alliance and -intermixture; the burgesses come to take their seats in Parliament with -the nobles, at the same time that Saxon words settle down in the -language side by side with French words.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--The_English_Tongue--Early_English_Literary_Impulses">SECTION V.—The English Tongue—Early English Literary Impulses</a></h4> - - -<p>So was modern English formed, by compromise, and the necessity of being -understood. But we can well imagine that these nobles, even while -speaking the rising dialect, have their hearts full of French tastes and -ideas; France remains the home of their mind, and the literature which -now begins, is but translation. Translators, copyists, imitators—there -is nothing else. England is a distant province, which is to France what -the United States were, thirty years ago, to Europe: she exports her -wool, and imports her ideas. Open the "Voyage and Travaile of Sir John -Maundeville,"<a name="NoteRef_128_128" id="NoteRef_128_128"></a><a href="#Note_128_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a> the oldest prose-writer, the Villehardouin of the -country: his book is but the translation of a translation.<a name="NoteRef_129_129" id="NoteRef_129_129"></a><a href="#Note_129_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a> He -writes first in Latin, the language of scholars; then <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> in French, the -language of society; finally he reflects, and discovers that the barons, -his compatriots, by governing the Saxon churls, have ceased to speak -their own Norman, and that the rest of the nation never knew it; he -translates his manuscript into English, and, in addition, takes care to -make it plain, feeling that he speaks to less expanded understandings. -He says in French: "<i>Il advint une fois que Mahomet allait dans une -chapelle où il y avait un saint ermite. Il entra en la chapelle où il y -avait une petite huisserie et basse, et était bien petite la chapelle; -et alors devint la porte si grande qu'il semblait que ce fut la porte -d'un palais.</i>"</p> - -<p>He stops, corrects himself, wishes to explain himself better for his -readers across the Channel, and says in English: "And at the Desertes of -Arabye, he wente into a Chapelle where a Eremyte duelte. And whan he -entred in to the Chapelle that was but a lytille and a low thing, and -had but a lytill Dore and a low, than the Entree began to wexe so gret -and so large, and so highe, as though it had ben of a gret Mynstre, or -the Zate of a Paleys."<a name="NoteRef_130_130" id="NoteRef_130_130"></a><a href="#Note_130_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a> You perceive that he amplifies, and thinks -himself bound to clinch and drive in three or four times in succession -the same idea, in order to get it into an English brain; his thought is -drawn out, dulled, spoiled in the process. Like every copy, the new -literature is mediocre, and repeats what it imitates, with fewer merits -and greater faults.</p> - -<p>Let us see, then, what our Norman baron gets translated for him; first, -the chronicles of Geoffroy Gaimar and Robert Wace, which consist of the -fabulous history of England continued up to their day, a dull-rhymed -rhapsody, turned into English in a rhapsody no less dull. The first -Englishman who attempts it is Layamon,<a name="NoteRef_131_131" id="NoteRef_131_131"></a><a href="#Note_131_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a> a monk of Ernely, still -fettered in the old idiom, who sometimes happens to rhyme, sometimes -fails, altogether <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> barbarous and childish, unable to develop a continuous -idea, babbling in little confused and incomplete phrases, after the -fashion of the ancient Saxons; after him a monk, Robert of -Gloucester,<a name="NoteRef_132_1" id="NoteRef_132_1"></a><a href="#Note_132_1" class="fnanchor">[132]</a> and a canon, Robert of Brunne, both as insipid and -clear as their French models, having become gallicized, and adopted the -significant characteristics of the race, namely, the faculty and habit -of easy narration, of seeing moving spectacles without deep emotion, of -writing prosaic poetry, of discoursing and developing, of believing that -phrases ending in the same sounds form real poetry. Our honest English -versifiers, like their preceptors in Normandy and Ile-de-France, -garnished with rhymes their dissertations and histories, and called them -poems. At this epoch, in fact, on the Continent, the whole learning of -the schools descends into the street; and Jean de Meung, in his poem of -"La Rose," is the most tedious of doctors. So in England, Robert of -Brunne transposes into verse the "Manuel des péchés" of Bishop -Grostête; Adam Davie,<a name="NoteRef_133_1" id="NoteRef_133_1"></a><a href="#Note_133_1" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> certain Scripture histories; Hampole<a name="NoteRef_134_1" id="NoteRef_134_1"></a><a href="#Note_134_1" class="fnanchor">[134]</a> -composes the "Pricke of Conscience." The titles alone make one yawn: -what of the text?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Mankynde mad ys do Goddus wylle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And alle Hys byddyngus to fulfille;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For of al Hys makyng more and les,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Man most principal creature es.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Al that He made for man hit was done,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As ye schal here after sone."<a name="NoteRef_135_135" id="NoteRef_135_135"></a><a href="#Note_135_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is a poem! You did not think so; call it a sermon, if you will -give it its proper name. It goes on, well divided, well prolonged, -flowing, but void of meaning; the literature which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> surrounds and -resembles it bears witness of its origin by its loquacity and its -clearness.</p> - -<p>It bears witness to it by other and more agreeable features. Here and -there we find divergences more or less awkward into the domain of -genius; for instance, a ballad full of quips against Richard, King of -the Romans, who was taken at the battle of Lewes. Sometimes, charm is -not lacking, nor sweetness either. No one has ever spoken so bright and -so well to the ladies as the French of the Continent, and they have not -quite forgotten this talent while settling in England. You perceive it -readily in the manner in which they celebrate the Virgin. Nothing could -be more different from the Saxon sentiment, which is altogether -biblical, than the chivalric adoration of the sovereign Lady, the -fascinating Virgin and Saint, who was the real deity of the Middle Ages. -It breathes in this pleasing hymn:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Blessed beo thu, lavedi,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful of hovene blisse;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Swete flur of parais,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Moder of milternisse....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I-blessed beo thu, Lavedi,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So fair and so briht;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Al min hope is uppon the,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bi day and bi nicht....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bricht and scene quen of storre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So me liht and lere.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In this false fikele world,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So me led and steore."<a name="NoteRef_136_1" id="NoteRef_136_1"></a><a href="#Note_136_1" class="fnanchor">[136]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is but a short and easy step between this tender worship of the -Virgin and the sentiments of the court of love. The English rhymesters -take it; and when they wish to praise their earthly mistresses, they -borrow, here as elsewhere, the ideas and the very form of French verse. -One compares his lady to all kinds of precious stones and flowers; -others sing truly amorous songs, at times sensual.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Bytuene Mershe and Aueril,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When spray biginneth to springe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The lutel foul hath hire wyl</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On hyre lud to synge,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ich libbe in loue longinge</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For semlokest of alle thynge.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He may me blysse bringe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Icham in hire baundoun.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An hendy hap ich abbe yhent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ichot from heuene it is me sent.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From alle wymmen my love is lent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And lyht on Alisoun."<a name="NoteRef_137_137" id="NoteRef_137_137"></a><a href="#Note_137_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Another sings:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Suete lemmon, y preye the, of loue one speche,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whil y lyue in world so wyde other nulle y seche.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With thy loue, my suete leof, mi bliss thou mihtes eche</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A suete cos of thy mouth mihte be my leche."<a name="NoteRef_138_1" id="NoteRef_138_1"></a><a href="#Note_138_1" class="fnanchor">[138]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Is not this the lively and warm imagination of the south? they speak of -springtime and of love, "the fine and lovely weather" like <i>trouvères</i>, -even like <i>troubadours.</i> The dirty, smoke-grimed cottage, the black -feudal castle, where all but the master lie higgledy-piggledy on the -straw in the great stone hall, the cold rain, the muddy earth, make the -return of the sun and the warm air delicious.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Sumer is i-cumen in,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lhude sing cuccu:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Groweth sed, and bloweth med,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And springeth the wde nu.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sing cuccu, cuccu.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Awe bleteth after lomb,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Llouth after calue cu,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Murie sing cuccu,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Cuccu, cuccu.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wel singes thu cuccu;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ne swik thu nauer nu.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sing, cuccu nu,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sing, cuccu."<a name="NoteRef_139_1" id="NoteRef_139_1"></a><a href="#Note_139_1" class="fnanchor">[139]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Here are glowing pictures, such as Guillaume de Lorris was writing at -the same time, even richer and more lifelike, perhaps because the poet -found here for inspiration that love of country life which in England is -deep and national. Others, more imitative, attempt pleasantries like -those of Rutebeuf and the fabliaux, frank quips,<a name="NoteRef_140_1" id="NoteRef_140_1"></a><a href="#Note_140_1" class="fnanchor">[140]</a> and even -satirical, loose waggeries. Their true aim and end is to hit out at the -monks. In every French country or country which imitates France, the -most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> manifest use of convents is to furnish material for sprightly and -scandalous stories. One writes, for instance, of the kind of life the -monks lead at the abbey of Cocagne:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"There is a wel fair abbei,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of white monkes and of grei.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ther beth bowris and halles:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Al of pasteiis beth the wallis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of fleis, of fisse, and rich met,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The likfullist that man may et.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fluren cakes beth the schingles alle.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of cherche, cloister, boure, and halle.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The pinnes beth fat podinges</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rich met to princes and kinges....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though paradis be miri and bright</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cokaign is of fairir sight,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Another abbei is ther bi,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forsoth a gret fair nunnerie....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When the someris dai is hote</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The young nunnes takith a bote...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And doth ham forth in that river</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both with ores and with stere....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And each monk him takith on,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And snellich berrith forth har prei</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To the mochil grei abbei,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And techith the nunnes an oreisun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With iamblene up and down."</span></p> - - -<p>This is the triumph of gluttony and feeding. Moreover many things could -be mentioned in the Middle Ages which are now unmentionable. But it was -the poems of chivalry, which represented to him the bright side of his -own mode of life, that the baron preferred to have translated. He -desired that his <i>trouvère</i> should set before his eyes the magnificence -which he displayed, and the luxury and enjoyments which he has -introduced from France. Life at that time, without and even during war, -was a great pageant, a brilliant and tumultuous kind of fête. When -Henry II travelled, he took with him a great number of horsemen, -foot-soldiers, baggage-wagons, tents, pack-horses, comedians, courtesans -and their overseers, cooks, confectioners, posture-makers, dancers, -barbers, go-betweens, hangers-on.<a name="NoteRef_141_1" id="NoteRef_141_1"></a><a href="#Note_141_1" class="fnanchor">[141]</a> In the morning when they start, -the assemblage begins to shout, sing, hustle each other, make racket and -rout, "as if hell were let <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> loose." William Longchamps, even in time of -peace, would not travel without a thousand horses by way of escort. When -Archbishop à Becket came to France, he entered the town with two -hundred knights, a number of barons and nobles, and an army of servants, -all richly armed and equipped, he himself being provided with -four-and-twenty suits; two hundred and fifty children walked in front, -singing national songs; then dogs, then carriages, then a dozen -pack-horses, each ridden by an ape and a man; then equerries with -shields and war-horses; then more equerries, falconers, a suit of -domestics, knights, priests; lastly, the archbishop himself, with his -private friends. Imagine these processions, and also these -entertainments; for the Normans, after the Conquest, "borrowed from the -Saxons the habit of excess in eating and drinking."<a name="NoteRef_142_1" id="NoteRef_142_1"></a><a href="#Note_142_1" class="fnanchor">[142]</a> At the marriage -of Richard Plantagenet, Earl of Cornwall, they provided thirty thousand -dishes.<a name="NoteRef_143_143" id="NoteRef_143_143"></a><a href="#Note_143_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a> They also continued to be gallant, and punctiliously -performed the great precept of the love courts; for in the Middle Ages -the sense of love was no more idle than the others. Moreover, -tournaments were plentiful; a sort of opera prepared for their own -entertainment. So ran their life, full of adventure and adornment, in -the open air and in the sunlight, with show of cavalcades and arms; they -act a pageant, and act it with enjoyment. Thus the King of Scots, having -come to London with a hundred knights, at the coronation of Edward I, -they all dismounted, and made over their horses and superb caparisons to -the people; as did also five English lords, imitating their example. In -the midst of war they took their pleasure. Edward III, in one of his -expeditions against the King of France, took with him thirty falconers, -and made his campaign alternately hunting and fighting.<a name="NoteRef_144_1" id="NoteRef_144_1"></a><a href="#Note_144_1" class="fnanchor">[144]</a> Another -time, says Froissart, the knights who joined the army carried a plaster -over one eye, having vowed not to remove it until they had performed an -exploit worthy of their mistresses. Out of the very exuberancy of spirit -they practised the art of poetry; out of the buoyancy of their -imagination they made a sport of life. Edward III built at Windsor a -hall and a round table; and at one of his tourneys in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> London, sixty -ladies, seated on palfreys, led, as in a fairy tale, each her knight by -a golden chain. Was not this the triumph of the gallant and frivolous -French fashions? Edward's wife Philippa sat as a model to the artists -for their Madonnas. She appeared on the field of battle; listened to -Froissart, who provided her with moral-plays, love-stories, and "things -fair to listen to." At once goddess, heroine, and scholar, and all this -so agreeably, was she not a true queen of refined chivalry? Now, as also -in France under Louis of Orleans and the Dukes of Burgundy, this most -elegant and romanesque civilization came into full bloom, void of common -sense, given up to passion, bent on pleasure, immoral and brilliant, -but, like its neighbors of Italy and Provence, for lack of serious -intention, it could not last.</p> - -<p>Of all these marvels the narrators make display in their stories. Here -is a picture of the vessel which took the mother of King Richard into -England:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Swlk on ne seygh they never non;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All it was whyt of huel-bon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every nayl with gold begrave:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Off pure gold was the stave.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her mast was of yvory;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Off samyte the sayl wytterly.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her ropes wer off tuely sylk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Al so whyt as ony mylk.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That noble schyp was al withoute,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With clothys of golde sprede aboute;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And her loof and her wyndas,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Off asure forsothe it was."<a name="NoteRef_145_145" id="NoteRef_145_145"></a><a href="#Note_145_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a></span></p> - - -<p>On such subjects they never run dry. When the King of Hungary wishes to -console his afflicted daughter, he proposes to take her to the chase in -the following style:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To-morrow ye shall in hunting fare:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And ride, my daughter, in a chair;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It shall be covered with velvet red,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And cloths of fine gold all about your head,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With damask white and azure blue,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Well diapered with lilies new.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your pommels shall be ended with gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your chains enamelled many a fold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your mantle of rich degree,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Purple pall and ermine free.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Jennets of Spain that ben so light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Trapped to the ground with velvet bright.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ye shall have harp, sautry, and song,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And other mirths you among.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ye shall have Rumney and Malespine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both hippocras and Vernage wine;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Montrese and wine of Greek,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both Algrade and despice eke,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Antioch and Bastarde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pyment also and garnarde;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wine of Greek and Muscadel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both clare, pyment, and Rochelle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The reed your stomach to defy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And pots of osey set you by.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You shall have venison ybake,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The best wild fowl that may be take;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A leish of harehound with you to streek,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hart, and hind, and other like.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ye shall be set at such a tryst,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That hart and hynd shall come to you fist,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your disease to drive you fro,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To hear the bugles there yblow.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Homeward thus shall ye ride,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On hawking by the river's side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With gosshawk and with gentle falcon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With bugle-horn and merlion.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When you come home your menie among,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ye shall have revel, dance, and song;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Little children, great and small,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall sing as does the nightingale.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then shall ye go to your evensong,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With tenors and trebles among.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Threescore of copes of damask bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Full of pearls they shall be pight.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your censors shall be of gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Indent with azure many a fold;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your quire nor organ song shall want,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With contre-note and descant.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The other half on organs playing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With young children full fain singing.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then shall ye go to your supper,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sit in tents in green arber,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With cloth of arras pight to the ground,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With sapphires set of diamond.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A hundred knights, truly told,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall play with bowls in alleys cold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your disease to drive away;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To see the fishes in pools play,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To a drawbridge then shall ye,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Th' one half of stone, th' other of tree;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A barge shall meet you full right,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With twenty-four oars full bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With trumpets and with clarion,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The fresh water to row up and down....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forty torches burning bright</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At your bridge to bring you light.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into your chamber they shall you bring,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With much mirth and more liking.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your blankets shall be of fustian,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your sheets shall be of cloth of Rennes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your head sheet shall be of pery pight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With diamonds set and rubies bright.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When you are laid in bed so soft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A cage of gold shall hang aloft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With long paper fair burning,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And cloves that be sweet smelling.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Frankincense and olibanum,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That when ye sleep the taste may come;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if ye no rest can take,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All night minstrels for you shall wake."<a name="NoteRef_146_146" id="NoteRef_146_146"></a><a href="#Note_146_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Amid such fancies and splendors the poets delight and lose themselves, -and the woof, like the embroideries of their canvas, bears the mark of -this love of decoration. They weave it out of adventures, of -extraordinary and surprising events. Now it is the life of King Horn, -who, thrown into a boat when a lad, is wrecked upon the coast of -England, and, becoming a knight, reconquers the kingdom of his father. -Now it is the history of Sir Guy, who rescues enchanted knights, cuts -down the giant Colbrand, challenges and kills the Sultan in his tent. It -is not for me to recount these poems, which are not English, but only -translations; still, here as in France, there are many of them; they -fill the imagination of the young society, and they grow in -exaggeration, until, falling to the lowest depth of insipidity and -improbability, they are buried forever by Cervantes. What would people -say of a society which had no literature but the opera with its -unrealities? Yet it was a literature of this kind which formed the -intellectual food of the Middle Ages. People then did not ask for truth, -but entertainment, and that vehement and hollow, full of glare and -startling events. They asked for impossible voyages, extravagant -challenges, a racket of contests, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> a confusion of magnificence and -entanglement of chances. For introspective history they had no liking, -cared nothing for the adventures of the heart, devoted their attention -to the outside. They remained children to the last, with eyes glued to a -series of exaggerated and colored images, and, for lack of thinking, did -not perceive that they had learnt nothing.</p> - -<p>What was there beneath this fanciful dream? Brutal and evil human -passions, unchained at first by religious fury, then delivered up to -their own devices, and, beneath a show of external courtesy, as vile as -ever. Look at the popular king, Richard Cœur de Lion, and reckon up his -butcheries and murders: "King Richard," says a poem, "is the best king -ever mentioned in song."<a name="NoteRef_147_147" id="NoteRef_147_147"></a><a href="#Note_147_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a> I have no objection; but if he has the -heart of a lion, he has also that brute's appetite. One day, under the -walls of Acre, being convalescent, he had a great desire for some pork. -There was no pork. They killed a young Saracen, fresh and tender, cooked -and salted him, and the king ate him and found him very good; whereupon -he desired to see the head of the pig. The cook brought it in trembling. -The king falls a-laughing, and says the army has nothing to fear from -famine, having provisions ready at hand. He takes the town, and -presently Saladin's ambassadors come to sue for pardon for the -prisoners. Richard has thirty of the most noble beheaded, and bids his -cook boil the heads, and serve one to each ambassador, with a ticket -bearing the name and family of the dead man. Meanwhile, in their -presence, he eats his own with a relish, bids them tell Saladin how the -Christians make war, and ask him if it is true that they fear him. Then -he orders the sixty thousand prisoners to be led into the plain:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"They were led into the place full even.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There they heard angels of heaven;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They said: 'Seigneures, tuez, tuez!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Spares hem nought, and beheadeth these!'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">King Richard heard the angels' voice,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thanked God and the holy cross."</span></p> - - -<p>Thereupon they behead them all. When he took a town, it was his wont to -murder everyone, even children and women. Such was the devotion of the -Middle Ages, not only in romances, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> as here, but in history. At the -taking of Jerusalem the whole population, seventy thousand persons, were -massacred.</p> - -<p>Thus even in chivalrous stories the fierce and unbridled instincts of -the bloodthirsty brute break out. The authentic narratives show it. -Henry II, irritated at a page, attempted to tear out his eyes.<a name="NoteRef_148_148" id="NoteRef_148_148"></a><a href="#Note_148_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a> John -Lackland let twenty-three hostages die in prison of hunger. Edward II -caused at one time twenty-eight nobles to be hanged and disemboweled, -and was himself put to death by the insertion of a red-hot iron into his -bowels. Look in Froissart for the debaucheries and murders in France as -well as in England, of the Hundred Years' War, and then for the -slaughters of the Wars of the Roses. In both countries feudal -independence ended in civil war, and the Middle Age founders under its -vices. Chivalrous courtesy, which cloaked the native ferocity, -disappears like some hangings suddenly consumed by the breaking out of a -fire; at that time in England they killed nobles in preference, and -prisoners, too, even children, with insults, in cold blood. What, then, -did man learn in this civilization and by this literature? How was he -humanized? What precepts of justice, habits of reflection, store of true -judgments, did this culture interpose between his desires and his -actions, in order to moderate his passion? He dreamed, he imagined a -sort of elegant ceremonial in order the better to address lords and -ladies; he discovered the gallant code of little Jehan de Saintré. But -where is the true education? Wherein has Froissart profited by all his -vast experience? He was a fine specimen of a babbling child; what they -called his poesy, the <i>poèsie neuve</i>, is only a refined gabble, a -senile puerility. Some rhetoricians, like Christine de Pisan, try to -round their periods after an ancient model; but all their literature -amounts to nothing. No one can think. Sir John Maundeville, who -travelled all over the world a hundred and fifty years after -Villehardouin, is as contracted in his ideas as Villehardouin himself. -Extraordinary legends and fables, every sort of credulity and ignorance, -abound in his book. When he wishes to explain why Palestine has passed -into the hands of various possessors instead of continuing under one -government, he says that it is because God would not that it should -continue longer in the hands of traitors and sinners, whether Christians -or others. He has seen at Jerusalem, on the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> steps of the temple, the -footmarks of the ass which our Lord rode on Palm Sunday. He describes -the Ethiopians as a people who have only one foot, but so large that -they can make use of it as a parasol. He instances one island "where be -people as big as gyants, of 28 feet long, and have no clothing but -beasts' skins"; then another island "where there are many evil and foul -women, but have precious stones in their eyes, and have such force that -if they behold any man with wrath, they slay him with beholding, as the -basilisk doth." The good man relates; that is all: doubt and -common-sense scarcely exist in the world he lives in. He has neither -judgment nor reflection; he piles facts one on top of another, with no -further connection; his book is simply a mirror which reproduces -recollections of his eyes and ears. "And all those who will say a Pater -and an Ave Maria in my behalf, I give them an interest and a share in -all the holy pilgrimages I ever made in my life." That is his farewell, -and accords with all the rest. Neither public morality nor public -knowledge has gained anything from these three centuries of culture. -This French culture, copied in vain throughout Europe, has but -superficially adorned mankind, and the varnish with which it decked them -is already tarnished everywhere or scales off. It was worse in England, -where the thing was more superficial and the application worse than in -France, where foreign hands laid it on, and where it could only half -cover the Saxon crust, where that crust was worn away and rough. That is -the reason why, during three centuries, throughout the whole first -feudal age, the literature of the Normans in England, made up of -imitations, translations, and clumsy copies, ends in nothing.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Feudal_Civilization"></a>SECTION VI.—Feudal Civilization</h4> - - -<p>Meantime, what has become of the conquered people? Has the old stock, on -which the brilliant Continental flowers were grafted, engendered no -literary shoot of its own? Did it continue barren during all this time -under the Norman axe, which stripped it of all its buds? It grew very -feebly, but it grew nevertheless. The subjugated race is not a -dismembered nation, dislocated, uprooted, sluggish, like the populations -of the Continent, which, after the long Roman oppression, were given up -to the unrestrained invasion of barbarians; it increased, remained <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> fixed -in its own soil, full of sap: its members were not displaced; it was -simply lopped in order to receive on its crown a cluster of foreign -branches. True, it had suffered, but at last the wound closed, the saps -mingled. Even the hard, stiff ligatures with which the Conqueror bound -it, henceforth contributed to its fixity and vigor. The land was mapped -out; every title verified, defined in writing;<a name="NoteRef_149_149" id="NoteRef_149_149"></a><a href="#Note_149_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> every right or -tenure valued; every man registered as to his locality, and also his -condition, duties, descent, and resources, so that the whole nation was -enveloped in a network of which not a mesh would break. Its future -development had to be within these limits. Its constitution was settled, -and in this positive and stringent enclosure men were compelled to -unfold themselves and to act. Solidarity and strife; these were the two -effects of the great and orderly establishment which shaped and held -together, on one side the aristocracy of the conquerors, on the other -the conquered people; even as in Rome the systematic fusing of conquered -peoples into the plebs, and the constrained organization of the -patricians in contrast with the plebs, enrolled the private individuals -in two orders, whose opposition and union formed the state. Thus, here -as in Rome, the national character was moulded and completed by the -habit of corporate action, the respect for written law, political and -practical aptitude, the development of combative and patient energy. It -was the Domesday Book which, binding this young society in a rigid -discipline, made of the Saxon the Englishman of our own day.</p> - -<p>Gradually and slowly, amidst the gloomy complainings of the chroniclers, -we find the new man fashioned by action, like a child who cries because -steel stays, though they improve his figure, give him pain. However -reduced and downtrodden the Saxons were, they did not all sink into the -populace. Some,<a name="NoteRef_150_150" id="NoteRef_150_150"></a><a href="#Note_150_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a> almost in every county, remained lords of their -estates, on the condition of doing homage for them to the king. Many -became vassals of Norman barons, and remained proprietors on this -condition. A greater number became socagers, that is, free proprietors, -burdened with a tax, but possessed of the right of alienating their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -property; and the Saxon villeins found patrons in these, as the plebs -formerly did in the Italian nobles who were transplanted to Rome. The -patronage of the Saxons who preserved their integral position was -effective, for they were not isolated: marriages from the first united -the two races, as it had the patricians and plebeians of Rome;<a name="NoteRef_151_1" id="NoteRef_151_1"></a><a href="#Note_151_1" class="fnanchor">[151]</a> a -Norman brother-in-law to a Saxon, defended himself in defending him. In -those turbulent times, and in an armed community, relatives and allies -were obliged to stand shoulder to shoulder in order to keep their -ground. After all, it was necessary for the new-comers to consider their -subjects, for these subjects had the heart and courage of men: the -Saxons, like the plebeians at Rome, remembered their native rank and -their original independence. We can recognize it in the complaints and -indignation of the chroniclers, in the growling and menaces of popular -revolt, in the long bitterness with which they continually recalled -their ancient liberty, in the favor with which they cherished the daring -and rebellion of outlaws. There were Saxon families at the end of the -twelfth century who had bound themselves by a perpetual vow to wear long -beards from father to son in memory of the national custom and of the -old country. Such men, even though fallen to the condition of socagers, -even sunk into villeins, had a stiffer neck than the wretched colonists -of the Continent, trodden down and moulded by four centuries of Roman -taxation. By their feelings as well as by their condition, they were the -broken remains, but also the living elements, of a free people. They did -not suffer the extremities of oppression. They constituted the body of -the nation, the laborious, courageous body which supplied its energy. -The great barons felt that they must rely upon them in their resistance -to the king. Very soon, in stipulating for themselves, they stipulated -for all freemen,<a name="NoteRef_152_1" id="NoteRef_152_1"></a><a href="#Note_152_1" class="fnanchor">[152]</a> even for merchants and villeins. Thereafter "No -merchant shall be dispossessed of his merchandise, no villein of the -instruments of his labor; no freeman, merchant, or villein shall be -taxed unreasonably for a small crime; no freeman shall be arrested, or -imprisoned, or disseized of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> land, or outlawed, or destroyed in any -manner, but by the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the -land." Thus protected they raise themselves and act. In each county -there was a court, where all freeholders, small or great, came to -deliberate about the municipal affairs, administer justice, and appoint -tax-assessors. The red-bearded Saxon, with his clear complexion and -great white teeth, came and sat by the Norman's side; these were -franklins like the one whom Chaucer describes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A Frankelein was in this compagnie;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">White was his herd, as is the dayesie.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of his complexion he was sanguin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in win.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To liven in delit was ever his wone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For he was Epicures owen sone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That held opinion that plein delit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was veraily felicite parfite.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An housholder, and that a grete was he,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seint Julian he was in his contree.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His brede, his ale, was alway after on;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A better envyned man was no wher non.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Withouten bake mete never his hous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of all deintees that men coud of thinke;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After the sondry sesons of the yere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So changed he his mete and his soupere.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful many a fat partrich had he in mewe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And many a breme, and many a luce in stewe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wo was his coke but if his sauce were</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His table, dormant in his halle alway</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stode redy covered alle the longe day.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At sessions ther was he lord and sire.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful often time he was knight of the shire.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An anelace and a gipciere all of silk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heng at his girdle, white as morwe milk.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A shereve hadde he ben, and a contour.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was no wher swiche a worthy vavasour."<a name="NoteRef_153_153" id="NoteRef_153_153"></a><a href="#Note_153_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a></span></p> - - -<p>With him occasionally in the assembly, oftenest among the audience, were -the yeomen, farmers, foresters, tradesmen, his fellow-countrymen, -muscular and resolute men, not slow in the defence of their property, -and in supporting him who would take <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> their cause in hand, with voice, -fist and weapons. Is it likely that the discontent of such men to whom -the following description applies could be overlooked?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The Miller was a stout carl for the nones,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful bigge he was of braun and eke of bones;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That proved wel, for over all ther he came,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At wrastling he wold bere away the ram.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He was short shuldered brode, a thikke gnarre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ther n'as no dore, that he n'olde heve of barre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or breke it at a renning with his hede.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His berd as any sowe or fox was rede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And therto brode, as though it were a spade.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon the cop right of his nose he hade</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A wert, and thereon stode a tufte of heres,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rede as the bristles of a sowes eres:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His nose-thirles blacke were and wide.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A swerd and bokeler bare he by his side.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His mouth as wide was as a forneis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He was a jangler and a goliardeis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And that was most of sinne, and harlotries.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wel coude he stelen corne and tollen thries.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet he had a thomb of gold parde.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A white cote and a blew hode wered he.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and soune,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And therwithall he brought us out of toune."<a name="NoteRef_154_1" id="NoteRef_154_1"></a><a href="#Note_154_1" class="fnanchor">[154]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Those are the athletic forms, the square build, the jolly John Bulls of -the period, such as we yet find them, nourished by meat and porter, -sustained by bodily exercise and boxing. These are the men we must keep -before us, if we will understand how political liberty has been -established in this country. Gradually they find the simple knights, -their colleagues in the county court, too poor to be present with the -great barons at the royal assemblies, coalescing with them. They become -united by community of interests, by similarity of manners, by nearness -of condition; they take them for their representatives, they elect -them.<a name="NoteRef_155_155" id="NoteRef_155_155"></a><a href="#Note_155_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a> They have now entered upon public life, and the advent of a -new reinforcement gives them a perpetual standing in their changed -condition. The towns laid waste by the Conquest are gradually repeopled. -They obtain or exact charters; the townsmen buy themselves out of the -arbitrary taxes that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> were imposed on them; they get possession of the -land on which their houses are built; they unite themselves under mayors -and aldermen. Each town now, within the meshes of the great feudal net, -is a power. The Earl of Leicester, rebelling against the king, summons -two burgesses from each town to Parliament,<a name="NoteRef_156_1" id="NoteRef_156_1"></a><a href="#Note_156_1" class="fnanchor">[156]</a> to authorize and -support him. From that time the conquered race, both in country and -town, rose to political life. If they were taxed, it was with their -consent; they paid nothing which they did not agree to. Early in the -fourteenth century their united deputies composed the House of Commons; -and already, at the close of the preceding century, the Archbishop of -Canterbury, speaking in the name of the king, said to the pope, "It is -the custom of the kingdom of England, that in all affairs relating to -the state of this kingdom, the advice of all who are interested in them -should be taken."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Persistence_of_Saxon_Ideas">SECTION VII.—Persistence of Saxon Ideas</a></h4> - - -<p>If they have acquired liberties, it is because they have obtained them -by force; circumstances have assisted, but character has done more. The -protection of the great barons and the alliance of the plain knights -have strengthened them; but it was by their native roughness and energy -that they maintained their independence. Look at the contrast they offer -at this moment to their neighbors. What occupies the mind of the French -people? The fabliaux, the naughty tricks of Reynard, the art of -deceiving Master Isengrin, of stealing his wife, of cheating him out of -his dinner, of getting him beaten by a third party without danger to -one's self; in short, the triumph of poverty and cleverness over power -united to folly. The popular hero is already the artful plebeian, -chaffing, light-hearted, who, later on, will ripen into Panurge and -Figaro, not apt to withstand you to your face, too sharp to care for -great victories and habits of strife, inclined by the nimbleness of his -wit to dodge round an obstacle; if he but touch a man with the tip of -his finger, that man tumbles into the trap. But here we have other -customs: it is Robin Hood, a valiant outlaw, living free and bold in the -green forest, waging frank and open war against sheriff and law.<a name="NoteRef_157_157" id="NoteRef_157_157"></a><a href="#Note_157_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a> If -ever a man was popular in his country, it was he. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> "It is he," says an -old historian, "whom the common people love so dearly to celebrate in -games and comedies, and whose history, sung by fiddlers, interests them -more than any other." In the sixteenth century he still had his -commemoration day, observed by all the people in the small towns and in -the country. Bishop Latimer, making his pastoral tour, announced one day -that he would preach in a certain place. On the morrow, proceeding to -the church, he found the doors closed, and waited more than an hour -before they brought him the key. At last a man came and said to him, -"Syr, thys ys a busye day with us; we cannot heare you: it is Robyn -Hoodes Daye. The parishe are gone abrode to gather for Robyn Hoode.... I -was fayne there to geve place to Robyn Hoode."<a name="NoteRef_158_1" id="NoteRef_158_1"></a><a href="#Note_158_1" class="fnanchor">[158]</a> The bishop was -obliged to divest himself of his ecclesiastical garments and proceed on -his journey, leaving his place to archers dressed in green, who played -on a rustic stage the parts of Robin Hood, Little John, and their band. -In fact, he was the national hero. Saxon in the first place and waging -war against the men of law, against bishops and archbishops, whose sway -was so heavy; generous, moreover, giving to a poor ruined knight -clothes, horse, and money to buy back the land he had pledged to a -rapacious abbot; compassionate too, and kind to the poor, enjoining his -men not to injure yeomen and laborers; but above all, rash, bold, proud, -who would go and draw his bow before the sheriff's eyes and to his face; -ready with blows, whether to give or take. He slew fourteen out of -fifteen foresters who came to arrest him; he slays the sheriff, the -judge, the town gatekeeper; he is ready to slay as many more as like to -come; and all this joyously, jovially, like an honest fellow who eats -well, has a hard skin, lives in the open air, and revels in animal life.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In somer when the shawes be sheyne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And leves be large and long,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hit is fulle mery in feyre foreste</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To here the foulys song."</span></p> - - -<p>That is how many ballads begin; and the fine weather, which makes the -stags and oxen butt with their horns, inspires them with the thought of -exchanging blows with sword or stick. Robin dreamed that two yeomen were -thrashing him, and he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> wants to go and find them, angrily repelling -Little John, who offers to go first:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ah John, by me thou settest noe store,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And that I farley finde:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How offt send I my men before,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And tarry myselfe behinde?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"It is no cunnin a knave to ken,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">An a man but heare him speake;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An it were not for bursting of my bowe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">John, I thy head wold breake."<a name="NoteRef_159_159" id="NoteRef_159_159"></a><a href="#Note_159_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a>...</span></p> - - -<p>He goes alone, and meets the robust yeoman, Guy of Gisborne,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He that had neyther beene kythe nor kin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Might have seen a full fayre fight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To see how together these yeomen went</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">With blades both browne and bright,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To see how these yeomen together they fought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Two howres of a summer's day;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yett neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Them fettled to flye away."<a name="NoteRef_160_1" id="NoteRef_160_1"></a><a href="#Note_160_1" class="fnanchor">[160]</a></span></p> - - -<p>You see Guy the yeoman is as brave as Robin Hood; he came to seek him in -the wood, and drew the bow almost as well as he. This old popular poetry -is not the praise of a single bandit, but of an entire class, the -yeomanry. "God haffe mersy on Robin Hodys solle, and saffe all god -yemanry." That is how many ballads end. The brave yeoman, inured to -blows, a good archer, clever at sword and stick, is the favorite. There -were also, redoubtable, armed townsfolk, accustomed to make use of their -arms. Here they are at work:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'O that were a shame,' said jolly Robin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'We being three, and thou but one,'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The pinder<a name="NoteRef_161_1" id="NoteRef_161_1"></a><a href="#Note_161_1" class="fnanchor">[161]</a> leapt back then thirty good foot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'Twas thirty good foot and one.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He leaned his back fast unto a thorn,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And his foot against a stone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And there he fought a long summer's day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">A summer's day so long.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Till that their swords on their broad bucklers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Were broke fast into their hands."<a name="NoteRef_162_162" id="NoteRef_162_162"></a><a href="#Note_162_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Often even Robin does not get the advantage:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'I pass not for length,' bold Arthur reply'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'My staff is of oke so free;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Eight foot and a half, it will knock down a calf,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And I hope it will knock down thee.'</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then Robin could no longer forbear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">He gave him such a knock,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quickly and soon the blood came down</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Before it was ten a clock.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then Arthur he soon recovered himself,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And gave him such a knock on the crown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That from every side of bold Robin Hood's head</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The blood came trickling down.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then Robin raged like a wild boar,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As soon as he saw his own blood:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then Bland was in hast, he laid on so fast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As though he had been cleaving of wood.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And about and about and about they went,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Like two wild bores in a chase,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Striving to aim each other to maim,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Leg, arm, or any other place.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And knock for knock they lustily dealt,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Which held for two hours and more,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till all the wood rang at every bang,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">They ply'd their work so sore.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Hold thy hand, hold thy hand,' said Robin Hood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'And let thy quarrel fall;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For here we may thrash our bones all to mesh,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And get no coyn at all.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And in the forrest of merry Sherwood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Hereafter thou shalt be free.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'God a mercy for nought, my freedom I bought,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I may thank my staff, and not thee.'"<a name="NoteRef_163_1" id="NoteRef_163_1"></a><a href="#Note_163_1" class="fnanchor">[163]</a>...</span></p> - - -<p>"Who are you, then?" says Robin:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'I am a tanner,' bold Arthur reply'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In Nottingham long I have wrought;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if thou'lt come there, I vow and swear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I will tan thy hide for nought.'</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'God a mercy, good fellow,' said jolly Robin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'Since thou art so kind and free;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if thou wilt tan my hide for nought,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I will do as much for thee.'"<a name="NoteRef_164_164" id="NoteRef_164_164"></a><a href="#Note_164_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a></span></p> - - -<p>With these generous offers, they embrace; a free exchange of honest -blows always prepares the way for friendship. It was so Robin Hood tried -Little John, whom he loved all his life after. Little John was seven -feet high, and being on a bridge, would not give way. Honest Robin would -not use his bow against him, but went and cut a stick seven feet long; -and they agreed amicably to fight on the bridge until one should fall -into the water. They fall to so merrily that "their bones ring." In the -end Robin falls, and he feels only the more respect for Little John. -Another time, having a sword with him, he was thrashed by a tinker who -had only a stick. Full of admiration, he gives him a hundred pounds. -Again he was thrashed by a potter, who refused him toll; then by a -shepherd. They fight to amuse themselves. Even nowadays boxers give each -other a friendly grip before setting to; they knock one another about in -this country honorably, without malice, fury, or shame. Broken teeth, -black eyes, smashed ribs, do not call for murderous vengeance: it would -seem that the bones are more solid and the nerves less sensitive in -England than elsewhere. Blows once exchanged, they take each other by -the hand, and dance together on the green grass:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then Robin took them both by the hands,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And danc'd round about the oke tree.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'For three merry men, and three merry men,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And three merry men we be.'"</span></p> - - -<p>Moreover, these people, in each parish, practised the bow every Sunday, -and were the best archers in the world; from the close of the fourteenth -century the general emancipation of the villeins multiplied their number -greatly, and you can now understand how, amidst all the operations and -changes of the great central powers, the liberty of the subject -survived. After all, the only permanent and unalterable guarantee, in -every country and under every constitution, is this unspoken declaration -in the heart of the mass of the people, which is well understood on all -sides: "If any man touches my property, enters my house, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> obstructs or -molests me, let him beware. I have patience, but I have also strong -arms, good comrades, a good blade, and, on occasion, a firm resolve, -happen what may, to plunge my blade up to its hilt in his throat."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--The_English_Constitution">SECTION VIII.—The English Constitution</a></h4> - - -<p>Thus thought Sir John Fortescue, Chancellor of England under Henry VI, -exiled in France during the Wars of the Roses, one of the oldest -prose-writers, and the first who weighed and explained the constitution -of his country.<a name="NoteRef_165_1" id="NoteRef_165_1"></a><a href="#Note_165_1" class="fnanchor">[165]</a> He says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"It is cowardise and lack of hartes and corage that kepeth the Frenchmen -from rysyng, and not povertye;<a name="NoteRef_166_1" id="NoteRef_166_1"></a><a href="#Note_166_1" class="fnanchor">[166]</a> which corage no Frenche man hath -like to the English man. It hath ben often seen in Englond that iij or -iv thefes, for povertie, hath sett upon vij or viij true men, and robbyd -them al. But it hath not ben seen in Fraunce, that vij or viij thefes -have ben hardy to robbe iij or iv true men. Wherfor it is right seld -that Frenchmen be hangyd for robberye, for that they have no hertys to -do so terryble an acte. There be therfor mo men hangyd in Englond, in a -yere, for robberye and manslaughter, than ther be hangid in Fraunce for -such cause of crime in vij yers."<a name="NoteRef_167_1" id="NoteRef_167_1"></a><a href="#Note_167_1" class="fnanchor">[167]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This throws a startling and terrible light on the violent condition of -this armed community, where sudden attacks are an every-day matter, and -everyone, rich and poor, lives with his hand on his sword. There were -great bands of malefactors under Edward I, who infested the country, and -fought with those who came to seize them. The inhabitants of the towns -were obliged to gather together with those of the neighboring towns, -with hue and cry, to pursue and capture them. Under Edward III there -were barons who rode about with armed escorts and archers, seizing the -manors, carrying off ladies and girls of high degree, mutilating, -killing, extorting ransoms from people in their own houses, as if they -were in an enemy's land, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> and sometimes coming before the judges at the -sessions in such guise and in so great force that the judges were afraid -and dared not administer justice.<a name="NoteRef_168_1" id="NoteRef_168_1"></a><a href="#Note_168_1" class="fnanchor">[168]</a> Read the letters of the Paston -family, under Henry VI and Edward IV, and you will see how private war -was at every door, how it was necessary for a man to provide himself -with men and arms, to be on the alert for defence of his property, to be -self-reliant, to depend on his own strength and courage. It is this -excess of vigor and readiness to fight which, after their victories in -France, set them against one another in England, in the butcheries of -the Wars of the Roses. The strangers who saw them were astonished at -their bodily strength and courage, at the great pieces of beef "which -feed their muscles, at their military habits, their fierce obstinacy, as -of savage beasts."<a name="NoteRef_169_169" id="NoteRef_169_169"></a><a href="#Note_169_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a> They are like their bulldogs, an untamable race, -who in their mad courage "cast themselves with shut eyes into the den of -a Russian bear, and get their head broken like a rotten apple." This -strange condition of a militant community, so full of danger, and -requiring so much effort, does not make them afraid. King Edward having -given orders to send disturbers of the peace to prison without legal -proceedings, and not to liberate them, on bail or otherwise, the Commons -declared the order "horribly vexatious"; resist it, refuse to be too -much protected. Less peace, but more independence. They maintain the -guarantees of the subject at the expense of public security, and prefer -turbulent liberty to arbitrary order. Better suffer marauders whom they -could fight, than magistrates under whom they would have to bend.</p> - -<p>This proud and persistent notion gives rise to, and fashions Fortescue's -whole work:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Ther be two kynds of kyngdomys, of the which that one ys a lordship -callid in Latyne Dominium regale, and that other is callid Dominium -politicum et regale."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>The first is established in France, and the second in England.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"And they dyversen in that the first may rule his people by such lawys -as he makyth hymself, and therefor, he may set upon them talys, and -other impositions, such as he wyl hymself, without their assent. The -secund may not rule hys people by other laws than such as they <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> assenten -unto; and therfor he may set upon them non impositions without their own -assent."<a name="NoteRef_170_1" id="NoteRef_170_1"></a><a href="#Note_170_1" class="fnanchor">[170]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In a state like this, the will of the people is the prime element of -life. Sir John Fortescue says further:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"A king of England cannot at his pleasure make any alterations in the -laws of the land, for the nature of his government is not only regal, -but political."</p> - -<p>"In the body politic, the first thing which lives and moves is the -intention of the people, having in it the blood, that is, the prudential -care and provision for the public good, which it transmits and -communicates to the head, as to the principal part, and to all the rest -of the members of the said body politic, whereby it subsists and is -invigorated. The law under which the people is incorporated may be -compared to the nerves or sinews of the body natural.... And as the -bones and all the other members of the body preserve their functions and -discharge their several offices by the nerves, so do the members of the -community by the law. And as the head of the body natural cannot change -its nerves or sinews, cannot deny to the several parts their proper -energy, their due proportion and aliment of blood, neither can a king -who is the head of the body politic change the laws thereof, nor take -from the people what is theirs by right, against their consents.... For -he is appointed to protect his subjects in their lives, properties, and -laws, for this very end and purpose he has the delegation of power from -the people."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Here we have all the ideas of Locke in the fifteenth century, so -powerful is practice to suggest theory! so quickly does man discover, in -the enjoyment of liberty, the nature of liberty! Fortescue goes further; -he contrasts, step by step, the Roman law, that inheritance of all Latin -peoples, with the English law, that heritage of all Teutonic peoples: -one the work of absolute princes, and tending altogether to the -sacrifice of the individual; the other the work of the common will, -tending altogether to protect the person. He contrasts the maxims of the -imperial jurisconsults, who accord "force of law to all which is -determined by the prince," with the statutes of England, which "are not -enacted by the sole will of the prince,... but with the concurrent -consent of the whole kingdom, by their representatives in Parliament,... -more than three hundred select persons." He contrasts the arbitrary -nomination of imperial officers with the election of the sheriff, and -says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is in every county a certain officer, called the king's sheriff, -who, amongst other duties of his office, executes within his county all <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -mandates and judgments of the king's courts of justice: he is an annual -officer; and it is not lawful for him, after the expiration of his year, -to continue to act in his said office, neither shall he be taken in -again to execute the said office within two years thence next ensuing. -The manner of his election is thus: Every year, on the morrow of -All-Souls, there meet in the King's Court of Exchequer all the king's -counsellors, as well lords spiritual and temporal, as all other the -king's justices, all the barons of the Exchequer, the Master of the -Rolls, and certain other officers, when all of them, by common consent, -nominate three of every county knights or esquires, persons of -distinction, and such as they esteem fittest qualified to bear the -office of sheriff of that county for the year ensuing. The king only -makes choice of one out of the three so nominated and returned, who, in -virtue of the king's letters patent, is constituted High Sheriff of that -county."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>He contrasts the Roman procedure, which is satisfied with two witnesses -to condemn a man, with the jury, the three permitted challenges, the -admirable guarantees of justice with which the uprightness, number, -repute, and condition of the juries surround the sentence. About the -juries he says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Twelve good and true men being sworn, as in the manner above related, -legally qualified, that is, having, over and besides their movables, -possessions in land sufficient, as was said, wherewith to maintain their -rank and station; neither inspected by, nor at variance with either of -the parties; all of the neighborhood; there shall be read to them, in -English, by the Court, the record and nature of the plea."<a name="NoteRef_171_171" id="NoteRef_171_171"></a><a href="#Note_171_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Thus protected, the English commons cannot be other than flourishing. -Consider, on the other hand, he says to the young prince whom he is -instructing, the condition of the commons in France. By their taxes, tax -on salt, on wine, billeting of soldiers, they are reduced to great -misery. You have seen them on your travels....</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The same Commons be so impoverishid and distroyyd, that they may unneth -lyve. Thay drink water, thay eate apples, with bred right brown made of -rye. They eate no fleshe, but if it be selden, a litill larde, or of the -entrails or heds of bests sclayne for the nobles and merchants of the -land. They weryn no wollyn, but if it be a pore cote under their -uttermost garment, made of grete convass, and cal it a frok. Their hosyn -be of like canvas, and passen not their knee, wherfor they be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> gartrid -and their thyghs bare. Their wifs and children gone bare fote.... For -sum of them, that was wonte to pay to his lord for his tenement which he -hyrith by the year a scute payth now to the kyng, over that scute, fyve -skuts. Wher thrugh they be artyd by necessite so to watch, labour and -grub in the ground for their sustenance, that their nature is much -wasted, and the kynd of them brought to nowght. Thay gone crokyd and ar -feeble, not able to fight nor to defend the realm; nor they have wepon, -nor monye to buy them wepon withal.... This is the frute first of hyre -Jus regale.... But blessed be God, this land ys rulid under a better -lawe, and therfor the people thereof be not in such penurye, nor therby -hurt in their persons, but they be wealthie and have all things -necessarie to the sustenance of nature. Wherefore they be myghty and -able to resyste the adversaries of the realms that do or will do them -wrong. Loo, this is the fruit of Jus politicum et regale, under which we -lyve."<a name="NoteRef_172_1" id="NoteRef_172_1"></a><a href="#Note_172_1" class="fnanchor">[172]</a> "Everye inhabiter of the realme of England useth and -enjoyeth at his pleasure all the fruites that his land or cattel -beareth, with al the profits and commodities which by his owne travayle, -or by the labour of others, hae gaineth; not hindered by the iniurie or -wrong deteinement of anye man, but that hee shall bee allowed a -reasonable recompence.<a name="NoteRef_173_1" id="NoteRef_173_1"></a><a href="#Note_173_1" class="fnanchor">[173]</a>... Hereby it commeth to passe that the men -of that lande are riche, havying aboundaunce of golde and silver, and -other thinges necessarie for the maintenaunce of man's life. They drinke -no water, unless it be so, that some for devotion, and uppon a zeale of -penaunce, doe abstaine from other drinks. They eate plentifully of all -kindes of fleshe and fishe. They weare fine woolen cloth in all their -apparel; they have also aboundaunce of bed-coveringes in their houses, -and of all other woolen stuffe. They have greate store of all -hustlementes and implementes of householde, they are plentifully -furnished with al instruments of husbandry, and all other things that -are requisite to the accomplishment of a quiet and wealthy lyfe, -according to their estates and degrees. Neither are they sued in the -lawe, but onely before ordinary iudges, where by the lawes of the lande -they are iustly intreated. Neither are they arrested or impleaded for -their moveables or possessions, or arraigned of any offence, bee it -never so great and outragious, but after the lawes of the land, and -before the iudges aforesaid."<a name="NoteRef_174_1" id="NoteRef_174_1"></a><a href="#Note_174_1" class="fnanchor">[174]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>All this arises from the constitution of the country and the -distribution of the land. Whilst in other countries we find only a -population of paupers, with here and there a few lords, England is -covered and filled with owners of lands and fields; so that "therein so -small a thorpe cannot bee founde, wherein dwelleth not a knight, an -esquire, or suche a housholder as is there commonly called a franklayne, -enryched with greate possessions. And also other freeholders, and many -yeomen able <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> for their livelodes to make a jurye in fourme -afore-mentioned. For there bee in that lande divers yeomen, which are -able to dispend by the yeare above a hundred poundes."<a name="NoteRef_175_175" id="NoteRef_175_175"></a><a href="#Note_175_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a> Harrison -says:<a name="NoteRef_176_1" id="NoteRef_176_1"></a><a href="#Note_176_1" class="fnanchor">[176]</a></p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"This sort of people, have more estimation than labourers and the common -sort of artificers, and these commonlie live wealthilie, keepe good -houses, and travell to get riches. They are for the most part farmers to -gentlemen," and keep servants of their own. "These were they that in -times past made all France afraid. And albeit they be not called master, -as gentlemen are, or sir, as to knights apperteineth, but onelie John -and Thomas, etc., yet have they beene found to have done verie good -service; and the kings of England, in foughten battels, were wont to -remaine among them (who were their footmen) as the French kings did -among their horssemen: the prince thereby showing where his chiefe -strength did consist."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Such men, says Fortescue, might form a legal jury, and vote, resist, be -associated, do everything wherein a free government consists; for they -were numerous in every district; they were not down-trodden like the -timid peasants of France; they had their honor and that of their family -to maintain; "they be well provided with arms; they remember that they -have won battles in France."<a name="NoteRef_177_1" id="NoteRef_177_1"></a><a href="#Note_177_1" class="fnanchor">[177]</a> Such is the class, still obscure, but -more rich and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> powerful every century, which, founded by the down-trodden -Saxon aristocracy, and sustained by the surviving Saxon character, -ended, under the lead of the inferior Norman nobility and under the -patronage of the superior Norman nobility, in establishing and settling -a free constitution, and a nation worthy of liberty.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IX.--Piers_Plowman_and_Wyclif">SECTION IX.—Piers Plowman and Wyclif</a></h4> - - -<p>When, as here, men are endowed with a serious character, have a resolute -spirit, and possess independent habits, they deal with their conscience -as with their daily business, and end by laying hands on church as well -as state. Already for a long time the exactions of the Roman See had -provoked the resistance of the people,<a name="NoteRef_178_178" id="NoteRef_178_178"></a><a href="#Note_178_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a> and the higher clergy became -unpopular. Men complained that the best livings were given by the pope -to non-resident strangers; that some Italian, unknown in England, -possessed fifty or sixty benefices in England; that English money poured -into Rome; and that the clergy, being judged only by clergy, gave -themselves up to their vices, and abused their state of immunity. In the -first years of Henry III's reign there were nearly a hundred murders -committed by priests then alive. At the beginning of the fourteenth -century the ecclesiastical revenue was twelve times greater than the -civil; about half the soil was in the hands of the clergy. At the end of -the century the commons declared that the taxes paid to the church were -five times greater than the taxes paid to the crown; and some years -afterwards,<a name="NoteRef_179_1" id="NoteRef_179_1"></a><a href="#Note_179_1" class="fnanchor">[179]</a> considering that the wealth of the clergy only served -to keep them in idleness and luxury, they proposed to confiscate it for -the public benefit. Already the idea of the Reformation had forced -itself upon them. They remembered how in the ballads Robin Hood ordered -his folk to spare the yeomen, laborers, even knights, if they are good -fellows, but never to let abbots or bishops escape. The prelates were -grievously oppressing the people by means of their privileges, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -ecclesiastical courts, and tithes; when suddenly, amid the pleasant -banter or the monotonous babble of the Norman versifiers, we hear the -indignant voice of a Saxon, a man of the people and a victim of -oppression, thundering against them.</p> - -<p>It is the vision of Piers Plowman, written, it is supposed, by a secular -priest of Oxford.<a name="NoteRef_180_1" id="NoteRef_180_1"></a><a href="#Note_180_1" class="fnanchor">[180]</a> Doubtless the traces of French taste are -perceptible. It could not be otherwise; the people from below can never -quite prevent themselves from imitating the people above, and the most -unshackled popular poets, Burns and Béranger, too often preserve an -academic style. So here a fashionable machinery, the allegory of the -Roman de la Rose, is pressed into service. We have Do-well, -Covetousness, Avarice, Simony, Conscience, and a whole world of talking -abstractions. But, in spite of these vain foreign phantoms, the body of -the poem is national, and true to life. The old language reappears in -part; the old metre altogether; no morer rhymes, but barbarous -alliterations; no more jesting, but a harsh gravity, a sustained -invective, a grand and sombre imagination, heavy Latin texts, hammered -down as by a Protestant hand. Piers Plowman went to sleep on the Malvern -hills, and there had a wonderful dream:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Thanne gan I meten—a merveillous swevene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That I was in a wildernesse—wiste I nevere where;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And as I biheeld into the eest,—an heigh to the sonne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I seigh a tour on a toft,—trieliche y-maked,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A deep dale bynethe—a dongeon thereinne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With depe diches and derke—and dredfulle of sighte.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A fair feeld ful of folk—fond I ther bitwene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of alle manere of men,—the meene and the riche,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Werchynge and wandrynge—as the world asketh.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Some putten hem to the plough,—pleiden ful selde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In settynge and sowynge—swonken ful harde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And wonnen that wastours—with glotonye dystruyeth."<a name="NoteRef_181_1" id="NoteRef_181_1"></a><a href="#Note_181_1" class="fnanchor">[181]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A gloomy picture of the world, like the frightful dreams which occur so -often in Albert Durer and Luther. The first reformers were persuaded -that the earth was given over to evil; that the devil had on it his -empire and his officers; that Antichrist, seated on the throne of Rome, -displayed ecclesiastical pomps to seduce souls and cast them into the -fire of hell. So here Anti-christ, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> with raised banner, enters a convent; -bells are rung; monks in solemn procession go to meet him, and receive -with congratulations their lord and father.<a name="NoteRef_182_1" id="NoteRef_182_1"></a><a href="#Note_182_1" class="fnanchor">[182]</a> With seven great -giants, the seven deadly sins, he besieges Conscience; and the assault -is led by Idleness, who brings with her an army of more than a thousand -prelates: for vices reign, more hateful from being in holy places, and -employed in the church of God in the devil's service.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ac now is Religion a rydere—a romere aboute,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ledere of love-dayes—and a lond-buggere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A prikere on a palfrey—fro manere to manere....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And but if his knave knele—that shal his coppe brynge,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He loureth on hym, and asketh hym—who taughte hym curteisie."<a name="NoteRef_183_1" id="NoteRef_183_1"></a><a href="#Note_183_1" class="fnanchor">[183]</a></span></p> - - -<p>But this sacrilegious show has its day, and God puts His hand on men in -order to warn them. By order of Conscience, Nature sends forth a host of -plagues and diseases from the planets:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Kynde Conscience tho herde,—and cam out of the planetes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And sente forth his forreyours—feveres and fluxes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Coughes and cardiaclescrampes and tooth-aches,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Reumes and radegundes,—and roynous scabbes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Biles and bocches,—and brennynge agues,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Frenesies and foule yveles,—forageres of kynde....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There was 'Harrow! and Help!—Here cometh Kynde!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Deeth that is dredful—to undo us alle!'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The lord that lyved after lust—tho aloud cryde....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Deeth cam dryvynge after,—and al to duste passhed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Kynges and knyghtes,—kaysers and popes,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Manye a lovely lady—and lemmans of knyghtes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Swowned and swelted for sorwe of hise dyntes."<a name="NoteRef_184_1" id="NoteRef_184_1"></a><a href="#Note_184_1" class="fnanchor">[184]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Here is a crowd of miseries, like those which Milton has described in -his vision of human life; tragic pictures and emotions, such as the -reformers delight to dwell upon. There is a like speech delivered by -John Knox, before the fair ladies of Mary Stuart, which tears the veil -from the human corpse just as coarsely, in order to exhibit its shame. -The conception of the world, proper to the people of the north, all sad -and moral, shows itself already. They are never comfortable in their -country; they have to strive continually against cold or rain. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> They -cannot live there carelessly, lying under a lovely sky, in a sultry and -clear atmosphere, their eyes filled with the noble beauty and happy -serenity of the land. They must work to live; be attentive, exact, keep -their houses wind and water tight, trudge doggedly through the mud -behind their plough, light their lamps in their shops during the day. -Their climate imposes endless inconvenience, and exacts endless -endurance. Hence arise melancholy and the idea of duty. Man naturally -thinks of life as of a battle, oftener of black death which closes this -deadly show, and leads so many plumed and disorderly processions to the -silence and the eternity of the grave. All this visible world is vain; -there is nothing true but human virtue—the courageous energy with which -man attains to self-command, the generous energy with which he employs -himself in the service of others. On this view, then, his eyes are -fixed; they pierce through worldly gauds, neglect sensual joys, to -attain this. By such inner thoughts and feelings the ideal model is -displaced; a new source of action springs up—the idea of righteousness. -What sets them against ecclesiastical pomp and insolence is neither the -envy of the poor and low, nor the anger of the oppressed, nor a -revolutionary desire to experimentalize abstract truth, but conscience. -They tremble lest they should not work out their salvation if they -continue in a corrupt church; they fear the menaces of God, and dare not -embark on the great journey with unsafe guides. "What is righteousness?" -asked Luther, anxiously, "and how shall I obtain it?" With like anxiety -Piers Plowman goes to seek Dowell, and asks each one to show him where -he shall find him. "With us," say the friars. "Contra quath ich, -<i>Septies in die cadit justus</i>, and ho so syngeth certys doth nat wel;" -so he betakes himself to "study and writing," like Luther; the clerks at -table speak much of God and of the Trinity, "and taken Bernarde to -witnesse, and putteth forth presompcions... ac the carful mai crie and -quaken atte gate, bothe a fyngred and a furst, and for defaute spille ys -non so hende to have hym yn. Clerkus and knyghtes carpen of God ofte, -and haveth hym muche in hure mouthe, ac mene men in herte;" and heart, -inner faith, living virtue, are what constitute true religion. This is -what these dull Saxons had begun to discover. The Teutonic conscience, -and English good-sense, too, had been aroused, as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> well as individual -energy, the resolution to judge and decide alone, by and for one's self. -"Christ is our hede that sitteth on hie, Heddis ne ought we have no mo," -says a poem, attributed to Chaucer, and which, with others, claims -independence for Christian consciences.<a name="NoteRef_185_1" id="NoteRef_185_1"></a><a href="#Note_185_1" class="fnanchor">[185]</a></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"We ben his membres bothe also,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Father he taught us call him all,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Maisters to call forbad he tho;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Al maisters ben wickid and fals."</span></p> - - -<p>No other mediator between man and God. In vain the doctors state that -they have authority for their words; there is a word of greater -authority, to wit, God's. We hear it in the fourteenth century, this -grand "word of God." It quitted the learned schools, the dead languages, -the dusty shelves on which the clergy suffered it to sleep, covered with -a confusion of commentators and Fathers.<a name="NoteRef_186_186" id="NoteRef_186_186"></a><a href="#Note_186_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a> Wycliff appeared and -translated it like Luther, and in a spirit similar to Luther's. "Cristen -men and wymmen, olde and yonge, shulden studie fast in the Newe -Testament, for it is of ful autorite, and opyn to undirstonding of -simple men, as to the poyntis that be moost nedeful to salvacioun."<a name="NoteRef_187_1" id="NoteRef_187_1"></a><a href="#Note_187_1" class="fnanchor">[187]</a> -Religion must be secular, in order to escape from the hands of the -clergy, who monopolize it; each must hear and read for himself the word -of God; he will then be sure that it has not been corrupted; he will -feel it better, and, more, he will understand it better, for</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"ech place of holy writ, both opyn and derk, techit mekenes and charite; -and therfore he that kepith mekenes and charite hath the trewe -undirstondyng and perfectioun of al holi writ.... Therfore no simple man -of wit be aferd unmesurabli to studie in the text of holy writ... and no -clerk be proude of the verrey undirstondyng of holy writ, for whi -undirstonding of hooly writ with outen charite that kepith Goddis -heestis, makith a man depper dampned... and pride and covetise of -clerkis is cause of her blindees and eresie, and priveth them fro verrey -undirstondyng of holy writ."<a name="NoteRef_188_1" id="NoteRef_188_1"></a><a href="#Note_188_1" class="fnanchor">[188]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> - - -<p>These are the memorable words that began to circulate in the markets and -in the schools. They read the translated Bible, and commented on it; -they judged the existing Church after it. What judgments these serious -and untainted minds passed upon it, with what readiness they pushed on -to the true religion of their race, we may see from their petition to -Parliament.<a name="NoteRef_189_1" id="NoteRef_189_1"></a><a href="#Note_189_1" class="fnanchor">[189]</a> One hundred and thirty years before Luther, they said -that the pope was not established by Christ, that pilgrimages and -image-worship were akin to idolatry, that external rites are of no -importance, that priests ought not to possess temporal wealth, that the -doctrine of transubstantiation made a people idolatrous, that priests -have not the power of absolving from sin. In proof of all this they -brought forward texts of Scripture. Fancy these brave spirits, simple -and strong souls, who began to read at night in their shops, by -candle-light; for they were shopkeepers—tailors, skinners, and -bakers—who, with some men of letters, began to read, and then to -believe, and finally got themselves burned.<a name="NoteRef_190_1" id="NoteRef_190_1"></a><a href="#Note_190_1" class="fnanchor">[190]</a> What a sight for the -fifteenth century, and what a promise! It seems as though, with liberty -of action, liberty of mind begins to appear; that these common folk will -think and speak; that under the conventional literature, imitated from -France, a new literature is dawning; and that England, genuine England, -half-mute since the Conquest, will at last find a voice.</p> - -<p>She had not yet found it. King and peers ally themselves to the Church, -pass terrible statutes, destroy books, burn heretics alive, often with -refinement of torture—one in a barrel, another hung by an iron chain -around his waist. The temporal wealth of the clergy had been attacked, -and therewith the whole English constitution; and the great -establishment above crushed out with its whole weight the revolutionists -from below. Darkly, in silence, while the nobles were destroying each -other in the Wars of the Roses, the commons went on working and living, -separating themselves from the established Church, maintaining their -liberties, amassing wealth, but not going further.<a name="NoteRef_191_1" id="NoteRef_191_1"></a><a href="#Note_191_1" class="fnanchor">[191]</a> Like a vast rock -which underlies the soil, yet crops up here and there at distant <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -intervals, they barely show themselves. No great poetical or religious -work displays them to the light. They sang; but their ballads, first -ignored, then transformed, reach us only in a late edition. They prayed; -but beyond one or two indifferent poems, their incomplete and repressed -doctrine bore no fruit. We may well see from the verse, tone, and drift -of their ballads that they are capable of the finest poetic -originality,<a name="NoteRef_192_192" id="NoteRef_192_192"></a><a href="#Note_192_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a> but their poetry is in the hands of yeomen and -harpers. We perceive, by the precocity and energy of their religious -protests, that they are capable of the most severe and impassioned -creeds; but their faith remains hidden in the shop-parlors of a few -obscure sectaries. Neither their faith nor their poetry has been able to -attain its end or issue. The Renaissance and the Reformation, those two -national outbreaks, are still far off; and the literature of the period -retains to the end, like the highest ranks of English society, almost -the perfect stamp of its French origin and its foreign models. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_97_1" id="Note_97_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_97_1"><span class="label">[97]</span></a>See, amidst other delineations of their manners, -the first accounts of the first Crusade. Godfrey clove a Saracen -down to his waist. In Palestine, a widow was compelled, up to the -age of sixty, to marry again, because no fief could remain without -a defender. A Spanish leader said to his exhausted soldiers after -a battle, "You are too weary and too much wounded, but come and -fight with me against this other band; the fresh wounds which we -shall receive will make us forget those which we have." At this -time, says the General Chronicle of Spain, kings, counts, and -nobles, and all the knights, that they might be ever ready, kept -their horses in the chamber where they slept with their wives.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_98_98" id="Note_98_98"></a><a href="#NoteRef_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a>For difference in numbers of the fleet and men -see Freeman, "History of the Norman Conquest," 3 vols., 1867, -III. 381, 387.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_99_99" id="Note_99_99"></a><a href="#NoteRef_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a>For all the details see "Anglo-Norman Chronicles," -III. 4, as quoted by Aug. Thierry. I have myself seen the locality -and the country.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_100_1" id="Note_100_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_100_1"><span class="label">[100]</span></a>Of three columns of attack at Hastings, two were -composed of auxiliaries. Moreover, the chroniclers are not at -fault upon this critical point; they agree in stating that England -was conquered by Frenchmen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_101_1" id="Note_101_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_101_1"><span class="label">[101]</span></a>It was a Rouen fisherman, a soldier of Rollo, who -killed the Duke of France at the mouth of the Eure. Hastings, the -famous' sea-king, was a laborer's son from the neighborhood of Troyes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_102_1" id="Note_102_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_102_1"><span class="label">[102]</span></a>"In the tenth century," says Stendhal, "a man wished -for two things: First, not to be slain; second, to have a good -leather coat." See Fontenelle's "Chronicle."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_103_1" id="Note_103_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_103_1"><span class="label">[103]</span></a>William of Malmesbury.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_104_1" id="Note_104_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_104_1"><span class="label">[104]</span></a>Churches in London, Sarum, Norwich, Durham, Chichester -Peterborough, Rochester, Hereford, Gloucester, Oxford, etc.—William -of Malmesbury.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_105_1" id="Note_105_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_105_1"><span class="label">[105]</span></a>Ordericus Vitalis.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_106_106" id="Note_106_106"></a><a href="#NoteRef_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a>Robert Wace, "Roman du Rou."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_107_1" id="Note_107_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_107_1"><span class="label">[107]</span></a>Ibid.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et li Normanz et li Franfceiz</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tote nuit firent oreisons,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et furent en aflicions.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De lor péchiés confèz se firent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As proveires les regehirent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et qui n'en out proveires prèz,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A son veizin se fist confèz,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pour ço ke samedi esteit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ke la bataille estre debveit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unt Normanz a pramis e voé,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Si com li cler l'orent loé,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ke à ce jor mez s'il veskeient,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Char ni saunc ne mangereient</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Giffrei, éveske de Coustances.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A plusors joint lor pénitances.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cli reçut li confessions</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et dona l' béneiçons.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_108_108" id="Note_108_108"></a><a href="#NoteRef_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a>Robert Wace, "Roman du Rou"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Taillefer ki moult bien cantout</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sur un roussin qui tot alout</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devant li dus alout cantant</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De Kalermaine e de Rolant,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E d'Oliver et des vassals</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ki moururent à Roncevals.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quant ils orent chevalchié tant</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">K'as Engleis vindrent aprismant:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sires! dist Taillefer, merci!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Je vos ai languement servi.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tut mon servise me debvez,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hui, si vos plaist, me le rendez</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Por tout guerredun vos requier,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et si vos voil forment preier,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Otreiez-mei, ke jo n'i faille,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Li primier colp de la bataille."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et li dus répont: "Je l'otrei."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et Taillefer point à desrei;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devant toz li altres se mist,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Un Englez féri, si l'ocist.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De sos le pis, parmie la pance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Li fist passer ultre la lance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A terre estendu l'abati.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poiz trait l'espée, altre féri.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poiz a crié: "Venez, venez!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ke fetes-vos? Férez, férez!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Done l'unt Englez avironé,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Al secund colp k'il ou doné.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_109_1" id="Note_109_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_109_1"><span class="label">[109]</span></a>The idea of types is applicable throughout all -physical and moral nature.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_110_1" id="Note_110_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_110_1"><span class="label">[110]</span></a>Danois is a contraction of le d'Ardennois, from -the Ardennes.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_111_1" id="Note_111_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_111_1"><span class="label">[111]</span></a>Genin, "Chanson de Roland":<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Co sent Rollans que la mort le trespent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devers la teste sur le quer li descent;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Desuz un pin i est alet curant,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sur l'herbe verte si est culchet adenz;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Desuz lui met l'espée et l'olifan;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turnat sa teste vers la paîene gent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pour ço l'at fait que il voelt veirement</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Que Carles diet e trestute sa gent;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Li gentilz quens, qu'il fut mort cunquérant.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cleimet sa culpe, e menut e suvent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pur ses pecchez en puroffrid lo guant.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Li quens Rollans se iut desuz un pin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Envers Espaigne en ad turnet sun vis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De plusurs choses a remembrer le prist.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De tantes terres cume li bers cunquist,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De dulce France des humes de sun lign,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De Carlemagne sun seignor ki l'nurrit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne poet muer n'en plurt et ne susprit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mais lui meisme ne volt mettre en ubli.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cleimet sa culpe, si priet Dieu mercit:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Veire paterne, ki unques ne mentis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seint Lazaron de mort resurrexis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et Daniel des lions guaresis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guaris de mei l'arome de tuz perilz,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pur les pecchez que en ma vie fis."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sun destre guant à Deu en puroffrit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seint Gabriel de sa main l'ad pris.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Desur sun bras teneit le chef enclin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Juntes ses mains est alet à sa fin.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deus i tramist sun angle cherubin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et seint Michel qu'on cleimet del péril</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ensemble ad els seint Gabriel i vint,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">L'anme del cunte portent en pareis.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_112_1" id="Note_112_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_112_1"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mon trés-chier ami débonnaire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vous m'avez une chose ditte</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oui n'est pas à faire petite</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mais que l'on doit moult rersongnier.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et nonpourquant, sanz eslongnier,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puisque garison autrement</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne povez avoir vraiement,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pour vostre amour les occiray,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et le sang vous apporteray.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_113_1" id="Note_113_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_113_1"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vraiz Diex, moult est excellente,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et de grant charité plaine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vostre bonté souveraine.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Car vostre grâce présente,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A toute personne humaine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vraix Diex, moult est excellente,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puisqu'elle a cuer et entente,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Et que a ce desir l'amaine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Que de vous servir se paine.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_114_1" id="Note_114_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_114_1"><span class="label">[114]</span></a>See H. Taine, "La Fontaine and His Fables," p. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_115_1" id="Note_115_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_115_1"><span class="label">[115]</span></a>La Fontaine, "Contes, Richard Minutolo."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_116_1" id="Note_116_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_116_1"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Parler lui veut d'une besogne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Où crois que peu conquerrérois</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Si la besogne vous nommois.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_117_1" id="Note_117_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_117_1"><span class="label">[117]</span></a>At King Stephen's death there were 1,115 castles.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_118_118" id="Note_118_118"></a><a href="#NoteRef_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a>A. Thierry, "Histoire de la Conquête de l'Angleterre," II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_119_119" id="Note_119_119"></a><a href="#NoteRef_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a>William of Malmesbury. A. Thierry, II. 20, 122-203.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_120_120" id="Note_120_120"></a><a href="#NoteRef_120_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a>A. Thierry.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_121_1" id="Note_121_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_121_1"><span class="label">[121]</span></a>"In the year 652," says Warton, I. 3, "it was the common -practice of the Anglo-Saxons to send their youth to the monasteries of -France for education; and not only the language but the manners of the -French were esteemed the most polite accomplishments."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_122_122" id="Note_122_122"></a><a href="#NoteRef_122_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a>Warton, I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_123_1" id="Note_123_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_123_1"><span class="label">[123]</span></a>Trevisa's translation of the Polycronycon.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_124_124" id="Note_124_124"></a><a href="#NoteRef_124_124"><span class="label">[124]</span></a>Statutes of foundation of New College, Oxford. In the -abbey of Glastonbury, in 1247: Liber de excidio Trojæ, gesta Ricardi -regis, gesta Alexandri Magni, etc. In the abbey of Peterborough: Amys -et Amelion, Sir Tristam, Guy de Bourgogne, gesta Otuclis les prophéties -de Merlin, le Charlemagne de Turpin, la destruction de Troie, etc. -Warton, ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_125_1" id="Note_125_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_125_1"><span class="label">[125]</span></a>In 1154.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_126_126" id="Note_126_126"></a><a href="#NoteRef_126_126"><span class="label">[126]</span></a>Warton, I. 72-78.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_127_127" id="Note_127_127"></a><a href="#NoteRef_127_127"><span class="label">[127]</span></a>In 1400. Warton, II. 248. Gower died in 1408; his -French ballads belong to the end of the fourteenth century.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_128_128" id="Note_128_128"></a><a href="#NoteRef_128_128"><span class="label">[128]</span></a>He wrote in 1356, and died in 1372.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_129_129" id="Note_129_129"></a><a href="#NoteRef_129_129"><span class="label">[129]</span></a>"And for als moche as it is longe time passed that -ther was no generalle Passage ne Vyage over the See, and many Men -desiren for to here speke of the holy Lond, and han thereof gret -Solace and Comfort, I, John Maundevylle, Knyght, alle be it I be -not worthi, that was born in Englond, in the town of Seynt-Albones, -passed the See in the Zeer of our Lord Jesu-Crist 1322, in the -Day of Seynt Michelle, and hidreto have been longe tyme over the -See, and have seyn and gon thorghe manye dyverse londes, and many -Provynces, and Kingdomes, and Iles."</p> - -<p>"And zee shulle undirstonde that I have put this Boke out of Latyn -into Frensche, and translated it azen out of Frensche, into Englyssche, -that every Man of my Nacioun may undirstonde it."—Sir John Maundeville's -"Voyage and Travaile," ed. Halliwell, 1866, prologue, p. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_130_130" id="Note_130_130"></a><a href="#NoteRef_130_130"><span class="label">[130]</span></a>Sir John Maundeville's "Voyage and Travaile," ed. -Halliwell, 1866, XII., p. 139. It is confessed that the original -on which Wace depended for his ancient "History of England" -is the Latin compilation of Geoffrey of Monmouth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_131_131" id="Note_131_131"></a><a href="#NoteRef_131_131"><span class="label">[131]</span></a>Extract from the account of the proceedings at Arthur's -coronation given by Layamon, in his translation of Wace, executed about -1180. Madden's "Layamon," 1847, II. p. 625 et passim:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tha the king igeten hafde</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And al his mon-weorede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tha bugen ut of burhge</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Theines swithe balde.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alle tha kinges,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And heore here-thringes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alle tha biscopes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And alle tha clærckes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the eorles,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And alle tha beornes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alle the theines,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alle the sweines,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Feire iscrudde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Helde geond felde.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo gunnen æruen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo gunnen urnen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo gunnen lepen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo gunnen sceoten,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo wræstleden</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wither-gome makeden,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo on uelde</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleouweden under scelde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summe heo driven balles</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wide geond tha feldes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monianes kunnes gomen</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ther heo gunnen driuen.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wha swa mihte iwinne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wurthscipe of his gomene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hine me ladde mid songe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At foren than leod kinge;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the king, for his gomene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaf him geven gode.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alle tha quene</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The icumen weoren there.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And alle tha lafdies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leoneden geond walles.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bihalden the dugethen.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that folc plæie.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This ilæste threo dæges,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swulc gomes and swulc plæges,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tha, at than veorthe dæie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The king gon to spekene</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And agæf his goden cnihten</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All heore rihten;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gef seolver, he gæf gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gef hors, he gef lond,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castles, and clœthes eke;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His monnen he iquende.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_132_1" id="Note_132_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_132_1"><span class="label">[132]</span></a>After 1297.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_133_1" id="Note_133_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_133_1"><span class="label">[133]</span></a>About 1312.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_134_1" id="Note_134_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_134_1"><span class="label">[134]</span></a>About 1349.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_135_135" id="Note_135_135"></a><a href="#NoteRef_135_135"><span class="label">[135]</span></a>Warton, II. 36.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_136_1" id="Note_136_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_136_1"><span class="label">[136]</span></a>Time of Henry III., "Reliquiae Antiquæ," edited by -Messrs. Wright and Halliwell, I. 102.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_137_137" id="Note_137_137"></a><a href="#NoteRef_137_137"><span class="label">[137]</span></a>About 1278. Warton, I. 28.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_138_1" id="Note_138_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_138_1"><span class="label">[138]</span></a>Ibid., I. 31.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_139_1" id="Note_139_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_139_1"><span class="label">[139]</span></a>Ibid. I. 30.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_140_1" id="Note_140_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_140_1"><span class="label">[140]</span></a>"Poem of the Owl and Nightingale," who dispute -as to which has the finest voice.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_141_1" id="Note_141_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_141_1"><span class="label">[141]</span></a>Letter of Peter of Blois.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_142_1" id="Note_142_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_142_1"><span class="label">[142]</span></a>William of Malmesbury.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_143_143" id="Note_143_143"></a><a href="#NoteRef_143_143"><span class="label">[143]</span></a>At the installation feast of George Nevill, Archbishop -of York, the brother of Guy of Warwick, there were consumed 104 -oxen and 6 wild bulls, 1000 sheep, 304 calves, as many hogs, 2000 -swine, 500 stags, bucks, and does, 204 kids, 22,802 wild or tame -fowl, 300 quarters of corn, 300 tuns of ale, 100 of wine, a pipe -of hypocras, 12 porpoises and seals.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_144_1" id="Note_144_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_144_1"><span class="label">[144]</span></a>These prodigalities and refinements grew to excess -under his grandson Richard II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_145_145" id="Note_145_145"></a><a href="#NoteRef_145_145"><span class="label">[145]</span></a>Warton, I. 156.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_146_146" id="Note_146_146"></a><a href="#NoteRef_146_146"><span class="label">[146]</span></a>Warton, I. 176, spelling modernized.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_147_147" id="Note_147_147"></a><a href="#NoteRef_147_147"><span class="label">[147]</span></a>Warton, I. 123:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"In Fraunce these rhymes were wroht,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every Englyshe ne knew it not."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_148_148" id="Note_148_148"></a><a href="#NoteRef_148_148"><span class="label">[148]</span></a>See Lingard's "History," II. 55, note 4.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_149_149" id="Note_149_149"></a><a href="#NoteRef_149_149"><span class="label">[149]</span></a>Domesday Book. Froude's "History England", 1858, 1. 13: -"Through all these arrangements a single aim is visible, that every -man in England should have his definite place and definite duty -assigned to him, and that no human being should be at liberty to -lead at his own pleasure an unaccountable existence. The discipline -of an army was transferred to the details of social life."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_150_150" id="Note_150_150"></a><a href="#NoteRef_150_150"><span class="label">[150]</span></a>Domesday Book, "tenants-in-chief."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_151_1" id="Note_151_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_151_1"><span class="label">[151]</span></a>According to Ailred (temp. Hen. II), "a king, many -bishops and abbots, many great earls and noble knights descended -both from English and Norman blood, constituted a support to the -one and an honor to the other. At present," says another author -of the same period, "as the English and Normans dwell together, -and have constantly intermarried, the two nations are so completely -mingled together, that at least as regards freemen, one can scarcely -distinguish who is Norman and who English.... The villeins attached -to the soil," he says again, "are alone of pure Saxon blood."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_152_1" id="Note_152_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_152_1"><span class="label">[152]</span></a>Magna Charta, 1215.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_153_153" id="Note_153_153"></a><a href="#NoteRef_153_153"><span class="label">[153]</span></a>"Chaucer's Works," ed. Sir H. Nicholas, 6 vols., -1845, "Prologue to the Canterbury Tales," II. p. 11, line 333.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_154_1" id="Note_154_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_154_1"><span class="label">[154]</span></a>Prologue to "The Canterbury Tales," II. p. 17, -line 547.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_155_155" id="Note_155_155"></a><a href="#NoteRef_155_155"><span class="label">[155]</span></a>From 1214, and also in 1225 and 1254. Guizot, "Origin -of the Representative System in England," pp. 297-299.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_156_1" id="Note_156_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_156_1"><span class="label">[156]</span></a>In 1264.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_157_157" id="Note_157_157"></a><a href="#NoteRef_157_157"><span class="label">[157]</span></a>Aug. Thierry, IV. 56. Ritson's "Robin Hood," 1832.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_158_1" id="Note_158_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_158_1"><span class="label">[158]</span></a>Latimer's "Sermons," ed. Arber, 6th Sermon, 1869, p. 173.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_159_159" id="Note_159_159"></a><a href="#NoteRef_159_159"><span class="label">[159]</span></a>Ritson, "Robin Hood Ballads," I. IV. verses 41-48.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_160_1" id="Note_160_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_160_1"><span class="label">[160]</span></a>Ibid, verses 145-152.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_161_1" id="Note_161_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_161_1"><span class="label">[161]</span></a>A pinder's task was to pin the sheep in the fold, cattle -in the penfold or pound (Richardson).—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_162_162" id="Note_162_162"></a><a href="#NoteRef_162_162"><span class="label">[162]</span></a>Ritson, II. 3, verses 17-26.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_163_1" id="Note_163_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_163_1"><span class="label">[163]</span></a>Ibid. II. 6, verses 58-89.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_164_164" id="Note_164_164"></a><a href="#NoteRef_164_164"><span class="label">[164]</span></a>Ritson, verses 94-101.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_165_1" id="Note_165_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_165_1"><span class="label">[165]</span></a>"The Difference between an Absolute and Limited -Monarchy—A learned Commendation of the Politic Laws of England" -(Latin). I frequently quote from the second work, which is more -full and complete.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_166_1" id="Note_166_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_166_1"><span class="label">[166]</span></a>The courage which finds utterance here is coarse; -the English instincts are combative and independent. The French -race, and the Gauls generally, are perhaps the most reckless of -life of any.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_167_1" id="Note_167_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_167_1"><span class="label">[167]</span></a>"The Difference," etc., 3d ed. 1724, ch. XIII. p. 98. -There are nowadays in France 42 highway robberies as against 738 in -England. In 1843, there were in England four times as many accusations -of crimes and offences as in France, having regard to the number of -inhabitants (Moreau de Jonnès).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_168_1" id="Note_168_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_168_1"><span class="label">[168]</span></a>Statute of Winchester, 1285; Ordinance of 1378.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_169_169" id="Note_169_169"></a><a href="#NoteRef_169_169"><span class="label">[169]</span></a>Benvenuto Cellini, quoted by Froude, I. 20, "History -of England." Shakespeare, "Henry V," conversation of French lords -before the battle of Agincourt.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_170_1" id="Note_170_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_170_1"><span class="label">[170]</span></a>"The Difference." etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_171_171" id="Note_171_171"></a><a href="#NoteRef_171_171"><span class="label">[171]</span></a>The original of this very famous treatise, "de Laudibus -Legum Angliæ," was written in Latin between 1464 and 1470, first -published in 1537, and translated into English in 1775 by Francis -Gregor. I have taken these extracts from the magnificent edition of Sir -John Fortescue's works published in 1869 for private distribution, and -edited by Thomas Fortescue, Lord Clermont. Some of the pieces quoted, -left in the old spelling, are taken from an older edition, translated -by Robert Mulcaster in 1567.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_172_1" id="Note_172_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_172_1"><span class="label">[172]</span></a>"Of an Absolute and Limited Monarchy," 3d ed. 1724, -ch. III. p. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_173_1" id="Note_173_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_173_1"><span class="label">[173]</span></a>Commines bears the same testimony.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_174_1" id="Note_174_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_174_1"><span class="label">[174]</span></a>"De Laudibus," etc., ch. XXXVI.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_175_175" id="Note_175_175"></a><a href="#NoteRef_175_175"><span class="label">[175]</span></a>"The might of the realme most stondyth upon archers -which be not rich men." Compare Hallam, II. 482. All this takes us -back as far as the Conquest, and farther. "It is reasonable to suppose -that the greater part of those who appear to have possessed small -freeholds or parcels of manors were no other than the original nation.... -A respectable class of free socagers, having in general full right of -alienating their lands, and holding them probably at a small certain -rent from the lord of the manor, frequently occurs in the Domesday Book." -At all events, there were in Domesday Book Saxons "perfectly exempt -from villenage." This class is mentioned with respect in the treatises -of Glanvil and Bracton. As for the villeins, they were quickly liberated -in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, either by their own energies -or by becoming copyholders. The Wars of the Roses still further raised -the commons; orders were frequently issued, previous to a battle, -to slay the nobles and spare the commoners.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_176_1" id="Note_176_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_176_1"><span class="label">[176]</span></a>"Description of England," 275.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_177_1" id="Note_177_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_177_1"><span class="label">[177]</span></a>The following is a portrait of a yeoman, by Latimer, in -the first sermon preached before Edward VI, March 8, 1549: "My father -was a yeoman, and had no lands of his own; only he had a farm of £3 or -£4 by year at the uttermost, and hereupon he tilled so much as kept -half-a-dozen men. He had walk for a hundred sheep, and my mother -milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king a harness, with -himself and his horse; while he came to the place that he should receive -the king's wages. I can remember that I buckled his harness when he went -unto Blackheath field. He kept me to school, or else I had not been able -to have preached before the King's Majesty now. He married my sisters -with £5 or 20 nobles a-piece, so that he brought them up in godliness -and fear of God; he kept hospitality for his poor neighbours, and some -alms he gave to the poor; and all this did he of the said farm. Where -he that now hath it payeth £16 by the year, or more, and is not able -to do anything for his prince, for himself, nor for his children, or -give a cup of drink to the poor."</p> - -<p>This is from the sixth sermon, preached before the young king, April -12, 1549: "In my time my poor father was as diligent to teach me to -shoot as to learn (me) any other thing; and so, I think, other men did -their children. He taught me how to draw, how to lay my body in my bow, -and not to draw with strength of arms, as other nations do, but with -strength of the body. I had my bows bought me according to my age and -strength; as I increased in them, so my bows were made bigger and -bigger; for men shall never shoot well except they be brought up -in it. It is a goodly art, a wholesome kind of exercise, and much -commended in physic."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_178_178" id="Note_178_178"></a><a href="#NoteRef_178_178"><span class="label">[178]</span></a>In 1246, 1376. Thierry, III. 79.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_179_1" id="Note_179_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_179_1"><span class="label">[179]</span></a>1404-1409. The commons declared that with these -revenues the king would be able to maintain 15 earls, 1500 knights, -6,200 squires, and 100 hospitals; each earl receiving annually 300 -marks; each knight 100 marks, and the produce of four ploughed lands; -each squire 40 marks, and the produce of two ploughed lands.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_180_1" id="Note_180_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_180_1"><span class="label">[180]</span></a>About 1362.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_181_1" id="Note_181_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_181_1"><span class="label">[181]</span></a>"Piers Ploughman's Vision and Creed," ed. T. Wright, -1856, I. p. 2, lines 21-44.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_182_1" id="Note_182_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_182_1"><span class="label">[182]</span></a>The Archdeacon of Richmond, on his tour in 1216, -came to the priory of Bridlington with ninety-seven horses, -twenty-one dogs, and three falcons.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_183_1" id="Note_183_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_183_1"><span class="label">[183]</span></a>"Piers Ploughman's Vision," I. p. 191, lines -6,217-6,228.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_184_1" id="Note_184_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_184_1"><span class="label">[184]</span></a>Ibid. II. Last book, p. 430, lines 14,084-14,135.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_185_1" id="Note_185_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_185_1"><span class="label">[185]</span></a>"Piers Plowman's Crede; the Plowman's Tale," first printed -in 1550. There were three editions in one year, it was so manifestly -Protestant.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_186_186" id="Note_186_186"></a><a href="#NoteRef_186_186"><span class="label">[186]</span></a>Knighton, about 1400, wrote thus of Wyclif: "Transtulit -de Latino in anglicam linguam, non angelicam. Unde per ipeum fit vulgare, -et magis apertum laicis et mulieribus legere scientibus quam solet esse -clericis admodum litteratis, et bene intelligentibus. Et sic evangelica -margerita spargitur et a porcis conculcatur... (ita) ut laicis commune -æternum quod ante fuerat clericis et ecolesiæ doctoribus talentum -supernum."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_187_1" id="Note_187_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_187_1"><span class="label">[187]</span></a>Wyclif's Bible, ed. Forshall and Madden, 1850, preface to -Oxford edition, p. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_188_1" id="Note_188_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_188_1"><span class="label">[188]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_189_1" id="Note_189_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_189_1"><span class="label">[189]</span></a>In 1395.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_190_1" id="Note_190_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_190_1"><span class="label">[190]</span></a>1401, William Sawtré, the first Lollard burned alive.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_191_1" id="Note_191_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_191_1"><span class="label">[191]</span></a>Commines, v. ch. 19 and 20: "In my opinion, of all kingdoms -of the world of which I have any knowledge, where the public weal is best -observed, and least violence is exercised on the people, and where no -buildings are overthrown or demolished in war, England is the best; and -the ruin and misfortune falls on them who wage the war.... The kingdom -of England has this advantage beyond other nations, that the people and -the country are not destroyed or burnt, nor the buildings demolished; -and ill-fortune falls on men of war, and especially on the nobles."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_192_192" id="Note_192_192"></a><a href="#NoteRef_192_192"><span class="label">[192]</span></a>See the ballads of "Chevy Chase, The Nut-Brown -Maid," etc. Many of them are admirable little dramas.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_THIRD_I">CHAPTER THIRD</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_New_Tongue">The New Tongue</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_First_Great_Poet">SECTION I.—The First Great Poet</a></h4> - - -<p>Amid so many barren endeavors, throughout the long impotence of Norman -literature, which was content to copy, and of Saxon literature, which -bore no fruit, a definite language was nevertheless formed, and there -was room for a great writer. Geoffrey Chaucer appeared, a man of mark, -inventive though a disciple, original though a translator, who by his -genius, education, and life, was enabled to know and to depict a whole -world, but above all to satisfy the chivalric world and the splendid -courts which shone upon the heights.<a name="NoteRef_193_1" id="NoteRef_193_1"></a><a href="#Note_193_1" class="fnanchor">[193]</a> He belonged to it, though -learned and versed in all branches of scholastic knowledge; and he took -such a share in it that his life from beginning to end was that of a man -of the world, and a man of action. We find him by turns in King Edward's -army, in the king's train, husband of a maid of honor to the queen, a -pensioner, a placeholder, a member of Parliament, a knight, founder of a -family which was hereafter to become allied to royalty. Moreover, he was -in the king's council, brother-in-law of John of Gaunt, employed more -than once in open embassies or secret missions at Florence, Genoa, -Milan, Flanders, commissioner in France for the marriage of the Prince -of Wales, high up and low down on the political ladder, disgraced, -restored to place. This experience of business, travel, war, and the -court, was not like a book-education. He was at the Court of Edward III, -the most splendid in Europe, amidst tourneys, grand receptions, -magnificent displays; he took part in the pomps of France and Milan; -conversed with Petrarch, perhaps with Boccaccio and Froissart; was actor -in, and spectator of, the finest and most tragical of dramas. In these -few words, what ceremonies <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> and cavalcades are implied! what processions -in armor, what caparisoned horses, bedizened ladies! what display of -gallant and lordly manners! what a varied and brilliant world, well -suited to occupy the mind and eyes of a poet! Like Froissart, and better -than he, Chaucer could depict the castles of the nobles, their -conversations, their talk of love, and anything else that concerned -them, and please them by his portraiture.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--The_Decline_of_the_Middle_Ages">SECTION II.—The Decline of the Middle Ages</a></h4> - - -<p>Two notions raised the Middle Ages above the chaos of barbarism: one -religious, which had fashioned the gigantic cathedrals, and swept the -masses from their native soil to hurl them upon the Holy Land; the other -secular, which had built feudal fortresses, and set the man of courage -erect and armed, within his own domain: the one had produced the -adventurous hero, the other the mystical monk; the one, to wit, the -belief in God, the other the belief in self. Both, running to excess, -had degenerated by the violence of their own strength: the one had -exalted independence into rebellion, the other had turned piety into -enthusiasm: the first made man unfit for civil life, the second drew him -back from natural life: the one, sanctioning disorder, dissolved -society; the other, enthroning infatuation, perverted intelligence. -Chivalry had need to be repressed because it issued in brigandage; -devotion restrained because it induced slavery. Turbulent feudalism grew -feeble, like oppressive theocracy; and the two great master passions, -deprived of their sap and lopped of their stem, gave place by their -weakness to the monotony of habit and the taste for worldliness, which -shot forth in their stead and flourished under their name.</p> - -<p>Gradually, the serious element declined, in books as in manners, in -works of art as in books. Architecture, instead of being the handmaid of -faith, became the slave of fantasy. It was exaggerated, became too -ornamental, sacrificing general effect to detail, shot up its steeples -to unreasonable heights, decorated its churches with canopies, -pinnacles, trefoiled gables, open-work galleries. "Its whole aim was -continually to climb higher, to clothe the sacred edifice with a gaudy -bedizenment, as if it were a bride on her wedding morning."<a name="NoteRef_194_194" id="NoteRef_194_194"></a><a href="#Note_194_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a> Before -this marvellous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> lacework, what emotion could one feel but a pleased -astonishment? What becomes of Christian sentiment before such scenic -ornamentations? In like manner literature sets itself to play. In the -eighteenth century, the second age of absolute monarchy, we saw on one -side finials and floriated cupolas, on the other pretty <i>vers de -societé</i>, courtly and sprightly tales, taking the place of severe -beauty-lines and noble writings. Even so in the fourteenth century, the -second age of feudalism, they had on one side the stone fretwork and -slender efflorescence of aërial forms, and on the other finical verses -and diverting stories, taking the place of the old grand architecture -and the old simple literature. It is no longer the overflowing of a true -sentiment which produces them, but the craving for excitement. Consider -Chaucer, his subjects, and how he selects them. He goes far and wide to -discover them, to Italy, France, to the popular legends, the ancient -classics. His readers need diversity, and his business is to "provide -fine tales": it was in those days the poet's business.<a name="NoteRef_195_195" id="NoteRef_195_195"></a><a href="#Note_195_195" class="fnanchor">[195]</a> The lords at -table have finished dinner, the minstrels come and sing, the brightness -of the torches falls on the velvet and ermine, on the fantastic figures, -the motley, the elaborate embroidery of their long garments; then the -poet arrives, presents his manuscript, "richly illuminated, bound in -crimson velvet, embellished with silver clasps and bosses, roses of -gold": they ask him what his subject is, and he answers "Love."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--The_Poetry_of_Chaucer">SECTION III.—The Poetry of Chaucer</a></h4> - - -<p>In fact, it is the most agreeable subject, fittest to make the evening -hours pass sweetly, amid the goblets filled with spiced wine and the -burning perfumes. Chaucer translated first that great storehouse of -gallantry, the "Roman de la Rose." There is no pleasanter entertainment. -It is about a rose which the lover wished to pluck: the pictures of the -May months, the groves, the flowery earth, the green hedgerows, abound -and display their bloom. Then come portraits of the smiling ladies, -Richesse, Fraunchise, Gaiety, and by way of contrast, the sad -characters, Daunger and Travail, all fully and minutely described, with -detail of features, clothing, attitude; they walk <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> about, as on a piece -of tapestry, amid landscapes, dances, castles, among allegorical groups, -in lively sparkling colors, displayed, contrasted, ever renewed and -varied so as to entertain the sight. For an evil has arisen, unknown to -serious ages—<i>ennui</i>; novelty and brilliancy followed by novelty and -brilliancy are necessary to withstand it; and Chaucer, like Boccaccio -and Froissart, enters into the struggle with all his heart. He borrows -from Boccaccio his history of Palamon and Arcite, from Lollius his -history of Troilus and Cressida, and rearranges them. How the two young -Theban knights, Arcite and Palamon, both fall in love with the beautiful -Emily, and how Arcite, victorious in tourney, falls and dies, -bequeathing Emily to his rival; how the fine Trojan knight Troilus wins -the favor of Cressida, and how Cressida abandons him for Diomedes—these -are still tales in verse, tales of love. A little tedious they may be; -all the writings of this age, French, or imitated from French, are born -of too prodigal minds; but how they glide along! A winding stream, which -flows smoothly on level sand, and sparkles now and again in the sun, is -the only image we can compare it to. The characters speak too much, but -then they speak so well! Even when they dispute we like to listen, their -anger and offences are so wholly based on a happy overflow of unbroken -converse. Remember Froissart, how slaughters, assassinations, plagues, -the butcheries of the Jacquerie, the whole chaos of human misery, -disappears in his fine ceaseless humor, so that the furious and grinning -figures seem but ornaments and choice embroideries to relieve the skein -of shaded and colored silk which forms the groundwork of his narrative! -but, in particular, a multitude of descriptions spread their gilding -over all. Chaucer leads you among arms, palaces, temples, and halts -before each beautiful thing. Here:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The statue of Venus glorious for to see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was naked fleting in the large see,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And fro the navel doun all covered was</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With wawes grene, and bright as any glas.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A citole in hire right hand hadde she,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And on hire hed, ful semely for to see,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A rose gerlond fressh, and wel smelling,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Above hire hed hire doves fleckering."<a name="NoteRef_196_1" id="NoteRef_196_1"></a><a href="#Note_196_1" class="fnanchor">[196]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Further on, the temple of Mars:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"First on the wall was peinted a forest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In which ther wonneth neyther man ne best,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With knotty knarry barrein trees old</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of stubbes sharpe and hidous to behold;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In which ther ran a romble and a swough</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As though a storme shuld bresten every bough:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And dounward from an hill under a bent.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ther stood the temple of Mars armipotent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wrought all of burned stele, of which th' entree</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was longe and streite, and gastly for to see.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aud therout came a rage and swiche a vise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That it made all the gates for to rise.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The northern light in at the dore shone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For window on the wall ne was ther none,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The dore was all of athamant eterne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yclenched overthwart and endelong</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With yren tough, and for to make it strong,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Every piler the temple to sustene</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene."<a name="NoteRef_197_1" id="NoteRef_197_1"></a><a href="#Note_197_1" class="fnanchor">[197]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Everywhere on the wall were representations of slaughter; and in the -sanctuary</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The statue of Mars upon a carte stood</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Armed, and loked grim as he were wood,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A wolf ther stood beforne him at his fete</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With eyen red, and of a man he ete."<a name="NoteRef_198_1" id="NoteRef_198_1"></a><a href="#Note_198_1" class="fnanchor">[198]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Are not these contrasts well designed to rouse the imagination? You will -meet in Chaucer a succession of similar pictures. Observe the train of -combatants who come to joust in the tilting field for Arcite and -Palamon:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"With him ther wenten knightes many on.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Som wol ben armed in an habergeon</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in a brestplate, and in a gipon;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And som wol have a pair of plates large;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And som wol have a Pruce sheld, or a targe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Som wol ben armed on his legges wele,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And have an axe, and som a mace of stele....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ther maist thou se coming with Palamon</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Licurge himself, the grete king of Trace:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Blake was his berd, and manly was his face.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The cercles of his eyen in his hed</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They gloweden betwixen yelwe and red,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And like a griffon loked he about,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With kemped heres on his browes stout;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His limmes gret, his braunes hard and stronge,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His shouldres brode, his armes round and longe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And as the guise was in his contree,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful highe upon a char of gold stood he,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With foure white bolles in the trais.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Instede of cote-armure on his harnais,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With nayles yelwe, and bright as any gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He hadde a beres skin, cole-blake for old.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His longe here was kempt behind his bak,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As any ravenes fether it shone for blake.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A wreth of gold arm-gret, of huge weight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon his hed sate ful of stones bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of fine rubins and of diamants.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">About his char ther wenten white alauns,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Twenty and mo, as gret as any stere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To hunten at the leon or the dere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And folwed him, with mosel fast ybound,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Colered with gold, and torettes filed round.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An hundred lordes had he in his route,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Armed ful wel, with hertes sterne and stoute.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With Arcita, in stories as men find,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gret Emetrius the king of Inde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon a stede bay, trapped in stele,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Covered with cloth of gold diapred wele,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Came riding like the god of armes Mars.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His cote-armure was of a cloth of Tars,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Couched with perles, white, and round and grete.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His sadel was of brent gold new ybete;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A mantelet upon his shouldres hanging</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bret-ful of rubies red, as fire sparkling.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His crispe here like ringes was yronne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And that was yelwe, and glitered as the sonne.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His nose was high, his eyen bright citrin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His lippes round, his color was sanguin....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And as a leon he his loking caste.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of five and twenty yere his age I caste.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His berd was well begonnen for to spring;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His vois was a trompe thondering.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon his hed he wered of laurer grene</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A gerlond fresshe and lusty for to sene.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon his hond he bare for his deduit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An egle tame, as any lily whit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An hundred lordes had he with him there,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All armed save hir hedes in all hir gere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful richely in alle manere things....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">About this king ther ran on every part</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful many a tame leon and leopart."<a name="NoteRef_199_1" id="NoteRef_199_1"></a><a href="#Note_199_1" class="fnanchor">[199]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A herald would not describe them better nor more fully. The lords and -ladies of the time would recognize here their tourneys and masquerades.</p> - -<p>There is something more pleasant than a fine narrative, and that is a -collection of fine narratives, especially when the narratives are all of -different colorings. Froissart gives us such under the name of -Chronicles; Boccaccio still better; after him the lords of the <i>Cent -Nouvelles Nouvelles</i>; and, later still, Marguerite of Navarre. What more -natural among people who meet, talk and wish to amuse themselves? The -manners of the time suggest them; for the habits and tastes of society -had begun, and fiction thus conceived only brings into books the -conversations which are heard in the hall and by the wayside. Chaucer -describes a troop of pilgrims, people of every rank, who are going to -Canterbury; a knight, a sergeant of law, an Oxford clerk, a doctor, a -miller, a prioress, a monk, who agree to tell a story all round:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For trewely comfort ne mirthe is non,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To riden by the way domb as the ston."</span></p> - - -<p>They tell their stories accordingly; and on this slender and flexible -thread all the jewels of feudal imagination, real or false, contribute -one after another their motley shapes to form a necklace, side by side -with noble and chivalrous stories: we have the miracle of an infant -whose throat was cut by Jews, the trials of patient Griselda, Canace and -marvellous fictions of Oriental fancy, obscene stories of marriage and -monks, allegorical or moral tales, the fable of the cock and hen, a list -of great unfortunate persons: Lucifer, Adam, Samson, Nebuchadnezzar, -Zenobia, Crœsus, Ugolino, Peter of Spain. I leave out some, for I must -be brief. Chaucer is like a jeweller with his hands full: pearls and -glass beads, sparkling diamonds and common agates, black jet and ruby -roses, all that history and imagination had been able to gather and -fashion during three centuries in the East, in France, in Wales, in -Provence, in Italy, all that had rolled his way, clashed together, -broken or polished by the stream of centuries, and by the great jumble -of human memory, he holds in his hand, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> arranges it, composes therefrom a -long sparkling ornament, with twenty pendants, a thousand facets, which -by its splendor, variety, contrasts, may attract and satisfy the eyes of -those most greedy for amusement and novelty.</p> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration3"></a> -<img src="images/illustration3.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center">GEOFFREY CHAUCER.<br /> -<i>Photogravure from an old engraving.</i></p></div> - - - - -<p>He does more. The universal outburst of unchecked curiosity demands a -more refined enjoyment: reverie and fantasy alone can satisfy it; not -profound and thoughtful fantasy as we find it in Shakespeare, nor -impassioned and meditative reverie as we find it in Dante, but the -reverie and fantasy of the eyes, ears, external senses, which in poetry -as in architecture call for singularity, wonders, accepted challenges, -victories gained over the rational and probable, and which are satisfied -only by what is crowded and dazzling. When we look at a cathedral of -that time, we feel a sort of fear. Substance is wanting; the walls are -hollowed out to make room for windows, the elaborate work of the -porches, the wonderful growth of the slender columns, the thin curvature -of arches—everything seems to menace us; support has been withdrawn to -give way to ornament. Without external prop or buttress, and artificial -aid of iron clamp-work, the building would have crumbled to pieces on -the first day; as it is, it undoes itself; we have to maintain on the -spot a colony of masons continually to ward off the continual decay. But -our sight grows dim in following the wavings and twistings of the -endless fretwork; the dazzling rose-window of the portal and the painted -glass throw a checkered light on the carved stalls of the choir, the -gold-work of the altar, the long array of damascened and glittering -copes, the crowd of statues, tier above tier; and amid this violet -light, this quivering purple, amid these arrows of gold which pierce the -gloom, the entire building is like the tail of a mystical peacock. So -most of the poems of the time are barren of foundation; at most a trite -morality serves them for mainstay: in short, the poet thought of nothing -else than displaying before us a glow of colors and a jumble of forms. -They are dreams or visions; there are five or six in Chaucer, and you -will meet more on your advance to the Renaissance. But the show is -splendid. Chaucer is transported in a dream to a temple of glass,<a name="NoteRef_200_1" id="NoteRef_200_1"></a><a href="#Note_200_1" class="fnanchor">[200]</a> -on the walls of which are figured in gold all the legends of Ovid and -Vergil, an infinite train of characters and dresses, like that which, on -the painted glass in the churches, occupied <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> then the gaze of the -faithful. Suddenly a golden eagle, which soars near the sun, and -glitters like a carbuncle, descends with the swiftness of lightning, and -carries him off in his talons above the stars, dropping him at last -before the House of Fame, splendidly built of beryl, with shining -windows and lofty turrets, and situated on a high rock of almost -inaccessible ice. All the southern side was graven with the names of -famous men, but the sun was continuously melting them. On the northern -side, the names, better protected, still remained. On the turrets -appeared the minstrels and "gestiours," with Orpheus, Arion, and the -great harpers, and behind them myriads of musicians, with horns, flutes, -bagpipes, and reeds, on which they played, and which filled the air; -then all the charmers, magicians, and prophets. He enters, and in a high -hall, plated with gold, embossed with pearls, on a throne of carbuncle, -he sees a woman seated, a "noble quene," amidst an infinite number of -heralds, whose embroidered cloaks bore the arms of the most famous -knights in the world, and heard the sounds of instruments, and the -celestial melody of Calliope and her sisters. From her throne to the -gate was a row of pillars, on which stood the great historians and -poets; Josephus on a pillar of lead and iron; Statius on a pillar of -iron stained with tiger's blood; Ovid, "Venus's clerk," on a pillar of -copper; then, on one higher than the rest, Homer and Livy, Dares the -Phrygian, Guido Colonna, Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the other historians -of the war of Troy. Must I go on copying this phantasmagoria, in which -confused erudition mars picturesque invention, and frequent banter shows -signs that the vision is only a planned amusement? The poet and his -reader have imagined for half-an-hour decorated halls and bustling -crowds; a slender thread of common-sense has ingeniously crept along the -transparent golden mist which they amuse themselves with following. That -suffices; they are pleased with their fleeting fancies, and ask no more.</p> - -<p>Amid this exuberancy of mind, amid these refined cravings, and this -insatiate exaltation of imagination and the senses, there was one -passion, that of love, which, combining all, was developed in excess, -and displayed in miniature the sickly charm, the fundamental and fatal -exaggeration, which are the characteristics of the age, and which, -later, the Spanish civilization exhibits both in its flower and its -decay. Long ago, the courts of love <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> in Provence had established the -theory. "Each one who loves," they said, "grows pale at the sight of her -whom he loves; each action of the lover ends in the thought of her whom -he loves. Love can refuse nothing to love."<a name="NoteRef_201_1" id="NoteRef_201_1"></a><a href="#Note_201_1" class="fnanchor">[201]</a> This search after -excessive sensation had ended in the ecstasies and transports of Guido -Cavalcanti, and of Dante; and in Languedoc a company of enthusiasts had -established themselves, love-penitents, who, in order to prove the -violence of their passion, dressed in summer in furs and heavy garments, -and in winter in light gauze, and walked thus about the country, so that -several of them fell ill and died. Chaucer, in their wake, explained in -his verses the craft of love,<a name="NoteRef_202_1" id="NoteRef_202_1"></a><a href="#Note_202_1" class="fnanchor">[202]</a> the Ten Commandments, the twenty -statutes of love; and praised his lady, his "daieseye," his "Margarite," -his "vermeil rose"; depicted love in ballads, visions, allegories, -didactic poems, in a hundred guises. This is chivalrous, lofty love, as -it was conceived in the Middle Ages; above all, tender love. Troilus -loves Cressida like a troubadour; without Pandarus, her uncle, he would -have languished, and ended by dying in silence. He will not reveal the -name of her he loves. Pandarus has to tear it from him, perform all the -bold actions himself, plan every kind of stratagem. Troilus, however, -brave and strong in battle, can but weep before Cressida, ask her -pardon, and faint. Cressida, on her side, has every delicate feeling. -When Pandarus brings her Troilus's first letter, she begins by refusing -it, and is ashamed to open it: she opens it only because she is told the -poor knight is about to die. At the first words "all rosy hewed tho woxe -she"; and though the letter is respectful, she will not answer it. She -yields at last to the importunities of her uncle, and answers Troilus -that she will feel for him the affection of a sister. As to Troilus, he -trembles all over, grows pale when he sees the messenger return, doubts -his happiness, and will not believe the assurance which is given him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But right so as these holtes and these hayis</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That han in winter dead ben and dry,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Revesten hem in grene, whan that May is....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Right in that selfe wise, sooth for to sey,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Woxe suddainly his herte full of joy."<a name="NoteRef_203_1" id="NoteRef_203_1"></a><a href="#Note_203_1" class="fnanchor">[203]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Slowly, after many troubles, and thanks to the efforts of Pandarus, he -obtains her confession; and in this confession what a delightful charm!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And as the newe abashed nightingale,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That stinteth first, whan she beginneth sing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whan that she heareth any heerdes tale,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or in the hedges any wight stearing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And after siker doeth her voice outring:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Right so Creseide, whan that her drede stent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Opened her herte and told him her entent."<a name="NoteRef_204_1" id="NoteRef_204_1"></a><a href="#Note_204_1" class="fnanchor">[204]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He, as soon as he perceived a hope from afar,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In chaunged voice, right for his very drede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which voice eke quoke, and thereto his manere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Goodly abasht, and now his hewes rede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now pale, unto Cresseide his ladie dere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With looke doun cast, and humble iyolden chere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lo, the alderfirst word that him astart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was twice: 'Mercy, mercy, O my sweet herte!'"<a name="NoteRef_205_1" id="NoteRef_205_1"></a><a href="#Note_205_1" class="fnanchor">[205]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This ardent love breaks out in impassioned accents, in bursts of -happiness. Far from being regarded as a fault, it is the source of all -virtue. Troilus becomes braver, more generous, more upright, through it; -his speech runs now on love and virtue; he scorns all villany; he honors -those who possess merit, succors those who are in distress; and -Cressida, delighted, repeats all day, with exceeding liveliness, this -song, which is like the warbling of a nightingale:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Whom should I thanken but you, god of love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of all this blisse, in which to bathe I ginne?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thanked be ye, lorde for that I love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This is the right life that I am inne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To flemen all maner vice and sinne:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This doeth me so to vertue for to entende</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That daie by daie I in my will amende.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And who that saieth that for to love is vice,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He either is envious, or right nice,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or is unmightie for his shreudnesse</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To loven....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But I with all mine herte and all my might,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As I have saied, woll love unto my last,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My owne dere herte, and all mine owne knight,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In whiche mine herte growen is so fast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And his in me, that it shall ever last."<a name="NoteRef_206_1" id="NoteRef_206_1"></a><a href="#Note_206_1" class="fnanchor">[206]</a></span></p> - - -<p>But misfortune comes. Her father Calchas demands her back, and the -Trojans decide that they will give her up in exchange for prisoners. At -this news she swoons, and Troilus is about to slay himself. Their love -at this time seems imperishable; it sports with death, because it -constitutes the whole of life. Beyond that better and delicious life -which it created, it seems there can be no other:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But as God would, of swough she abraide,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And gan to sighe, and Troilus she cride,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he answerde: 'Lady mine, Creseide,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Live ye yet?' and let his swerde doun glide:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Ye herte mine, that thanked be Cupide,'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Quod she), and therwithal she sore sight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he began to glade her as he might.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Took her in armes two and kist her oft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And her to glad, he did al his entent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For which her gost, that flikered aie a loft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into her wofull herte ayen it went:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But at the last, as that her eye glent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aside, anon she gan his sworde aspie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As it lay bare, and gan for feare crie.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And asked him why had he it out draw,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Troilus anon the cause her told,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And how himself therwith he wold have slain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For which Creseide upon him gan behold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And gan him in her armes faste fold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And said: 'O mercy God, lo which a dede!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alas, how nigh we weren bothe dede!'"<a name="NoteRef_207_1" id="NoteRef_207_1"></a><a href="#Note_207_1" class="fnanchor">[207]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At last they are separated, with what vows and what tears! and Troilus, -alone in his chamber, murmurs:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Where is mine owne lady lefe and dere?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where is her white brest, where is it, where?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where been her armes, and her eyen clere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That yesterday this time with me were?'...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor there nas houre in al the day or night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whan he was ther as no man might him here,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That he ne sayd: 'O lovesome lady bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How have ye faren sins that ye were there?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Welcome ywis mine owne lady dere!'...</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fro thence-forth he rideth up and doune,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every thing came him to remembraunce,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As he rode forth by the places of the toune,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In which he whilom had all his pleasaunce:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Lo, yonder saw I mine owne lady daunce,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in that temple with her eien clere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Me caught first my right lady dere.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yonder have I herde full lustely</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My dere herte laugh, and yonder play</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Saw her ones eke ful blisfully,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yonder ones to me gan she say,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Now, good sweete, love me well I pray."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yonde so goodly gan she me behold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That to the death mine herte is to her hold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And at the corner in the yonder house</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Herde I mine alderlevest lady dere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So womanly, with voice melodiouse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Singen so wel, so goodly, and so clere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That in my soule yet me thinketh I here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The blissful sowne, and in that yonder place,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My lady first me toke unto her grace.'"<a name="NoteRef_208_1" id="NoteRef_208_1"></a><a href="#Note_208_1" class="fnanchor">[208]</a></span></p> - - -<p>None has since found more true and tender words. These are the charming -"poetic branches" which flourished amid gross ignorance and pompous -parades. Human intelligence in the Middle Age had blossomed on that side -where it perceived the light.</p> - -<p>But mere narrative does not suffice to express his felicity and fancy; -the poet must go where "shoures sweet of rain descended soft."</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And every plaine was clothed faire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With new greene, and maketh small floures</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To springen here and there in field and in mede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So very good and wholsome be the shoures,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That it renueth that was old and dede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In winter time; and out of every sede</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of this season wexeth glad and light....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In which (grove) were okes great, streight as a line,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Under, the which the grasse so fresh of hew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Every tree well fro his fellow grew."</span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He must forget himself in the vague felicity of the country, and, like -Dante, lose himself in ideal light and allegory. The dreams love, to -continue true, must not take too visible a form, nor enter into a too -consecutive history; they must float in a misty distance; the soul in -which they hover can no longer think of the laws of existence; it -inhabits another world; it forgets itself in the ravishing emotion which -troubles it, and sees its well-loved visions rise, mingle, come and go, -as in summer we see the bees on a hill-slope flutter in a haze of light, -and circle round and round the flowers.</p> - -<p>"One morning,"<a name="NoteRef_209_1" id="NoteRef_209_1"></a><a href="#Note_209_1" class="fnanchor">[209]</a> a lady sings, "at the dawn of day, I entered an -oak-grove"</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"With branches brode, laden with leves new,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That sprongen out ayen the sunne-shene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some very red, and some a glad light grenc....<a name="NoteRef_210_1" id="NoteRef_210_1"></a><a href="#Note_210_1" class="fnanchor">[210]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And I, that all this pleasaunt sight sie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thought sodainly I felt so sweet and aire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of the eglentere, that certainely</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There is no hert, I deme, in such dispaire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ne with thoughts froward and contraire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So overlaid, but it should soone have bote,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If it had ones felt this savour sote.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And as I stood, and cast aside mine eie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I was ware of the fairest medler tree</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That ever yet in all my life I sie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As full of blossomes as it might be;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fro bough to bough; and, as him list, he eet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here and there of buds and floures sweet....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And as I sat, the birds harkening thus,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Methought that I heard voices sodainly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The most sweetest and most delicious</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That ever any wight, I trow truly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heard in their life, for the armony</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sweet accord was in so good musike,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That the voice to angels most was like."<a name="NoteRef_211_1" id="NoteRef_211_1"></a><a href="#Note_211_1" class="fnanchor">[211]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then she sees arrive "a world of ladies... in surcotes white of -velvet... set with emerauds... as of great pearles round and orient, and -diamonds fine and rubies red." And all had on their head "a rich fret of -gold... full of stately riche stones set," with "a chapelet of branches -fresh and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> grene... some of laurer, some of woodbind, some of agnus -castus"; and at the same time came a train of valiant knights in -splendid array, with harness of red gold, shining in the sun, and noble -steeds, with trappings "of cloth of gold, and furred with ermine." These -knights and ladies were the servants of the Leaf, and they sate under a -great oak, at the feet of their queen.</p> - -<p>From the other side came a bevy of ladies as resplendent as the first, -but crowned with fresh flowers. These were the servants of the Flower. -They alighted, and began to dance in the meadow. But heavy clouds -appeared in the sky, and a storm broke out. They wished to shelter -themselves under the oak, but there was no more room; they ensconced -themselves as they could in the hedges and among the brushwood; the rain -came down and spoiled their garlands, stained their robes, and washed -away their ornaments; when the sun returned, they went to ask succor -from the queen of the Leaf; she, being merciful, consoled them, repaired -the injury of the rain, and restored their original beauty. Then all -disappears as in a dream.</p> - -<p>The lady was astonished, when suddenly a fair dame appeared and -instructed her. She learned that the servants of the Leaf had lived like -brave knights, and those of the Flower had loved idleness and pleasure. -She promises to serve the Leaf, and came away.</p> - -<p>Is this an allegory? There is at least a lack of wit. There is no -ingenious enigma; it is dominated by fancy, and the poet thinks only of -displaying in quiet verse the fleeting and brilliant train which had -amused his mind, and charmed his eyes.</p> - -<p>Chaucer himself, on the first of May, rises and goes out into the -meadows. Love enters his heart with the balmy air; the landscape is -transfigured, and the birds begin to speak:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"There sate I downe among the faire flours,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And saw the birds trip out of hir bours,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There as they rested them all the night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They were so joyfull of the dayes light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They began of May for to done honours.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"They coud that service all by rote,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There was many a lovely note,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some song loud as they had plained,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And some in other manner voice yfained</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And some all out with the ful throte.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The proyned hem and made hem right gay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And daunceden, and lepten on her spray,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And evermore two and two in fere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Right so as they had chosen hem to yere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In Feverere upon saint Valentines day.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And the river that I sate upon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It made such a noise as it ron,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Accordaunt with the birdes armony,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Methought it was the best melody</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That might ben yheard of any mon."<a name="NoteRef_212_1" id="NoteRef_212_1"></a><a href="#Note_212_1" class="fnanchor">[212]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This confused harmony of vague noises troubles the sense; a secret -languor enters the soul. The cuckoo throws his monotonous voice like a -mournful and tender sigh between the white ash-tree boles; the -nightingale makes his triumphant notes roll and ring above the leafy -canopy; fancy breaks in unsought, and Chaucer hears them dispute of -Love. They sing alternately an antistrophic song, and the nightingale -weeps for vexation to hear the cuckoo speak in depreciation of Love. He -is consoled, however, by the poet's voice, seeing that he also suffers -with him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'For love and it hath doe me much wo.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Ye use' (quod she) 'this medicine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Every day this May or thou dine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Go looke upon the fresh daisie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And though thou be for wo in point to die,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That shall full greatly lessen thee of thy pine.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'And looke alway that thou be good and trew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And I wol sing one of the songes new,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For love of thee, as loud as I may crie:'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And than she began this song full hie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'I shrewe all hem that been of love untrue.'"<a name="NoteRef_213_1" id="NoteRef_213_1"></a><a href="#Note_213_1" class="fnanchor">[213]</a></span></p> - - -<p>To such exquisite delicacies love, as with Petrarch, had carried poetry; -by refinement even, as with Petrarch, it is lost now and then in its -wit, conceits, clinches. But a marked characteristic at once separates -it from Petrarch. If over-excited, it is also graceful, polished, full -of archness, banter, fine sensual gayety, somewhat gossipy, as the -French always paint love. Chaucer follows his true masters, and is -himself an elegant speaker, facile, ever ready to smile, loving choice -pleasures, a disciple of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> "Roman de la Rose," and much less Italian -than French.<a name="NoteRef_214_214" id="NoteRef_214_214"></a><a href="#Note_214_214" class="fnanchor">[214]</a> The bent of French character makes of love not a -passion, but a gay banquet, tastefully arranged, in which the service is -elegant, the food exquisite, the silver brilliant, the two guests in -full dress, in good humor, quick to anticipate and please each other, -knowing how to keep up the gayety, and when to part. In Chaucer, without -doubt, this other altogether worldly vein runs side by side with the -sentimental element. If Troilus is a weeping lover, Pandarus is a lively -rascal, who volunteers for a singular service with amusing urgency, -frank immorality, and carries it out carefully, gratuitously, -thoroughly. In these pretty attempts Chaucer accompanies him as far as -possible, and is not shocked. On the contrary, he makes fun out of it. -At the critical moment, with transparent hypocrisy, he shelters himself -behind his "author." If you find the particulars free, he says, it is -not my fault; "so writen clerks in hir bokes old," and "I mote, aftir -min auctour, telle...." Not only is he gay, but he jests throughout the -whole tale. He sees clearly through the tricks of feminine modesty; he -laughs at it archly, knowing full well what is behind; he seems to be -saying, finger on lip: "Hush! let the grand words roll on, you will be -edified presently." We are, in fact, edified; so is he, and in the nick -of time he goes away, carrying the light: "For ought I can aspies, this -light nor I ne serven here of nought. Troilus," says uncle Pandarus, -"if ye be wise, sweveneth not now, lest more folke arise." Troilus takes -care not to swoon; and Cressida at last, being alone with him, speaks -wittily and with prudent delicacy; there is here an exceeding charm, no -coarseness. Their happiness covers all, even voluptuousness, with a -profusion and perfume of its heavenly roses. At most a slight spice of -archness flavors it: "and gode thrift he had full oft." Troilus holds -his mistress in his arms: "with worse hap God let us never mete." The -poet is almost as well pleased as they: for him, as for the men of his -time, the sovereign good is love, not damped, but satisfied; they ended -even by thinking such love a merit. The ladies declared in their -judgments, that when people love, they can refuse nothing to the -beloved. Love has become law; it is inscribed in a code; they combine it -with religion; and there is a sacrament of love, in which the birds in -their anthems sing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> matins.<a name="NoteRef_215_1" id="NoteRef_215_1"></a><a href="#Note_215_1" class="fnanchor">[215]</a> Chaucer curses with all his heart the -covetous wretches, the business men, who treat is as a madness:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"As would God, tho wretches that despise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Service of love had eares al so long</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As had Mida, ful of covetise,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To teachen hem, that they been in the vice</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And lovers not, although they hold hem nice,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">... God yeve hem mischaunce,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every lover in his trouth avaunce."<a name="NoteRef_216_1" id="NoteRef_216_1"></a><a href="#Note_216_1" class="fnanchor">[216]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He clearly lacks severity, so rare in southern literature. The Italians -in the Middle Ages made a virtue of joy; and you perceive that the world -of chivalry, as conceived by the French, expanded morality so as to -confound it with pleasure.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Characteristics_of_the_Canterbury_Tales">SECTION IV.—Characteristics of the Canterbury Tales</a></h4> - - -<p>There are other characteristics still more gay. The true Gallic -literature crops up; obscene tales, practical jokes on one's neighbor, -not shrouded in the Ciceronian style of Boccaccio, but related lightly -by a man in good humor;<a name="NoteRef_217_1" id="NoteRef_217_1"></a><a href="#Note_217_1" class="fnanchor">[217]</a> above all, active roguery, the trick of -laughing at your neighbor's expense. Chaucer displays it better than -Rutebeuf, and sometimes better than La Fontaine. He does not knock his -men down; he pricks them as he passes, not from deep hatred or -indignation, but through sheer nimbleness of disposition, and quick -sense of the ridiculous; he throws his gibes at them by handfuls. His -man of law is more a man of business than of the world:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"No wher so besy a man as he ther n'as,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet he semed besier than he was."<a name="NoteRef_218_1" id="NoteRef_218_1"></a><a href="#Note_218_1" class="fnanchor">[218]</a></span></p> - - -<p>His three burgesses:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Everich, for the wisdom that he can</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was shapelich for to ben an alderman.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For catel hadden they ynough and rent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And eke hir wives wolde it wel assent."<a name="NoteRef_219_1" id="NoteRef_219_1"></a><a href="#Note_219_1" class="fnanchor">[219]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Of the mendicant Friar he says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"His wallet lay beforne him in his lappe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bret-ful of pardon come from Rome al hote."<a name="NoteRef_220_1" id="NoteRef_220_1"></a><a href="#Note_220_1" class="fnanchor">[220]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The mockery here comes from the heart, in the French manner, without -effort, calculation, or vehemence. It is so pleasant and so natural to -banter one's neighbor! Sometimes the lively vein becomes so copious that -it furnishes an entire comedy, indelicate certainly, but so free and -life-like! Here is the portrait of the Wife of Bath, who has buried five -husbands:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Bold was hire face, and fayre and rede of hew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She was a worthy woman all hire live;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Housbondes at the chirche dore had she had five,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Withouten other compagnie in youthe....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In all the parish wif ne was ther non,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That to the offring before hire shulde gon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if ther did, certain so wroth was she.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That she was out of alle charitee."<a name="NoteRef_221_1" id="NoteRef_221_1"></a><a href="#Note_221_1" class="fnanchor">[221]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What a tongue she has! Impertinent, full of vanity, bold, chattering, -unbridled, she silences everybody, and holds forth for an hour before -coming to her tale. We hear her grating, high-pitched, loud, clear -voice, wherewith she deafened her husbands. She continually harps upon -the same ideas, repeats her reasons, piles them up and confounds them, -like a stubborn mule who runs along shaking and ringing his bells, so -that the stunned listeners remain open-mouthed, wondering that a single -tongue can spin out so many words. The subject was worth the trouble. -She proves that she did well to marry five husbands, and she proves it -clearly, like a woman who knew it, because she had tried it:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"God bad us for to wex and multiplie;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That gentil text can I wel understond;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Eke wel I wot, he sayd, that min husbond</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shuld leve fader and moder, and take to me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But of no noumbre mention made he,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of bigamie or of octogamie;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why shuld men than speke of it vilanie?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lo here the wise king dan Solomon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I trow he hadde wives mo than on,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(As wolde God it leful were to me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To be refreshed half so oft as he,)</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which a gift of God had he for alle his wives?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Blessed be God that I have wedded five.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Welcome the sixthe whan that ever he shall....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He (Christ) spake to hem that wold live parfitly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And lordings (by your leve), that am nat I;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I wol bestow the flour of all myn age</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In th' actes and the fruit of mariage....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An husbond wol I have, I wol not lette,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which shal be both my dettour and my thrall,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And have his tribulation withall</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon his flesh, while that I am his wif."<a name="NoteRef_222_1" id="NoteRef_222_1"></a><a href="#Note_222_1" class="fnanchor">[222]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Here Chaucer has the freedom of Molière, and we possess it no longer. -His good wife justifies marriage in terms just as technical as -Sganarelle. It behooves us to turn the pages quickly, and follow in the -lump only this Odyssey of marriages. The experienced wife, who has -journeyed through life with five husbands, knows the art of taming them, -and relates how she persecuted them with jealousy, suspicion, grumbling, -quarrels, blows given and received; how the husband, checkmated by the -continuity of the tempest, stooped at last, accepted the halter, and -turned the domestic mill like a conjugal and resigned ass:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For as an hors, I coude bite and whine;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I coude plain, and I was in the gilt....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I plained first, so was our werre ystint.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They were ful glad to excusen hem ful blive</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of thing, the which they never agilt hir live....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I swore that all my walking out by night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was for to espien wenches that he dight....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For though the pope had sitten hem beside,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I wold not spare hem at hir owen bord....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But certainly I made folk swiche chere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That in his owen grese I made him frie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For anger, and for veray jalousie.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By God, in erth I was his purgatorie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For which I hope his soule be in glorie."<a name="NoteRef_223_1" id="NoteRef_223_1"></a><a href="#Note_223_1" class="fnanchor">[223]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She saw the fifth first at the burial of the fourth:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And Jankin oure clerk was on of tho:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As helpe me God, whan that I saw him go</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aftir the bere, me thought he had a paire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of legges and of feet, so clene and faire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That all my herte I yave unto his hold.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He was, I trow, a twenty winter old,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And I was fourty, if I shal say soth....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As helpe me God, I was a lusty on,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And faire, and riche, and yonge, and well begon."<a name="NoteRef_224_1" id="NoteRef_224_1"></a><a href="#Note_224_1" class="fnanchor">[224]</a></span></p> - - -<p>"Yonge," what a word! Was human delusion ever more happily painted? How -life-like is all, and how easy the tone. It is the satire of marriage. -You will find it twenty times in Chaucer. Nothing more is wanted to -exhaust the two subjects of French mockery than to unite with the satire -of marriage the satire of religion.</p> - -<p>We find it here; and Rabelais is not more bitter. The monk whom Chaucer -paints is a hypocrite, a jolly fellow, who knows good inns and jovial -hosts better than the poor and the hospitals:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A Frere there was, a wanton and a mery...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful wel beloved, and familier was he</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With frankeleins over all in his contree,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Full swetely herde he confession,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And pleasant was his absolution.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He was an esy man to give penance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For unto a poure ordre for to give</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is signe that a man is wel yshrive....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every hosteler and gay tapstere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Better than a lazar and a beggere....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It is not honest, it may not avance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As for to delen with no swich pouraille,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But all with riche and sellers of vitaille....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For many a man so hard is of his herte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He may not wepe, although him sore smerte.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Therfore in stede of weping and praieres,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Men mote give silver to the poure freres."<a name="NoteRef_225_1" id="NoteRef_225_1"></a><a href="#Note_225_1" class="fnanchor">[225]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This lively irony had an exponent before in Jean de Meung. But Chaucer -pushes it further, and gives it life and motion. His monk begs from -house to house, holding out his wallet:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In every hous he gan to pore and prie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And begged mele and chese, or elles corn....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Yeve us a bushel whete, or malt, or reye,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A Goddes kichel, or a trippe of chese,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or elles what you list, we may not chese;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A Goddes halfpeny, or a masse peny;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or yeve us of your braun, if ye have any,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A dagon of your blanket, leve dame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our suster dere (lo here I write your name).'...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And whan that he was out at dore, anon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He planed away the names everich on."<a name="NoteRef_226_1" id="NoteRef_226_1"></a><a href="#Note_226_1" class="fnanchor">[226]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He has kept for the end of his circuit, Thomas, one of his most liberal -clients. He finds him in bed, and ill; here is excellent fruit to suck -and squeeze:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'God wot,' quod he, 'laboured have I ful sore.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And specially for thy salvation,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have I sayd many a precious orison....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have this day ben at your chirche at messe...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And ther I saw our dame, a, wher is she?'"<a name="NoteRef_227_1" id="NoteRef_227_1"></a><a href="#Note_227_1" class="fnanchor">[227]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The dame enters:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"This frere ariseth up ful curtisly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hire embraceth in his armes narwe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And kisseth hire swete and chirketh as a sparwe."<a name="NoteRef_228_1" id="NoteRef_228_1"></a><a href="#Note_228_1" class="fnanchor">[228]</a>...</span></p> - - -<p>Then, in his sweetest and most caressing voice, he compliments her, and -says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Thanked be God that you yaf soule and lif,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet saw I not this day so faire a wif</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In all the chirche, God so save me.'"<a name="NoteRef_229_1" id="NoteRef_229_1"></a><a href="#Note_229_1" class="fnanchor">[229]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Have we not here already Tartuffe and Elmire? But the monk is with a -farmer, and can go to work more quickly and directly. When the -compliments ended, he thinks of the substance, and asks the lady to let -him talk alone with Thomas. He must inquire after the state of his soul:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'I wol with Thomas speke a litel throw:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thise curates ben so negligent and slow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To gropen tendrely a conscience....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now, dame,' quod he, 'jeo vous die sanz doute,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have I nat of a capon but the liver,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And of your white bred nat but a shiver,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And after that a rosted pigges hed</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(But I ne wolde for me no beest were ded),</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than had I with you homly suffisance.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am a man of litel sustenance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My body is ay so redy and penible</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To waken, that my stomak is destroied.'"<a name="NoteRef_230_1" id="NoteRef_230_1"></a><a href="#Note_230_1" class="fnanchor">[230]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Poor man, he raises his hands to heaven, and ends with a sigh.</p> - -<p>The wife tells him her child died a fortnight before. Straightway he -manufactures a miracle; how could he earn his money in any better way? -He had a revelation of this death in the "dortour" of the convent; he -saw the child carried to paradise; he rose with his brothers, "with many -a tere trilling on our cheke," and they sang a <i>Te Deum</i>:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'For, sire and dame, trusteth me right wel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our orisons ben more effectuel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And more we seen of Cristes secree thinges</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than borel folk, although that they be kinges.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We live in poverte, and in abstinence,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And borel folk in richesse and dispence....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lazer and Dives liveden diversely,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And divers guerdon hadden they therby.'"<a name="NoteRef_231_1" id="NoteRef_231_1"></a><a href="#Note_231_1" class="fnanchor">[231]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Presently he spurts out a whole sermon, in a loathsome style, and with -an interest which is plain enough. The sick man, wearied, replies that -he has already given half his fortune to all kinds of monks, and yet he -continually suffers. Listen to the grieved exclamation, the true -indignation of the mendicant monk, who sees himself threatened by the -competition of a brother of the cloth to share his client, his revenue, -his booty, his food-supplies:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The frere answered: 'O Thomas, dost thou so?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What nedeth you diverse freres to seche?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What nedeth him that hath a parfit leche,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To sechen other leches in the toun?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your inconstance is your confusion.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hold ye than me, or elles our covent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To pray for you ben insufficient?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thomas, that jape n' is not worth a mite,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your maladie is for we han to lite.'"<a name="NoteRef_232_1" id="NoteRef_232_1"></a><a href="#Note_232_1" class="fnanchor">[232]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Recognize the great orator; he employs even the grand style to keep the -supplies from being cut off:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'A, yeve that covent half a quarter otes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yeve that covent four and twenty grotes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yeve that frere a peny, and let him go:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thing be so.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What is a ferthing worth parted on twelve?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lo, eche thing that is oned in himself</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is more strong, than whan it is yscatered...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou woldest han our labour al for nought.'"<a name="NoteRef_233_1" id="NoteRef_233_1"></a><a href="#Note_233_1" class="fnanchor">[233]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then he begins again his sermon in a louder tone, shouting at each word, -quoting examples from Seneca and the classics, a terrible fluency, a -trick of his trade, which, diligently applied, must draw money from the -patient. He asks for gold, "to make our cloistre,"</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"... 'And yet, God wot, uneth the fundament</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Parfourmed is, ne of our pavement</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">N' is not a tile yet within our wones;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By God, we owen fourty pound for stones.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now help Thomas, for him that harwed helle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For elles mote we oure bokes selle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if ye lacke oure predication,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than goth this world all to destruction.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For who so fro this world wold us bereve,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So God me save, Thomas, by your leve,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He wold bereve out of this world the sonne.'"<a name="NoteRef_234_1" id="NoteRef_234_1"></a><a href="#Note_234_1" class="fnanchor">[234]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In the end, Thomas in a rage promises him a gift, tells him to put his -hand in the bed and take it, and sends him away duped, mocked, and -covered with filth.</p> - -<p>We have descended now to popular farce; when amusement must be had at -any price, it is sought, as here, in broad jokes, even in filthiness. We -can see how these two coarse and vigorous plants have blossomed in the -dung of the Middle Ages. Planted by the sly fellows of Champagne and -Ile-de-France, watered by the <i>trouvères</i>, they were destined fully to -expand, speckled and ruddy, in the large hands of Rabelais. Meanwhile -Chaucer plucks his nosegay from it. Deceived husbands, mishaps in inns, -accidents in bed, cuffs, kicks, and robberies, these suffice to raise a -loud laugh. Side by side with noble pictures <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> of chivalry, he gives us a -train of Flemish grotesque figures, carpenters, joiners, friars, -summoners; blows abound, fists descend on fleshy backs; many nudities -are shown; they swindle one another out of their corn, their wives; they -pitch one another out of a window; they brawl and quarrel. A bruise, a -piece of open filthiness, passes in such society for a sign of wit. The -summoner, being rallied by the friar, gives him tit for tat:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, God it wot, that is but litel wonder,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Freres and fendes ben but litel asonder.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For parde, ye han often time herd telle</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How that a Frere ravished was to helle</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In spirit ones by a visoun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And as an angel lad him up and doun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To shewen him the peines that ther were,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And unto Sathanas he lad him doun.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(And now hath Sathanas,' saith he, 'a tayl</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Broder than of a Carrike is the sayl.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas, quod he,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">....... and let the Frere see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wher is the nest of Freres in this place.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And er than half a furlong way of space,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Right so as bees out swarmen of an hive,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Out of the devils... ther gonnen to drive.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A twenty thousand Freres on a route,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thurghout hell they swarmed all aboute,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And com agen, as fast as they may gon.'"<a name="NoteRef_235_1" id="NoteRef_235_1"></a><a href="#Note_235_1" class="fnanchor">[235]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such were the coarse buffooneries of the popular imagination.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--The_Art_of_Chaucer">SECTION V.—The Art of Chaucer</a></h4> - - -<p>It is high time to return to Chaucer himself. Beyond the two notable -characteristics which settle his place in his age and school of poetry, -there are others which take him out of his age and school. If he was -romantic and gay like the rest, it was after a fashion of his own. He -observes characters, notes their differences, studies the coherence of -their parts, endeavors to describe living individualities—a thing -unheard of in his time, but which the renovators in the sixteenth -century, and first among them Shakespeare, will do afterwards. Is it -already the English positive common-sense and aptitude for seeing the -inside of things <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> which begins to appear? A new spirit, almost manly, -pierces through, in literature as in painting, with Chaucer as with Van -Eyck, with both at the same time; no longer the childish imitation of -chivalrous life<a name="NoteRef_236_1" id="NoteRef_236_1"></a><a href="#Note_236_1" class="fnanchor">[236]</a> or monastic devotion, but the grave spirit of -inquiry and craving for deep truths, whereby art becomes complete. For -the first time, in Chaucer as in Van Eyck, the character described -stands out in relief; its parts are connected; it is no longer an -unsubstantial phantom. You may guess its past and foretell its future -action. Its externals manifest the personal and incommunicable details -of its inner nature, and the infinite complexity of its economy and -motion. To this day, after four centuries, that character is -individualjzed and typical; it remains distinct in our memory, like the -creations of Shakespeare and Rubens. We observe this growth in the very -act. Not only does Chaucer, like Boccaccio, bind his tales into a single -history; but in addition—and this is wanting in Boccaccio—he begins -with the portrait of all his narrators, knight, summoner, man of law, -monk, bailiff or reeve, host, about thirty distinct figures, of every -sex, condition, age, each painted with his disposition, face, costume, -turns of speech, little significant actions, habits, antecedents, each -maintained in his character by his talk and subsequent actions, so that -we can discern here, sooner than in any other nation, the germ of the -domestic novel as we write it to-day. Think of the portraits of the -franklin, the miller, the mendicant friar, and wife of Bath. There are -plenty of others which show the broad brutalities, the coarse, tricks, -and the pleasantries of vulgar life, as well as the gross and plentiful -feastings of sensual life. Here and there honest old swashbucklers, who -double their fists, and tuck up their sleeves; or contented beadles, -who, when they have drunk, will speak nothing but Latin. But by the side -of these there are some choice characters; the knight, who went on a -crusade to Granada and Prussia, brave and courteous:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And though that he was worthy he was wise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And of his port as meke as is a mayde.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He never yet no vilanie ne sayde</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In alle his lif, unto no manere wight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He was a veray parfit gentil knight."<a name="NoteRef_237_1" id="NoteRef_237_1"></a><a href="#Note_237_1" class="fnanchor">[237]</a></span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"With him, ther was his sone, a yonge Squier,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A lover, and a lusty bacheler,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With lockes crull as they were laide in presse.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of his stature he was of even lengthe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he hadde be somtime in chevachie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And borne him wel, as of so litel space,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In hope to stonden in his ladies grace.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Embrouded was he, as it were a mede</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alle ful of fresshe floures, white and rede.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He was as fresshe, as is the moneth of May.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Short was his goune, with sieves long and wide.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He coude songes make, and wel endite,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So hote he loved, that by nightertale</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He slep no more than doth the nightingale.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Curteis he was, lowly and servisable,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And carf befor his fader at the table."<a name="NoteRef_238_1" id="NoteRef_238_1"></a><a href="#Note_238_1" class="fnanchor">[238]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is also a poor and learned clerk of Oxford; and finer still, and -more worthy of a modern hand, the Prioress, "Madame Eglantine," who as a -nun, a maiden, a great lady, is ceremonious, and shows signs of -exquisite taste. Would a better be found nowadays in a German chapter, -amid the most modest and lively bevy of sentimental and literary -canonesses?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That of hire smiling was ful simple and coy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And she was cleped Madame Eglentine.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful wel she sange the service devine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After the scole of Stratford-atte-bowe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So lette no morsel from hire lippes falle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hire over lippe wiped she so clene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful semely after hire mete she raught.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sikerly she was of grete disport</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And ful plesant, and amiable of port,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And peined hire to contrefeten chere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of court, and ben estatelich of manere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And to ben holden digne of reverence."<a name="NoteRef_239_1" id="NoteRef_239_1"></a><a href="#Note_239_1" class="fnanchor">[239]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Are you offended by these provincial affectations? Not at all; it is -delightful to behold these nice and pretty ways, these little -affectations, the waggery and prudery, the half-worldly, half-monastic -smile. We inhale a delicate feminine perfume, preserved and grown old -under the stomacher:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But for to speken of hire conscience,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She was so charitable and so pitous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or if men smote it with a yerde smert:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all was conscience and tendre herte."<a name="NoteRef_240_1" id="NoteRef_240_1"></a><a href="#Note_240_1" class="fnanchor">[240]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Many elderly ladies throw themselves into such affections as these for -lack of others. Elderly! what an objectionable word have I employed! She -was not elderly:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hire nose tretis; hire eyen grey as glas;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It was almost a spanne brode I trowe;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For hardily she was not undergrowe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of small corall aboute hire arm she bare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A pair of bedes, gauded al with grene;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thereon heng a broche of gold ful shene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On whiche was first ywritten a crouned A,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And after, Amor vincit omnia."<a name="NoteRef_241_1" id="NoteRef_241_1"></a><a href="#Note_241_1" class="fnanchor">[241]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A pretty ambiguous device, suitable either for gallantry or devotion; -the lady was both of the world and the cloister: of the world, you may -see it in her dress; of the cloister, you gather it from "another Nonne -also with hire <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> hadde she, that was hire chapelleine, and Preestes thre"; -from the Ave Maria which she sings, the long edifying stories which she -relates. She is like a fresh, sweet, and ruddy cherry, made to ripen in -the sun, but which, preserved in an ecclesiastical jar, has become -candied and insipid in the syrup.</p> - -<p>Such is the power of reflection which begins to dawn, such the high art. -Chaucer studies here, rather than aims at amusement; he ceases to -gossip, and thinks; instead of surrendering himself to the facility of -flowing improvisation, he plans. Each tale is suited to the teller; the -young squire relates a fantastic and Oriental history; the tipsy miller -a loose and comical story; the honest clerk the touching legend of -Griselda. All these tales are bound together, and that much better than -by Boccaccio, by little veritable incidents, which spring from the -characters of the personages, and such as we light upon in our travels. -The horsemen ride on in good humor, in the sunshine, in the open -country; they converse. The miller has drunk too much ale, and will -speak, "and for no man forbere." The cook goes to sleep on his beast, -and they play practical jokes on him. The monk and the summoner getup a -dispute about their respective lines of business. The host restores -peace, makes them speak or be silent, like a man who has long presided -in the inn parlor, and who has often had to check brawlers. They pass -judgment on the stories they listen to: declaring that there are few -Griseldas in the world; laughing at the misadventures of the tricked -carpenter; drawing a lesson from the moral tale. The poem is no longer, -as in the contemporary literature, a mere procession, but a painting in -which the contrasts are arranged, the attitudes chosen, the general -effect calculated, so that it becomes life and motion; we forget -ourselves at the sight, as in the case of every lifelike work; and we -long to get on horseback on a fine sunny morning, and canter along green -meadows with the pilgrims to the shrine of the good saint of Canterbury.</p> - -<p>Weigh the value of the words "general effect." According as we plan it -or not, we enter on our maturity or infancy! The whole future lies in -these two words. Savages or half savages, warriors of the Heptarchy or -knights of the Middle Ages; up to this period, no one had reached to -this point. They had strong emotions, tender at times, and each -expressed them according to the original gift of his race, some by short -cries, others by continuous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> babble. But they did not command or guide -their impressions; they sang or conversed by impulse, at random, -according to the bent of their disposition, leaving their ideas to -present themselves as they might, and when they hit upon order, it was -ignorantly and involuntarily. Here for the first time appears a -superiority of intellect, which at the instant of conception suddenly -halts, rises above itself, passes judgment, and says to itself, "This -phrase tells the same thing as the last—remove it; these two ideas are -disjointed—connect them; this description is feeble—reconsider it." -When a man can speak thus he has an idea, not learned in the schools, -but personal and practical, of the human mind, its process and needs, -and of things also, their composition and combinations; he has a style, -that is, he is capable of making everything understood and seen by the -human mind. He can extract from every object, landscape, situation, -character, the special and significant marks, so as to group and arrange -them, in order to compose an artificial work which surpasses the natural -work in its purity and completeness. He is capable, as Chaucer was, of -seeking out in the old common forest of the Middle Ages, stories and -legends, to replant them in his own soil, and make them send out new -shoots. He has the right and the power, as Chaucer had, of copying and -translating, because by dint of retouching he impresses on his -translations and copies his original mark; he re-creates what he -imitates, because through or by the side of worn-out fancies and -monotonous stories, he can display, as Chaucer did, the charming ideas -of an amiable and elastic mind, the thirty master-forms of the -fourteenth century, the splendid freshness of the verdurous landscape -and spring-time of England. He is not far from conceiving an idea of -truth and life. He is on the brink of independent thought and fertile -discovery. This was Chaucer's position. At the distance of a century and -a half, he has affinity with the poets of Elizabeth<a name="NoteRef_242_1" id="NoteRef_242_1"></a><a href="#Note_242_1" class="fnanchor">[242]</a> by his gallery -of pictures, and with the reformers of the sixteenth century by his -portrait of the good parson.</p> - -<p>Affinity merely. He advanced a few steps beyond the threshold of his -art, but he paused at the end of the vestibule. He half <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> opens the great -door of the temple, but does not take his seat there; at most, he sat -down in it only at intervals. In "Arcite and Palamon," in "Troilus and -Cressida," he sketches sentiments, but does not create characters; he -easily and naturally traces the winding course of events and -conversations, but does not mark the precise outline of a striking -figure. If occasionally, as in the description of the temple of Mars, -after the "Thebaid" of Statius, feeling at his back the glowing breeze -of poetry, he draws out his feet, clogged with the mud of the Middle -Ages, and at a bound stands upon the poetic plain on which Statius -imitated Vergil and equalled Lucan, he, at other times, again falls back -into the childish gossip of the <i>trouvères</i>, or the dull gabble of -learned clerks—to "Dan Phebus or Apollo-Delphicus." Elsewhere, a -commonplace remark on art intrudes in the midst of an impassioned -description. He uses three thousand verses to conduct Troilus to his -first interview. He is like a precocious and poetical child, who mingles -in his love-dreams quotations from his grammar and recollections of his -alphabet.<a name="NoteRef_243_1" id="NoteRef_243_1"></a><a href="#Note_243_1" class="fnanchor">[243]</a> Even in the "Canterbury Tales" he repeats himself, -unfolds artless developments, forgets to concentrate his passion or his -idea. He begins a jest, and scarcely ends it. He dilutes a bright -coloring in a monotonous stanza. His voice is like that of a boy -breaking into manhood. At first a manly and firm accent is maintained, -then a shrill sweet sound shows that his growth is not finished, and -that his strength is subject to weakness. Chaucer sets out as if to quit -the Middle Ages; but in the end he is there still. To-day he composes -the "Canterbury Tales"; yesterday he was translating the "Roman de la -Rose." To-day he is studying the complicated machinery of the heart, -discovering the issues of primitive education or of the ruling -disposition, and creating the comedy of manners; to-morrow he will have -no pleasure but in curious events, smooth allegories, amorous -discussions, imitated from the French, or learned moralities from the -ancients. Alternately he is an observer and a <i>trouvère</i>; instead of -the step he ought to have advanced, he has but made a half-step. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> - -<p>Who has prevented him, and the others who surround him? We meet with the -obstacle in the tales he has translated of Melibeus, of the Parson, in -his "Testament of Love" in short, so long as he writes verse, he is at -his ease; as soon as he takes to prose, a sort of chain winds around his -feet and stops him. His imagination is free, and his reasoning a slave. -The rigid scholastic divisions, the mechanical manner of arguing and -replying, the ergo, the Latin quotations, the authority of Aristotle and -the Fathers, come and weigh down his budding thought. His native -invention disappears under the discipline imposed. The servitude is so -heavy that even in the work of one of his contemporaries, the "Testament -of Love," which, for a long time, was believed to be written by Chaucer, -amid the most touching plaints and the most smarting pains, the -beautiful ideal lady, the heavenly mediator who appears in a vision, -Love, sets her theses, establishes that the cause of a cause is the -cause of the thing caused, and reasons as pedantically as they would at -Oxford. In what can talent, even feeling, end, when it is kept down by -such shackles? What succession of original truths and new doctrines -could be found and proved, when in a moral tale, like that of Melibeus -and his wife Prudence, it was thought necessary to establish a formal -controversy, to quote Seneca and Job, to forbid tears, to bring forward -the weeping Christ to authorize tears, to enumerate every proof, to call -in Solomon, Cassiodorus, and Cato; in short, to write a book for -schools? The public cares only for pleasant and lively thoughts; not -serious and general ideas; these latter are for a special class only. As -soon as Chaucer gets into a reflective mood, straightway Saint Thomas, -Peter Lombard, the manual of sins, the treatise on definition and -syllogism, the army of the ancients and of the Fathers, descend from -their glory, enter his brain, speak in his stead; and the <i>trouvère's</i> -pleasant voice becomes the dogmatic and sleep-inspiring voice of a -doctor. In love and satire he has experience, and he invents; in what -regards morality and philosophy he has learning, and copies. For an -instant, by a solitary leap, he entered upon the close observation, and -the genuine study of man; he could not keep his ground, he did not take -his seat, he took a poetic excursion; and no one followed him. The level -of the century is lower; he is on it himself for the most part. He is in -the company of narrators like Froissart, of elegant speakers like <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -Charles of Orléans, of gossipy and barren verse-writers like Gower, -Lydgate, and Occleve. There is no fruit, but frail and fleeting -blossoms, many useless branches, still more dying or dead branches; such -is this literature. And why? Because it had no longer a root; after -three centuries of effort, a heavy instrument cut it underground. This -instrument was the Scholastic Philosophy.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Scholastic_Philosophy">SECTION VI.—Scholastic Philosophy</a></h4> - - -<p>Beneath every literature there is a philosophy. Beneath, every work of -art is an idea of nature and of life; this idea leads the poet. Whether -the author knows it or not, he writes in order to exhibit it; and the -characters which he fashions, like the events which he arranges, only -serve to bring to light the dim creative conception which raises and -combines them. Underlying Homer appears the noble life of heroic -paganism and of happy Greece. Underlying Dante, the sad and violent life -of fanatical Catholicism and of the much-hating Italians. From either we -might draw a theory of man and of the beautiful. It is so with others; -and this is how, according to the variations, the birth, blossoms, -decline, or sluggishness of the master-idea, literature varies, is born, -flourishes, degenerates, comes to an end. Whoever plants the one, plants -the other: whoever undermines the one, undermines the other. Place in -all the minds of any age a new grand idea of nature and life, so that -they feel and produce it with their whole heart and strength, and you -will see them, seized with the craving to express it, invent forms of -art and groups of figures. Take away from these minds every grand new -idea of nature and life, and you will see them, deprived of the craving -to express all-important thoughts, copy, sink into silence, or rave.</p> - -<p>What has become of all these all-important thoughts? What labor worked -them out? What studies nourished them? The laborers did not lack zeal. -In the twelfth century the energy of their minds was admirable. At -Oxford there were thirty thousand scholars. No building in Paris could -contain the crowd of Abelard's disciples; when he retired to solitude, -they accompanied him in such a multitude that the desert became a town. -No difficulty repulsed them. There is a story of a young boy, who, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -though beaten by his master, was wholly bent on remaining with him, that -he might still learn. When the terrible encyclopædia of Aristotle was -introduced, though disfigured and unintelligible it was devoured. The -only question presented to them, that of universals, so abstract and -dry, so embarrassed by Arabic obscurities and Greek subtitles, during -centuries, was seized upon eagerly. Heavy and awkward as was the -instrument supplied to them, I mean syllogism, they made themselves -masters of it, rendered it still more heavy, plunged it into every -object and in every direction. They constructed monstrous books, in -great numbers, cathedrals of syllogism, of unheard-of architecture, of -prodigious finish, heightened in effect by intensity of intellectual -power, which the whole sum of human labor has only twice been able to -match.<a name="NoteRef_244_244" id="NoteRef_244_244"></a><a href="#Note_244_244" class="fnanchor">[244]</a> These young and valiant minds thought they had found the -temple of truth; they rushed at it headlong, in legions, breaking in the -doors, clambering over the walls, leaping into the interior, and so -found themselves at the bottom of a moat. Three centuries of labor at -the bottom of this black moat added not one idea to the human mind.</p> - -<p>For consider the questions which they treat of. They seem to be -marching, but are merely marking time. People would say, to see them -moil and toil, that they will educe from heart and brain some great -original creed, and yet all belief was imposed upon them from the -outset. The system was made; they could only arrange and comment upon -it. The conception comes not from them, but from Constantinople. -Infinitely complicated and subtle as it is, the supreme work of Oriental -mysticism and Greek metaphysics, so disproportioned to their young -understanding, they exhaust themselves to reproduce it, and moreover -burden their unpractised hands with the weight of a logical instrument -which Aristotle created for theory and not for practice, and which ought -to have remained in a cabinet of philosophical curiosities, without -being ever carried into the field of action. "Whether the divine essence -engendered the Son, or was engendered by the Father; why the three -persons together are not greater than one alone; attributes determine -persons, not substance, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> that is, nature; how properties can exist in the -nature of God, and not determine it; if created spirits are local and -can be circumscribed; if God can know more things than He is aware -of";<a name="NoteRef_245_245" id="NoteRef_245_245"></a><a href="#Note_245_245" class="fnanchor">[245]</a>—these are the ideas which they moot: what truth could issue -thence? From hand to hand the chimera grows, and spreads wider its -gloomy wings. "Can God cause that, the place and body being retained, -the body shall have no position, that is, existence in place?—Whether -the impossibility of being engendered is a constituent property of the -First Person of the Trinity—Whether identity, similitude, and equality -are real relations in God."<a name="NoteRef_246_1" id="NoteRef_246_1"></a><a href="#Note_246_1" class="fnanchor">[246]</a> Duns Scotus distinguishes three kinds -of matter: matter which is firstly first, secondly first, thirdly first. -According to him, we must clear this triple hedge of thorny abstractions -in order to understand the production of a sphere of brass. Under such a -regimen, imbecility soon makes its appearance. Saint Thomas himself -considers, "whether the body of Christ arose with its wounds—whether -this body moves with the motion of the host and the chalice in -consecration—whether at the first instant of conception Christ had the -use of free judgment—whether Christ was slain by himself or by -another?" Do you think you are at the limits of human folly? Listen. He -considers "whether the dove in which the Holy Spirit appeared was a real -animal—whether a glorified body can occupy one and the same place at -the same time as another glorified body—whether in the state of -innocence all children were masculine?" I pass over others as to the -digestion of Christ, and some still more untranslatable.<a name="NoteRef_247_1" id="NoteRef_247_1"></a><a href="#Note_247_1" class="fnanchor">[247]</a> This is -the point reached by the most esteemed doctor, the most judicious mind, -the Bossuet of the Middle Ages. Even in this ring of inanities the -answers are laid down. Roscellinus and Abelard were excommunicated, -exiled, imprisoned, because they swerved from it. There is a complete -minute dogma which closes all issues; there is no means of escaping; -after a hundred wriggles and a hundred efforts you must come and tumble -into a formula. If by mysticism you try to fly over their heads, if by -experience you endeavor to creep <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> beneath, powerful talons await you at -your exit. The wise man passes for a magician, the enlightened man for a -heretic. The Waldenses, the Catharists, the disciples of John of Parma, -were burned; Roger Bacon died only just in time, otherwise he might have -been burned. Under this constraint men ceased to think; for he who -speaks of thought, speaks of an effort at invention, an individual -creation, an energetic action. They recite a lesson, or sing a -catechism; even in paradise, even in ecstasy and the divinest raptures -of love, Dante thinks himself bound to show an exact memory and a -scholastic orthodoxy. How then with the rest? Some, like Raymond Lully, -set about inventing an instrument of reasoning to serve in place of the -understanding. About the fourteenth century, under the blows of Occam, -this verbal science began to totter; they saw that its entities were -only words; it was discredited. In 1367, at Oxford, of thirty thousand -students, there remained six thousand;<a name="NoteRef_248_1" id="NoteRef_248_1"></a><a href="#Note_248_1" class="fnanchor">[248]</a> they still set their -"Barbara and Felapton," but only in the way of routine. Each one in turn -mechanically traversed the petty region of threadbare cavils, scratched -himself in the briers of quibbles, and burdened himself with his bundle -of texts; nothing more. The vast body of science which was to have -formed and vivified the whole thought of man, was reduced to a -text-book.</p> - -<p>So, little by little, the conception which fertilized and ruled all -others, dried up; the deep spring, whence flowed all poetic streams, was -found empty; science furnished nothing more to the world. What further -works could the world produce? As Spain, later on, renewing the Middle -Ages, after having shone splendidly and foolishly by her chivalry and -devotion, by Lope de Vega and Calderon, Loyola and St. Theresa, became -enervated through the Inquisition and through casuistry, and ended by -sinking into a brutish silence; so the Middle Ages, outstripping Spain, -after displaying the senseless heroism of the Crusades, and the poetical -ecstasy of the cloister, after producing chivalry and saintship, Francis -of Assisi, St. Louis, and Dante, languished under the Inquisition and -the scholastic learning, and became extinguished in idle raving and -inanity. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<p>Must we quote all these good people who speak without having anything to -say? You may find them in Warton;<a name="NoteRef_249_1" id="NoteRef_249_1"></a><a href="#Note_249_1" class="fnanchor">[249]</a> dozens of translators, importing -the poverties of French literature, and imitating imitations; rhyming -chroniclers, most commonplace of men, whom we only read because we must -accept history from every quarter, even from imbeciles; spinners and -spinsters of didactic poems, who pile up verses on the training of -falcons, on heraldry, on chemistry; editors of moralities, who invent -the same dream over again for the hundredth time, and get themselves -taught universal history by the goddess Sapience. Like the writers of -the Latin decadence, these folk only think of copying, compiling, -abridging, constructing in text-books, in rhymed memoranda, the -encyclopædia of their times.</p> - -<p>Listen to the most illustrious, the grave Gower—"morall Gower," as he -was called!<a name="NoteRef_250_1" id="NoteRef_250_1"></a><a href="#Note_250_1" class="fnanchor">[250]</a> Doubtless here and there he contains a remnant of -brilliancy and grace. He is like an old secretary of a Court of Love, -André le Chapelain or any other, who would pass the day in solemnly -registering the sentences of ladies, and in the evening, partly asleep -on his desk, would see in a half-dream their sweet smile and their -beautiful eyes.<a name="NoteRef_251_1" id="NoteRef_251_1"></a><a href="#Note_251_1" class="fnanchor">[251]</a> The ingenious but exhausted vein of Charles of -Orléans still flows in his French ballads. He has the same fondling -delicacy, almost a little affected. The poor little poetic spring flows -yet in thin, transparent streamlets over the smooth pebbles, and murmurs -with a babble, pretty, but so low that at times you cannot hear it. But -dull is the rest! His great poem, "Confessio Amantis," is a dialogue -between a lover and his confessor, imitated chiefly from Jean de Meung, -having for object, like the "Roman de la Rose," to explain and classify -the impediments of love. The superannuated theme is always reappearing, -covered by a crude erudition. You will find here an exposition of -hermetic science, lectures on the philosophy of Aristotle, a treatise on -politics, a litany of ancient and modern legends gleaned from the -compilers, marred in the passage by the pedantry of the schools and the -ignorance of the age. It is a cartload of scholastic rubbish; the sewer -tumbles upon this feeble spirit, which of itself was flowing clearly, -but now, obstructed by tiles, bricks, plaster, ruins from all quarters -of the globe, drags on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> darkened and sluggish. Gower, one of the most -learned of his time,<a name="NoteRef_252_252" id="NoteRef_252_252"></a><a href="#Note_252_252" class="fnanchor">[252]</a> supposed that Latin was invented by the old -prophetess Carmentis; that the grammarians, Aristarchus, Donatus, and -Didymus, regulated its syntax, pronunciation, and prosody; that it was -adorned by Cicero with the flowers of eloquence and rhetoric; then -enriched by translations from the Arabic, Chaldæan, and Greek; and that -at last, after much labor of celebrated writers, it attained its final -perfection in Ovid, the poet of love. Elsewhere he discovered that -Ulysses learned rhetoric from Cicero, magic from Zoroaster, astronomy -from Ptolemy, and philosophy from Plato. And what a style! so long, so -dull,<a name="NoteRef_253_1" id="NoteRef_253_1"></a><a href="#Note_253_1" class="fnanchor">[253]</a> so drawn out by repetitions, the most minute details, -garnished with references to his text, like a man who, with his eyes -glued to his Aristotle and his Ovid, a slave of his musty parchments, -can do nothing but copy and string his rhymes together. Schoolboys even -in old age, they seem to believe that every truth, all wit, is their -great wood-bound books; that they have no need to find out and invent -for themselves; that their whole business is to repeat; that this is, in -fact, man's business. The scholastic system had enthroned the dead -letter, and peopled the world with dead understandings.</p> - -<p>After Gower come Occleve and Lydgate.<a name="NoteRef_254_1" id="NoteRef_254_1"></a><a href="#Note_254_1" class="fnanchor">[254]</a> "My father Chaucer would -willingly have taught me," says Occleve, "but I was dull, and learned -little or nothing." He paraphrased in verse a treatise of Egidius, on -government; these are moralities. There are others, on compassion, after -Augustine, and on the art of dying; then love-tales; a letter from -Cupid, dated from his court in the month of May. Love and -moralities,<a name="NoteRef_255_255" id="NoteRef_255_255"></a><a href="#Note_255_255" class="fnanchor">[255]</a> that is, abstractions and affectation, were the taste -of the time; and so, in the time of Lebrun, of Esménard, at the close -of contemporaneous French literature,<a name="NoteRef_256_256" id="NoteRef_256_256"></a><a href="#Note_256_256" class="fnanchor">[256]</a> they produced collections of -didactic poems, and odes to Chloris. As for the monk Lydgate, he had -some talent, some imagination, especially in high-toned descriptions: it -was the last flicker of a dying literature; gold received a golden -coating, precious stones were placed upon diamonds, ornaments multiplied -and made fantastic; as in their dress and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> buildings, so in their -style.<a name="NoteRef_257_257" id="NoteRef_257_257"></a><a href="#Note_257_257" class="fnanchor">[257]</a> Look at the costumes of Henry IV and Henry V, monstrous -heart-shaped or horn-shaped head-dresses, long sleeves covered with -ridiculous designs, the plumes, and again the oratories, armorial tombs, -little gaudy chapels, like conspicuous flowers under the naves of the -Gothic perpendicular. When we can no more speak to the soul, we try to -speak to the eyes. This is what Lydgate does, nothing more. Pageants or -shows are required of him, "disguisings" for the company of goldsmiths; -a mask before the king, a May entertainment for the sheriffs of London, -a drama of the creation for the festival of Corpus Christi, a -masquerade, a Christmas show; he gives the plan and furnishes the -verses. In this matter he never runs dry; two hundred and fifty-one -poems are attributed to him. Poetry thus conceived becomes a -manufacture; it is composed by the yard. Such was the judgment of the -Abbot of St. Albans, who, having got him to translate a legend in verse, -pays a hundred shillings for the whole, verse, writing, and -illuminations, placing the three works on a level. In fact, no more -thought was required for the one than for the others. His three great -works, "The Fall of Princes, The Destruction of Troy," and "The Siege -of Thebes," are only translations or paraphrases, verbose, erudite, -descriptive, a kind of chivalrous processions, colored for the twentieth -time, in the same manner, on the same vellum. The only point which rises -above the average, at least in the first poem, is the idea of -Fortune,<a name="NoteRef_258_1" id="NoteRef_258_1"></a><a href="#Note_258_1" class="fnanchor">[258]</a> and the violent vicissitudes of human life. If there was a -philosophy at this time, this was it. They willingly narrated horrible -and tragic histories; gather them from antiquity down to their own day; -they were far from the trusting and passionate piety which felt the hand -of God in the government of the world; they saw that the world went -blundering here and there like a drunken man. A sad and gloomy world, -amused by eternal pleasures, oppressed with a dull misery, which -suffered and feared without consolation or hope, isolated between the -ancient spirit in which it had no living hope, and the modern spirit -whose active science it ignored. Fortune, like a black smoke, hovers -over all, and shuts out the sight of heaven. They picture it as follows: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her face semyng cruel and terrible</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And by disdaynè menacing of loke,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An hundred handes she had, of eche part...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some of her handes lyft up men alofte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To hye estate of worldlye dignitè;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Another hande griped ful unsofte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which cast another in grete adversite."<a name="NoteRef_259_259" id="NoteRef_259_259"></a><a href="#Note_259_259" class="fnanchor">[259]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They look upon the great unhappy ones, a captive king, a dethroned -queen, assassinated princes, noble cities destroyed,<a name="NoteRef_260_1" id="NoteRef_260_1"></a><a href="#Note_260_1" class="fnanchor">[260]</a> lamentable -spectacles as exhibited in Germany and France, and of which there will -be plenty in England; and they can only regard them with a harsh -resignation. Lydgate ends by reciting a commonplace of mechanical piety, -by way of consolation. The reader makes the sign of the cross, yawns, -and goes away. In fact, poetry and religion are no longer capable of -suggesting a genuine sentiment. Authors copy, and copy again. Hawes<a name="NoteRef_261_1" id="NoteRef_261_1"></a><a href="#Note_261_1" class="fnanchor">[261]</a> -copies the "House of Fame" of Chaucer, and a sort of allegorical amorous -poem, after the "Roman de la Rose." Barclay<a name="NoteRef_262_1" id="NoteRef_262_1"></a><a href="#Note_262_1" class="fnanchor">[262]</a> translates the "Mirror -of Good Manners" and the "Ship of Fools." Continually we meet with dull -abstractions, used up and barren; it is the scholastic phase of poetry. -If anywhere there is an accent of greater originality, it is in this -"Ship of Fools," and in Lydgate's "Dance of Death," bitter buffooneries, -sad gayeties, which, in the hands of artists and poets, were having -their run throughout Europe. They mock at each other, grotesquely and -gloomily; poor, dull, and vulgar figures, shut up in a ship, or made to -dance on their tomb to the sound of a fiddle, played by a grinning -skeleton. At the end of all this mouldy talk, and amid the disgust which -they have conceived for each other, a clown, a tavern Triboulet,<a name="NoteRef_263_263" id="NoteRef_263_263"></a><a href="#Note_263_263" class="fnanchor">[263]</a> -composer of little jeering and macaronic verses, Skelton<a name="NoteRef_264_1" id="NoteRef_264_1"></a><a href="#Note_264_1" class="fnanchor">[264]</a> makes his -appearance, a virulent pamphleteer, who, jumbling together French, -English, Latin phrases, with slang, and fashionable words, invented -words, intermingled with short rhymes, fabricates a sort of literary -mud, with which he bespatters Wolsey and the bishops. Style, metre, -rhyme, language, art of every kind, is at an end; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> beneath the vain -parade of official style there is only a heap of rubbish. Yet, as he -says,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Though my rhyme be ragged,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tattered and gagged,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rudely rain-beaten,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rusty, moth-eaten,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yf ye take welle therewithe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It hath in it some pithe."</span></p> - - -<p>It is full of political animus, sensual liveliness, English and popular -instincts; it lives. It is a coarse life, still elementary, swarming -with ignoble vermin, like that which appears in a great decomposing -body. It is life, nevertheless, with its two great features which it is -destined to display: the hatred of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, which -is the Reformation; the return to the senses and to natural life, which -is the Renaissance. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_193_1" id="Note_193_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_193_1"><span class="label">[193]</span></a>Born between 1328 and 1345, died in 1400.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_194_194" id="Note_194_194"></a><a href="#NoteRef_194_194"><span class="label">[194]</span></a>Renan, "De l'Art au Moyen Age."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_195_195" id="Note_195_195"></a><a href="#NoteRef_195_195"><span class="label">[195]</span></a>See Froissart, his life with the Count of Foix -and with King Richard II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_196_1" id="Note_196_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_196_1"><span class="label">[196]</span></a>"Knight's Tale," II. p. 59, lines 1957-1964.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_197_1" id="Note_197_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_197_1"><span class="label">[197]</span></a>"Knight's Tale," II. p. 59, lines 1977-1996.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_198_1" id="Note_198_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_198_1"><span class="label">[198]</span></a>Ibid., p. 61, lines 2043-2050.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_199_1" id="Note_199_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_199_1"><span class="label">[199]</span></a>"Knight's Tale," II. p. 63, lines 2120-2188.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_200_1" id="Note_200_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_200_1"><span class="label">[200]</span></a>The House of Fame.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_201_1" id="Note_201_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_201_1"><span class="label">[201]</span></a>André le Chapelain, 1170.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_202_1" id="Note_202_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_202_1"><span class="label">[202]</span></a>Also the "Court of Love," and perhaps "The Assemble -of Ladies" and "La Belle Dame sans Merci."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_203_1" id="Note_203_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_203_1"><span class="label">[203]</span></a>"Troilus and Cressida," vol, V. bk. 3, p. 12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_204_1" id="Note_204_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_204_1"><span class="label">[204]</span></a>"Troilus and Cressida," vol. V. bk. 3, p. 40.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_205_1" id="Note_205_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_205_1"><span class="label">[205]</span></a>Ibid. p. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_206_1" id="Note_206_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_206_1"><span class="label">[206]</span></a>"Troilus and Cressida," vol. IV. bk. 2, p. 292.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_207_1" id="Note_207_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_207_1"><span class="label">[207]</span></a>Ibid. vol. V. bk. 4, p. 97.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_208_1" id="Note_208_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_208_1"><span class="label">[208]</span></a>"Troilus and Cressida," vol. V. bk. 5, p. 119 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_209_1" id="Note_209_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_209_1"><span class="label">[209]</span></a>"The Flower and the Leaf," VI. p. 244, lines 6-32.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_210_1" id="Note_210_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_210_1"><span class="label">[210]</span></a>Ibid. p. 245, line 33.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_211_1" id="Note_211_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_211_1"><span class="label">[211]</span></a>Ibid. VI. p. 246, lines 78-133.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_212_1" id="Note_212_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_212_1"><span class="label">[212]</span></a>"The Cuckow and Nightingale," VI. p. 121, lines 67-85.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_213_1" id="Note_213_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_213_1"><span class="label">[213]</span></a>Ibid. p. 126, lines 230-241.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_214_214" id="Note_214_214"></a><a href="#NoteRef_214_214"><span class="label">[214]</span></a>Stendhal, "On Love: the difference of Love-taste -and Love-passion."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_215_1" id="Note_215_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_215_1"><span class="label">[215]</span></a>"The Court of Love," about 1353, et seq. See also -the "Testament of Love."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_216_1" id="Note_216_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_216_1"><span class="label">[216]</span></a>"Troilus and Cressida," vol. V. III. pp. 44, 45.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_217_1" id="Note_217_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_217_1"><span class="label">[217]</span></a>The story of the pear-tree (Merchant's Tale), and -of the cradle (Reeve's Tale), for instance, in the "Canterbury -Tales."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_218_1" id="Note_218_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_218_1"><span class="label">[218]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales" prologue, p. 10, line 323.</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_219_1" id="Note_219_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_219_1"><span class="label">[219]</span></a>Ibid. p. 12, line 373.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_220_1" id="Note_220_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_220_1"><span class="label">[220]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," prologue, p. 21, line 688.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_221_1" id="Note_221_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_221_1"><span class="label">[221]</span></a>Ibid. II. prologue, p. 14, line 460.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_222_1" id="Note_222_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_222_1"><span class="label">[222]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," II., Wife of Bath's -Prologue, p. 168, lines 5610-5739.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_223_1" id="Note_223_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_223_1"><span class="label">[223]</span></a>Ibid. p. 179, lines 5968-6072.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_224_1" id="Note_224_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_224_1"><span class="label">[224]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," II., Wife of Bath's Prologue, -p. 185, lines 6177-6188.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_225_1" id="Note_225_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_225_1"><span class="label">[225]</span></a>Ibid, prologue, II. p. 7, line 208 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_226_1" id="Note_226_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_226_1"><span class="label">[226]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," The Sompnoures Tale, II. p. 220, -lines 7319-7340.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_227_1" id="Note_227_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_227_1"><span class="label">[227]</span></a>Ibid. p. 221, line 7366.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_228_1" id="Note_228_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_228_1"><span class="label">[228]</span></a>Ibid. p. 221, line 7384.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_229_1" id="Note_229_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_229_1"><span class="label">[229]</span></a>Ibid. p. 222, line 7389.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_230_1" id="Note_230_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_230_1"><span class="label">[230]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," II., The Sompnoures Tale, p. 222, -lines 7397-7429.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_231_1" id="Note_231_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_231_1"><span class="label">[231]</span></a>Ibid. p. 223, lines 7450-7460.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_232_1" id="Note_232_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_232_1"><span class="label">[232]</span></a>Ibid. p. 226, lines 7536-7544.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_233_1" id="Note_233_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_233_1"><span class="label">[233]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," II., The Sompnoures Tale, p. 226, -lines 7545-7553.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_234_1" id="Note_234_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_234_1"><span class="label">[234]</span></a>Ibid. p. 230, lines 7685-7695.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_235_1" id="Note_235_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_235_1"><span class="label">[235]</span></a>"Canterbury Tales," II., The Sompnoures Prologue, -p. 217, lines 7254-7279.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_236_1" id="Note_236_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_236_1"><span class="label">[236]</span></a>See in "The Canterbury Tales" the Rhyme of Sir Topas, -a parody on the chivalric histories. Each character there seems a -precursor of Cervantes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_237_1" id="Note_237_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_237_1"><span class="label">[237]</span></a>Prologue to "Canterbury Tales," II. p. 3, lines 68-72.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_238_1" id="Note_238_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_238_1"><span class="label">[238]</span></a>Prologue to "Canterbury Tales," II. p. 3, lines 79-100.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_239_1" id="Note_239_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_239_1"><span class="label">[239]</span></a>Prologue to "Canterbury Tales," II. p. 4, lines 118-141.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_240_1" id="Note_240_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_240_1"><span class="label">[240]</span></a>Ibid. p. 5, lines 142-150.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_241_1" id="Note_241_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_241_1"><span class="label">[241]</span></a>Ibid. p. 5, lines 151-162.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_242_1" id="Note_242_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_242_1"><span class="label">[242]</span></a>Tennyson, in his "Dream of Fair Women," sings:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Preluded those melodious bursts, that fill</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spacious times of great Elizabeth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sounds that echo still."—Tr.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_243_1" id="Note_243_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_243_1"><span class="label">[243]</span></a>Speaking of Cressida, IV. book I. p. 236, he says:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Right as our first letter is now an a,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In beautie first so stood she makeles,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her goodly looking gladed all the prees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nas never seene thing to be praised so derre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor under cloude blacke so bright a sterre."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_244_244" id="Note_244_244"></a><a href="#NoteRef_244_244"><span class="label">[244]</span></a>Under Proclus and under Hegel. Duns Scotus, at the age of -thirty-one, died, leaving beside his sermons and commentaries, twelve -folio volumes, in a small close handwriting, in a style like Hegel's, on -the same subject as Proclus treats of. Similarly with Saint Thomas and the -whole train of schoolmen. No idea can be formed of such a labor before -handling the books themselves.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_245_245" id="Note_245_245"></a><a href="#NoteRef_245_245"><span class="label">[245]</span></a>Peter Lombard, "Book of Sentences." It was the classic -of the Middle Ages.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_246_1" id="Note_246_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_246_1"><span class="label">[246]</span></a>Duns Scotus, ed. 1639.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_247_1" id="Note_247_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_247_1"><span class="label">[247]</span></a>Utrum angelus diligat se ipsum dilectione naturali -vel electiva? Utrum in statu innocentiæ fuerit generatio per coitum? -Utrum omnes fuissent nati in sexu masculino? Utrum cognitio angeli -posset dici matutina et vespertina? Utrum martyribus aureola debeatur? -Utrum virgo Maria fuerit virgo in concipiendo? Utrum remanserit virgo post -partum? The reader may look out in the text the reply to these last two -questions. (S. Thomas, "Summa Theologica," ed. 1677.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_248_1" id="Note_248_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_248_1"><span class="label">[248]</span></a>The Rev. Henry Anstey, in his Introduction to -"Munimenta Academica," Lond. 1868, says that "the statement -of Richard of Armagh that there were in the thirteenth century -30,000 scholars at Oxford is almost incredible." P. XLVIII.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_249_1" id="Note_249_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_249_1"><span class="label">[249]</span></a>"History of English Poetry," vol. II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_250_1" id="Note_250_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_250_1"><span class="label">[250]</span></a>Contemporary with Chaucer. The "Confessio Amantis" -dates from 1393.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_251_1" id="Note_251_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_251_1"><span class="label">[251]</span></a>"History of Rosiphele. Ballads."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_252_252" id="Note_252_252"></a><a href="#NoteRef_252_252"><span class="label">[252]</span></a>Warton, II. 240.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_253_1" id="Note_253_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_253_1"><span class="label">[253]</span></a>See, for instance his description of the sun's crown, -the most poetical passage in book VII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_254_1" id="Note_254_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_254_1"><span class="label">[254]</span></a>1420, 1430.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_255_255" id="Note_255_255"></a><a href="#NoteRef_255_255"><span class="label">[255]</span></a>This is the title Froissart (1397) gave to his collection -when presenting it to Richard II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_256_256" id="Note_256_256"></a><a href="#NoteRef_256_256"><span class="label">[256]</span></a>Lebrun, 1729-1807; Esménard, 1770-1812.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_257_257" id="Note_257_257"></a><a href="#NoteRef_257_257"><span class="label">[257]</span></a>Lydgate, "The Destruction of Troy"—description of -Hector's chapel. Especially read the Pageants or Solemn Entries.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_258_1" id="Note_258_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_258_1"><span class="label">[258]</span></a>See the Vision of Fortune, a gigantic figure. In -this painting he shows both feeling and talent.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_259_259" id="Note_259_259"></a><a href="#NoteRef_259_259"><span class="label">[259]</span></a>Lydgate, "Fall of Princes." Warton, II. 280.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_260_1" id="Note_260_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_260_1"><span class="label">[260]</span></a>The War of the Hussites, The Hundred Years' War, -and The War of the Roses.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_261_1" id="Note_261_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_261_1"><span class="label">[261]</span></a>About 1506. "The Temple of Glass. Passetyme of -Pleasure."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_262_1" id="Note_262_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_262_1"><span class="label">[262]</span></a>About 1500.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_263_263" id="Note_263_263"></a><a href="#NoteRef_263_263"><span class="label">[263]</span></a>The court fool in Victor Hugo's drama of "Le Roi -s'amuse."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_264_1" id="Note_264_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_264_1"><span class="label">[264]</span></a>Died 1529; Poet-Laureate 1489. His "Bouge of Court," -his "Crown of Laurel," his "Elegy on the Death of the Earl of -Northumberland," are well written, and belong to official poetry.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> -<h4><a id="BOOK_II.--THE_RENAISSANCE">BOOK II.—THE RENAISSANCE</a></h4> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FIRST_II">CHAPTER FIRST</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_Pagan_Renaissance">The Pagan Renaissance</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="PART_I.--Manners_of_the_Time"><i>PART I.—Manners of the Time</i></a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Ideas_of_the_Middle_Ages">SECTION I.—Ideas of the Middle Ages</a></h4> - - -<p>For seventeen centuries a deep and sad thought had weighed upon the -spirit of man, first to overwhelm it, then to exalt and to weaken it, -never losing its hold throughout this long space of time. It was the -idea of the weakness and decay of the human race. Greek corruption, -Roman oppression, and the dissolution of the ancient world, had given -rise to it; it, in its turn, had produced a stoical resignation, an -epicurean indifference, Alexandrian mysticism, and the Christian hope in -the kingdom of God. "The world is evil and lost, let us escape by -insensibility, amazement, ecstasy." Thus spoke the philosophers; and -religion, coming after, announced that the end was near; "Prepare, for -the kingdom of God is at hand." For a thousand years universal ruin -incessantly drove still deeper into their hearts this gloomy thought; -and when man in the feudal state raised himself, by sheer force of -courage and muscles, from the depths of final imbecility and general -misery, he discovered his thought and his work fettered by the crushing -idea, which, forbidding a life of nature and worldly hopes, erected into -ideals the obedience of the monk and the dreams of fanatics.</p> - -<p>It grew ever worse and worse. For the natural result of such a -conception, as of the miseries which engender it, and the discouragement -which it gives rise to, is to do away <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> with personal action, and to -replace originality by submission. From the fourth century, gradually -the dead letter was substituted for the living faith. Christians -resigned themselves into the hands of the clergy, they into the hands of -the pope. Christian opinions were subordinated to theologians, and -theologians to the Fathers. Christian faith was reduced to the -accomplishment of works, and works to the accomplishment of ceremonies. -Religion, fluid during the first centuries, was now congealed into a -hard crystal, and the coarse contact of the barbarians had deposited -upon its surface a layer of idolatry; theocracy and the Inquisition, the -monopoly of the clergy and the prohibition of the Scriptures, the -worship of relics and the sale of indulgences began to appear. In place -of Christianity, the church; in place of a free creed, enforced -orthodoxy; in place of moral fervor, fixed religious practices; in place -of the heart and stirring thought, outward and mechanical discipline: -such are the characteristics of the Middle Ages. Under this constraint -thinking society had ceased to think; philosophy was turned into a -text-book, and poetry into dotage; and mankind, slothful and crouching, -delivering up their conscience and their conduct into the hands of their -priests, seemed but as puppets, fit only for reciting a catechism and -mumbling over beads.<a name="NoteRef_265_1" id="NoteRef_265_1"></a><a href="#Note_265_1" class="fnanchor">[265]</a></p> - -<p>At last invention makes another start; and it makes it by the efforts of -the lay society, which rejected theocracy, kept the State free, and -which presently discovered, or rediscovered, one after another, the -industries, sciences, and arts. All was renewed; America and the Indies -were added to the map of the world; the shape of the earth was -ascertained, the system of the universe propounded, modern philology was -inaugurated, the experimental sciences set on foot, art and literature -shot forth like a harvest, religion was transformed; there was no -province of human intelligence and action which was not refreshed and -fertilized by this universal effort. It was so great that it passed from -the innovators to the laggards, and reformed Catholicism in the face of -Protestantism which it formed. It seems as though men had suddenly -opened their eyes and seen. In fact, they attain a new and superior kind -of intelligence. It is the proper feature of this age that men no longer -make themselves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> masters of objects by bits, or isolated, or through -scholastic or mechanical classifications, but as a whole, in general and -complete views, with the eager grasp of a sympathetic spirit, which -being placed before a vast object, penetrates it in all its parts, tries -it in all its relations, appropriates and assimilates it, impresses upon -itself its living and potent image, so life-like and so powerful, that -it is fain to translate it into externals through a work of art or an -action. An extraordinary warmth of soul, a superabundant and splendid -imagination, reveries, visions, artists, believers, founders, -creators—that is what such a form of intellect produces; for to create -we must have, as had Luther and Loyola, Michel Angelo and Shakespeare, -an idea, not abstract, partial, and dry, but well defined, finished, -sensible—a true creation, which acts inwardly, and struggles to appear -to the light. This was Europe's grand age, and the most notable epoch of -human growth. To this day we live from its sap; we only carry on its -pressure and efforts.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Growth_of_New_Ideas">SECTION II.—Growth of New Ideas</a></h4> - - -<p>When human power is manifested so clearly and in such great works, it is -no wonder if the ideal changes, and the old pagan idea reappears. It -recurs, bringing with it the worship of beauty and vigor, first in -Italy; for this, of all countries in Europe, is the most pagan, and the -nearest to the ancient civilization; thence in France and Spain, and -Flanders, and even in Germany; and finally in England. How is it -propagated? What revolution of manners reunited mankind at this time, -everywhere, under a sentiment which they had forgotten for fifteen -hundred years? Merely that their condition had improved, and they felt -it. The idea ever expresses the actual situation, and the creatures of -the imagination, like the conceptions of the mind, only manifest the -state of society and the degree of its welfare; there is a fixed -connection between what man admires and what he is. While misery -overwhelms him, while the decadence is visible, and hope shut out, he is -inclined to curse his life on earth, and seek consolation in another -sphere. As soon as his sufferings are alleviated, his power made -manifest, his prospects brightened, he begins once more to love the -present <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> life, to be self-confident, to love and praise energy, genius, -all the effective faculties which labor to procure him happiness. About -the twentieth year of Elizabeth's reign, the nobles gave up shield and -two-handed sword for the rapier;<a name="NoteRef_266_1" id="NoteRef_266_1"></a><a href="#Note_266_1" class="fnanchor">[266]</a> a little, almost imperceptible -fact, yet vast, for it is like the change which sixty years ago made us -give up the sword at court, to leave us with our arms swinging about in -our black coats. In fact, it was the close of feudal life, and the -beginning of court life, just as today court life is at an end, and the -democratic reign has begun. With the two-handed swords, heavy coats of -mail, feudal keeps, private warfare, permanent disorder, all the -scourges of the Middle Ages retired, and faded into the past. The -English had done with the Wars of the Roses. They no longer ran the risk -of being pillaged to-morrow for being rich, and hanged the next day for -being traitors; they have no further need to furbish up their armor, -make alliances with powerful nations, lay in stores for the winter, -gather together men-at-arms, scour the country to plunder and hang -others.<a name="NoteRef_267_267" id="NoteRef_267_267"></a><a href="#Note_267_267" class="fnanchor">[267]</a> The monarchy, in England, as throughout Europe, establishes -peace in the community,<a name="NoteRef_268_268" id="NoteRef_268_268"></a><a href="#Note_268_268" class="fnanchor">[268]</a> and with peace appear the useful arts. -Domestic comfort follows civil security; and man, better furnished in -his home, better protected in his hamlet, takes pleasure in his life on -earth, which he has changed, and means to change.</p> - -<p>Toward the close of the fifteenth century<a name="NoteRef_269_1" id="NoteRef_269_1"></a><a href="#Note_269_1" class="fnanchor">[269]</a> the impetus was given; -commerce and the woolen trade made a sudden advance, and such an -enormous one that corn-fields were changed into pasture-lands, "whereby -the inhabitants of the said town (Manchester) have gotten and come into -riches and wealthy livings,"<a name="NoteRef_270_1" id="NoteRef_270_1"></a><a href="#Note_270_1" class="fnanchor">[270]</a> so that in 1553, 40,000 pieces of -cloth were exported in English ships. It was already the England which -we see to-day, a land of green meadows, intersected by hedgerows, -crowded with cattle, and abounding in ships—a manufacturing opulent -land, with a people of beef-eating toilers, who enrich it while they -enrich themselves. They improved agriculture to such an extent that in -half a century the produce of an acre was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> doubled.<a name="NoteRef_271_1" id="NoteRef_271_1"></a><a href="#Note_271_1" class="fnanchor">[271]</a> They grew so -rich that at the beginning of the reign of Charles I the Commons -represented three times the wealth of the Upper House. The ruin of -Antwerp by the Duke of Parma<a name="NoteRef_272_1" id="NoteRef_272_1"></a><a href="#Note_272_1" class="fnanchor">[272]</a> sent to England "the third part of the -merchants and manufacturers, who made silk, damask, stockings, taffetas, -and serges." The defeat of the Armada and the decadence of Spain opened -the seas to English merchants.<a name="NoteRef_273_273" id="NoteRef_273_273"></a><a href="#Note_273_273" class="fnanchor">[273]</a> The toiling hive, who would dare, -attempt, explore, act in unison, and always with profit, was about to -reap its advantages and set out on its voyages, buzzing over the -universe.</p> - -<p>At the base and on the summit of society, in all ranks of life, in all -grades of human condition, this new welfare became visible. In 1534, -considering that the streets of London were "very noyous and foul, and -in many places thereof very jeopardous to all people passing and -repassing, as well on horseback as on foot," Henry VIII began the paving -of the city. New streets covered the open spaces where the young men -used to run races and to wrestle. Every year the number of taverns, -theatres, gambling-rooms, bear-gardens, increased. Before the time of -Elizabeth the country-houses of gentlemen were little more than -straw-thatched cottages, plastered with the coarsest clay, lighted only -by trellises. "Howbeit," says Harrison (1580), "such as be latelie -builded are commonlie either of bricke or hard stone, or both; their -roomes large and comelie, and houses of office further distant from -their lodgings." The old wooden houses were covered with plaster, -"which, beside the delectable whitenesse of the stuffe itselfe, is laied -on so even and smoothlie, as nothing in my judgment can be done with -more exactnesse."<a name="NoteRef_274_274" id="NoteRef_274_274"></a><a href="#Note_274_274" class="fnanchor">[274]</a> This open admiration shows from what hovels they -had escaped. Glass was at last employed for windows, and the bare walls -were covered with hangings, on which visitors might see, with delight -and astonishment, plants, animals, figures. They began to use stoves, -and experienced the unwonted pleasure of being warm. Harrison notes -three important changes which had taken place in the farm-houses of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -time:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"One is, the multitude of chimnies lately erected, whereas in their -yoong daies there were not above two or three, if so manie, in most -uplandishe townes of the realme.... The second is the great (although -not generall), amendment of lodging, for our fathers (yea and we -ourselves also) have lien full oft upon straw pallets, on rough mats -covered onelie with a sheet, under coverlets made of dagswain, or -hop-harlots, and a good round log under their heads, insteed of a -bolster or pillow. If it were so that the good man of the house, had -within seven yeares after his marriage purchased a matteres or -flockebed, and thereto a sacke of chaffe to rest his head upon, he -thought himselfe to be as well lodged as the lord of the towne.... -Pillowes (said they) were thought meet onelie for women in childbed.... -The third thing is the exchange of vessell, as of treene platters into -pewter, and wodden spoones into silver or tin; for so common was all -sorts of treene stuff in old time, that a man should hardlie find four -peeces of pewter (of which one was peradventure a salt) in a good -farmers house."<a name="NoteRef_275_275" id="NoteRef_275_275"></a><a href="#Note_275_275" class="fnanchor">[275]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>It is not possession, but acquisition, which gives men pleasure and -sense of power; they observe sooner a small happiness, new to them, than -a great happiness which is old. It is not when all is good, but when all -is better, that they see the bright side of life, and are tempted to -make a holiday of it. This is why at this period they did make a holiday -of it, a splendid show, so like a picture that it fostered painting in -Italy, so like a piece of acting that it produced the drama in England. -Now that the axe and sword of the civil wars had beaten down the -independent nobility, and the abolition of the law of maintenance had -destroyed the petty royalty of each great feudal baron, the lords -quitted their sombre castles, battlemented fortresses, surrounded by -stagnant water, pierced with narrow windows, a sort of stone -breastplates of no use but to preserve the life of their master. They -flock into new palaces with vaulted roofs and turrets, covered with -fantastic and manifold ornaments, adorned with terraces and vast -staircases, with gardens, fountains, statues, such as were the palaces -of Henry VIII and Elizabeth, half Gothic and half Italian,<a name="NoteRef_276_276" id="NoteRef_276_276"></a><a href="#Note_276_276" class="fnanchor">[276]</a> whose -convenience, splendor, and symmetry announced already habits of society, -and the taste for pleasure. They came to court and abandoned their old -manners; the four meals which scarcely sufficed their former voracity -were reduced to two; gentlemen soon became refined, placing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> their glory -in the elegance and singularity of their amusements and their clothes. -They dressed magnificently in splendid materials, with the luxury of men -who rustle silk and make gold sparkle for the first time: doublets of -scarlet satin; cloaks of sable, costing a thousand ducats; velvet shoes, -embroidered with gold and silver, covered with rosettes and ribbons; -boots with falling tops, from whence hung a cloud of lace, embroidered -with figures of birds, animals, constellations, flowers in silver, gold, -or precious stones; ornamented shirts costing ten pounds a piece. "It is -a common thing to put a thousand goats and a hundred oxen on a coat, and -to carry a whole manor on one's back."<a name="NoteRef_277_277" id="NoteRef_277_277"></a><a href="#Note_277_277" class="fnanchor">[277]</a> The costumes of the time -were shrines. When Elizabeth died, they found three thousand dresses in -her wardrobe. Need we speak of the monstrous ruffs of the ladies, their -puffed-out dresses, their stomachers stiff with diamonds? Asa singular -sign of the times, the men were more changeable and more bedecked than -they. Harrison says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Such is our mutabilitie, that to daie there is none to the Spanish -guise, to morrow the French toies are most fine and delectable, yer long -no such apparell as that which is after the high Alman fashion, by and -by the Turkish maner is generallie best liked of, otherwise the Morisco -gowns, the Barbarian sleeves... and the short French breeches.... And -as these fashions are diverse, so likewise it is a world to see the -costlinesse and the curiositie; the excesse and the vanitie; the pompe -and the braverie; the change and the varietie; and finallie, the -ficklenesse and the follie that is in all degrees."<a name="NoteRef_278_278" id="NoteRef_278_278"></a><a href="#Note_278_278" class="fnanchor">[278]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Folly, it may have been, but poetry likewise. There was something more -than puppyism in this masquerade of splendid costume. The overflow of -inner sentiment found this issue, as also in drama and poetry. It was an -artistic spirit which induced it. There was an incredible outgrowth of -living forms from their brains. They acted like their engravers, who -give us in their frontispieces a prodigality of fruits, flowers, active -figures, animals, gods, and pour out and confuse the whole treasure of -nature in every corner of their paper. They must enjoy the beautiful; -they would be happy through their eyes; they perceive in consequence -naturally the relief and energy of forms. From the accession of Henry -VIII to the death of James I we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> find nothing but tournaments, -processions, public entries, masquerades. First come the royal banquets, -coronation displays, large and noisy pleasures of Henry VIII. Wolsey -entertains him</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"In so gorgeous a sort and costlie maner, that it was an heaven to -behold. There wanted no dames or damosels meet or apt to danse with the -maskers, or to garnish the place for the time: then was there all kind -of musike and harmonie, with fine voices both of men and children. On a -time the king came suddenlie thither in a maske with a dozen maskers all -in garments like sheepheards, made of fine cloth of gold, and crimosin -sattin paned,... having sixteene torch-bearers.... In came a new banket -before the king wherein were served two hundred diverse dishes, of -costlie devises and subtilities. Thus passed they foorth the night with -banketting, dansing, and other triumphs, to the great comfort of the -king, and pleasant regard of the nobilitie there assembled."<a name="NoteRef_279_1" id="NoteRef_279_1"></a><a href="#Note_279_1" class="fnanchor">[279]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Count, if you can, the mythological entertainments, the theatrical -receptions, the open-air operas played before Elizabeth, James, and -their great lords.<a name="NoteRef_280_1" id="NoteRef_280_1"></a><a href="#Note_280_1" class="fnanchor">[280]</a> At Kenilworth the pageants lasted ten days. -There was everything; learned recreations, novelties, popular plays, -sanguinary spectacles, coarse farces, juggling and feats of skill, -allegories, mythologies, chivalric exhibitions, rustic and national -commemorations. At the same time, in this universal outburst and sudden -expanse, men become interested in themselves, find their life desirable, -worthy of being represented and put on the stage complete; they play -with it, delight in looking upon it, love its ups and downs, and make of -it a work of art. The queen is received by a sibyl, then by giants of -the time of Arthur, then by the Lady of the Lake, Sylvanus, Pomona, -Ceres, and Bacchus, every divinity in turn presents her with the -first-fruits of his empire. Next day, a savage, dressed in moss and ivy, -discourses before her with Echo in her praise. Thirteen bears are set -fighting against dogs. An Italian acrobat performs wonderful feats -before the whole assembly. A rustic marriage takes place before the -queen, then a sort of comic fight amongst the peasants of Coventry, who -represent the defeat of the Danes. As she is returning from the chase, -Triton, rising from the lake, prays her, in the name of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> Neptune, to -deliver the enchanted lady, pursued by a cruel knight, Syr Bruse sauns -Pitee. Presently the lady appears, surrounded by nymphs, followed close -by Proteus, who is borne by an enormous dolphin. Concealed in the -dolphin, a band of musicians with a chorus of ocean-deities, sing the -praise of the powerful, beautiful, chaste queen of England.<a name="NoteRef_281_1" id="NoteRef_281_1"></a><a href="#Note_281_1" class="fnanchor">[281]</a> You -perceive that comedy is not confined to the theatre; the great of the -realm and the queen herself become actors. The cravings of the -imagination are so keen that the court becomes a stage. Under James I, -every year, on Twelfth-day, the queen, the chief ladies and nobles, -played a piece called a Masque, a sort of allegory combined with dances, -heightened in effect by decorations and costumes of great splendor, of -which the mythological paintings of Rubens can alone give an idea:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The attire of the lords was from the antique Greek statues. On their -heads they wore Persic crowns, that were with scrolls of gold plate -turned outward, and wreathed about with a carnation and silver net-lawn. -Their bodies were of carnation cloth of silver; to express the naked, in -manner of the Greek thorax, girt under the breasts with a broad belt of -cloth of gold, fastened with jewels; the mantles were of coloured silke; -the first, sky-colour; the second, pearl-colour; the third, flame -colour; the fourth, tawny. The ladies attire was of white cloth of -silver, wrought with Juno's birds and fruits; a loose under garment, -full gathered, of carnation, striped with silver, and parted with a -golden zone; beneath that, another flowing garment, of watchet cloth of -silver, laced with gold; their hair carelessly bound under the circle of -a rare and rich coronet, adorned with all variety, and choice of jewels; -from the top of which flowed a transparent veil, down to the ground. -Their shoes were azure and gold, set with rubies and diamonds."<a name="NoteRef_282_282" id="NoteRef_282_282"></a><a href="#Note_282_282" class="fnanchor">[282]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>I abridge the description, which is like a fairy tale. Fancy that all -these costumes, this glitter of materials, this sparkling of diamonds, -this splendor of nudities, was displayed daily at the marriage of the -great, to the bold sounds of a pagan epithalamium. Think of the feasts -which the Earl of Carlisle introduced, where was served first of all a -table loaded with sumptuous viands, as high as a man could reach, in -order to remove it presently, and replace it by another similar table. -This prodigality of magnificence, these costly follies, this unbridling -of the imagination, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> this intoxication of eye and ear, this comedy played -by the lords of the realm, like the pictures of Rubens, Jordaens, and -their Flemish contemporaries, so open an appeal to the senses, so -complete a return to nature, that our chilled and gloomy age is scarcely -able to imagine it.<a name="NoteRef_283_1" id="NoteRef_283_1"></a><a href="#Note_283_1" class="fnanchor">[283]</a></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Popular_Festivals">SECTION III.—Popular Festivals</a></h4> - - -<p>To vent the feelings, to satisfy the heart and eyes, to set free boldly -on all the roads of existence the pack of appetites and instincts, this -was the craving which the manners of the time betrayed. It was "merry -England," as they called it then. It was not yet stern and constrained. -It expanded widely, freely, and rejoiced to find itself so expanded. No -longer at court only was the drama found, but in the village. Strolling -companies betook themselves thither, and the country folk supplied any -deficiencies, when necessary. Shakespeare saw, before he depicted them, -stupid fellows, carpenters, joiners, bellows-menders, play Pyramus and -Thisbe, represent the lion roaring as gently as any sucking dove, and -the wall, by stretching out their hands. Every holiday was a pageant, in -which townspeople, workmen, and children bore their parts. They were -actors by nature. When the soul is full and fresh, it does not express -its ideas by reasonings; it plays and figures them; it mimics them; that -is the true and original language, the children's tongue, the speech of -artists, of invention, and of joy. It is in this manner they please -themselves with songs and feasting, on all the symbolic holidays with -which tradition has filled the year.<a name="NoteRef_284_284" id="NoteRef_284_284"></a><a href="#Note_284_284" class="fnanchor">[284]</a> On the Sunday after -Twelfth-night the laborers parade the streets, with their shirts over -their coats, decked with ribbons, dragging a plough to the sound of -music, and dancing a sword-dance; on another day they draw in a cart a -figure made of ears of corn, with songs, flutes, and drums; on another, -Father Christmas and his company; or else they enact the history of -Robin Hood, the bold archer, around the May-pole, or the legend of Saint -George and the Dragon. We might occupy half a volume in describing all -these holidays, such as Harvest Home, All Saints, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> Martinmas, -Sheepshearing, above all Christmas, which lasted twelve days, and -sometimes six weeks. They eat and drink, junket, tumble about, kiss the -girls, ring the bells, satiate themselves with noise: coarse drunken -revels, in which man is an unbridled animal, and which are the -incarnation of natural life. The Puritans made no mistake about that. -Stubbes says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"First, all the wilde heades of the parishe, conventying together, chuse -them a ground capitaine of mischeef, whan they innoble with the title of -my Lorde of Misserule, and hym they crown with great solemnitie, and -adopt for their kyng. This kyng anoynted, chuseth for the twentie, -fourtie, three score, or a hundred lustie guttes like to hymself to -waite uppon his lordely maiestie.... Then have they their hobbie horses, -dragons, and other antiques, together with their baudie pipers and -thunderyng drommers, to strike up the devilles daunce withall: then -marche these heathen companie towardes the churche and churche-yarde, -their pipers pipyng, their drommers thonderyng, their stumppes dauncyng, -their belles rynglyng, their handkerchefes swyngyng about their heads -like madmen, their hobbie horses and other monsters skirmishyng amongest -the throng; and in this sorte they goe to the churche (though the -minister be at praier or preachyng), dauncyng, and swingyng their -handkercheefes over their heades, in the churche, like devilles -incarnate, with such a confused noise, that no man can heare his owne -voice. Then the foolishe people they looke, they stare, they laugh, they -fleere, and mount upon formes and pewes, to see these goodly pageauntes, -solemnized in this sort. Then after this, aboute the churche they goe -againe and againe, and so forthe into the churche-yarde, where they have -commonly their sommer haules, their bowers, arbours, and banquettyng -houses set up, wherein they feaste, banquet, and daunce all that daie, -and peradventure all that night too. And thus these terrestriall furies -spend the Sabbaoth daie!... An other sorte of fantasticall fooles bringe -to these helhoundes (the Lorde of Misrule and his complices) some bread, -some good ale, some newe cheese, some olde cheese, some custardes, some -cakes, some flaunes, some tartes, some creame, some meate, some one -thing, some an other."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>He continues thus:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Against Maie, every parishe, towne and village essemble themselves -together, bothe men, women, and children, olde and yong, even all -indifferently; they goe to the woodes where they spende all the night in -pleasant pastymes, and in the mornyng they returne, bringing with them -birch, bowes, and branches of trees, to deck their assemblies with-all. -But their cheefest iewell they bringe from thence is their Maie poole, -whiche they bring home with great veneration, as thus: They have twenty -or fourtie yoke of oxen, every ox havyng a sweete nosegaie of flowers -tyed on the tippe of his homes, and these oxen, drawe home this Maie -poole (this stinckyng idoll rather)... and thus beyng <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> reared up, they -strawe the grounde aboute, binde greene boughes about it, sett up sommer -haules, bowers, and arbours hard by it; and then fall they to banquet -and feast, to leape and daunce aboute it, as the heathen people did at -the dedication of their idolles.... Of a hundred maides goyng to the -woode over night, there have scarcely the third parte returned home -againe undefiled."<a name="NoteRef_285_285" id="NoteRef_285_285"></a><a href="#Note_285_285" class="fnanchor">[285]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>"On Shrove Tuesday," says another,<a name="NoteRef_286_1" id="NoteRef_286_1"></a><a href="#Note_286_1" class="fnanchor">[286]</a> "at the sound of a bell, the -folk become insane, thousands at a time, and forget all decency and -common-sense.... It is to Satan and the devil that they pay homage and -do sacrifice to in these abominable pleasures." It is in fact to nature, -to the ancient Pan, to Freya, to Hertha, her sisters, to the old -Teutonic deities who survived the Middle Ages. At this period, in the -temporary decay of Christianity, and the sudden advance of corporal -well-being, man adored himself, and there endured no life within him but -that of paganism.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Influence_of_Classic_Literature">SECTION IV.—Influence of Classic Literature</a></h4> - - -<p>To sum up, observe the process of ideas at this time. A few sectarians, -chiefly in the towns and of the people, clung gloomily to the Bible. But -the court and the men of the world sought their teachers and their -heroes from pagan Greece and Rome. About 1490<a name="NoteRef_287_287" id="NoteRef_287_287"></a><a href="#Note_287_287" class="fnanchor">[287]</a> they began to read -the classics; one after the other they translated them; it was soon the -fashion to read them in the original. Queen Elizabeth, Jane Grey, the -Duchess of Norfolk, the Countess of Arundel, and many other ladies, were -conversant with Plato, Xenophon, and Cicero in the original, and -appreciated them. Gradually, by an insensible change, men were raised to -the level of the great and healthy minds who had freely handled ideas of -all kinds fifteen centuries before. They comprehended not only their -language, but their thought; they did not repeat lessons from, but held -conversations with them; they were their equals, and found in them -intellects as manly as their own. For they were not scholastic -cavillers, miserable compilers, repulsive pedants, like the professors -of jargon whom the Middle Ages had set over them, like gloomy Duns -Scotus, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> whose leaves Henry VII's visitors scattered to the winds. They -were gentlemen, statesmen, the most polished and best educated men in -the world, who knew how to speak, and draw their ideas, not from books, -but from things, living ideas, and which entered of themselves into -living souls. Across the train of hooded schoolmen and sordid cavillers -the two adult and thinking ages were united, and the moderns, silencing -the infantine or snuffling voices of the Middle Ages, condescended only -to converse with the noble ancients. They accepted their gods, at least -they understand them, and keep them by their side. In poems, festivals, -on hangings, almost in all ceremonies, they appear, not restored by -pedantry merely, but kept alive by sympathy, and endowed by the arts -with a life as flourishing and almost as profound as that of their -earliest birth. After the terrible night of the Middle Ages, and the -dolorous legends of spirits and the damned, it was a delight to see -again Olympus shining upon us from Greece; its heroic and beautiful -deities once more ravishing the heart of men; they raised and instructed -this young world by speaking to it the language of passion and genius; -and this age of strong deeds, free sensuality, bold invention, had only -to follow its own bent, in order to discover in them its masters and the -eternal promoters of liberty and beauty.</p> - -<p>Nearer still was another paganism, that of Italy; the more seductive -because more modern, and because it circulates fresh sap in an ancient -stock; the more attractive, because more sensuous and present, with its -worship of force and genius, of pleasure and voluptuousness. The -rigorists knew this well, and were shocked at it. Ascham writes:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"These bee the inchantementes of Circes, brought out of Italie to marre -mens maners in England; much, by example of ill life, but more by -preceptes of fonde bookes, of late translated out of Italian into -English, sold in every shop in London.... There bee moe of these -ungratious bookes set out in Printe wythin these fewe monethes, than -have bene sene in England many score yeares before.... Than they have in -more reverence the triumphes of Petrarche: than the Genesis of Moses: -They make more account of Tullies offices, than S. Paules epistles: of a -tale in Bocace than a storie of the Bible."<a name="NoteRef_288_288" id="NoteRef_288_288"></a><a href="#Note_288_288" class="fnanchor">[288]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In fact, at that time Italy clearly led in everything, and civilization -was to be drawn thence, as from its spring. What is this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> civilization -which is thus imposed on the whole of Europe, whence every science and -every elegance comes, whose laws are obeyed in every court, in which -Surrey, Sidney, Spenser, Shakespeare sought their models and their -materials? It was pagan in its elements and its birth; in its language, -which is but Latin, hardly changed; in its Latin traditions and -recollections, which no gap has interrupted; in its constitution, whose -old municipal life first led and absorbed the feudal life; in the genius -of its race, in which energy and joy always abounded. More than a -century before other nations—from the time of Petrarch, Rienzi, -Boccaccio—the Italians began to recover the lost antiquity, to set free -the manuscripts buried in the dungeons of France and Germany, to -restore, interpret, comment upon, study the ancients, to make themselves -Latin in heart and mind, to compose in prose and verse with the polish -of Cicero and Vergil, to hold sprightly converse and intellectual -pleasures as the ornament and the fairest flower of life.<a name="NoteRef_289_1" id="NoteRef_289_1"></a><a href="#Note_289_1" class="fnanchor">[289]</a> They -adopt not merely the externals of the life of the ancients, but its very -essence; that is, preoccupation with the present life, forgetfulness of -the future, the appeal to the senses, the renunciation of Christianity. -"We must enjoy," sang their first poet, Lorenzo de Medici, in his -pastorals and triumphal songs: "there is no certainty of tomorrow." In -Pulci the mocking incredulity breaks out, the bold and sensual gayety, -all the audacity of the free-thinkers, who kicked aside in disgust the -worn-out monkish frock of the Middle Ages. It was he who, in a jesting -poem, puts at the beginning of each canto a Hosanna, an <i>In principio</i>, -or a sacred text from the mass-book.<a name="NoteRef_290_290" id="NoteRef_290_290"></a><a href="#Note_290_290" class="fnanchor">[290]</a> When he had been inquiring -what the soul was, and how it entered the body, he compared it to jam -covered up in white bread quite hot. What would become of it in the -other world? "Some people think they will there discover becafico's, -plucked ortolans, excellent wine, good beds, and therefore they follow -the monks, walking behind them. As for us, dear friend, we shall go into -the black valley, where we shall hear no more Alleluias." If you wish -for a more serious thinker, listen to the great patriot, the Thucydides <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -of the age, Machiavelli, who, contrasting Christianity and paganism, -says that the first places "supreme happiness in humility, abjection, -contempt for human things, while the other makes the sovereign good -consist in greatness of soul, force of body, and all the qualities which -make men to be feared." Whereon he boldly concludes that Christianity -teaches man "to support evils, and not to do great deeds"; he discovers -in that inner weakness the cause of all oppressions; declares that "the -wicked saw that they could tyrannize without fear over men, who, in -order to get to paradise, were more disposed to suffer than to avenge -injuries." Through such sayings, in spite of his constrained -genuflexions, we can see which religion he prefers. The ideal to which -all efforts were turning, on which all thoughts depended, and which -completely raised this civilization, was the strong and happy man, -possessing all the powers to accomplish his wishes, and disposed to use -them in pursuit of his happiness.</p> - -<p>If you would see this idea in its grandest operation, you must seek it -in the arts, such as Italy made them and carried throughout Europe, -raising or transforming the national schools with such originality and -vigor that all art likely to survive is derived from hence, and the -population of living figures with which they have covered our walls -denotes, like Gothic architecture of French tragedy, a unique epoch of -human intelligence. The attenuated mediæval Christ—a miserable, -distorted, and bleeding earth-worm; the pale and ugly Virgin—a poor old -peasant woman, fainting beside the cross of her Son; ghastly martyrs, -dried up with fasts, with entranced eyes; knotty-fingered saints with -sunken chests—all the touching or lamentable visions of the Middle Ages -have vanished: the train of godheads which are now developed show -nothing but flourishing frames, noble, regular features, and fine, easy -gestures; the names, the names only, are Christian. The new Jesus is a -"crucified Jupiter," as Pulci called him; the Virgins which Raphael -sketched naked, before covering them with garments,<a name="NoteRef_291_1" id="NoteRef_291_1"></a><a href="#Note_291_1" class="fnanchor">[291]</a> are beautiful -girls, quite earthly, related to the Fornarina. The saints which Michel -Angelo arranges and contorts in heaven in his picture of the Last -Judgment are an assembly of athletes, capable of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> fighting well and -daring much. A martyrdom, like that of Saint Laurence, is a fine -ceremony in which a beautiful young man, without clothing, lies amidst -fifty men dressed and grouped as in an ancient gymnasium. Is there one -of them who had macerated himself? Is there one who had thought with -anguish and tears of the judgment of God, who had worn down and subdued -his flesh, who had filled his heart with the sadness and sweetness of -the gospel? They are too vigorous for that; they are in too robust -health; their clothes fit them too well; they are too ready for prompt -and energetic action. We might make of them strong soldiers or superb -courtesans, admirable in a pageant or at a ball. So, all that the -spectator accords to their halo of glory is a bow or a sign of the -cross; after which his eyes find pleasure in them; they are there simply -for the enjoyment of the eyes. What the spectator feels at the sight of -a Florentine Madonna is the splendid creature, whose powerful body and -fine growth bespeak her race and her vigor; the artist did not paint -moral expression as nowadays, the depth of a soul tortured and refined -by three centuries of culture. They confine themselves to the body, to -the extent even of speaking enthusiastically of the spinal column -itself, "which is magnificent"; of the shoulder-blades, which in the -movements of the arm "produce an admirable effect. You will next draw -the bone which it situated between the hips. It is very fine, and is -called the sacrum."<a name="NoteRef_292_292" id="NoteRef_292_292"></a><a href="#Note_292_292" class="fnanchor">[292]</a> The important point with them is to represent -the nude well. Beauty with them is that of the complete skeleton, sinews -which are linked together and tightened, the thighs which support the -trunk, the strong chest breathing freely, the pliant neck. What a -pleasure to be naked! How good it is in the full light to rejoice in a -strong body, well-formed muscles, a spirited and bold soul! The splendid -goddesses reappear in their primitive nudity, not dreaming that they are -nude; you see from the tranquillity of their look, the simplicity of -their expression, that they have always been thus, and that shame has -not yet reached them. The soul's life is not here contrasted, as amongst -us, with the body's life; the one is not so lowered and degraded that we -dare not show its actions and functions; they do not hide them; man does -not dream of being all spirit. They rise, as of old, from the luminous -sea, with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> their rearing steeds tossing up their manes, champing the bit, -inhaling the briny savor, whilst their companions wind the -sounding-shell; and the spectators,<a name="NoteRef_293_293" id="NoteRef_293_293"></a><a href="#Note_293_293" class="fnanchor">[293]</a> accustomed to handle the sword, -to combat naked with the dagger or double-handled blade, to ride on -perilous roads, sympathize with the proud shape of the bended back, the -effort of the arm about to strike, the long quiver of the muscles which, -from neck to heel, swell out, to brace a man, or to throw him.</p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a id="PART_II.--Poetry"><i>PART II.—Poetry</i></a></h4> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Renaissance_of_Saxon_Genius">SECTION I.—Renaissance of Saxon Genius</a></h4> - - -<p>Transplanted into different races and climates, this paganism receives -from each, distinct features and a distinct character. In England it -becomes English; the English Renaissance is the Renaissance of the Saxon -genius. Invention recommences; and to invent is to express one's genius. -A Latin race can only invent by expressing Latin ideas; a Saxon race by -expressing Saxon ideas; and we shall find in the new civilization and -poetry, descendants of Caedmon and Adhelm, of Piers Plowman, and Robin -Hood.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--The_Earl_of_Surrey">SECTION II.—The Earl of Surrey</a></h4> - - -<p>Old Puttenham says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"In the latter end of the same king (Henry the eighth) reigne, sprong up -a new company of courtly makers, of whom Sir Thomas Wyat th' elder and -Henry Earle of Surrey were the two chieftaines, who having travailed -into Italie, and there tasted the sweete and stately measures and stile -of the Italian Poesie, as novices newly crept out of the schooles of -Dante, Arioste, and Petrarch, they greatly pollished our rude and homely -maner of vulgar Poesie, from that it had bene before, and for that cause -may justly be sayd the first reformers of our English meetre and -stile."<a name="NoteRef_294_294" id="NoteRef_294_294"></a><a href="#Note_294_294" class="fnanchor">[294]</a></p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - -<p>Not that their style was very original, or openly exhibits the new -spirit: the Middle Ages is nearly ended, but not quite. By their side -Andrew Borde, John Bale, John Heywood, Skelton himself, repeat the -platitudes of the old poetry and the coarseness of the old style. Their -manners, hardly refined, were still half feudal; on the field, before -Landrecies, the English commander wrote a friendly letter to the French -governor of Térouanne, to ask him "if he had not some gentlemen -disposed to break a lance in honor of the ladies," and promised to send -six champions to meet them. Parades, combats, wounds, challenges, love, -appeals to the judgment of God, penances—all these are found in the -life of Surrey as in a chivalric romance. A great lord, an earl, a -relative of the king, who had figured in processions and ceremonies, had -made war, commanded fortresses, ravaged countries, mounted to the -assault, fallen in the breach, had been saved by his servant, -magnificent, sumptuous, irritable, ambitious, four times imprisoned, -finally beheaded. At the coronation of Anne Boleyn he wore the fourth -sword; at the marriage of Anne of Cleves he was one of the challengers -at the jousts. Denounced and placed in durance, he offered to fight in -his shirt against an armed adversary. Another time he was put in prison -for having eaten flesh in Lent. No wonder if this prolongation of -chivalric manners brought with it a prolongation of chivalric poetry; if -in an age which had known Petrarch, poets displayed the sentiments of -Petrarch. Lord Berners, Sackville, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Surrey in the -first rank, were like Petrarch, plaintive and platonic lovers. It was -pure love to which Surrey gave expression; for his lady, the beautiful -Geraldine, like Beatrice and Laura, was an ideal personage, and a child -of thirteen years.</p> - -<p>And yet, amid this languor of mystical tradition, a personal feeling had -sway. In this spirit which imitated, and that badly at times, which -still groped for an outlet and now and then admitted into its polished -stanzas the old, simple expressions and stale metaphors of heralds of -arms and <i>trouvères</i>, there was already visible the Northern -melancholy, the inner and gloomy emotion. This feature, which presently, -at the finest moment of its richest blossom, in the splendid -expansiveness of natural life, spreads a sombre tint over the poetry of -Sidney, Spenser, Shakespeare, already in the first poet separates this -pagan yet <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> Teutonic world from the other, wholly voluptuous, which in -Italy, with lively and refined irony, had no taste, except for art and -pleasure. Surrey translated the Ecclesiastes into verse. Is it not -singular, at this early hour, in this rising dawn, to find such a book -in his hand? A disenchantment, a sad or bitter dreaminess, an innate -consciousness of the vanity of human things, are never lacking in this -country and in this race; the inhabitants support life with difficulty, -and know how to speak of death. Surrey's finest verses bear witness thus -soon to his serious bent, this instinctive and grave philosophy. He -records his griefs, regretting his beloved Wyatt, his friend Clère, his -companion the young Duke of Richmond, all dead in their prime. Alone, a -prisoner at Windsor, he recalls the happy days they have passed -together:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"So cruel prison how could betide, alas,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As proud Windsor, where I in lust and joy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With a Kinges son, my childish years did pass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The large green courts, where we were wont to hove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With eyes cast up into the Maiden's tower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The dances short, long tales of great delight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With words and looks, that tigers could but rue;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Where each of us did plead the other's right.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The palme-play, where, despoiled for the game,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">With dazed eyes oft we by gleams of love</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The secret thoughts, imparted with such trust;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The wanton talk, the divers change of play;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Wherewith we past the winter night away.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And with his thought the blood forsakes the face;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Up-supped have, thus I my plaint renew:</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O place of bliss! renewer of my woes!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Give me account, where is my noble fere?</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To other lief; but unto me most dear.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint."<a name="NoteRef_295_1" id="NoteRef_295_1"></a><a href="#Note_295_1" class="fnanchor">[295]</a></span></p> - - -<p>So in love, it is the sinking of a weary soul, to which he gives vent:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For all things having life, sometime hath quiet rest;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The bearing ass, the drawing ox, and every other beast;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The peasant, and the post, that serves at all assays;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The ship-boy, and the galley-slave, have time to take their ease;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Save I, alas! whom care of force doth so constrain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To wail the day, and wake the night, continually in pain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From pensiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter tears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From tears to painful plaint again; and thus my life it wears."<a name="NoteRef_296_1" id="NoteRef_296_1"></a><a href="#Note_296_1" class="fnanchor">[296]</a></span></p> - - -<p>That which brings joy to others brings him grief:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The nightingale with feathers new she sings;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The turtle to her mate hath told her tale.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Summer is come, for every spray now springs;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The hart has hung his old head on the pale;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The fishes flete with new repaired scale;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The adder all her slough away she slings;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The busy bee her honey now she mings;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thus I see among these pleasant things</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs!"<a name="NoteRef_297_1" id="NoteRef_297_1"></a><a href="#Note_297_1" class="fnanchor">[297]</a></span></p> - - -<p>For all that, he will love on to his last sigh:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Yea, rather die a thousand times, than once to false my faith;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful smart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do fail, or faint, my will it is that still she keep my heart.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And when this carcass here to earth shall be refar'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her afterward."<a name="NoteRef_298_1" id="NoteRef_298_1"></a><a href="#Note_298_1" class="fnanchor">[298]</a></span></p> - - -<p>An infinite love, and pure as Petrarch's; and she is worthy of it. In -the midst of all these studied or imitated verses, an admirable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> portrait -stands out, the simplest and truest we can imagine, a work of the heart -now, and not of the memory, which behind the Madonna of chivalry shows -the English wife, and beyond feudal gallantry domestic bliss. Surrey -alone, restless, hears within him the firm tones of a good friend, a -sincere counsellor, Hope, who speaks to him thus:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For I assure thee, even by oath,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thereon take my hand and troth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That she is one of the worthiest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The truest, and the faithfullest;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gentlest and the meekest of mind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That here on earth a man may find:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if that love and truth were gone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In her it might be found alone.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For in her mind no thought there is,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But how she may be true, I wis;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tenders thee and all thy heale,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And wishes both thy health and weal;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And loves thee even as far forth than</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As any woman may a man;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And is thine own, and so she says;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And cares for thee ten thousand ways.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of thee she speaks, on thee she thinks;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With thee she eats, with thee she drinks;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With thee she talks, with thee she moans;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With thee she sighs, with thee she groans;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With thee she says 'Farewell mine own!'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When thou, God knows, full far art gone.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And even, to tell thee all aright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To thee she says full oft 'Good night!'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And names thee oft her own most dear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her comfort, weal, and all her cheer;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tells her pillow all the tale</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How thou hast done her woe and bale;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And how she longs, and plains for thee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And says, 'Why art thou so from me?'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Am I not she that loves thee best!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do I not wish thine ease and rest?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seek I not how I may thee please?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why art thou then so from thine ease?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If I be she for whom thou carest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For whom in torments so thou farest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alas! thou knowest to find me here,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where I remain thine own most dear.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thine own most true, thine own most just,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thine own that loves thee still, and must;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thine own that cares alone for thee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As thou, I think, dost care for me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And even the woman, she alone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That is full bent to be thine own."<a name="NoteRef_299_1" id="NoteRef_299_1"></a><a href="#Note_299_1" class="fnanchor">[299]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Certainly it is of his wife<a name="NoteRef_300_1" id="NoteRef_300_1"></a><a href="#Note_300_1" class="fnanchor">[300]</a> that he is thinking here, not of an -imaginary Laura. The poetic dream of Petrarch has become the exact -picture of deep and perfect conjugal affection, such as yet survives in -England; such as all the poets, from the authoress of the "Nutbrown -Maid" to Dickens,<a name="NoteRef_301_301" id="NoteRef_301_301"></a><a href="#Note_301_301" class="fnanchor">[301]</a> have never failed to represent.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Surreys_Style">SECTION III.—Surrey's Style</a></h4> - - -<p>An English Petrarch: no juster title could be given to Surrey, for it -expresses his talent as well as his disposition. In fact, like Petrarch, -the oldest of the humanists, and the earliest exact writer of the modern -tongue, Surrey introduces a new style, the manly style, which marks a -great change of the mind; for this new form of writing is the result of -superior reflection, which, governing the primitive impulse, calculates -and selects with an end in view. At last the intellect has grown capable -of self-criticism, and actually criticises itself. It corrects its -unconsidered works, infantine and incoherent, at once incomplete and -superabundant; it strengthens and binds them together; it prunes and -perfects them; it takes from them the master idea, to set it free and to -show it clearly. This is what Surrey does, and his education had -prepared him for it; for he had studied Vergil as well as Petrarch, and -translated two books of the Æneid, almost verse for verse. In such -company a man cannot but select his ideas and connect his phrases. After -their example, Surrey gauges the means of striking the attention, -assisting the intelligence, avoiding fatigue and weariness. He looks -forward to the last line whilst writing the first. He keeps the -strongest word for the last, and shows the symmetry of ideas by the -symmetry of phrases. Sometimes he guides the intelligence by a -continuous series of contrasts to the final image; a kind of sparkling -casket, in which he means to deposit the idea which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> he carries, and to -which he directs our attention from the first.<a name="NoteRef_302_1" id="NoteRef_302_1"></a><a href="#Note_302_1" class="fnanchor">[302]</a> Sometimes he leads -his reader to the close of a long flowery description, and then suddenly -checks him with a sorrowful phrase.<a name="NoteRef_303_1" id="NoteRef_303_1"></a><a href="#Note_303_1" class="fnanchor">[303]</a> He arranges his process, and -knows how to produce effects; he uses even classical expressions, in -which two substantives, each supported by its adjective, are balanced on -either side of the verb.<a name="NoteRef_304_1" id="NoteRef_304_1"></a><a href="#Note_304_1" class="fnanchor">[304]</a> He collects his phrases in harmonious -periods, and does not neglect the delight of the ears any more than of -the mind. By his inversions he adds force to his ideas, and weight to -his argument. He selects elegant or noble terms, rejects idle words and -redundant phrases. Every epithet contains an idea, every metaphor a -sentiment. There is eloquence in the regular development of his thought; -music in the sustained accent of his verse.</p> - -<p>Such is the new-born art. Those who have ideas, now possess an -instrument capable of expressing them. Like the Italian painters, who in -fifty years had introduced or discovered all the technical tricks of the -brush, English writers, in half a century, introduce or discover all the -artifices of language, period, elevated style, heroic verse, soon the -grand stanza, so effectually, that a little later the most perfect -versifiers, Dryden, and Pope himself, says Dr. Nott, will add scarce -anything to the rules, invented or applied, which were employed in the -earliest efforts.<a name="NoteRef_305_1" id="NoteRef_305_1"></a><a href="#Note_305_1" class="fnanchor">[305]</a> Even Surrey is too near to these authors, too -constrained in his models, not sufficiently free; he has not yet felt -the fiery blast of the age; we do not find in him a bold genius, an -impassioned writer capable of wide expansion, but a courtier, a lover of -elegance, who, penetrated by the beauties of two finished literatures, -imitates Horace and the chosen masters of Italy, corrects and polishes -little morsels, aims at speaking perfectly fine language. Amongst -semi-barbarians he wears a full dress becomingly. Yet he does not wear -it completely at his ease: he keeps his eyes too exclusively on his -models, and does not venture on frank and free gestures. He is sometimes -as a school-boy, makes too great use of "hot" and "cold," wounds and -martyrdom. Although a lover, and a genuine one, he thinks too much that -he must be so in Petrarch's manner, that his phrase must <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> be balanced and -his image kept up. I had almost said that, in his sonnets of -disappointed love, he thinks less often of the strength of love than of -the beauty of his writing. He has conceits, ill-chosen words; he uses -trite expressions; he relates how Nature, having formed his lady, broke -the mould, he assigns parts to Cupid and Venus; he employs the old -machinery of the troubadours and the ancients, like a clever man who -wishes to pass for a gallant. At first scarce any mind dares be quite -itself: when a new art arises, the first artist listens not to his -heart, but to his masters, and asks himself at every step whether he be -setting foot on solid ground, or whether he is not stumbling.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Development_of_Artistic_Ideas">SECTION IV.—Development of Artistic Ideas</a></h4> - - -<p>Insensibly the growth became complete, and at the end of the century all -was changed. A new, strange, overloaded style had been formed, destined -to remain in force until the Restoration, not only in poetry, but also -in prose, even in ceremonial speech and theological discourse,<a name="NoteRef_306_1" id="NoteRef_306_1"></a><a href="#Note_306_1" class="fnanchor">[306]</a> so -suitable to the spirit of the age that we meet with it at the same time -throughout the world of Europe, in Ronsard and d'Aubigné, in Calderon, -Gongora, and Marini. In 1580 appeared "Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit," by -Lyly, which was its text-book, its masterpiece, its caricature, and was -received with universal admiration.<a name="NoteRef_307_1" id="NoteRef_307_1"></a><a href="#Note_307_1" class="fnanchor">[307]</a> "Our nation," says Edward -Blount, "are in his debt for a new English which hee taught them. All -our ladies were then his scollers; and that beautie in court who could -not parley Euphuesme was as little regarded as shee which now there -speakes not French." The ladies knew the phrases of Euphues by heart: -strange, studied, and refined phrases, enigmatical; whose author seems -of set purpose to seek the least natural expressions and the most -farfetched, full of exaggeration and antithesis, in which mythological -allusions, reminiscences from alchemy, botanical and astronomical -metaphors, all the rubbish and medley of learning, travels, mannerism, -roll in a flood of conceits and comparisons. Do not judge it by the -grotesque picture that Walter Scott drew <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> of it. Sir Piercie Shafton is -but a pedant, a cold and dull copyist; it is its warmth and originality -which give this style a true force and an accent of its own. You must -conceive it, not as dead and inert, such as we have it to-day in old -books, but springing from the lips of ladies and young lords in -pearl-bedecked doublet, quickened by their vibrating voices, their -laughter, the flash of their eyes, the motion of their hands as they -played with the hilt of their swords or with their satin cloaks. They -were full of life, their heads filled to overflowing; and they amused -themselves, as our sensitive and eager artists do, at their ease in the -studio. They did not speak to convince or be understood, but to satisfy -their excited imagination, to expend their overflowing wit.<a name="NoteRef_308_308" id="NoteRef_308_308"></a><a href="#Note_308_308" class="fnanchor">[308]</a> They -played with words, twisted, put them out of shape, enjoyed sudden views, -strong contrasts, which they produced one after another, ever and anon, -and in great quantities. They cast flower on flower, tinsel on tinsel: -everything sparkling delighted them; they gilded and embroidered and -plumed their language like their garments. They cared nothing for -clearness, order, common-sense; it was a festival of madness; absurdity -pleased them. They knew nothing more tempting than a carnival of -splendors and oddities; all was huddled together: a coarse gayety, a -tender and sad word, a pastoral, a sounding flourish of unmeasured -boasting, a gambol of a Jack-pudding. Eyes, ears, all the senses, eager -and excited, are satisfied by this jingle of syllables, the display of -fine high-colored words, the unexpected clash of droll or familiar -images, the majestic roll of well-poised periods. Every one had his own -oaths, his elegances, his style. "One would say," remarks Heylyn, "that -they are ashamed of their mother-tongue, and do not find it sufficiently -varied to express the whims of their mind." We no longer imagine this -inventiveness, this boldness of fancy, this ceaseless fertility of -nervous sensibility: there was no genuine prose at that time; the poetic -flood swallowed it up. A word was not an exact symbol, as with us; a -document which from cabinet to cabinet carried a precise thought. It was -part of a complete action, a little drama; when they read it they did -not take it by itself, but imagined it with the intonation of a hissing -and shrill voice, with the puckering of the lips, the knitting of the -brows, and the succession of pictures which crowd behind it, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> and which -it calls forth in a flash of lightning. Each one mimics and pronounces -it in his own style, and impresses his own soul upon it. It was a song, -which like the poet's verse, contains a thousand things besides the -literal sense, and manifests the depth, warmth, and sparkling of the -source whence it flowed. For in that time, even when the man was feeble, -his work lived; there is some pulse in the least productions of this -age; force and creative fire signalize it; they penetrate through -bombast and affectation. Lyly himself, so fantastic that he seems to -write purposely in defiance of common-sense, is at times a genuine poet; -a singer, a man capable of rapture, akin to Spenser and Shakespeare; one -of those introspective dreamers who see dancing fairies, the purpled -cheeks of goddesses, drunken, amorous woods, as he says</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Adorned with the presence of my love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The woods I fear such secret power shall prove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As they'll shut up each path, hide every way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Because they still would have her go astray."<a name="NoteRef_309_1" id="NoteRef_309_1"></a><a href="#Note_309_1" class="fnanchor">[309]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The reader must assist me, and assist himself. I cannot otherwise give -him to understand what the men of this age had the felicity to -experience.</p> - -<p>Luxuriance and irregularity were the two features of this spirit and -this literature—features common to all the literatures of the -Renaissance, but more marked here than elsewhere, because the German -race is not confined, like the Latin, by the taste for harmonious forms, -and prefers strong impression to fine expression. We must select amidst -this crowd of poets; and here is one amongst the first, who exhibits, by -his writings as well as by his life, the greatness and the folly of the -prevailing manners and the public taste: Sir Philip Sidney, nephew of -the Earl of Leicester, a great lord and a man of action, accomplished in -every kind of culture; who, after a good training in classical -literature, travelled in France, Germany, and Italy; read Plato and -Aristotle, studied astronomy and geometry at Venice; pondered over the -Greek tragedies, the Italian sonnets, the pastorals of Montemayor, the -poems of Ronsard; displaying an interest in science, keeping up an -exchange of letters with the learned Hubert Languet; and withal a man of -the world, a favorite of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> Elizabeth, having had enacted in her honor a -flattering and comic pastoral; a genuine "jewel of the court"; a judge, -like d'Urfé, of lofty gallantry and fine language; above all, -chivalrous in heart and deed, who wished to follow maritime adventure -with Drake, and, to crown all, fated to die an early and heroic death. -He was a cavalry officer, and had saved the English army at Gravelines. -Shortly after, mortally wounded, and dying of thirst, as some water was -brought to him, he saw by his side a soldier still more desperately -hurt, who was looking at the water with anguish in his face: "Give it to -this man," said he; "his necessity is still greater than mine." Do not -forget the vehemence and impetuosity of the Middle Ages; one hand ready -for action, and kept incessantly on the hilt of the sword or poniard. -"Mr. Molineux," wrote he to his father's secretary, "if ever I know you -to do so much as read any letter I write to my father, without his -commandment or my consent, I will thrust my dagger into you. And trust -to it, for I speak it in earnest." It was the same man who said to his -uncle's adversaries that they "lied in their throat"; and to support his -words, promised them a meeting in three months in any place in Europe. -The savage energy of the preceding age remains intact, and it is for -this reason that poetry took so firm a hold on these virgin souls. The -human harvest is never so fine as when cultivation opens up a new soil. -Impassioned, moreover, melancholy and solitary, he naturally turned to -noble and ardent fantasy; and he was so much the poet that he had no -need of verse.</p> - -<p>Shall I describe his pastoral epic, the "Arcadia"? It is but a -recreation, a sort of poetical romance, written in the country for the -amusement of his sister; a work of fashion, which, like "Cyrus" and -"Clélie,"<a name="NoteRef_310_1" id="NoteRef_310_1"></a><a href="#Note_310_1" class="fnanchor">[310]</a> is not a monument, but a document. This kind of books -shows only the externals, the current elegance and politeness, the -jargon of the fashionable world—in short, that which should be spoken -before ladies; and yet we perceive from it the bent of the public -opinion. In "Clélie," oratorical development, delicate and collected -analysis, the flowing converse of men seated quietly in elegant -arm-chairs; in the "Arcadia," fantastic imagination, excessive -sentiment, a medley of events which suited men scarcely recovered from -barbarism. Indeed, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> in London they still used to fire pistols at each -other in the streets; and under Henry VIII and his children, Queens, a -Protector, the highest nobles, knelt under the axe of the executioner. -Armed and perilous existence long resisted in Europe the establishment -of peaceful and quiet life. It was necessary to change society and the -soil, in order to transform men of the sword into citizens. The high -roads of Louis XIV and his regular administration, and more recently the -railroads and the <i>sergents de ville</i>, freed the French from habits of -violence and a taste for dangerous adventure. Remember that at this -period men's heads were full of tragical images. Sidney's "Arcadia" -contains enough of them to supply half a dozen epics. "It is a trifle," -says the author; "my young head must be delivered." In the first -twenty-five pages you meet with a shipwreck, an account of pirates, a -half-drowned prince rescued by shepherds, a journey in Arcadia, various -disguises, the retreat of a king withdrawn into solitude with his wife -and children, the deliverance of a young imprisoned lord, a war against -the Helots, the conclusion of peace, and many other things. Read on, and -you will find princesses shut up by a wicked fairy, who beats them, and -threatens them with death if they refuse to marry her son; a beautiful -queen condemned to perish by fire if certain knights do not come to her -succor; a treacherous prince tortured for his wicked deeds, then cast -from the top of a pyramid; fights, surprises, abductions, travels: in -short, the whole programme of the most romantic tales. That is the -serious element: the agreeable is of a like nature; the fantastic -predominates. Improbable pastoral serves, as in Shakespeare or Lope de -Vega, for an intermezzo to improbable tragedy. You are always coming -upon dancing shepherds. They are very courteous, good poets, and subtle -metaphysicians. Several of them are disguised princes who pay their -court to the princesses. They sing continually, and get up allegorical -dances; two bands approach, servants of Reason and Passion; their hats, -ribbons, and dress are described in full. They quarrel in verse, and -their retorts, which follow close on one another, over-refined, keep up -a tournament of wit. Who cared for what was natural or possible in this -age? There were such festivals at Elizabeth's "progresses"; and you have -only to look at the engravings of Sadeler, Martin de Vos, and Goltzius, -to find this mixture of sensitive beauties and philosophical enigmas. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -The Countess of Pembroke and her ladies were delighted to picture this -profusion of costumes and verses, this play beneath the trees. They had -eyes in the sixteenth century, senses which sought satisfaction in -poetry—the same satisfaction as in masquerading and painting. Man was -not yet a pure reasoner; abstract truth was not enough for him. Rich -stuffs, twisted about and folded; the sun to shine upon them, a large -meadow studded with white daisies; ladies in brocaded dresses, with bare -arms, crowns on their heads, instruments of music behind the trees—this -is what the reader expects; he cares nothing for contrasts; he will -readily accept a drawing-room in the midst of the fields.</p> - -<p>What are they going to say there? Here comes out that nervous -exaltation, in all its folly, which is characteristic of the spirit of -the age; love rises to the thirty-sixth heaven. Musidorus is the brother -of Céladon; Pamela is closely related to the severe heroines of -"Astrée";<a name="NoteRef_311_311" id="NoteRef_311_311"></a><a href="#Note_311_311" class="fnanchor">[311]</a> all the Spanish exaggerations abound and all the Spanish -falsehoods. For in these works of fashion or of the Court, primitive -sentiment never retains its sincerity: wit, the necessity to please, the -desire for effect, of speaking better than others, alter it, influence -it, heap up embellishments and refinements, so that nothing is left but -twaddle. Musidorus wished to give Pamela a kiss. She repels him. He -would have died on the spot; but luckily remembers that his mistress -commanded him to leave her, and finds himself still able to obey her -command. He complains to the trees, weeps in verse: there are dialogues -where Echo, repeating the last word, replies; duets in rhyme, balanced -stanzas, in which the theory of love is minutely detailed; in short, all -the grand airs of ornamental poetry. If they send a letter to their -mistress, they speak to it, tell the ink: "Therfore mourne boldly, my -inke; for while shee lookes upon you, your blacknesse will shine: cry -out boldly my lamentation; for while shee reades you, your cries will be -musicke."<a name="NoteRef_312_1" id="NoteRef_312_1"></a><a href="#Note_312_1" class="fnanchor">[312]</a></p> - -<p>Again, two young princesses are going to bed: "They impoverished their -clothes to enrich their bed, which for that night might well scorne the -shrine of Venus; and there cherishing one another with deare, though -chaste embracements; with sweete, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> though cold kisses; it might seeme -that love was come to play him there without dart, or that wearie of his -owne fires, he was there to refresh himselfe betwen their sweete -breathing lippes."<a name="NoteRef_313_1" id="NoteRef_313_1"></a><a href="#Note_313_1" class="fnanchor">[313]</a></p> - -<p>In excuse of these follies, remember that they have their parallels in -Shakespeare. Try rather to comprehend them, to imagine them in their -place, with their surroundings, such as they are; that is, as the excess -of singularity and inventive fire. Even though they mar now and then the -finest ideas, yet a natural freshness pierces through the disguise. Take -another example: "In the time that the morning did strew roses and -violets in the heavenly floore against the coming of the sun, the -nightingales (striving one with the other which could in most dainty -varietie recount their wronge-caused sorrow) made them put off their -sleep."</p> - -<p>In Sidney's second work, "The Defence of Poesie," we meet with genuine -imagination, a sincere and serious tone, a grand, commanding style, all -the passion and elevation which he carries in his heart and puts into -his verse. He is a muser, a Platonist, who is penetrated by the -doctrines of the ancients, who takes things from a lofty point of view, -who places the excellence of poetry not in pleasing effect, imitation, -or rhyme, but in that creative and superior conception by which the -artist creates anew and embellishes nature. At the same time, he is an -ardent man, trusting in the nobleness of his aspirations and in the -width of his ideas, who puts down the brawling of the shoppy, narrow, -vulgar Puritanism, and glows with the lofty irony, the proud freedom, of -a poet and a lord.</p> - -<p>In his eyes, if there is any art or science capable of augmenting and -cultivating our generosity, it is poetry. He draws comparison after -comparison between it and philosophy or history, whose pretensions he -laughs at and dismisses.<a name="NoteRef_314_1" id="NoteRef_314_1"></a><a href="#Note_314_1" class="fnanchor">[314]</a> He fights for poetry as a knight for his -lady, and in what heroic and splendid style! He says: "I never heard the -old Song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more -than with a trumpet: and yet it is sung but by some blinde Crowder, with -no rougher voyce, than rude stile; which beeing so evill apparelled <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> in -the dust and Cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work, trimmed in -the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare?"<a name="NoteRef_315_1" id="NoteRef_315_1"></a><a href="#Note_315_1" class="fnanchor">[315]</a></p> - -<p>The philosopher repels, the poet attracts: "Nay hee doth as if your -journey should lye through a faire vineyard, at the very first, give you -a cluster of grapes, that full of that taste, you may long to passe -further."<a name="NoteRef_316_1" id="NoteRef_316_1"></a><a href="#Note_316_1" class="fnanchor">[316]</a></p> - -<p>What description of poetry can displease you? Not pastoral so easy and -genial? "Is it the bitter but wholesome Iambicke, who rubbes the galled -minde, making shame the Trumpet of villanie, with bold and open crying -out against naughtinesse?"<a name="NoteRef_317_1" id="NoteRef_317_1"></a><a href="#Note_317_1" class="fnanchor">[317]</a></p> - -<p>At the close he reviews his arguments, and the vibrating martial accent -of his political period is like a trump of victory: "So that since the -excellencies of it (poetry) may bee so easily and so justly confirmed, -and the low-creeping objections so soone trodden downe, it not being an -Art of lyes, but of true doctrine: not of effeminatenesse, but of -notable stirring of courage; not of abusing man's wit, but of -strengthening man's wit; not banished, but honoured by Plato; let us -rather plant more Laurels for to ingarland the Poets heads than suffer -the ill-savoured breath of such wrong speakers, once to blow upon the -cleare springs of Poesie."<a name="NoteRef_318_1" id="NoteRef_318_1"></a><a href="#Note_318_1" class="fnanchor">[318]</a></p> - -<p>From such vehemence and gravity you may anticipate what his verses will -be.</p> - -<p>Often, after reading the poets of this age, I have looked for some time -at the contemporary prints, telling myself that man, in mind and body, -was not then such as we see him to-day. We also have our passions, but -we are no longer strong enough to bear them. They unsettle us; we are no -longer poets without suffering for it. Alfred de Musset, Heine, Edgar -Poe, Burns, Byron, Shelley, Cowper, how many shall I instance? Disgust, -mental and bodily degradation, disease, impotence, madness, suicide, at -best a permanent hallucination or feverish raving—these are nowadays -the ordinary issues of the poetic temperament. The passion of the brain -gnaws our vitals, dries up the blood, eats into the marrow, shakes us -like a tempest, and the human frame, such as civilization has made us, -is not substantial <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> enough long to resist it. They, who have been more -roughly trained, who are more inured to the inclemencies of climate, -more hardened by bodily exercise, more firm against danger, endure and -live. Is there a man living who could withstand the storm of passions -and visions which swept over Shakespeare, and end, like him, as a -sensible citizen and landed proprietor in his small county? The muscles -were firmer, despair less prompt. The rage of concentrated attention, -the half hallucinations, the anguish and heaving of the breast, the -quivering of the limbs bracing themselves involuntarily and blindly for -action, all the painful yearnings which accompany grand desires, -exhausted them less; this is why they desired longer, and dared more. -D'Aubigné, wounded with many sword-thrusts, conceiving death at hand, -had himself bound on his horse that he might see his mistress once more, -and rode thus several leagues, losing blood all the way, and arriving in -a swoon. Such feelings we glean still from their portraits, in the -straight looks which pierce like a sword; in that strength of back, bent -or twisted; in the sensuality, energy, enthusiasm, which breathe from -their attitude or look. Such feelings we still discover in their poetry, -in Greene, Lodge, Jonson, Spenser, Shakespeare, in Sidney, as in all the -rest. We quickly forget the faults of taste which accompany them, the -affectation, the uncouth jargon. Is it really so uncouth? Imagine a man -who with closed eyes distinctly sees the adored countenance of his -mistress, who keeps it before him all the day; who is troubled and -shaken as he imagines ever and anon her brow, her lips, her eyes; who -cannot and will not be separated from his vision; who sinks daily deeper -in this passionate contemplation; who is every instant crushed by mortal -anxieties, or transported by the raptures of bliss: he will lose the -exact conception of objects. A fixed idea becomes a false idea. By dint -of regarding an object under all its forms, turning it over, piercing -through it, we at last deform it. When we cannot think of a thing -without being dazed and without tears, we magnify it, and give it a -character which it has not. Hence strange comparisons, over-refined -ideas, excessive images, become natural. However far Sidney goes, -whatever object he touches, he sees throughout the universe only the -name and features of Stella. All ideas bring him back to her. He is -drawn ever and invincibly by the same thought: and comparisons which -seem farfetched, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> only express the unfailing presence and sovereign power -of the besetting image. Stella is ill; it seems to Sidney that "Joy, -which is inseparate from those eyes, Stella, now learnes (strange case) -to weepe in thee."<a name="NoteRef_319_1" id="NoteRef_319_1"></a><a href="#Note_319_1" class="fnanchor">[319]</a> To us, the expression is absurd. Is it so for -Sidney, who for hours together had dwelt on the expression of those -eyes, seeing in them at last all the beauties of heaven and earth, who, -compared to them, finds all light dull and all happiness stale? Consider -that in every extreme passion ordinary laws are reversed, that our logic -cannot pass judgment on it, that we find in it affectation, -childishness, witticisms, crudity, folly, and that to us violent -conditions of the nervous machine are like an unknown and marvellous -land, where common-sense and good language cannot penetrate. On the -return of spring, when May spreads over the fields her dappled dress of -new flowers, Astrophel and Stella sit in the shade of a retired grove, -in the warm air, full of birds' voices and pleasant exhalations. Heaven -smiles, the wind kisses the trembling leaves, the inclining trees -interlace their sappy branches, amorous earth swallows greedily the -rippling water:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In a grove most rich of shade,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where birds wanton musike made,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">May, then yong, his py'd weeds showing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">New perfum'd with flowers fresh growing,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Astrophel with Stella sweet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did for mutuall comfort meet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both within themselves oppressed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But each in the other blessed....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Their eares hungry of each word,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which the deere tongue would afford,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But their tongues restrain'd from walking,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till their hearts had ended talking.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But when their tongues could not speake,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Love it selfe did silence breake;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Love did set his lips asunder,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thus to speake in love and wonder....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"This small winde which so sweet is,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">See how it the leaves doth kisse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Each tree in his best attyring,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sense of love to love inspiring."<a name="NoteRef_320_1" id="NoteRef_320_1"></a><a href="#Note_320_1" class="fnanchor">[320]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> - - -<p>On his knees, with beating heart, oppressed, it seems to him that his -mistress becomes transformed:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Stella, soveraigne of my joy,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stella, starre of heavenly fire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stella, load-starre of desire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stella, in whose shining eyes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are the lights of Cupid's skies....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stella, whose voice when it speakes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Senses all asunder breakes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stella, whose voice when it singeth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Angels to acquaintance bringeth."<a name="NoteRef_321_1" id="NoteRef_321_1"></a><a href="#Note_321_1" class="fnanchor">[321]</a></span></p> - - -<p>These cries of adoration are like a hymn. Every day he writes thoughts -of love which agitate him, and in this long journal of a hundred pages -we feel the heated breath swell each moment. A smile from his mistress, -a curl lifted by the wind, a gesture—all are events. He paints her in -every attitude; he cannot see her too constantly. He talks to the birds, -plants, winds, all nature. He brings the whole world to Stella's feet. -At the notion of a kiss he swoons:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"Thinke of that most gratefull time,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">When thy leaping heart will climbe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In my lips to have his biding.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">There those roses for to kisse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Which doe breath a sugred blisse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Opening rubies, pearles dividing."<a name="NoteRef_322_1" id="NoteRef_322_1"></a><a href="#Note_322_1" class="fnanchor">[322]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"O joy, too high for my low stile to show:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">O blisse, fit for a nobler state than me:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Envie, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">What Oceans of delight in me do flow.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My friend, that oft saw through all maskes my wo,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Come, come, and let me powre my selfe on thee;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Gone is the winter of my miserie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My spring appeares, O see what here doth grow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For Stella hath with words where faith doth shine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchie:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I, I, O I may say that she is mine."<a name="NoteRef_323_1" id="NoteRef_323_1"></a><a href="#Note_323_1" class="fnanchor">[323]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There are Oriental splendors in the dazzling sonnet in which he asks why -Stella's cheeks have grown pale:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Where be those Roses gone, which sweetned so our eyes?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where those red cheekes, with oft with faire encrease doth frame</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The height of honour in the kindly badge of shame?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who hath the crimson weeds stolne from my morning skies?"<a name="NoteRef_324_1" id="NoteRef_324_1"></a><a href="#Note_324_1" class="fnanchor">[324]</a></span></p> - - -<p>As he says, his "life melts with too much thinking." Exhausted by -ecstasy, he pauses; then he flies from thought to thought, seeking -relief for his wound, like the Satyr whom he describes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Prometheus, when first from heaven hie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He brought downe fire, ere then on earth not seene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fond of delight, a Satyr standing by,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Gave it a kisse, as it like sweet had beene.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Feeling forthwith the other burning power,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wood with the smart with showts and shryking shrill,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He sought his ease in river, field, and bower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But for the time his griefe went with him still."<a name="NoteRef_325_325" id="NoteRef_325_325"></a><a href="#Note_325_325" class="fnanchor">[325]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At last calm returned; and whilst this calm lasts, the lively, glowing -spirit plays like a flickering flame on the surface of the deep brooding -fire. His love-songs and word-portraits, delightful pagan and chivalric -fancies, seem to be inspired by Petrarch or Plato. We feel the charm and -sportiveness under the seeming affectation:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Faire eyes, sweete lips, deare heart, that foolish I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Could hope by Cupids helpe on you to pray;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Since to himselfe he doth your gifts apply,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As his maine force, choise sport, and easefull stray.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For when he will see who dare him gainsay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then with those eyes he lookes, lo by and by</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Each soule doth at Loves feet his weapons lay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Glad if for her he give them leave to die.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When he will play, then in her lips he is,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where blushing red, that Loves selfe them doth love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With either lip he doth the other kisse:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But when he will for quiets sake remove</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From all the world, her heart is then his rome,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where well he knowes, no man to him can come."<a name="NoteRef_326_1" id="NoteRef_326_1"></a><a href="#Note_326_1" class="fnanchor">[326]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Both heart and sense are captive here. If he finds the eyes of Stella -more beautiful than anything in the world, he finds her soul more lovely -than her body. He is a Platonist when he recounts how Virtue, wishing to -be loved of men, took Stella's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> form to enchant their eyes, and make them -see the heaven which the inner sense reveals to heroic souls. We -recognize in him that entire submission of heart, love turned into a -religion, perfect passion which asks only to grow, and which, like the -piety of the mystics, finds itself always too insignificant when it -compares itself with the object loved:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My wit doth strive those passions to defend,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which for reward spoyle it with vaine annoyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I see my course to lose my selfe doth bend:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I see and yet no greater sorrow take,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than that I lose no more for Stella's sake."<a name="NoteRef_327_1" id="NoteRef_327_1"></a><a href="#Note_327_1" class="fnanchor">[327]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At last, like Socrates in the banquet, he turns his eyes to deathless -beauty, heavenly brightness:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thou my minde aspire to higher things:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Grow rich in that which never taketh rust:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O take fast hold, let that light be thy guide,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In this small course which birth drawes out to death."<a name="NoteRef_328_1" id="NoteRef_328_1"></a><a href="#Note_328_1" class="fnanchor">[328]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Divine love continues the earthly love; he was imprisoned in this, and -frees himself. By this nobility, these lofty aspirations, recognize one -of those serious souls of which there are so many in the same climate -and race. Spiritual instincts pierce through the dominant paganism, and -ere they make Christians, make Platonists.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Wherein_Lies_the_Strength_of_the_Poetry_of_this_Period">SECTION V.—Wherein Lies the Strength of the Poetry of this Period</a></h4> - - -<p>Sidney was only a soldier in an army; there is a multitude about him, a -multitude of poets. In fifty-two years, without counting the drama, two -hundred and thirty-three are enumerated,<a name="NoteRef_329_329" id="NoteRef_329_329"></a><a href="#Note_329_329" class="fnanchor">[329]</a> of whom forty have genius -or talent: Breton, Donne, Drayton, Lodge, Greene, the two Fletchers, -Beaumont, Spenser, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Wither, Warner, -Davison, Carew, Suckling, Herrick; we should grow tired in counting -them. There is a crop of them, and so there is at the same <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> time in -Catholic and heroic Spain; and as in Spain it was a sign of the times, -the mark of a public want, the index to an extraordinary and transient -condition of the mind. What is this condition which gives rise to so -universal a taste for poetry? What is it breathes life into their books? -How happens it that amongst the least, in spite of pedantries, -awkwardnesses, in the rhyming chronicles or descriptive cyclopedias, we -meet with brilliant pictures and genuine love-cries? How happens it that -when this generation was exhausted, true poetry ended in England, as -true painting in Italy and Flanders? It was because an epoch of the mind -came and passed away—that, namely, of instinctive and creative -conception. These men had new senses, and no theories in their heads. -Thus, when they took a walk, their emotions were not the same as ours. -What is sunrise to an ordinary man? A white smudge on the edge of the -sky, between bosses of clouds, amid pieces of land, and bits of road, -which he does not see because he has seen them a hundred times. But for -them, all things have a soul; I mean that they feel within themselves, -indirectly, the uprising and severance of the outlines, the power and -contrast of tints, the sad or delicious sentiment, which breathes from -this combination and union like a harmony or a cry. How sorrowful is the -sun, as he rises in a mist above the sad sea-furrows; what an air of -resignation in the old trees rustling in the night rain; what a feverish -tumult in the mass of waves, whose dishevelled locks are twisted forever -on the surface of the abyss! But the great torch of heaven, the luminous -god, emerges and shines; the tall, soft, pliant herbs, the evergreen -meadows, the expanding roof of lofty oaks—the whole English landscape, -continually renewed and illumined by the flooding moisture, diffuses an -inexhaustible freshness. These meadows, red and white with flowers, ever -moist and ever young, slip off their veil of golden mist, and appear -suddenly, timidly, like beautiful virgins. Here is the cuckoo-flower, -which springs up before the coming of the swallow; there the hare-bell, -blue as the veins of a woman; the marigold, which sets with the sun, -and, weeping, rises with him. Drayton, in his "Polyolbion," sings</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring East</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Guilds every lofty top, which late the humorous Night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bespangled had with pearle, to please the Mornings sight;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On which the mirthfull Quires, with their cleere open throats,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unto the joyfull Morne so straine their warbling notes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That Hills and Valleys ring, and even the ecchoing Ayre</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seemes all compos'd of sounds, about them everywhere....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thus sing away the Morne, untill the mounting Sunne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath runne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And through the twisted tops of our close Covert creeps,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To kiss the gentle Shade, this while that sweetly sleeps."<a name="NoteRef_330_330" id="NoteRef_330_330"></a><a href="#Note_330_330" class="fnanchor">[330]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A step further, and you will find the old gods reappear. They reappear, -these living gods—these living gods mingled with things which you -cannot help meeting as soon as you meet nature again. Shakespeare, in -the "Tempest," sings:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ceres, most bounteous lady thy rich leas</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy banks with peoned and lilied brims,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To make cold nymphs chaste crowns...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hail, many-colour'd messenger (Iris)...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down."<a name="NoteRef_331_331" id="NoteRef_331_331"></a><a href="#Note_331_331" class="fnanchor">[331]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In "Cymbeline" he says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"They are as gentle as zephyrs, blowing below the violet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not wagging his sweet head."<a name="NoteRef_332_1" id="NoteRef_332_1"></a><a href="#Note_332_1" class="fnanchor">[332]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Greene writes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When Flora, proud in pomp of all her flowers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Sat bright and gay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And gloried in the dew of Iris' showers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And did display</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her mantle chequered all with gaudy green."<a name="NoteRef_333_333" id="NoteRef_333_333"></a><a href="#Note_333_333" class="fnanchor">[333]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The same author also says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"How oft have I descending Titan seen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In watery robes, as he her lord had been!"<a name="NoteRef_334_1" id="NoteRef_334_1"></a><a href="#Note_334_1" class="fnanchor">[334]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> - - -<p>So Spenser, in his "Faërie Queene," sings:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The joyous day gan early to appeare;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her golden locks, for hast, were loosely shed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">About her eares, when Una her did marke</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke."<a name="NoteRef_335_1" id="NoteRef_335_1"></a><a href="#Note_335_1" class="fnanchor">[335]</a></span></p> - - -<p>All the splendor and sweetness of this moist and well-watered land; all -the specialties, the opulence of its dissolving tints, of its variable -sky, its luxuriant vegetation, assemble thus about the gods, who gave -them their beautiful form.</p> - -<p>In the life of every man there are moments when, in presence of objects, -he experiences a shock. This mass of ideas, of mangled recollections, of -mutilated images, which lie hidden in all corners of his mind, are set -in motion, organized, suddenly developed like a flower. He is -enraptured; he cannot help looking at and admiring the charming creature -which has just appeared; he wishes to see it again, and others like it, -and dreams of nothing else. There are such moments in the life of -nations, and this is one of them. They are happy in contemplating -beautiful things, and wish only that they should be the most beautiful -possible. They are not preoccupied, as we are, with theories. They do -not excite themselves to express moral or philosophical ideas. They wish -to enjoy through the imagination, through the eyes, like those Italian -nobles, who, at the same time, were so captivated by fine colors and -forms that they covered with paintings not only their rooms and their -churches, but the lids of their chests and the saddles of their horses. -The rich and green sunny country; young, gayly attired ladies, blooming -with health and love; half-draped gods and goddesses, masterpieces and -models of strength and grace—these are the most lovely objects which -man can contemplate, the most capable of satisfying his senses and his -heart—of giving rise to smiles and joy; and these are the objects which -occur in all the poets in a most wonderful abundance of songs, -pastorals, sonnets, little fugitive pieces, so lively, delicate, easily -unfolded, that we have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> never since had their equals. What though Venus -and Cupid have lost their altars? Like the contemporary painters of -Italy, they willingly imagine a beautiful naked child, drawn on a -chariot of gold through the limpid air; or a woman, redolent with youth, -standing on the waves, which kiss her snowy feet. Harsh Ben Jonson is -ravished with the scene. The disciplined battalion of his sturdy verses -changes into a band of little graceful strophes, which trip as lightly -as Raphael's children. He sees his lady approach, sitting on the chariot -of Love, drawn by swans and doves. Love leads the car; she passes calm -and smiling, and all hearts, charmed by her divine looks, wish no other -joy than to see and serve her forever.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"See the chariot at hand here of Love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Wherein my lady rideth!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Each that draws is a swan or a dove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And well the car Love guideth.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As she goes, all hearts do duty</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unto her beauty;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, enamoured, do wish, so they might</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But enjoy such a sight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That they still were to run by her side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do but look on her eyes, they do light</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">All that Love's world compriseth!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do but look on her hair, it is bright</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As Love's star when it riseth!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have you seen but a bright lily grow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Before rude hands have touched it?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have you marked but the fall o' the snow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Before the soil hath smutched it?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have you felt the wool of beaver?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Or swan's down ever?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Or the nard in the fire?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or have tasted the bag of the bee?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!"<a name="NoteRef_336_1" id="NoteRef_336_1"></a><a href="#Note_336_1" class="fnanchor">[336]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What can be more lively, more unlike measured and artificial mythology? -Like Theocritus and Moschus, they play with their smiling gods, and -their belief becomes a festival. One day, in an alcove of a wood, Cupid -meets a nymph asleep:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Her golden hair o'erspread her face,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Her careless arms abroad were cast,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Her quiver had her pillow's place,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Her breast lay bare to every blast."<a name="NoteRef_337_1" id="NoteRef_337_1"></a><a href="#Note_337_1" class="fnanchor">[337]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He approaches softly, steals her arrows, and puts his own in their -place. She hears a noise at last, raises her reclining head, and sees a -shepherd approaching. She flees; he pursues. She bends her bow, and -shoots her arrows at him. He only becomes more ardent, and is on the -point of seizing her. In despair, she takes an arrow, and buries it in -her lovely body. Lo! she is changed, she stops, smiles, loves, draws -near him.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Though mountains meet not, lovers may.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What other lovers do, did they.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The god of Love sat on a tree,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And laught that pleasant sight to see."<a name="NoteRef_338_1" id="NoteRef_338_1"></a><a href="#Note_338_1" class="fnanchor">[338]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A drop of archness falls into the medley of artlessness and voluptuous -charm; it was so in Longus, and in all that delicious nosegay called the -Anthology. Not the dry mocking of Voltaire, of folks who possessed only -wit, and always lived in a drawing-room; but the raillery of artists, -lovers whose brain is full of color and form, who, when they recount a -bit of roguishness, imagine a stooping neck, lowered eyes, the blushing -of vermilion cheeks. One of these fair ones says the following verses, -simpering, and we can even see now the pouting of her lips:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Love in my bosom like a bee</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Doth suck his sweet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now with his wings he plays with me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Now with his feet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Within my eyes he makes his rest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His bed amid my tender breast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My kisses are his daily feast.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet he robs me of my rest.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ah! wanton, will ye!"<a name="NoteRef_339_1" id="NoteRef_339_1"></a><a href="#Note_339_1" class="fnanchor">[339]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What relieves these sportive pieces is their splendor of imagination. -There are effects and flashes which we hardly dare quote, dazzling and -maddening, as in the <i>Song of Songs</i>:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her eyes, fair eyes, like to the purest lights</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That animate the sun, or cheer the day;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In whom the shining sunbeams brightly play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whiles fancy doth on them divine delights.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her cheeks like ripened lilies steeped in wine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or fair pomegranate kernels washed in milk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her lips are roses over-washed with dew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower...</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her crystal chin like to the purest mould,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Enchased with dainty daisies soft and white,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where fancy's fair pavilion once is pight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whereas embraced his beauties he doth hold.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her neck like to an ivory shining tower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where through with azure veins sweet nectar runs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or like the down of swans where Senesse woons,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or like delight that doth itself devour.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her paps are like fair apples in the prime,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As round as orient pearls, as soft as down;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They never vail their fair through winter's frown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But from their sweets love sucked his summer time."<a name="NoteRef_340_340" id="NoteRef_340_340"></a><a href="#Note_340_340" class="fnanchor">[340]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"What need compare, where sweet exceeds compare?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who draws his thoughts of love from senseless things,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their pomp and greatest glories doth impair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And mounts love's heaven with overladen wings."<a name="NoteRef_341_1" id="NoteRef_341_1"></a><a href="#Note_341_1" class="fnanchor">[341]</a></span></p> - - -<p>I can well believe that things had no more beauty then than now; but I -am sure that men found them more beautiful.</p> - -<p>When the power of embellishment is so great, it is natural that they -should paint the sentiment which unites all joys, whither all dreams -converge—ideal love, and in particular, artless and happy love. Of all -sentiments, there is none for which we have more sympathy. It is of all -the most simple and sweet. It is the first motion of the heart, and the -first word of nature. It is made up of innocence and self-abandonment. -It is clear of reflection and effort. It extricates us from complicated -passion, contempt, regret, hate, violent desires. It penetrates us, and -we breathe it as the fresh breath of the morning wind, which has swept -over flowery meads. The knights of this perilous court inhaled it, and -were enraptured, and so rested in the contrast from their actions and -their dangers. The most severe and tragic of their poets turned aside to -meet it, Shakespeare among <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> the evergreen oaks of the forest of -Arden,<a name="NoteRef_342_1" id="NoteRef_342_1"></a><a href="#Note_342_1" class="fnanchor">[342]</a> Ben Jonson in the woods of Sherwood,<a name="NoteRef_343_1" id="NoteRef_343_1"></a><a href="#Note_343_1" class="fnanchor">[343]</a> amid the wide -shady glades, the shining leaves and moist flowers, trembling on the -margin of lonely springs. Marlowe himself, the terrible painter of the -agony of Edward II, the impressive and powerful poet, who wrote -"Faustus, Tamerlane" and the "Jew of Malta," leaves his sanguinary -dramas, his high-sounding verse, his images of fury, and nothing can be -more musical and sweet than his song. A shepherd, to gain his lady-love, -says to her:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Come live with me and be my Love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And we will all the pleasures prove</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That hills and valleys, dale and field,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all the craggy mountains yield.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There we will sit upon the rocks,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And see the shepherds feed their flocks,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By shallow rivers, to whose falls</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Melodious birds sing madrigals.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There will I make thee beds of roses</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And a thousand fragrant posies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A cap of flowers, and a kirtle</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A gown made of the finest wool,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which from our pretty lambs we pull,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fair lined slippers for the cold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With buckles of the purest gold.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A belt of straw and ivy buds,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With coral clasps and amber studs;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And if these pleasures may thee move,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come live with me and be my Love....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The shepherd swains shall dance and sing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For thy delight each May-morning:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If these delights thy mind may move,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then live with me and be my Love."<a name="NoteRef_344_344" id="NoteRef_344_344"></a><a href="#Note_344_344" class="fnanchor">[344]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The unpolished gentlemen of the period, returning from hawking, were -more than once arrested by such rustic pictures; such as they were, that -is to say, imaginative and not very citizen-like, they had dreamed of -figuring in them on their own account. But while entering into, they -reconstructed them; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> they reconstructed them in their parks, prepared for -Queen Elizabeth's entrance, with a profusion of costumes and devices, -not troubling themselves to copy rough nature exactly. Improbability did -not disturb them; they were not minute imitators, students of manners: -they created; the country for them was but a setting, and the complete -picture came from their fancies and their hearts. Romantic it may have -been, even impossible, but it was on this account the more charming. Is -there a greater charm than putting on one side this actual world which -fetters or oppresses us, to float vaguely and easily in the azure and -the light, on the summit of the cloud-capped land of fairies, to arrange -things according to the pleasure of the moment, no longer feeling the -oppressive laws, the harsh and resisting framework of life, adorning and -varying everything after the caprice and the refinements of fancy? That -is what is done in these little poems. Usually the events are such as -happen nowhere, or happen in the land where kings turn shepherds and -marry shepherdesses. The beautiful Argentile<a name="NoteRef_345_345" id="NoteRef_345_345"></a><a href="#Note_345_345" class="fnanchor">[345]</a> is detained at the -court of her uncle, who wishes to deprive her of her kingdom, and -commands her to marry Curan, a boor in his service; she flees, and Curan -in despair goes and lives two years among the shepherds. One day he -meets a beautiful country-woman, and loves her; gradually, while -speaking to her, he thinks of Argentile, and weeps; he describes her -sweet face, her lithe figure, her blue-veined delicate wrists, and -suddenly sees that the peasant girl is weeping. She falls into his arms, -and says, "I am Argentile." Now Curan was a king's son, who had -disguised himself thus for love of Argentile. He resumes his armor, and -defeats the wicked king. There never was a braver knight; and they both -reigned long in Northumberland. From a hundred such tales, tales of the -spring-time, the reader will perhaps bear with me while I pick out one -more, gay and simple as a May morning. The Princess Dowsabel came down -one morning into her father's garden: she gathers honeysuckles, -primroses, violets, and daisies; then, behind a hedge, she heard a -shepherd singing, and that so finely that she loved him at once. He -promises to be faithful, and asks for a kiss. Her cheeks became as -crimson as a rose: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"With that she bent her snow white knee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Down by the shepherd kneeled she,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And him she sweetly kiss'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With that the shepherd whoop'd for joy;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quoth he: 'There's never shepherd's boy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">That ever was so blest.'"<a name="NoteRef_346_346" id="NoteRef_346_346"></a><a href="#Note_346_346" class="fnanchor">[346]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Nothing more; is it not enough? It is but a moment's fancy; but they had -such fancies every moment. Think what poetry was likely to spring from -them, how superior to common events, how free from literal imitation, -how smitten with ideal beauty, how capable of creating a world beyond -our sad world. In fact, among all these poems there is one truly divine, -so divine that the reasoners of succeeding ages have found it wearisome, -that even now but few understand it—Spenser's "Faërie Queene." One day -M. Jourdain, having turned Mamamouchi<a name="NoteRef_347_347" id="NoteRef_347_347"></a><a href="#Note_347_347" class="fnanchor">[347]</a> and learned orthography, sent -for the most illustrious writers of the age. He settled himself in his -arm-chair, pointed with his finger at several folding-stools for them to -sit down, and said:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have read your little productions, gentlemen. They have afforded me -much pleasure. I wish to give you some work to do. I have given some -lately to little Lulli,<a name="NoteRef_348_348" id="NoteRef_348_348"></a><a href="#Note_348_348" class="fnanchor">[348]</a> your fellow-laborer. It was at my command -that he introduced the sea-shell at his concerts—a melodious -instrument, which no one thought of before, and which has such a -pleasing effect. I insist that you will work out my ideas as he has -worked them out, and I give you an order for a poem in prose. What is -not prose, you know, is verse; and what is not verse is prose. When I -say, 'Nicolle, bring me my slippers and give me my nightcap,' I speak -prose. Take this sentence as your model. This style is much more -pleasing than the jargon of unfinished lines which you call verse. As -for the subject, let it be myself. You will describe my flowered -dressing-gown which I have put on to receive you in, and this little -green velvet undress which I wear underneath, to do my morning exercise -in. You will set down that this chintz costs a louis an ell. The -description, if well worked out, will furnish some very pretty -paragraphs, and will enlighten the public as to the cost of things. I -desire also that you should speak of my mirrors, my carpets, my -hangings. My tradesmen will let you have their bills; don't fail to put -them in. I shall be glad to read in your works, all fully and naturally -set forth, about my father's shop, who, like a real gentleman, sold -cloth to oblige his friends; my maid Nicolle's kitchen, the genteel -behavior of Brusquet, the little dog <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> of my neighbor M. Dimanche. You -might also explain my domestic affairs: there is nothing more -interesting to the public than to hear how a million may be scraped -together. Tell them also that my daughter Lucile has not married that -little rascal Cléonte, but M. Samuel Bernard, who made his fortune as a -<i>fermier-général</i>, keeps his carriage and is going to be a minister of -state. For this I will pay you liberally, half a louis for a yard of -writing. Come back in a month, and let me see what my ideas have -suggested to you."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>We are the descendants of M. Jourdain, and this is how we have been -talking to the men of genius from the beginning of the century, and the -men of genius have listened to us. Hence arise our shoppy and realistic -novels. I pray the reader to forget them, to forget himself, to become -for a while a poet, a gentleman, a man of the sixteenth century. Unless -we bury the M. Jourdain who survives in us, we shall never understand -Spenser.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Edmund_Spenser">SECTION VI.—Edmund Spenser</a></h4> - - -<p>Spenser belonged to an ancient family, allied to great houses; was a -friend to Sidney and Raleigh, the two most accomplished knights of the -age—a knight himself, at least in heart; who had found in his -connections, his friendships, his studies, his life, everything -calculated to lead him to ideal poetry. We find him at Cambridge, where -he imbues himself with the noblest ancient philosophies; in a northern -country, where he passes through a deep and unfortunate passion; at -Penshurst, in the castle and in the society where the "Arcadia" was -produced; with Sidney, in whom survived entire the romantic poetry and -heroic generosity of the feudal spirit; at court, where all the -splendors of a disciplined and gorgeous chivalry were gathered about the -throne; finally, at Kilcolman, on the borders of a lake, in a lonely -castle, from which the view embraced an amphitheatre of mountains, and -the half of Ireland. Poor on the other hand,<a name="NoteRef_349_1" id="NoteRef_349_1"></a><a href="#Note_349_1" class="fnanchor">[349]</a> not fit for court, and -though favored by the queen, unable to obtain from his patrons anything -but inferior employment; in the end, wearied of solicitations, and -banished to his dangerous property in Ireland, whence a rebellion -expelled him, after his house and child had been burned; he died three -months later, of misery <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> and a broken heart.<a name="NoteRef_350_1" id="NoteRef_350_1"></a><a href="#Note_350_1" class="fnanchor">[350]</a> Expectations and -rebuffs, many sorrows and many dreams, some few joys, and a sudden and -frightful calamity, a small fortune and a premature end; this indeed was -a poet's life. But the heart within was the true poet—from it all -proceeded; circumstances furnished the subject only; he transformed them -more than they him; he received less than he gave. Philosophy and -landscapes, ceremonies and ornaments, splendors of the country and the -court, on all which he painted or thought, he impressed his inward -nobleness. Above all, his was a soul captivated by sublime and chaste -beauty, eminently platonic; one of these lofty and refined souls most -charming of all, who, born in the lap of nature, draw thence their -sustenance, but soar higher, enter the regions of mysticism, and mount -instinctively in order to expand on the confines of a loftier world. -Spenser leads us to Milton, and thence to Puritanism, as Plato to -Vergil, and thence to Christianity. Sensuous beauty is perfect in both, -but their main worship is for moral beauty. He appeals to the Muses:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Revele to me the sacred noursery</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of vertue, which with you doth there remaine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where it in silver bowre does hidden ly</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From view of men and wicked worlds disdaine!"</span></p> - - -<p>He encourages his knight when he sees him droop. He is wroth when he -sees him attacked. He rejoices in his justice, temperance, courtesy. He -introduces in the beginning of a song, long stanzas in honor of -friendship and justice. He pauses, after relating a lovely instance of -chastity, to exhort women to modesty. He pours out the wealth of his -respect and tenderness at the feet of his heroines. If any coarse man -insults them, he calls to their aid nature and the gods. Never does he -bring them on his stage without adorning their name with splendid -eulogy. He has an adoration for beauty worthy of Dante and Plotinus. And -this, because he never considers it a mere harmony of color and form, -but an emanation of unique, heavenly, imperishable beauty, which no -mortal eye can see, and which is the masterpiece of the great Author of -the worlds.<a name="NoteRef_351_1" id="NoteRef_351_1"></a><a href="#Note_351_1" class="fnanchor">[351]</a> Bodies only render it visible; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> it does not live in -them; charm and attraction are not in things, but in the immortal idea -which shines through them:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For that same goodly hew of white and red,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With which the cheekes are sprinckled, shall decay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairly spred</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To that they were, even to corrupted clay:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall turne to dust, and lose their goodly light.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That light proceedes, which kindleth lovers fire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall never be extinguisht nor decay;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But, when the vitall spirits doe expyre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon her native planet shall retyre;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For it is heavenly borne, and cannot die,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Being a parcell of the purest skie."<a name="NoteRef_352_1" id="NoteRef_352_1"></a><a href="#Note_352_1" class="fnanchor">[352]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In presence of this ideal of beauty, love is transformed:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For Love is lord of Truth and Loialtie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lifting himself out of the lowly dust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On golden plumes up to the purest skie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose base affect through cowardly distrust</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of his weake wings dare not to heaven fly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly."<a name="NoteRef_353_1" id="NoteRef_353_1"></a><a href="#Note_353_1" class="fnanchor">[353]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Love such as this contains all that is good, and fine, and noble. It is -the prime source of life, and the eternal soul of things. It is this -love which, pacifying the primitive discord, has created the harmony of -the spheres, and maintains this glorious universe. It dwells in God, and -is God himself, come down in bodily form to regenerate the tottering -world and save the human race; around and within animated beings, when -our eyes can pierce outward appearances, we behold it as a living light, -penetrating and embracing every creature. We touch here the sublime -sharp summit where the world of mind and the world of sense unite; where -man, gathering with both hands the loveliest flowers of either, feels -himself at the same time a pagan and a Christian.</p> - -<p>So much, as a testimony to his heart. But he was also a poet, that is, -pre-eminently a creator and a dreamer, and that most naturally, -instinctively, unceasingly. We might go on forever describing this -inward condition of all great artists; there would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> still remain much to -be described. It is a sort of mental growth with them; at every instant -a bud shoots forth, and on this another and still another; each -producing, increasing, blooming of itself, so that after a few moments -we find first a green plant crop up, then a thicket, then a forest. A -character appears to them, then an action, then a landscape, then a -succession of actions, characters, landscapes, producing, completing, -arranging themselves by instinctive development, as when in a dream we -behold a train of figures which, without any outward compulsion, display -and group themselves before our eyes. This fount of living and changing -forms is inexhaustible in Spenser; he is always imaging; it is his -specialty. He has but to close his eyes, and apparitions arise; they -abound in him, crowd, overflow; in vain he pours them forth; they -continually float up, more copious and more dense. Many times, following -the inexhaustible stream, I have thought of the vapors which rise -incessantly from the sea, ascend, sparkle, commingle their golden and -snowy scrolls, while underneath them new mists arise, and others again -beneath, and the splendid procession never grows dim or ceases.</p> - -<p>But what distinguishes him from all others is the mode of his -imagination. Generally with a poet his mind ferments vehemently and by -fits and starts; his ideas gather, jostle each other, suddenly appear in -masses and heaps, and burst forth in sharp, piercing, concentrative -words; it seems that they need these sudden accumulations to imitate the -unity and life-like energy of the objects which they reproduce; at least -almost all the poets of that time, Shakespeare at their head, act thus. -Spenser remains calm in the fervor of invention. The visions which would -be fever to another, leave him at peace. They come and unfold themselves -before him, easily, entire, uninterrupted, without starts. He is epic, -that is, a narrator, not a singer like an ode-writer, nor a mimic like a -play-writer. No modern is more like Homer. Like Homer and the great -epic-writers, he only presents consecutive and noble, almost classical -images, so nearly ideas, that the mind seizes them unaided and unawares. -Like Homer, he is always simple and clear: he makes no leaps, he omits -no argument, he robs no word of its primitive and ordinary meaning, he -preserves the natural sequence of ideas. Like Homer, again, he is -redundant, ingenuous, even childish. He says everything, he puts down -reflections which we have made <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> beforehand; he repeats without limit his -grand ornamental epithets. We can see that he beholds objects in a -beautiful uniform light, with infinite detail; that he wishes to show -all this detail, never fearing to see his happy dream change or -disappear; that he traces its outline with a regular movement, never -hurrying or slackening. He is even a little prolix, too unmindful of the -public, too ready to lose himself and dream about the things he beholds. -His thought expands in vast repeated comparisons, like those of the old -Ionic poet. If a wounded giant falls, he finds him</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 14em;">"As an aged tree,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">High growing on the top of rocky clift,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose hart-strings with keene steele nigh hewen be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The mightie trunck halfe rent with ragged rift,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"Or as a castle, reared high and round,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By subtile engins and malitious slight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is undermined from the lowest ground,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And her foundation forst, and feebled quight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At last downe falles; and with her heaped hight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her hastie ruine does more heavie make,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yields it selfe unto the victours might:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such was this Gyaunt's fall, that seemd to shake</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake."<a name="NoteRef_354_1" id="NoteRef_354_1"></a><a href="#Note_354_1" class="fnanchor">[354]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He develops all the ideas which he handles. All his phrases become -periods. Instead of compressing, he expands. To bear this ample thought -and its accompanying train, he requires a long stanza, ever renewed, -long alternate verses, reiterated rhymes, whose uniformity and fullness -recall the majestic sounds which undulate eternally through the woods -and the fields. To unfold these epic faculties, and to display them in -the sublime region where his soul is naturally borne, he requires an -ideal stage, situated beyond the bounds of reality, with personages who -could hardly exist, and in a world which could never be.</p> - -<p>He made many miscellaneous attempts in sonnets, elegies, pastorals, -hymns of love, little sparkling word-pictures;<a name="NoteRef_355_1" id="NoteRef_355_1"></a><a href="#Note_355_1" class="fnanchor">[355]</a> they were but -essays, incapable for the most part of supporting his genius. Yet -already his magnificent imagination appeared in them; gods, men, -landscapes, the world which he sets in motion <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> is a thousand miles from -that in which we live. His "Shepherd's Calendar"<a name="NoteRef_356_1" id="NoteRef_356_1"></a><a href="#Note_356_1" class="fnanchor">[356]</a> is a -thought-inspiring and tender pastoral, full of delicate loves, noble -sorrows, lofty ideas, where no voice is heard but of thinkers and poets. -His "Visions of Petrarch and Du Bellay" are admirable dreams, in which -palaces, temples of gold, splendid landscapes, sparkling rivers, -marvellous birds, appear in close succession as in an Oriental -fairy-tale. If he sings a "Prothalamion," he sees two beautiful swans, -white as snow, who come softly swimming down amidst the songs of nymphs -and vermeil roses, while the transparent water kisses their silken -feathers, and murmurs with joy:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"There, in a meadow, by the river's side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All lovely daughters of the Flood thereby,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As each had bene a bryde;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And each one had a little wicker basket,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with fine fingers cropt full feateously</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The tender stalkes on hye.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of every sort, which in that meadow grew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They gathered some; the violet, pallid blew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The little dazie, that at evening closes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With store of vermeil roses,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To deck their bridegroomes posies</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Against the brydale-day, which was not long:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come softly swimming downe along the lee;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Two fairer birds I yet did never see;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did never whiter shew...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So purely white they were,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To wet their silken feathers, least they might</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And marre their beauties bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That shone as heavens light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Against their brydale day, which was not long:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song!"<a name="NoteRef_357_1" id="NoteRef_357_1"></a><a href="#Note_357_1" class="fnanchor">[357]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> - - -<p>If he bewails the death of Sidney, Sidney becomes a shepherd, he is -slain like Adonis; around him gather weeping nymphs:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The gods, which all things see, this same beheld,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, pittying this paire of lovers trew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Transformed them there lying on the field,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into one flowre that is both red and blew:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And in the midst thereof a star appeares,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As fairly formd as any star in skyes:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Resembling Stella in her freshest yeares,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all the day it standeth full of deow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which is the teares, that from her eyes did flow."<a name="NoteRef_358_1" id="NoteRef_358_1"></a><a href="#Note_358_1" class="fnanchor">[358]</a></span></p> - - -<p>His most genuine sentiments become thus fairy-like. Magic is the mould -of his mind, and impresses its shape on all that he imagines or thinks. -Involuntarily he robs objects of their ordinary form. If he looks at a -landscape, after an instant he sees it quite differently. He carries it, -unconsciously, into an enchanted land; the azure heaven sparkles like a -canopy of diamonds, meadows are clothed with flowers, a biped population -flutters in the balmy air, palaces of jasper shine among the trees, -radiant ladies appear on carved balconies above galleries of emerald. -This unconscious toil of mind is like the slow crystallizations of -nature. A moist twig is cast into the bottom of a mine, and is brought -out again a hoop of diamonds.</p> - -<p>At last he finds a subject which suits him, the greatest joy permitted -to an artist. He removes his epic from the common ground which, in the -hands of Homer and Dante, gave expression to a living creed, and -depicted national heroes. He leads us to the summit of fairy-land, -soaring above history, on that extreme verge where objects vanish and -pure idealism begins: "I have undertaken a work," he says, "to represent -all the moral virtues, assigning to every virtue a knight to be the -patron and defender of the same; in whose actions and feats of armes and -chivalry the operations of that vertue, whereof he is the protector, are -to be expressed, and the vices and unruly appetites that oppose -themselves against the same, to be beaten downe and overcome."<a name="NoteRef_359_1" id="NoteRef_359_1"></a><a href="#Note_359_1" class="fnanchor">[359]</a> In -fact he gives us an allegory as the foundation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> of his poem, not that he -dreams of becoming a wit, a preacher of moralities, a propounder of -riddles. He does not subordinate image to idea; he is a seer, not a -philosopher. They are living men and actions which he sets in motion; -only from time to time, in his poem, enchanted palaces, a whole train of -splendid visions trembles and divides like a mist, enabling us to catch -a glimpse of the thought which raised and arranged it. When in his -Garden of Adonis we see the countless forms of all living things -arranged in due order, in close compass, awaiting life, we conceive with -him the birth of universal love, the ceaseless fertility of the great -mother, the mysterious swarm of creatures which rise in succession from -her "wide wombe of the world." When we see his Knight of the Cross -combating with a horrible woman-serpent in defence of his beloved lady -Una, we dimly remember that, if we search beyond these two figures, we -shall find behind one, Truth, behind the other, Falsehood. We perceive -that his characters are not flesh and blood, and that all these -brilliant phantoms are phantoms, and nothing more. We take pleasure in -their brilliancy, without believing in their substantiality; we are -interested in their doings, without troubling ourselves about their -misfortunes. We know that their tears and cries are not real. Our -emotion is purified and raised. We do not fall into gross illusion; we -have that gentle feeling of knowing ourselves to be dreaming. We, like -him, are a thousand leagues from actual life, beyond the pangs of -painful pity, unmixed terror, violent and bitter hatred. We entertain -only refined sentiments, partly formed, arrested at the very moment they -were about to affect us with too sharp a stroke. They slightly touch us, -and we find ourselves happy in being extricated from a belief which was -beginning to be oppressive.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Spenser_in_his_Relation_to_the_Renaissance">SECTION VII.—Spenser in his Relation to the Renaissance</a></h4> - - -<p>What world could furnish materials to so elevated a fancy? One only, -that of chivalry; for none is so far from the actual. Alone and -independent in his castle, freed from all the ties which society, -family, toil, usually impose on the actions of men, the feudal hero had -attempted every kind of adventure, but yet he had done less than he -imagined; the boldness of his deeds had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> been exceeded by the madness of -his dreams. For want of useful employment and an accepted rule, his -brain had labored on an unreasoning and impossible track, and the -urgency of his wearisomeness had increased beyond measure his craving -for excitement. Under this stimulus his poetry had become a world of -imagery. Insensibly strange conceptions had grown and multiplied in his -brains, one over the other, like ivy woven round a tree, and the -original trunk had disappeared beneath their rank growth and their -obstruction. The delicate fancies of the old Welsh poetry, the grand -ruins of the German epics, the marvellous splendors of the conquered -East, all the recollections which four centuries of adventure had -scattered among the minds of men, had become gathered into one great -dream; and giants, dwarfs, monsters, the whole medley of imaginary -creatures, of superhuman exploits and splendid follies, were grouped -around a unique conception, exalted and sublime love, like courtiers -prostrated at the feet of their king. It was an ample and buoyant -subject-matter, from which the great artists of the age, Ariosto, Tasso, -Cervantes, Rabelais, had hewn their poems. But they belonged too -completely to their own time, to admit of their belonging to one which -had passed.<a name="NoteRef_360_360" id="NoteRef_360_360"></a><a href="#Note_360_360" class="fnanchor">[360]</a> They created a chivalry afresh, but it was not genuine. -The ingenious Ariosto, an ironical epicurean, delights his gaze with it, -and grows merry over it, like a man of pleasure, a sceptic who rejoices -doubly in his pleasure because it is sweet, and because it is forbidden. -By his side poor Tasso, inspired by a fanatical, revived, factitious -Catholicism, amid the tinsel of an old school of poetry, works on the -same subject, in sickly fashion, with great effort and scant success. -Cervantes, himself a knight, albeit he loves chivalry for its nobleness, -perceives its folly, and crushes it to the ground, with heavy blows, in -the mishaps of the wayside inns. More coarsely, more openly, Rabelais, a -rude commoner, drowns it with a burst of laughter, in his merriment and -nastiness. Spenser alone takes it seriously and naturally. He is on the -level of so much nobleness, dignity, reverie. He is not yet settled and -shut in by that species of exact common-sense which was to found and -cramp the whole modern civilization. In his heart he inhabits the poetic -and shadowy land from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> which men were daily drawing farther and farther -away. He is enamored of it, even to its very language; he revives the -old words, the expressions of the Middle Ages, the style of Chaucer, -especially in the "Shepherd's Calendar." He enters straightway upon the -strangest dreams of the old story-tellers, without astonishment, like a -man who has still stranger dreams of his own. Enchanted castles, -monsters and giants, duels in the woods, wandering ladies, all spring up -under his hands, the mediæval fancy with the mediaeval generosity; and -it is just because this world is unreal that it so suits his humor.</p> - -<p>Is there in chivalry sufficient to furnish him with matter? That is but -one world, and he has another. Beyond the valiant men, the glorified -images of moral virtues, he has the gods, finished models of sensible -beauty; beyond Christian chivalry he has the pagan Olympus; beyond the -idea of heroic will which can only be satisfied by adventures and -danger, there exists calm energy, which, by its own impulse, is in -harmony with actual existence. For such a poet one ideal is not enough; -beside the beauty of effort he places the beauty of happiness; he -couples them, not deliberately as a philosopher, nor with the design of -a scholar like Goethe, but because they are both lovely; and here and -there, amid armor and passages of arms, he distributes satyrs, nymphs, -Diana, Venus, like Greek statues amid the turrets and lofty trees of an -English park. There is nothing forced in the union; the ideal epic, like -a superior heaven, receives and harmonizes the two worlds; a beautiful -pagan dream carries on a beautiful dream of chivalry; the link consists -in the fact that they are both beautiful. At this elevation the poet has -ceased to observe the differences of races and civilizations. He can -introduce into his picture whatever he will; his only reason is, "That -suited"; and there could be no better. Under the glossy-leaved oaks, by -the old trunk so deeply rooted in the ground, he can see two knights -cleaving each other, and the next instant a company of Fauns who came -there to dance. The beams of light which have poured down upon the -velvet moss, the green turf of an English forest, can reveal the -dishevelled locks and white shoulders of nymphs. Do we not see it in -Rubens? And what signify discrepancies in the happy and sublime illusion -of fancy? Are there more discrepancies? Who perceives them, who feels -them? Who does not feel, on the contrary, that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> to speak the truth, there -is but one world, that of Plato and the poets; that actual phenomena are -but outlines—mutilated, incomplete and blurred outlines—wretched -abortions scattered here and there on Time's track, like fragments of -clay, half moulded, then cast aside, lying in an artist's studio; that, -after all, invisible forces and ideas, which forever renew the actual -existences, attain their fulfilment only in imaginary existences; and -that the poet, in order to express nature in its entirety, is obliged to -embrace in his sympathy all the ideal forms by which nature reveals -itself? This is the greatness of his work; he has succeeded in seizing -beauty in its fulness, because he cared for nothing but beauty.</p> - -<p>The reader will feel that it is impossible to give in full the plot of -such a poem. In fact, there are six poems, each of a dozen cantos, in -which the action is ever diverging and converging again, becoming -confused and starting again; and all the imaginings of antiquity and of -the Middle Ages are, I believe, combined in it. The knight "pricks along -the plaine," among the trees, and at a crossing of the paths meets other -knights with whom he engages in combat; suddenly from within a cave -appears a monster, half woman and half serpent, surrounded by a hideous -offspring; further on a giant, with three bodies; then a dragon, great -as a hill, with sharp talons and vast wings. For three days he fights -them, and twice overthrown, he comes to himself only by aid of "a -gracious ointment." After that there are savage tribes to be conquered, -castles surrounded by flames to be taken. Meanwhile ladies are wandering -in the midst of forests, on white palfreys, exposed to the assaults of -miscreants, now guarded by a lion which follows them, now delivered by a -band of satyrs who adore them. Magicians work manifold charms; palaces -display their festivities; tilt-yards provide endless tournaments; -sea-gods, nymphs, fairies, kings, intermingle in these feasts, -surprises, dangers.</p> - -<p>You will say it is a phantasmagoria. What matter, if we see it? And we -do see it, for Spenser does. His sincerity communicates itself to us. He -is so much at home in this world that we end by finding ourselves at -home in it too. He shows no appearance of astonishment at astonishing -events; he comes upon them so naturally that he makes them natural; he -defeats the miscreants, as if he had done nothing else all his life. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -Venus, Diana, and the old deities, dwell at his gate and enter his -threshold without his taking any heed of them. His serenity becomes -ours. We grow credulous and happy by contagion, and to the same extent -as he. How could it be otherwise? Is it possible to refuse credence to a -man who paints things for us with such accurate details and in such -lively colors? Here with a dash of his pen he describes a forest for -you; and are you not instantly in it with him Beech trees with their -silvery stems, "loftie trees iclad with sommers pride, did spred so -broad, that heavens light did hide"; rays of light tremble on the bark -and shine on the ground, on the reddening ferns and low bushes, which, -suddenly smitten with the luminous track, glisten and glimmer. Footsteps -are scarcely heard on the thick beds of heaped leaves; and at distant -intervals, on the tall herbage, drops of dew are sparkling. Yet the -sound of a horn reaches us through the foliage; how sweetly yet -cheerfully it falls on the ear, amidst this vast silence! It resounds -more loudly; the clatter of a hunt draws near; "eft through the thicke -they heard one rudely rush;" a nymph approaches, the most chaste and -beautiful in the world. Spenser sees her; nay more, he kneels before -her:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her face so faire, as flesh it seemed not,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But hevenly pourtraict of bright angels hew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cleare as the skye, withouten blame or blot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through goodly mixture of complexions dew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like roses in a bed of lillies shed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The which ambrosiall odours from them threw,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And gazers sence with double pleasure fed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hable to heale the sicke and to revive the ded.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Kindled above at th' Hevenly Makers light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And darted fyrie beames out of the same;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So passing persant, and so wondrous bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That quite bereav'd the rash beholders sight:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In them the blinded god his lustfull fyre</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To kindle oft assayd, but had no might;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For, with dredd maiestie and awfull yre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She broke his wanton darts, and quenched bace desyre.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie brave,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like a broad table did itselfe dispred,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And write the battailes of his great godhed:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All good and honour might therein be red;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For there their dwelling was. And, when she spake</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweete wordes, like dropping honny, she did shed;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And 'twixt the perles and rubins softly brake</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A silver sound, that heavenly musicke seemd to make.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Upon her eyelids many Graces sate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Under the shadow of her even browes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Working belgardes and amorous retrate;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And everie one her with a grace endowes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And everie one with meekenesse to her bowes:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How shall frayle pen descrive her heavenly face,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For feare, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"So faire, and thousand thousand times more faire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She seemd, when she presented was to sight;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All in a silken Camus lilly whight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Purfled upon with many a folded plight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which all above besprinckled was throughout</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With golden aygulets, that glistred bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like twinckling starres; and all the skirt about</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was hemd with golden fringe.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Below her ham her weed did somewhat trayne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And her streight legs most bravely were embayld</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In gilden buskins of costly cordwayne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All bard with golden bendes, which were entayld</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With curious antickes, and full fayre aumayld.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Before, they fastned were under her knee</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In a rich iewell, and therein entrayld</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The ends of all the knots, that none might see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How they within their fouldings close enwrapped bee.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Like two faire marble pillours they were seene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which doe the temple of the gods support,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom all the people decke with girlands greene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And honour in their festivall resort;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Those same with stately grace and princely port</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She taught to tread, when she herselfe would grace;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But with the woody nymphes when she did play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or when the flying libbard she did chace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She could them nimbly move, and after fly apace.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And at her backe a bow and quiver gay,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stuft with steel-headed dartes wherewith she queld</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The salvage beastes in her victorious play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Knit with a golden bauldricke which forelay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit in May,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now little gan to swell, and being tide</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through her thin weed their places only signifide.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">About her shoulders weren loosely shed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, when the winde emongst them did inspyre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They waved like a penon wyde dispred</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And low behinde her backe were scattered:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, whether art it were or heedlesse hap,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As through the flouring forrest rash she fled,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap."<a name="NoteRef_361_1" id="NoteRef_361_1"></a><a href="#Note_361_1" class="fnanchor">[361]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The daintie rose, the daughter of her morne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">More deare than life she tendered, whose flowre</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The girlond of her honour did adorne;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ne suffered she the middayes scorching powre.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ne the sharp northerne wind thereon to showre;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But lapped up her silken leaves most chayre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whenso the froward skye began to lowre;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But, soone as calmed was the cristall ayre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She did it fayre dispred, and let to flourish fayre."<a name="NoteRef_362_1" id="NoteRef_362_1"></a><a href="#Note_362_1" class="fnanchor">[362]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He is on his knees before her, I repeat, as a child on Corpus Christi -day, among flowers and perfumes, transported with admiration, so that he -sees a heavenly light in her eyes, and angel's tints on her cheeks, even -impressing into her service Christian angels and pagan graces to adorn -and await upon her; it is love which brings such visions before him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Sweet love, that doth his golden wings embay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In blessed nectar and pure pleasures well."</span></p> - - -<p>Whence this perfect beauty, this modest and charming dawn, in which he -assembles all the brightness, all the sweetness, all the virgin graces -of the full morning? What mother begat her, what marvellous birth -brought to light such a wonder of grace and purity? One day, in a -sparkling, solitary fountain, where the sunbeams shone, Chrysogone was -bathing with roses and violets. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"It was upon a sommers shinie day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When Titan faire his beamës did display,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens vew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She bath'd her brest the boyling heat t' allay;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She bath'd with roses red and violets blew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all the sweetest flowers that in the forrest grew.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till faint through yrkesome wearines adowne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon the grassy ground herselfe she layd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To sleepe, the whiles a gentle slombring swowne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon her fell all naked bare displayd."<a name="NoteRef_363_1" id="NoteRef_363_1"></a><a href="#Note_363_1" class="fnanchor">[363]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The beams played upon her body, and "fructified" her. The months rolled -on. Troubled and ashamed, she went into the "wildernesse," and sat down, -"every sence with sorrow sore opprest." Meanwhile Venus, searching for -her boy Cupid, who had mutinied and fled from her, "wandered in the -world." She had sought him in courts, cities, cottages, promising -"kisses sweet, and sweeter things, unto the man that of him tydings to -her brings."</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Shortly unto the wastefull woods she came,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whereas she found the goddesse (Diana) with her crew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After late chace of their embrewed game,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sitting beside a fountaine in a rew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some of them washing with the liquid dew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From off their dainty limbs the dusty sweat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And soyle, which did deforme their lively hew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Others lay shaded from the scorching heat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The rest upon her person gave attendance great.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She, having hong upon a bough on high</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And her lanck loynes ungirt, and brests unbraste,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After her heat the breathing cold to taste;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her golden lockes, that late in tresses bright</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Embreaded were for hindring of her haste,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now loose about her shoulders hong undight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And were with sweet Ambrosia all besprinckled light."<a name="NoteRef_364_1" id="NoteRef_364_1"></a><a href="#Note_364_1" class="fnanchor">[364]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Diana, surprised thus, repulses Venus, "and gan to smile, in scorne of -her vaine playnt," swearing that if she should catch Cupid, she would -clip his wanton wings. Then she took pity on the afflicted goddess, and -set herself with her to look for the fugitive. They came to the "shady -covert" where Chrysogone, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> in her sleep, had given birth "unawares" to -two lovely girls, "as faire as springing day." Diana took one, and made -her the purest of all virgins. Venus carried off the other to the Garden -of Adonis, "the first seminary of all things, that are borne to live and -dye"; where Psyche, the bride of Love, disports herself; where Pleasure, -their daughter, wantons with the Graces; where Adonis, "lapped in -flowres and pretious spycery, liveth in eternal bliss," and came back -to life through the breath of immortal Love. She brought her up as her -daughter, selected her to be the most faithful of loves, and after long -trials, gave her hand to the good knight Sir Scudamore.</p> - -<p>That is the kind of thing we meet with in the wondrous forest. Are you -ill at ease there, and do you wish to leave it because it is wondrous? -At every bend in the alley, at every change of the light, a stanza, a -word, reveals a landscape or an apparition. It is morning, the white -dawn gleams faintly through the trees; bluish vapors veil the horizon, -and vanish in the smiling air; the springs tremble and murmur faintly -amongst the mosses, and on high the poplar leaves begin to stir and -flutter like the wings of butterflies. A knight alights from his horse, -a valiant knight, who has unhorsed many a Saracen, and experienced many -an adventure. He unlaces his helmet, and on a sudden you perceive the -cheeks of a young girl:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Which doft, her golden lockes, that were upbound</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Still in a knot, unto her heeles downe traced,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And like a silken veile in compasse round</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">About her backe and all her bodie wound;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like as the shining skie in summers night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What time the dayes with scorching heat abound,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is creasted all with lines of firie light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That it prodigious seemes in common peoples sight."<a name="NoteRef_365_1" id="NoteRef_365_1"></a><a href="#Note_365_1" class="fnanchor">[365]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It is Britomart, a virgin and a heroine, like Clorinda or Marfisa,<a name="NoteRef_366_366" id="NoteRef_366_366"></a><a href="#Note_366_366" class="fnanchor">[366]</a> -but how much more ideal! The deep sentiment of nature, the sincerity of -reverie, the ever-flowing fertility of inspiration, the German -seriousness, reanimate in this poem classical or chivalrous conceptions, -even when they are the oldest or the most trite. The train of splendors -and of scenery never ends. Desolate <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> promontories, cleft with gaping -chasms; thunder-stricken and blackened masses of rocks, against which -the hoarse breakers dash; palaces sparkling with gold, wherein ladies, -beauteous as angels, reclining carelessly on purple cushions, listen -with sweet smiles to the harmony of music played by unseen hands; lofty -silent walks, where avenues of oaks spread their motionless shadows over -clusters of virgin violets, and turf which never mortal foot has trod; -to all these beauties of art and nature he adds the marvels of -mythology, and describes them with as much of love and sincerity as a -painter of the Renaissance or an ancient poet. Here approach on chariots -of shell, Cymoënt and her nymphs:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A teme of dolphins raunged in aray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoënt;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They were all taught by Triton to obay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To the long raynes at her commaundëment:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As swifte as swallowes on the waves they went,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That their brode flaggy finnes no fome did reare,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ne bubling rowndell they behinde them sent;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The rest, of other fishes drawen weare;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which with their finny oars the swelling sea did sheare."<a name="NoteRef_367_1" id="NoteRef_367_1"></a><a href="#Note_367_1" class="fnanchor">[367]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Nothing, again, can be sweeter or calmer than the description of the -palace of Morpheus:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He, making speedy way through spersed ayre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And through the world of waters wide and deepe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And low, where dawning day doth never peepe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And ever-drizzling raine upon the loft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Might there be heard: but careless Quiet lyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes."</span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Observe also in a corner of this forest, a band of satyrs dancing under -the green leaves. They come leaping like wanton kids, as gay as birds of -joyous spring. The fair Hellenore, whom they have chosen for "May-lady," -"daunst lively" also, laughing, and "with girlonds all bespredd." The -wood re-echoes the sound of their "merry pypes. Their horned feet the -greene gras wore. All day they daunced with great lustyhedd," with -sudden motions and alluring looks, while about them their flock feed on -"the brouzes" at their pleasure. In every book we see strange -processions pass by, allegorical and picturesque shows, like those which -were then displayed at the courts of princes; now a masquerade of Cupid, -now of the Rivers, now of the Months, now of the Vices. Imagination was -never more prodigal or inventive. Proud Lucifera advances in a chariot -"adorned all with gold and girlonds gay," beaming like the dawn, -surrounded by a crowd of courtiers whom she dazzles with her glory and -splendor: "six unequall beasts" draw her along, and each of these is -ridden by a Vice. Idleness "upon a slouthfull asse... in habit blacke... -like to an holy monck," sick for very laziness, lets his heavy head -droop, and holds in his hand a breviary which he does not read; -Gluttony, on "a filthie swyne," crawls by in his deformity, "his -belly... upblowne with luxury, and eke with fatnesse swollen were his -eyne; and like a crane his necke was long and fyne," dressed in -vine-leaves, through which one can see his body eaten by ulcers, and -vomiting along the road the wine and flesh with which he is glutted. -Avarice seated between "two iron coffers, upon a camell loaden all -with gold," is handling a heap of coin, with threadbare coat, hollow -cheeks, and feet stiff with gout. Envy "upon a ravenous wolfe still did -chaw between his cankred teeth a venemous tode, that all the poison ran -about his chaw," and his discolored garment "ypainted full of eies," -conceals a snake wound about his body. Wrath, covered with a torn and -bloody robe, comes riding on a lion, brandishing about his head "a -burning brond," his eyes sparkling, his face pale as ashes, grasping in -his feverish hand the haft of his dagger. The strange and terrible -procession passes on, led by the solemn harmony of the stanzas; and the -grand music of oft-repeated rhymes sustains the imagination in this -fantastic world, which, with its mingled horrors and splendors, has just -been opened to its flight. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yet all this is little. However much mythology and chivalry can supply, -they do not suffice for the needs of this poetical fancy. Spenser's -characteristic is the vastness and overflow of his picturesque -invention. Like Rubens, whatever he creates is beyond the region of all -traditions, but complete in all parts, and expresses distinct ideas. As -with Rubens, his allegory swells its proportions beyond all rule, and -withdraws fancy from all law, except in so far as it is necessary to -harmonize forms and colors. For, if ordinary minds receive from allegory -a certain weight which oppresses them, lofty imaginations receive from -it wings which carry them aloft. Freed by it from the common conditions -of life, they can dare all things, beyond imitation, apart from -probability, with no other guides but their inborn energy and their -shadowy instincts. For three days Sir Guyon is led by the cursed spirit, -the tempter Mammon, in the subterranean realm, across wonderful gardens, -trees laden with golden fruits, glittering palaces, and a confusion of -all worldly treasures. They have descended into the bowels of the earth, -and pass through caverns, unknown abysses, silent depths. "An ugly -Feend... with monstrous stalke behind him stept," without Guyon's -knowledge, ready to devour him on the least show of covetousness. The -brilliancy of the gold lights up hideous figures, and the beaming metal -shines with a beauty more seductive in the gloom of the infernal prison.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"That Houses forme within was rude and strong,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lyke an huge cave hewne out of rocky clifte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Embost with massy gold of glorious guifte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with rich metall loaded every rifte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That heavy ruine they did seeme to threatt;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And over them Arachne high did lifte</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her cunning web, and spred her subtile nett,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more black than iett.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Both roofe, and floore, and walls, were all of gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But overgrowne with dust and old decay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hid in darknes, that none could behold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The hew thereof; for vew of cheerfull day</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did never in that House itselfe display,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But a faint shadow of uncertein light;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such as a lamp; whose life does fade away;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or as the moone, cloathed with dowdy night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Does show to him that walkes in feare and sad affright.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In all that rowme was nothing to be seene</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But huge great yron chests and coffers strong,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All bard with double bends, that none could weene</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Them to enforce by violence or wrong;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On every side they placed were along.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But all the grownd with sculs was scattered</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And dead mens bones, which round about were flong;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose lives, it seemed, whilome there were shed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And their vile carcases now left unburied....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Thence, forward he him ledd and shortly brought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unto another rowme, whose dore forthright</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To him did open as it had beene taught:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Therein an hundred raunges weren pight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hundred fournaces all burning bright;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By every fournace many Feends did byde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Deformed creatures, horrible in sight;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every Feend his busie paines applyde</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To melt the golden metall, ready to be tryde.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"One with great bellowes gathered filling ayre,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with forst wind the fewell did inflame;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Another did the dying bronds repayre</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With yron tongs, and sprinckled ofte the same</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With liquid waves, fiers Vulcans rage to tame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who, maystring them, renewd his former heat:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some scumd the drosse that from the metall came;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some stird the molten owre with ladles great:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every one did swincke, and every one did sweat...</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He brought him, through a darksom narrow strayt,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To a broad gate all built of beaten gold:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gate was open; but therein did wayt</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A sturdie Villein, stryding stiffe and bold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if the Highest God defy he would:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In his right hand an yron club he held,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But he himselfe was all of golden mould,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet had both life and sence, and well could weld</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes he queld....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He brought him in. The rowme was large and wyde,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As it some gyeld or solemne temple weare;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Many great golden pillours did upbeare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The massy roofe, and riches huge sustayne;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every pillour decked was full deare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With crownes, and diademes, and titles vaine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which mortall princes wore whiles they on earth did rayne.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A route of people there assembled were,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of every sort and nation under skye,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which with great uprore preaced to draw nere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To th' upper part, where was advaunced hye</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A stately siege of soveraine maiestye;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thereon satt a Woman gorgeous gay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And richly cladd in robes of royaltye,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That never earthly prince in such aray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His glory did enhaunce, and pompous pryde display....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"There, as in glistring glory she did sitt,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She held a great gold chaine ylincked well,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose upper end to highest heven was knitt.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And lower part did reach to lowest hell."<a name="NoteRef_368_1" id="NoteRef_368_1"></a><a href="#Note_368_1" class="fnanchor">[368]</a></span></p> - - -<p>No artist's dream matches these visions: the glow of the furnaces -beneath the vaults of the cavern, the lights flickering over the crowded -figures, the throne, and the strange glitter of the gold shining in -every direction through the darkness. The allegory assumes gigantic -proportions. When the object is to show temperance struggling with -temptations, Spenser deems it necessary to mass all the temptations -together. He is treating of a general virtue; and as such a virtue is -capable of every sort of resistance, he requires from it every sort of -resistance alike; after the test of gold, that of pleasure. Thus the -grandest and the most exquisite spectacles follow and are contrasted -with each other, and all are supernatural; the graceful and the terrible -are side by side—the happy gardens close by with the cursed -subterranean cavern.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"No gate, but like one, being goodly dight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With bowes and braunches, which did broad dilate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their clasping armes in wanton wreathings intricate:</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"So fashioned a porch with rare device,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Archt over head with an embracing vine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose bounches hanging downe seemed to entice</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All passers-by to taste their lushious wine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And did themselves into their hands incline,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As freely offering to be gathered;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some deepe empurpled as the hyacine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some as the rubine laughing sweetely red,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some like faire emeraudes, not yet well ripened....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And in the midst of all a fountaine stood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of richest substance that on earth might bee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So pure and shiny that the silver flood</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through every channell running one might see;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Most goodly it with curious ymageree</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of which some seemed with lively iollitee</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To fly about, playing their wanton toyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid ioyes.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And over all of purest gold was spred</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A trayle of yvie in his native hew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For the rich metall was so coloured,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That wight, who did not well avis'd it vew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That themselves dipping in the silver dew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their fleecy flowres they fearfully did steepe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which drops of christall seemd for wantones to weep.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Infinit streames continually did well</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The which into an ample laver fell,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shortly grew to such great quantitie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That like a little lake it seemd to bee;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose depth exceeded not three cubits hight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That through the waves one might the bottom see,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All pav'd beneath with jaspar shining bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle upright....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The ioyes birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To th' instruments divine respondence meet;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The silver-sounding instruments did meet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With the base murmur of the waters fall;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The waters fall with difference discreet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gentle warbling wind low answered to all....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Upon a bed of roses she was layd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And was arayd, or rather disarayd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All in a vele of silke and silver thin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That hid no whit her alabaster skin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But rather shewd more white, if more might bee:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">More subtile web Arachne cannot spin;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of scorched deaw, do not in th' ayre more lightly flee.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Her snowy brest was bare to ready spoyle</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of hungry eies, which n' ote therewith be fild;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet, through languour of her late sweet toyle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Few drops, more cleare then nectar, forth distild,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That like pure orient perles adowne it trild;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And her faire eyes, sweet smyling in delight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Moystened their fierie beames, with which she thrild</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fraile harts, yet quenched not, like starry lights</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which sparckling on the silent waves, does seeme more bright."<a name="NoteRef_369_1" id="NoteRef_369_1"></a><a href="#Note_369_1" class="fnanchor">[369]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Do we find here nothing but fairy land? Yes; here are finished pictures -true and complete, composed with a painter's feeling, with choice of -tints and outlines; our eyes are delighted by them. This reclining -Acrasia has the pose of a goddess, or of one of Titian's courtesans. An -Italian artist might copy these gardens, these flowing waters, these -sculptured loves, those wreaths of creeping ivy thick with glossy leaves -and fleecy flowers. Just before, in the infernal depths, the lights, -with their long streaming rays, were fine, half smothered by the -darkness; the lofty throne in the vast hall, between the pillars, in the -midst of a swarming multitude, connected all the forms around it by -drawing all looks towards one centre. The poet, here and throughout, is -a colorist and an architect. However fantastic his world may be, it is -not factitious; if it does not exist, it might have been; indeed, it -should have been; it is the fault of circumstances if they do not so -group themselves as to bring it to pass; taken by itself, it possesses -that internal harmony by which a real thing, even a still higher -harmony, exists, inasmuch as, without any regard to real things, it is -altogether, and in its least detail, constructed with a view to beauty. -Art has made its appearance; this is the great characteristic of the -age, which distinguishes the "Faërie Queene" from all similar tales -heaped up by the Middle Ages. Incoherent, mutilated, they lie like -rubbish, or rough-hewn stones, which the weak hands of the <i>trouvères</i> -could not build into a monument. At last the poets and artists appear, -and with them the conception of beauty, to wit, the idea of general -effect. They understand proportions, relations, contrasts; they compose. -In their hands the blurred vague sketch becomes defined, complete, -separate; it assumes color—is made a picture. Every object thus -conceived and imaged acquires a definite existence as soon as it assumes -a true form; centuries after, it will be acknowledged and admired, and -men will be touched by it; and more, they will be touched by its author; -for, besides the object which he paints, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> the poet paints himself. His -ruling idea is stamped upon the work which it produces and controls. -Spenser is superior to his subject, comprehends it fully, frames it with -a view to its end, in order to impress upon it the proper mark of his -soul and his genius. Each story is modulated with respect to another, -and all with respect to a certain effect which is being worked out. Thus -a beauty issues from this harmony—the beauty in the poet's heart—which -his whole work strives to express; a noble and yet a cheerful beauty, -made up of moral elevation and sensuous seductions, English in -sentiment, Italian in externals, chivalric in subject, modern in its -perfection, representing a unique and wonderful epoch, the appearance of -paganism in a Christian race, and the worship of form by an imagination -of the North.</p> - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a id="PART_III.--Prose"><i>PART III.—Prose</i></a></h4> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Decay_of_Poetry">SECTION I.—The Decay of Poetry</a></h4> - - -<p>Such an epoch can scarcely last, and the poetic vitality wears itself -out by its very efflorescence, so that its expansion leads to its -decline. From the beginning of the seventeenth century the subsidence of -manners and genius grows apparent. Enthusiasm and respect decline. The -minions and court-fops intrigue and pilfer, amid pedantry, puerility, -and show. The court plunders, and the nation murmurs. The Commons begin -to show a stern front, and the king, scolding them like a schoolmaster, -gives way before them like a little boy. This sorry monarch (James I) -suffers himself to be bullied by his favorites, writes to them like a -gossip, calls himself a Solomon, airs his literary vanity, and in -granting an audience to a courtier, recommends him to become a scholar, -and expects to be complimented on his own scholarly attainments. The -dignity of the government is weakened, and the people's loyalty is -cooled. Royalty declines, and revolution is fostered. At the same time, -the noble chivalric paganism degenerates into a base and coarse -sensuality. The king, we are told, on one occasion, had got so drunk -with his royal brother Christian of Denmark, that they both had to be -carried to bed. Sir John Harrington says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The ladies abandon their sobriety, and are seen to roll about in -intoxication.... The Lady who did play the Queen's part (in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> Masque -of the Queen of Sheba) did carry most precious gifts to both their -Majesties; but, forgetting the steppes arising to the canopy, overset -her caskets into his Danish Majesties lap, and fell at his feet, tho I -rather think it was in his face. Much was the hurry and confusion; -cloths and napkins were at hand, to make all clean. His Majestie then -got up and would dance with the Queen of Sheba; but he fell down and -humbled himself before her, and was carried to an inner chamber and laid -on a bed of state; which was not a little defiled with the presents of -the Queen which had been bestowed on his garments; such as wine, cream, -jelly, beverage, cakes, spices, and other good matters. The -entertainment and show went forward, and most of the presenters went -backward, or fell down; wine did so occupy their upper chambers. Now did -appear, in rich dress, Hope, Faith, and Charity: Hope did assay to -speak, but wine rendered her endeavours so feeble that she withdrew, and -hoped the king would excuse her brevity: Faith... left the court in a -staggering condition.... They were both sick and spewing in the lower -hall. Next came Victory, who... by a strange medley of versification... -and after much lamentable utterance was led away like a silly captive, -and laid to sleep in the outer steps of the anti-chamber. As for Peace, -she most rudely made war with her olive branch, and laid on the pates of -those who did oppose her coming. I ne'er did see such lack of good -order, discretion, and sobriety in our Queen's days."<a name="NoteRef_370_1" id="NoteRef_370_1"></a><a href="#Note_370_1" class="fnanchor">[370]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Observe that these tipsy women were great ladies. The reason is, that -the grand ideas which introduce an epoch, end, in their exhaustion, by -preserving nothing but their vices; the proud sentiment of natural life -becomes a vulgar appeal to the senses. An entrance, an arch of triumph -under James I, often represented obscenities; and later, when the -sensual instincts, exasperated by Puritan tyranny, begin to raise their -heads once more, we shall find under the Restoration excess revelling in -its low vices, and triumphing in its shamelessness.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile literature undergoes a change; the powerful breeze which had -wafted it on, and which, amidst singularity, refinement, exaggerations, -had made it great, slackened and diminished. With Carew, Suckling, and -Herrick, prettiness takes the place of the beautiful. That which strikes -them is no longer the general features of things; and they no longer try -to express the inner character of what they describe. They no longer -possess that liberal conception, that instinctive penetration, by which -we sympathize with objects, and grow capable of creating them anew. They -no longer boast of that overflow of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> emotions, that excess of ideas and -images, which compelled a man to relieve himself by words, to act -externally, to represent freely and boldly the interior drama which made -his whole body and heart tremble. They are rather wits of the court, -cavaliers of fashion, who wish to show off their imagination and style. -In their hands love becomes gallantry; they write songs, fugitive -pieces, compliments to the ladies. There are no more upwellings from the -heart. They write eloquent phrases in order to be applauded, and -flattering exaggerations in order to please. The divine faces, the -serious or profound looks, the virgin or impassioned expressions which -burst forth at every step in the early poets, have disappeared; here we -see nothing but agreeable countenances, painted in agreeable verses. -Blackguardism is not far off; we meet with it already in Suckling, and -crudity to boot, and prosaic epicurism; their sentiment is expressed -before long, in such a phrase as: "Let us amuse ourselves, and a fig for -the rest." The only objects they can still paint are little graceful -things, a kiss, a May-day festivity, a dewy primrose, a daffodil, a -marriage morning, a bee.<a name="NoteRef_371_371" id="NoteRef_371_371"></a><a href="#Note_371_371" class="fnanchor">[371]</a> Herrick and Suckling especially produce -little exquisite poems, delicate, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> ever pleasant or agreeable, like those -attributed to Anacreon, or those which abound in the Anthology. In fact, -here, as at the Grecian period alluded to, we are in the decline of -paganism; energy departs, the reign of the agreeable begins. People do -not relinquish the worship of beauty and pleasure, but dally with them. -They deck and fit them to their taste; they cease to subdue and bend -men, who enjoy them whilst they amuse them. It is the last beam of a -setting sun; the genuine poetic sentiment dies out with Sedley, Waller, -and the rhymesters of the Restoration; they write prose in verse; their -heart is on a level with their style, and with an exact language we find -the commencement of a new age and a new art.</p> - -<p>Side by side with prettiness comes affectation; it is the second mark of -their decadence. Instead of writing to express things, they write to say -them well; they outbid their neighbors, and strain every mode of speech; -they push art over on the one side to which it had a leaning; and as in -this age it had a leaning towards vehemence and imagination, they pile -up their emphasis and coloring. A jargon always springs out of a style. -In all arts, the first masters, the inventors, discover the idea, steep -themselves in it, and leave it to effect its outward form. Then come the -second class, the imitators, who sedulously repeat this form, and alter -it by exaggeration. Some nevertheless have talent, as Quarles, Herbert, -Habington, Donne in particular, a pungent satirist, of terrible -crudeness,<a name="NoteRef_372_372" id="NoteRef_372_372"></a><a href="#Note_372_372" class="fnanchor">[372]</a> a powerful poet, of a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> precise and intense imagination, -who still preserves something of the energy and thrill of the original -inspiration.<a name="NoteRef_373_373" id="NoteRef_373_373"></a><a href="#Note_373_373" class="fnanchor">[373]</a> But he deliberately spoils all these gifts, and -succeeds with great difficulty in concocting a piece of nonsense. For -instance, the impassioned poets had said to their mistress that if they -lost her, they should hate all other women. Donne, in order to eclipse -them, says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O do not die, for I shall hate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All women so, when thou art gone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That thee I shall not celebrate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When I remember thou wast one."<a name="NoteRef_374_374" id="NoteRef_374_374"></a><a href="#Note_374_374" class="fnanchor">[374]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Twenty times while reading him we rub our brow, and ask with -astonishment, how a man could have so tormented and contorted himself, -strained his style, refined on his refinement, hit upon such absurd -comparisons? But this was the spirit of the age; they made an effort to -be ingeniously absurd. A flea had bitten Donne and his mistress, and he -says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"This flea is you and I, and this</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our mariage bed and mariage temple is.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though Parents grudge, and you, w' are met,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And cloyster'd in these living walls of Jet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though use make you apt to kill me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let not to that selfe-murder added be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sacrilege, three sins in killing three."<a name="NoteRef_375_1" id="NoteRef_375_1"></a><a href="#Note_375_1" class="fnanchor">[375]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The Marquis de Mascarille<a name="NoteRef_376_1" id="NoteRef_376_1"></a><a href="#Note_376_1" class="fnanchor">[376]</a> never found anything to equal this. Would -you have believed a writer could invent such absurdities? She and he -made but one, for both are but one with the flea, and so one could not -be killed without the other. Observe that the wise Malherbe wrote very -similar enormities, in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> the "Tears of St. Peter," and that the sonneteers -of Italy and Spain reach simultaneously the same height of folly, and -you will agree that throughout Europe at that time they were at the -close of a poetical epoch.</p> - -<p>On this boundary line of a closing and a dawning literature a poet -appeared, one of the most approved and illustrious of his time, Abraham -Cowley,<a name="NoteRef_377_1" id="NoteRef_377_1"></a><a href="#Note_377_1" class="fnanchor">[377]</a> a precocious child, a reader and a versifier like Pope, and -who, like Pope, having known passions less than books, busied himself -less about things than about words. Literary exhaustion has seldom been -more manifest. He possesses all the capacity to say what pleases him, -but he has precisely nothing to say. The substance has vanished, leaving -in its place an empty form. In vain he tries the epic, the Pindaric -strophe, all kinds of stanzas, odes, short lines, long lines; in vain he -calls to his assistance botanical and philosophical similes, all the -erudition of the university, all the recollections of antiquity, all the -ideas of new science: we yawn as we read him. Except in a few -descriptive verses, two or three graceful tendernesses,<a name="NoteRef_378_1" id="NoteRef_378_1"></a><a href="#Note_378_1" class="fnanchor">[378]</a>he feels -nothing, he speaks only; he is a poet of the brain. His collection of -amorous pieces is but a vehicle for a scientific test, and serves to -show that he has read the authors, that he knows geography, that he is -well versed in anatomy, that he has a smattering of medicine and -astronomy, that he has at his service comparisons and allusions enough -to rack the brains of his readers. He will speak in this wise:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Beauty, thou active—passive ill!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which dy'st thyself as fast as thou dost kill!"</span></p> - - -<p>Or will remark that his mistress is to blame for spending three hours -every morning at her toilet, because</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"They make that Beauty Tyranny,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That's else a Civil-government."</span></p> - - -<p>After reading two hundred pages, you feel disposed to box his ears. You -have to think, by way of consolation, that every grand age must draw to -a close, that this one could not do so otherwise, that the old glow of -enthusiasm, the sudden flood of rapture, images, whimsical and audacious -fancies, which once rolled through the minds of men, arrested now and -cooled down, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> could only exhibit dross, a curdling scum, a multitude of -brilliant and offensive points. You say to yourself that, after all, -Cowley had perhaps talent; you find that he had in fact one, a new -talent, unknown to the old masters, the sign of a new culture, which -needs other manners, and announces a new society. Cowley had these -manners, and belongs to this society. He was a well-governed, -reasonable, well-informed, polished, well-educated man, who, after -twelve years of service and writing in France, under Queen Henrietta, -retires at last wisely into the country, where he studies natural -history, and prepares a treatise on religion, philosophizing on men and -life, fertile in general reflections and ideas, a moralist, bidding his -executor "to let nothing stand in his writings which might seem the -least in the world to be an offence against religion or good manners." -Such intentions and such a life produce and indicate less a poet, that -is, a seer, a creator, than a literary man; I mean a man who can think -and speak, and who therefore ought to have read much, learned much, -written much, ought to possess a calm and clear mind, to be accustomed -to polite society, sustained conversation, pleasantry. In fact, Cowley -is an author by profession, the oldest of those who in England deserve -the name. His prose is as easy and sensible as his poetry is contorted -and unreasonable. A polished man, writing for polished men, pretty much -as he would speak to them in a drawing-room—this I take to be the idea -which they had of a good author in the seventeenth century. It is the -idea which Cowley's essays leave of his character; it is the kind of -talent which the writers of the coming age take for their model, and he -is the first of that grave and amiable group which, continued in Temple, -reaches so far as to include Addison.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--The_Intellectual_Level_of_the_Renaissance">SECTION II.—The Intellectual Level of the Renaissance</a></h4> - - -<p>Having reached this point, the Renaissance seemed to have attained its -limit, and, like a drooping and faded flower, to be ready to leave its -place for a new bud which began to spring up amongst its withered -leaves. At all events, a living and unexpected shoot sprang from the old -declining stock. At the moment when art languished, science shot forth; -the whole labor of the age ended in this. The fruits are not unlike; on -the contrary, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> they come from the same sap, and by the diversity of the -shape only manifest two distinct periods of the inner growth which has -produced them. Every art ends in a science, and all poetry in a -philosophy. For science and philosophy do but translate into precise -formulas the original conceptions which art and poetry render sensible -by imaginary figures: when once the idea of an epoch is manifested in -verse by ideal creations, it naturally comes to be expressed in prose by -positive arguments. That which had struck men on escaping from -ecclesiastical oppression and monkish asceticism was the pagan idea of a -life true to nature, and freely developed. They had found nature buried -behind scholasticism, and they had expressed it in poems and paintings; -in Italy by superb healthy corporeality, in England by vehement and -unconventional spirituality, with such divination of its laws, -instincts, and forms, that we might extract from their theatre and their -pictures a complete theory of soul and body. When enthusiasm is past, -curiosity begins. The sentiment of beauty gives way to the need of -truth. The theory contained in works of imagination frees itself. The -gaze continues fixed on nature, not to admire now, but to understand. -From painting we pass to anatomy, from the drama to moral philosophy, -from grand poetical divinations to great scientific views; the second -continue the first, and the same mind displays itself in both; for what -art had represented, and science proceeds to observe, are living things, -with their complex and complete structure, set in motion by their -internal forces, with no supernatural intervention. Artists and savants -all set out, without knowing it themselves, from the same master -conception, to wit, that nature subsists of herself, that every -existence has in its own womb the source of its action, that the causes -of events are the innate laws of things; an all-powerful idea, from -which was to issue the modern civilization, and which, at the time I -write of, produced in England and Italy, as before in Greece, genuine -sciences, side by side with a complete art: after da Vinci and Michel -Angelo, the school of anatomists, mathematicians, naturalists, ending -with Galileo; after Spenser, Ben Jonson, and Shakespeare, the school of -thinkers who surround Bacon and lead up to Harvey.</p> - -<p>We have not far to look for this school. In the interregnum of -Christianity the dominating bent of mind belongs to it. It <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> was paganism -which reigned in Elizabeth's court, not only in letters, but in -doctrine—a paganism of the North, always serious, generally sombre, but -which was based, like that of the South, on natural forces. In some men -all Christianity had passed away; many proceeded to atheism through -excess of rebellion and debauchery, like Marlowe and Greene. With -others, like Shakespeare, the idea of God scarcely makes its -appearance; they see in our poor short human life only a dream, and -beyond it the long sad sleep: for them, death is the goal of life; at -most, a dark gulf, into which man plunges, uncertain of the issue. If -they carry their gaze beyond, they perceive,<a name="NoteRef_379_1" id="NoteRef_379_1"></a><a href="#Note_379_1" class="fnanchor">[379]</a> not the spiritual soul -welcomed into a purer world, but the corpse abandoned to the damp earth, -or the ghost hovering about the churchyard. They speak like sceptics or -superstitious men, never as true believers. Their heroes have human, not -religious, virtues; against crime they rely on honor and the love of the -beautiful, not on piety and the fear of God. If others, at intervals, -like Sidney and Spenser, catch a glimpse of the Divine, it is as a vague -ideal light, a sublime Platonic phantom, which has no resemblance to a -personal God, a strict inquisitor of the slightest motions of the heart. -He appears at the summit of things, like the splendid crown of the -world, but He does not weigh upon human life; He leaves it intact and -free, only turning it towards the beautiful. Man does not know as yet -the sort of narrow prison in which official cant and respectable creeds -were, later on, to confine activity and intelligence. Even the -believers, sincere Christians like Bacon and Sir Thomas Browne, discard -all oppressive sternness, reduce Christianity to a sort of moral poetry, -and allow naturalism to subsist beneath religion. In such a broad and -open channel, speculation could spread its wings. With Lord Herbert -appeared a systematic deism; with Milton and Algernon Sidney, a -philosophical religion; Clarendon went so far as to compare Lord -Falkland's gardens to the groves of Academe. Against the rigorism of the -Puritans, Chillingworth, Hales, Hooker, the greatest doctors of the -English Church, give a large place to natural reason—so large, that -never, even to this day, has it made such an advance. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - -<p>An astonishing irruption of facts—the discovery of America, the revival -of antiquity, the restoration of philology, the invention of the arts, -the development of industries, the march of human curiosity over the -whole of the past and the whole of the globe—came to furnish -subject-matter, and prose began its reign. Sidney, Wilson, Ascham, and -Puttenham explored the rules of style; Hakluyt and Purchas compiled the -cyclopædia of travel and the description of every land; Holinshed, -Speed, Raleigh, Stowe, Knolles, Daniel, Thomas May, Lord Herbert, -founded history; Camden, Spelman, Cotton, Usher, and Selden inaugurate -scholarship; a legion of patient workers, of obscure collectors, of -literary pioneers, amassed, arranged, and sifted the documents which Sir -Robert Cotton and Sir Thomas Bodley stored up in their libraries; whilst -Utopians, moralists, painters of manners—Thomas More, Joseph Hall, John -Earle, Owen Feltham, Burton—described and passed judgment on the modes -of life, continued with Fuller, Sir Thomas Browne, and Izaak Walton up -to the middle of the next century, and add to the number of -controversialists and politicians who, with Hooker, Taylor, -Chillingworth, Algernon Sidney, Harrington, study religion, society, -church, and state. A copious and confused fermentation, from which -abundance of thoughts rose, but few notable books. Noble prose, such as -was heard at the court of Louis XIV, in the house of Pollio, in the -schools at Athens, such as rhetorical and sociable nations know how to -produce, was altogether lacking. These men had not the spirit of -analysis, the art of following step by step the natural order of ideas, -nor the spirit of conversation, the talent never to weary or shock -others. Their imagination is too little regulated, and their manners too -little polished. They who had mixed most in the world, even Sidney, -speak roughly what they think, and as they think it. Instead of glossing -they exaggerate. They blurt out all, and withhold nothing. When they do -not employ excessive compliments, they take to coarse jokes. They are -ignorant of measured liveliness, refined raillery, delicate flattery. -They rejoice in gross puns, dirty allusions. They mistake involved -charades and grotesque images for wit. Though they are great lords and -ladies, they talk like ill-bred persons, lovers of buffoonery, of shows, -and bear-fights. With some, as Overbury or Sir Thomas Browne, prose is -so much run over by poetry, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> that it covers its narrative with images, -and hides ideas under its pictures. They load their style with flowery -comparisons, which produce one another, and mount one above another, so -that sense disappears, and ornament only is visible. In short, they are -generally pedants, still stiff with the rust of the school; they divide -and subdivide, propound theses, definitions; they argue solidly and -heavily, and quote their authors in Latin, and even in Greek; they -square their massive periods, and learnedly knock their adversaries -down, and their readers too, as a natural consequence. They are never on -the prose-level, but always above or below—above by their poetic -genius, below by the weight of their education and the barbarism of -their manners. But they think seriously and for themselves; they are -deliberate; they are convinced and touched by what they say. Even in the -compiler we find a force and loyalty of spirit, which give confidence -and cause pleasure. Their writings are like the powerful and heavy -engravings of their contemporaries, the maps of Hofnagel for instance, -so harsh and so instructive; their conception is sharp and clear; they -have the gift of perceiving every object, not under a general aspect, -like the classical writers, but specially and individually. It is not -man in the abstract, the citizen as he is everywhere, the countryman as -such, that they represent, but James or Thomas, Smith or Brown, of such -a parish, from such an office, with such and such attitude or dress, -distinct from all others; in short, they see, not the idea, but the -individual. Imagine the disturbance that such a disposition produces in -a man's head, how the regular order of ideas becomes deranged by it; how -every object, with the infinite medley of its forms, properties, -appendages, will thenceforth fasten itself by a hundred points of -contact unforeseen to other objects, and bring before the mind a series -and a family; what boldness language will derive from it; what familiar, -picturesque, absurd words, will break forth in succession; how the dash, -the unforeseen, the originality and inequality of invention, will stand -out. Imagine, at the same time, what a hold this form of mind has on -objects, how many facts it condenses in each conception; what a mass of -personal judgments, foreign authorities, suppositions, guesses, -imaginations, it spreads over every subject; with what venturesome and -creative fecundity it engenders both truth and conjecture. It is an -extraordinary chaos of thoughts and forms, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> often abortive, still more -often barbarous, sometimes grand. But from this superfluity something -lasting and great is produced; namely, science, and we have only to -examine more closely into one or two of these works to see the new -creation emerge from the blocks and the debris.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Robert_Burton">SECTION III.—Robert Burton</a></h4> - - -<p>Two writers especially display this state of mind. The first, Robert -Burton, a clergyman and university recluse, who passed his life in -libraries, and dabbled in all the sciences, as learned as Rabelais, -having an inexhaustible and overflowing memory; unequal, moreover, -gifted with enthusiasm, and spasmodically gay, but as a rule sad and -morose, to the extent of confessing in his epitaph that melancholy made -up his life and his death; in the first place original, liking his own -common-sense, and one of the earliest models of that singular English -mood which, withdrawing man within himself, develops in him, at one time -imagination, at another scrupulosity, at another oddity, and makes of -him, according to circumstances, a poet, an eccentric, a humorist, a -madman, or a puritan. He read on for thirty years, put an encyclopædia -into his head, and now, to amuse and relieve himself, takes a folio of -blank paper. Twenty lines of a poet, a dozen lines of a treatise on -agriculture, a folio page of heraldry, a description of rare fishes, a -paragraph of a sermon on patience, the record of the fever fits of -hypochondria, the history of the particle that, a scrap of -metaphysics—that is what passes through his brain in a quarter of an -hour; it is a carnival of ideas and phrases, Greek, Latin, German, -French, Italian, philosophical, geometrical, medical, poetical, -astrological, musical, pedagogic, heaped one on the other; an enormous -medley, a prodigious mass of jumbled quotations, jostling thoughts, with -the vivacity and the transport of a feast of unreason.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"This roving humour (though not with like success) I have ever had, and, -like a ranging spaniel that barks at every bird he sees, leaving his -game, I have followed all, saving that which I should, and may justly -complain, and truly, <i>qui ubique est, nusquam est</i>, which Gesner did in -modesty, that I have read many books, but to little purpose, for want of -good method, I have confusedly tumbled over divers authors in our -libraries with small profit, for want of art, order, memory, judgment. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> I -never travelled but in map or card, in which my unconfined thoughts have -freely expatiated, as having ever been especially delighted with the -study of cosmography. Saturn was lord of my geniture, culminating, etc., -and Mars principal significator of manners, in partile conjunction with -mine ascendent; both fortunate in their houses, etc. I am not poor, I am -not rich; <i>nihil est, nihil deest</i>; I have little; I want nothing: all -my treasure is in Minerva's tower. Greater preferment as I could never -get, so am I not in debt for it. I have a competency (<i>laus Deo</i>) from -my noble and munificent patrons. Though I live still a collegiat -student, as Democritus in his garden, and lead a monastique life, <i>ipse -mihi theatrum</i>, sequestred from those tumults and troubles of the world, -<i>et tanquam in speculâ positus</i> (as he said), in some high place above -you all, like <i>Stoïcus sapiens, omnia sœcula prœterita prœsentiaque -videns, uno velut intuitu</i>, I hear and see what is done abroad, how -others run, ride, turmoil, and macerate themselves in court and -countrey. Far from these wrangling lawsuits, <i>aulœ vanitatem, fori -ambitionem, ridere mecum soleo</i>: I laugh at all, only secure, lest my -suit go amiss, my ships perish, corn and cattle miscarry, trade decay; I -have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for; a mere spectator -of other men's fortunes and adventures, and how they act their parts, -which methinks are diversely presented unto me, as from a common theatre -or scene. I hear new news every day: and those ordinary rumours of war, -plagues, fires, inundations, thefts, murders, massacres, meteors, -comets, spectrums, prodigies, apparitions; of towns taken, cities -besieged in France, Germany, Turkey, Persia, Poland, etc., daily musters -and preparations, and such like, which these tempestuous times afford, -battles fought, so many men slain, monomachies, shipwracks, piracies, -and sea-fights, peace, leagues, stratagems, and fresh alarms—a vast -confusion of vows, wishes, actions, edicts, petitions, lawsuits, pleas, -laws, proclamations, complaints, grievances—are daily brought to our -ears: new books every day, pamphlets, currantoes, stories, whole -catalogues of volumes of all sorts, new paradoxes, opinions, schisms, -heresies, controversies in philosophy, religion, etc. Now come tidings -of weddings, maskings, mummeries, entertainments, jubilies, embassies, -tilts and tournaments, trophies, triumphs, revels, sports, playes: then -again, as in a new shifted scene, treasons, cheating tricks, robberies, -enormous villanies in all kinds, funerals, burials, death of princes, -new discoveries, expeditions; now comical, then tragical matters. To-day -we hear of new lords and officers created, to-morrow of some great men -deposed, and then again of fresh honours conferred: one is let loose, -another imprisoned: one purchaseth, another breaketh: he thrives, his -neighbour turns bankrupt; now plenty, then again dearth and famine; one -runs, another rides, wrangles, laughs, weeps, etc. Thus I daily hear, -and such like, both private and publick news."<a name="NoteRef_380_1" id="NoteRef_380_1"></a><a href="#Note_380_1" class="fnanchor">[380]</a></p> - -<p>"For what a world of books offers itself, in all subjects, arts, and -sciences, to the sweet content and capacity of the reader? In -arithmetick, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> geometry, perspective, optick, astronomy, architecture, -<i>sculptura, pictura</i>, of which so many and such elaborate treatises are -of late written: in mechanicks and their mysteries, military matters, -navigation, riding of horses, fencing, swimming, gardening, planting, -great tomes of husbandry, cookery, faulconry, hunting, fishing, fowling, -etc., with exquisite pictures of all sports, games, and what not. In -musick, metaphysicks, natural and moral philosophy, philologie, in -policy, heraldry, genealogy, chronology, etc., they afford great tomes, -or those studies of antiquity, etc., <i>et quid subtilius arithmeticis -inventionibus? quia jucundius musicis rationibus? quid divinius -astronomicis? quid rectius geometricis demonstrationibus?</i> What so sure, -what so pleasant? He that shall but see the geometrical tower of -Garezenda at Bologne in Italy, the steeple and clock at Strasborough, -will admire the effects of art, or that engine of Archimedes to remove -the earth itself, if he had but a place to fasten his instrument. -<i>Archimedis cochlea</i>, and rare devises to corrivate waters, musick -instruments, and trisyllable echoes again, again, and again repeated, -with miriades of such. What vast tomes are extant in law, physick, and -divinity, for profit, pleasure, practice, speculation, in verse or -prose, etc.! Their names alone are the subject of whole volumes; we have -thousands of authors of all sorts, many great libraries, full well -furnished, like so many dishes of meat, served out for several palates, -and he is a very block that is affected with none of them. Some take an -infinite delight to study the very languages wherein these books are -written—Hebrew, Greek, Syriack, Chalde, Arabick, etc. Methinks it would -well please any man to look upon a geographical map (<i>suavi animum -delectatione allicere, ob incredibilem rerum varietatem et jucunditatem, -et ad pleniorem sui cognitionem excitare</i>), chorographical, -topographical delineations; to behold, as it were, all the remote -provinces, towns, cities of the world, and never to go forth of the -limits of his study; to measure, by the scale and compasse, their -extent, distance, examine their site. Charles the Great (as Platina -writes) had three faire silver tables, in one of which superficies was a -large map of Constantinople, in the second Rome neatly engraved, in the -third an exquisite description of the whole world; and much delight he -took in them. What greater pleasure can there now be, than to view those -elaborate maps of Ortelius, Mercator, Hondius, etc.? to peruse those -books of cities put out by Braunus and Hogenbergius? to read those -exquisite descriptions of Maginus, Munster, Herrera, Laet, Merula, -Boterus, Leander Albertus, Camden, Leo Afer, Adricomius, Nic. Gerbelius, -etc.? those famous expeditions of Christopher Columbus, Americus -Vespucius, Marcus Polus the Venetian, Lod. Vertomannus, Aloysius -Cadamustus, etc.? those accurate diaries of Portugals, Hollanders, of -Bartison, Oliver a Nort, etc., Hacluit's Voyages, Pet. Martyr's Decades, -Benzo, Lerius, Linschoten's relations, those Hodaeporicons of Jod. a -Meggen, Brocarde the Monke, Bredenbachius, Jo. Dublinius, Sands, etc., -to Jerusalem, Egypt, and other remote places of the world? those -pleasant itineraries of Paulus Hentzerus, Jodocus Sincerus, Dux Polonus, -etc.? to read Bellonius observations, P. Gillius his survayes; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> those -parts of America, set out, and curiously cut in pictures, by Fratres a -Bry? To see a well cut herbal, hearbs, trees, flowers, plants, all -vegetals, expressed in their proper colours to the life, as that of -Matthiolus upon Dioscorides, Delacampius, Lobel, Bauhinus, and that last -voluminous and mighty herbal of Besler of Noremberge; wherein almost -every plant is to his own bignesse. To see birds, beasts, and fishes of -the sea, spiders, gnats, serpents, flies, etc., all creatures set out by -the same art, and truly expressed in lively colours, with an exact -description of their natures, vertues, qualities, etc., as hath been -accurately performed by Ælian, Gesner, Ulysses Aldrovandus, Bellonius, -Rondoletius, Hippolytus Salvianus, etc."<a name="NoteRef_381_1" id="NoteRef_381_1"></a><a href="#Note_381_1" class="fnanchor">[381]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He is never-ending; words, phrases, overflow, are heaped up, overlap -each other, and flow on, carrying the reader along, deafened, stunned, -half drowned, unable to touch ground in the deluge. Burton is -inexhaustible. There are no ideas which he does not iterate under fifty -forms: when he has exhausted his own, he pours out upon us other -men's—the classics, the rarest authors, known only by savants—authors -rarer still, known only to the learned; he borrows from all. Underneath -these deep caverns of erudition and science, there is one blacker and -more unknown than all the others, filled with forgotten authors, with -crackjaw names, Besler of Nuremberg, Adricomius, Linschoten, Brocarde, -Bredenbachius. Amidst all these antediluvian monsters, bristling with -Latin terminations, he is at his ease; he sports with them, laughs, -skips from one to the other, drives them all abreast. He is like old -Proteus, the sturdy rover, who in one hour, with his team of -hippopotami, makes the circuit of the ocean.</p> - -<p>What subject does he take? Melancholy, his own individual mood; and he -takes it like a schoolman. None of St. Thomas Aquinas's treatises is -more regularly constructed than his. This torrent of erudition flows in -geometrically planned channels, turning off at right angles without -deviating by a line. At the head of every part you will find a -synoptical and analytical table, with hyphens, brackets, each division -begetting its subdivisions, each subdivision its sections, each section -its subsections: of the malady in general, of melancholy in particular, -of its nature, its seat, its varieties, causes, symptoms, prognosis; of -its cure by permissible means, by forbidden means, by dietetic means, by -pharmaceutical means. After the scholastic process, he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> descends from the -general to the particular, and disposes each emotion and idea in its -labelled case. In this framework, supplied by the Middle Ages, he heaps -up the whole, like a man of the Renaissance—the literary description of -passions and the medical description of madness, details of the hospital -with a satire on human follies, physiological treatises side by side -with personal confidences, the recipes of the apothecary with moral -counsels, remarks on love with the history of evacuations. The -discrimination of ideas has not yet been effected; doctor and poet, man -of letters and savant, he is all at once; for want of dams, ideas pour -like different liquids into the same vat, with strange spluttering and -bubbling, with an unsavory smell and odd effect. But the vat is full, -and from this admixture are produced potent compounds which no preceding -age has known.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Sir_Thomas_Browne">SECTION IV.—Sir Thomas Browne</a></h4> - - -<p>For in this mixture there is an effectual leaven, the poetic sentiment, -which stirs up and animates the vast erudition, which will not be -confined to dry catalogues; which, interpreting every fact, every -object, disentangles or divines a mysterious soul within it, and -agitates the whole mind of man, by representing to him the restless -world within and without him as a grand enigma. Let us conceive a -kindred mind to Shakespeare's, a scholar and an observer instead of an -actor and a poet, who in place of creating is occupied in comprehending, -but who, like Shakespeare, applies himself to living things, penetrates -their internal structure, puts himself in communication with their -actual laws, imprints in himself fervently and scrupulously the smallest -details of their outward appearance; who at the same time extends his -penetrating surmises beyond the region of observation, discerns behind -visible phenomena some world obscure yet sublime, and trembles with a -kind of veneration before the vast, indistinct, but peopled darkness on -whose surface our little universe hangs quivering. Such a one is Sir -Thomas Browne, a naturalist, a philosopher, a scholar, a physician, and -a moralist, almost the last of the generation which produced Jeremy -Taylor and Shakespeare. No thinker bears stronger witness to the -wandering and inventive curiosity of the age. No <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> writer has better -displayed the brilliant and sombre imagination of the North. No one has -spoken with a more eloquent emotion of death, the vast night of -forgetfulness, of the all-devouring pit, of human vanity, which tries to -create an ephemeral immortality out of glory or sculptured stones. No -one has revealed, in more glowing and original expressions, the poetic -sap which flows through all the minds of the age.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals -with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who -can but pity the founder of the pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt -the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it. Time hath spared -the epitaph of Adrian's horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we -compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad -have equal duration; and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamemnon. -Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more -remarkable persons forgot than any that stand remembered in the known -account of time? Without the favour of the everlasting register, the -first man had been as unknown as the last, and Methuselah's long life -had been his only chronicle.</p> - -<p>"Oblivion is not to be hired. The greater part must be content to be as -though they had not been, to be found in the register of God, not in the -record of man. Twenty-seven names make up the first story before the -flood, and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century. -The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. The night of -time far surpasseth the day, and who knows when was the equinox? Every -hour adds unto the current arithmetick which scarce stands one moment. -And since death must be the Lucina of life, and even Pagans could doubt, -whether thus to live were to die; since our longest sun sets at right -declensions, and makes but winter arches, and therefore it cannot be -long before we lie down in darkness, and have our light in ashes; since -the brother of death daily haunts us with dying mementos, and time, that -grows old in itself, bids us hope no long duration;—diuturnity is a -dream, and folly of expectation.</p> - -<p>"Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with -memory a great part even of our living beings; we slightly remember our -felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart -upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or -themselves. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions induce -callosities; miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, which -notwithstanding is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to -come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision of nature, -whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days; and our -delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows -are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions.... All was vanity, feeding -the wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath -spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> become merchandise, Mizraim -cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.... Man is a noble animal, -splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave, solemnizing nativities and -deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting ceremonies of bravery in the -infancy of his nature.... Pyramids, arches, obelisks, were but the -irregularities of vain glory, and wild enormities of ancient -magnanimity."<a name="NoteRef_382_382" id="NoteRef_382_382"></a><a href="#Note_382_382" class="fnanchor">[382]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>These are almost the words of a poet, and it is just this poet's -imagination which urges him onward into science.<a name="NoteRef_383_383" id="NoteRef_383_383"></a><a href="#Note_383_383" class="fnanchor">[383]</a> Face to face with -the productions of nature he abounds in conjectures, comparisons; he -gropes about, proposing explanations, making trials, extending his -guesses like so many flexible and vibrating feelers into the four -corners of the globe, into the most distant regions, of fancy and truth. -As he looks upon the tree-like and foliaceous crusts which are formed -upon the surface of freezing liquids, he asks himself if this be not a -regeneration of vegetable essences, dissolved in the liquid. At the -sight of curdling blood or milk, he inquires whether there be not -something analogous to the formation of the bird in the egg, or to the -coagulation of chaos which gave birth to our world. In presence of that -impalpable force which makes liquids freeze, he asks if apoplexy and -cataract are not the effects of a like power, and do not indicate also -the presence of a congealing agency. He is in presence of nature as an -artist, a man of letters in presence of a living countenance, marking -every feature, every movement of physiognomy, so as to be able to divine -the passions and the inner disposition, ceaselessly correcting and -undoing his interpretations, kept in agitation by thought of the -invisible forces which operate beneath the visible envelope. The whole -of the Middle Ages and of antiquity, with their theories and -imaginations, Platonism, Cabalism, Christian theology, Aristotle's -substantial forms, the specific forms of the alchemists—all human -speculations, entangled and transformed one with the other, meet -simultaneously in his brain, so as to open up to him vistas of this -unknown world. The accumulation, the pile, the confusion, the -fermentation and the inner swarming, mingled with vapors and flashes, -the tumultuous overloading of his imagination and his mind, oppress and -agitate him. In this expectation and emotion his curiosity takes hold of -everything; in reference <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> to the least fact, the most special, the most -obsolete, the most chimerical, he conceives a chain of complicated -investigations, calculating how the ark could contain all creatures, -with their provision of food; how Perpenna, at a banquet, arranged the -guests so as to strike Sertorius; what trees must have grown on the -banks of Acheron, supposing that there were any; whether quincunx -plantations had not their origin in Eden, and whether the numbers and -geometrical figures contained in the lozenge-form are not met with in -all the productions of nature and art. You may recognize here the -exuberance and the strange caprices of an inner development too ample -and too strong. Archæology, chemistry, history, nature, there is -nothing in which he is not passionately interested, which does not cause -his memory and his inventive powers to overflow, which does not summon -up within him the idea of some force, certainly admirable, possibly -infinite. But what completes his picture, what signalizes the advance of -science, is the fact that his imagination provides a counterbalance -against itself. He is as fertile in doubts as he is in explanations. If -he sees a thousand reasons which tend to one view, he sees also a -thousand which tend to the contrary. At the two extremities of the same -fact, he raises up to the clouds, but in equal piles, the scaffolding of -contradictory arguments. Having made a guess, he knows that it is but a -guess; he pauses, ends with a perhaps, recommends verification. His -writings consist only of opinions, given as such; even his principal -work is a refutation of popular errors. In the main, he proposes -questions, suggests explanations, suspends his judgments, nothing more; -but this is enough; when the search is so eager, when the paths in which -it proceeds are so numerous, when it is so scrupulous in securing its -hold, the issue of the pursuit is sure; we are but a few steps from the -truth.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Francis_Bacon">SECTION V.—Francis Bacon</a></h4> - - -<p>In this band of scholars, dreamers, and inquirers, appears the most -comprehensive, sensible, originative of the minds of the age, Francis -Bacon, a great and luminous intellect, one of the finest of this poetic -progeny, who, like his predecessors, was naturally disposed to clothe -his ideas in the most splendid dress: in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> this age, a thought did not -seem complete until it had assumed form and color. But what -distinguishes him from the others is, that with him an image only serves -to concentrate meditation. He reflected long, stamped on his mind all -the parts and relations of his subject; he is master of it, and then, -instead of exposing this complete idea in a graduated chain of -reasoning, he embodies it in a comparison so expressive, exact, lucid, -that behind the figure we perceive all the details of the idea, like -liquor in a fine crystal vase. Judge of his style by a single example:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"For as water, whether it be the dew of Heaven or the springs of the -earth, easily scatters and loses itself in the ground, except it be -collected into some receptacle, where it may by union and consort -comfort and sustain itself (and for that cause, the industry of man hath -devised aqueducts, cisterns, and pools, and likewise beautified them -with various ornaments of magnificence and state, as well as for use and -necessity); so this excellent liquor of knowledge, whether it descend -from divine inspiration or spring from human sense, would soon perish -and vanish into oblivion, if it were not preserved in books, traditions, -conferences, and especially in places appointed for such matters as -universities, colleges, and schools, where it may have both a fixed -habitation, and means and opportunity of increasing and collecting -itself."<a name="NoteRef_384_384" id="NoteRef_384_384"></a><a href="#Note_384_384" class="fnanchor">[384]</a></p> - -<p>"The greatest error of all the rest, is the mistaking or misplacing of -the last or farthest end of knowledge: for men have entered into a -desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes upon a natural curiosity and -inquisitive appetite; sometimes to entertain their minds with variety -and delight; sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to -enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most times for -lucre and profession; and seldom sincerely to give a true account of -their gift of reason, to the benefit and use of men: as if there were -sought in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a searching and restless -spirit; or a terrace, for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and -down with a fair prospect; or a tower of state, for a proud mind to -raise itself upon; or a fort or commanding ground, for strife and -contention; or a shop, for profit or sale; and not a rich storehouse, -for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of man's estate."<a name="NoteRef_385_1" id="NoteRef_385_1"></a><a href="#Note_385_1" class="fnanchor">[385]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This is his mode of thought, by symbols, not by analysis; instead of -explaining his idea, he transposes and translates it—translates it -entire, to the smallest details, enclosing all in the majesty of a grand -period, or in the brevity of a striking sentence. Thence springs a style -of admirable richness, gravity, and vigor, now solemn and symmetrical, -now concise and piercing, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> always elaborate, and full of color.<a name="NoteRef_386_1" id="NoteRef_386_1"></a><a href="#Note_386_1" class="fnanchor">[386]</a> -There is nothing in English prose superior to his diction.</p> - -<p>Thence is derived also his manner of conceiving things. He is not a -dialectician, like Hobbes or Descartes, apt in arranging ideas, in -educing one from another, in leading his reader from the simple to the -complex by an unbroken chain. He is a producer of conceptions and of -sentences. The matter being explored, he says to us: "Such it is; touch -it not on that side; it must be approached from the other." Nothing -more; no proof, no effort to convince: he affirms, and does nothing -more; he has thought in the manner of artists and poets, and he speaks -after the manner of prophets and seers. <i>Cogitata et visa</i> this title of -one of his books might be the title of all. The most admirable, the -"Novum Organum," is a string of aphorisms—a collection, as it were, of -scientific decrees, as of an oracle who foresees the future and reveals -the truth. And to make the resemblance complete, he expresses them by -poetical figures, by enigmatic abbreviations, almost in Sibylline -verses: <i>Idola specûs, Idola tribûs, Idola fori, Idola theatri</i>, -everyone will recall these strange names, by which he signifies the four -kinds of illusions to which man is subject.<a name="NoteRef_387_1" id="NoteRef_387_1"></a><a href="#Note_387_1" class="fnanchor">[387]</a> Shakespeare and the -seers do not contain more vigorous or expressive condensations of -thought, more resembling inspiration, and in Bacon they are to be found -everywhere. On the whole, his process is that of the creators; it is -intuition, not reasoning. When he has laid up his store of facts, the -greatest possible, on some vast subject, on some entire province of the -mind, on the whole anterior philosophy, on the general condition of the -sciences, on the power and limits of human reason, he casts over all -this a comprehensive view, as it were a great net, brings up a universal -idea, condenses his idea into a maxim, and hands it to us with the -words, "Verify and profit by it."</p> - -<p>There is nothing more hazardous, more like fantasy, than this mode of -thought, when it is not checked by natural and good strong sense. This -common-sense, which is a kind of natural divination, the stable -equilibrium of an intellect always gravitating to the true, like the -needle to the pole, Bacon possesses in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> the highest degree. He has a -pre-eminently practical, even an utilitarian mind, such as we meet with -later in Bentham, and such as their business habits were to impress more -and more upon the English. At the age of sixteen, while at the -university, he was dissatisfied with Aristotle's philosophy,<a name="NoteRef_388_1" id="NoteRef_388_1"></a><a href="#Note_388_1" class="fnanchor">[388]</a> not -that he thought meanly of the author, whom, on the contrary, he calls a -great genius; but because it seemed to him of no practical utility, -incapable of producing works which might promote the well-being of men. -We see that from the outset he struck upon his dominant idea; all else -comes to him from this; a contempt for antecedent philosophy, the -conception of a different system, the entire reformation of the sciences -by the indication of a new goal, the definition of a distinct method, -the opening up of unsuspected anticipations.<a name="NoteRef_389_1" id="NoteRef_389_1"></a><a href="#Note_389_1" class="fnanchor">[389]</a> It is never -speculation which he relishes, but the practical application of it. His -eyes are turned not to heaven, but to earth; not to things abstract and -vain, but to things palpable and solid; not to curious, but to -profitable truths. He seeks to better the condition of men, to labor for -the welfare of mankind, to enrich human life with new discoveries and -new resources, to equip mankind with new powers and new instruments of -action, His philosophy itself is but an instrument, <i>organum</i>, a sort of -machine or lever constructed to enable the intellect to raise a weight, -to break through obstacles, to open up vistas, to accomplish tasks, -which had hitherto surpassed its power. In his eyes, every special -science, like science in general, should be an implement. He invites -mathematicians to quit their pure geometry, to study numbers only with a -view to natural philosophy, to seek formulas only to calculate real -quantities and natural motions. He recommends moralists to study the -soul, the passions, habits, temptations, not merely in a speculative -way, but with a view to the cure or diminution of vice, and assigns to -the science of morals as its goal the amelioration of morals. For him, -the object of science is always the establishment of an art; that is, -the production of something of practical utility; when he wished to -describe the efficacious nature of his philosophy by a tale, he -delineated in the "New Atlantis," with a poet's boldness and the -precision of a seer, almost employing the very terms in use now, modern -applications, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> the present organization of the sciences, academies, -observatories, air-balloons, submarine vessels, the improvement of land, -the transmutation of species, regenerations, the discovery of remedies, -the preservation of food. The end of our foundation, says his principal -personage, is the knowledge of causes and secret motions of things, and -the enlarging of the bounds of human empire, to the effecting of all -things possible. And this "possible" is infinite.</p> - -<p>How did this grand and just conception originate? Doubtless common-sense -and genius, too, were necessary to its production; but neither -common-sense nor genius was lacking to men: there had been more than one -who, observing, like Bacon, the progress of particular industries, -could, like him, have conceived of universal industry, and from certain -limited ameliorations have advanced to unlimited amelioration. Here we -see the power of connection; men think they do everything by their -individual thought, and they can do nothing without the assistance of -the thoughts of their neighbors; they fancy that they are following the -small voice within them, but they only hear it because it is swelled by -the thousand buzzing and imperious voices, which, issuing from all -surrounding or distant circumstances, are confounded with it in an -harmonious vibration. Generally they hear it, as Bacon did, from the -first moment of reflection; but it had become inaudible among the -opposing sounds which came from without to smother it. Could this -confidence in the infinite enlargement of human power, this glorious -idea of the universal conquest of nature, this firm hope in the -continual increase of well-being and happiness, have germinated, grown, -occupied an intelligence entirely, and thence have struck its roots, -been propagated and spread over neighboring intelligences, in a time of -discouragement and decay, when men believed the end of the world at -hand, when things were falling into ruin about them, when Christian -mysticism, as in the first centuries, ecclesiastical tyranny, as in the -fourteenth century, were convincing them of their impotence, by -perverting their intellectual efforts and curtailing their liberty. On -the contrary, such hopes must then have seemed to be outbursts of pride, -or suggestions of the carnal mind. They did seem so; and the last -representatives of ancient science, and the first of the new, were -exiled or imprisoned, assassinated <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> or burned. In order to be developed -an idea must be in harmony with surrounding civilization; before man can -expect to attain the dominion over nature, or attempts to improve his -condition, amelioration must have begun on all sides, industries have -increased, knowledge have been accumulated, the arts expanded, a hundred -thousand irrefutable witnesses must have come incessantly to give proof -of his power and assurance of his progress. The "masculine birth of the -time" (<i>temporis partus masculus</i>) is the title which Bacon applies to -his work, and it is a true one. In fact, the whole age co-operated in -it; by this creation it was finished. The consciousness of human power -and prosperity gave to the Renaissance its first energy, its ideal, its -poetic materials, its distinguishing features; and now it furnishes it -with its final expression, its scientific doctrine, and its ultimate -object.</p> - -<p>We may add also, its method. For, the end of a journey once determined, -the route is laid down, since the end always determines the route; when -the point to be reached is changed, the path of approach is changed, and -science, varying its object, varies also its method. So long as it -limited its effort to the satisfying an idle curiosity, opening out -speculative vistas, establishing a sort of opera in speculative minds, -it could launch out any moment into metaphysical abstractions and -distinctions: it was enough for it to skim over experience; it soon -quitted it, and came all at once upon great words, quiddities, the -principle of individuation, final causes. Half proofs sufficed science; -at bottom it did not care to establish a truth, but to get an opinion; -and its instrument, the syllogism, was serviceable only for refutations, -not for discoveries; it took general laws for a starting-point instead -of a point of arrival; instead of going to find them, it fancied them -found. The syllogism was good in the schools, not in nature; it made -disputants, not discoverers. From the moment that science had art for an -end, and men studied in order to act, all was transformed; for we cannot -act without certain and precise knowledge. Forces, before they can be -employed, must be measured and verified; before we can build a house, we -must know exactly the resistance of the beams, or the house will -collapse; before we can cure a sick man, we must know with certainty the -effect of a remedy, or the patient will die. Practice makes certainty -and exactitude a necessity to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> science, because practice is impossible -when it has nothing to lean upon but guesses and approximations. How can -we eliminate guesses and approximations? How introduce into science, -solidity and precision? We must imitate the cases in which science, -issuing in practice, has proved to be precise and certain, and these -cases are the industries. We must, as in the industries, observe, essay, -grope about, verify, keep our mind fixed on sensible and particular -things, advance to general rules only step by step; not anticipate -experience, but follow it; not imagine nature, but interpret it. For -every general effect, such as heat, whiteness, hardness, liquidity, we -must seek a general condition, so that in producing the condition we may -produce the effect. And for this it is necessary, by fit rejections and -exclusions, to extract the condition sought from the heap of facts in -which it lies buried, construct the table of cases from which the effect -is absent, the table where it is present, the table where the effect is -shown in various degrees, so as to isolate and bring to light the -condition which produced it.<a name="NoteRef_390_1" id="NoteRef_390_1"></a><a href="#Note_390_1" class="fnanchor">[390]</a> Then we shall have, not useless -universal axioms, but efficacious mediate axioms, true laws from which -we can derive works, and which are the sources of power in the same -degree as the sources of light.<a name="NoteRef_391_1" id="NoteRef_391_1"></a><a href="#Note_391_1" class="fnanchor">[391]</a> Bacon described and predicted in -this modern science and industry, their correspondence, method, -resources, principle; and after more than two centuries it is still to -him that we go even at the present day to look for the theory of what we -are attempting and doing.</p> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration4"></a> -<img src="images/illustration4.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center">CHOICE EXAMPLES OF EARLY PRINTING AND ENGRAVING.<br /> -Fac-similes from Rare and Curious Books.</p> -<br /> -<p class="center"><i>THE NEW PSALTER OF THE VIRGIN MARY.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>The "Novum Beatæ Mariæ Virginis Psalterium" was printed by the -Cistercians monks of the monastery of Sienna, in the duchy of Magdeburg, -near Wittemberg, in 1492. The present illustration shows the page of -dedication, in which mention is made of the Emperor Frederick, whose -arms, the double-headed eagle, appears in the border. The book was -printed in the year before the emperor died. The border is an easy and -flowing design of roses, which are always considered an emblem of the -Virgin. The volume is a remarkable production, rare and much prized by -collectors.</p></blockquote></div> - - - - -<p>Beyond this great view, he has discovered nothing. Cowley, one of his -admirers, rightly said that, like Moses on Mount Pisgah, he was the -first to announce the promised land; but he might have added quite as -justly, that, like Moses, he did not enter there. He pointed out the -route, but did not travel it; he taught men how to discover natural -laws, but discovered none. His definition of heat is extremely -imperfect. His "Natural History" is full of fanciful explanations.<a name="NoteRef_392_1" id="NoteRef_392_1"></a><a href="#Note_392_1" class="fnanchor">[392]</a> -Like the poets, he peoples nature with instincts and desires; attributes -to bodies an actual voracity, to the atmosphere a thirst for light, -sounds, odors, vapors which it drinks in; to metals a sort of haste to -be incorporated with acids. He explains the duration of the bubbles <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> of -air which float on the surface of liquids, by supposing that air has a -very small or no appetite for height. He sees in every quality, weight, -ductility, hardness, a distinct essence which has its special cause; so -that when a man knows the cause of every quality of gold, he will be -able to put all these causes together, and make gold. In the main, with -the alchemists, Paracelsus and Gilbert, Kepler himself, with all the men -of his time, men of imagination, nourished on Aristotle, he represents -nature as a compound of secret and living energies, inexplicable and -primordial forces, distinct and indecomposable essences, adapted each by -the will of the Creator to produce a distinct effect. He almost saw -souls endowed with latent repugnances and occult inclinations, which -aspire to or resist certain directions, certain mixtures, and certain -localities. On this account also he confounds everything in his -researches in an undistinguishable mass, vegetative and medicinal -properties, mechanical and curative, physical and moral, without -considering the most complex as depending on the simplest, but each on -the contrary in itself, and taken apart, as an irreducible and -independent existence. Obstinate in this error, the thinkers of the age -mark time without advancing. They see clearly with Bacon the wide field -of discovery, but they cannot enter upon it. They want an idea, and for -want of this idea they do not advance. The disposition of mind which but -now was a lever, is become an obstacle: it must be changed, that the -obstacle may be got rid of. For ideas, I mean great and efficacious -ones, do not come at will nor by chance, by the effort of an individual, -or by a happy accident. Methods and philosophies, as well as literatures -and religions, arise from the spirit of the age; and this spirit of the -age makes them potent or powerless. One state of public intelligence -excludes a certain kind of literature; another, a certain scientific -conception. When it happens thus, writers and thinkers labor in vain, -the literature is abortive, the conception does not make its appearance. -In vain they turn one way and another, trying to remove the weight which -hinders them; something stronger than themselves paralyzes their hands -and frustrates their endeavors. The central pivot of the vast wheel on -which human affairs move must be displaced one notch, that all may move -with its motion. At this moment the pivot was moved, and thus a -revolution of the great wheel begins, bringing round a new <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> conception of -nature, and in consequence that part of the method which was lacking. To -the diviners, the creators, the comprehensive and impassioned minds who -seized objects in a lump and in masses, succeeded the discursive -thinkers, the systematic thinkers, the graduated and clear logicians, -who, disposing ideas in continuous series, lead the hearer gradually -from the simple to the most complex by easy and unbroken paths. -Descartes superseded Bacon; the classical age obliterated the -Renaissance; poetry and lofty imagination gave way before rhetoric, -eloquence, and analysis. In this transformation of mind, ideas were -transformed. Everything was drained dry and simplified. The universe, -like all else, was reduced to two or three notions; and the conception -of nature, which was poetical, became mechanical. Instead of souls, -living forces, repugnances, and attractions, we have pulleys, levers, -impelling forces. The world, which seemed a mass of instinctive powers, -is now like a mere machinery of cog-wheels. Beneath this adventurous -supposition lies a large and certain truth; that there is, namely, a -scale of facts, some at the summit very complex, others at the base very -simple; those above having their origin in those below, so that the -lower ones explain the higher; and that we must seek the primary laws of -things in the laws of motion. The search was made, and Galileo found -them. Thenceforth the work of the Renaissance, outstripping the extreme -point to which Bacon had pushed it, and at which he had left it, was -able to proceed onward by itself, and did so proceed, without limit. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_265_1" id="Note_265_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_265_1"><span class="label">[265]</span></a>See, at Bruges, the pictures of Hemling (fifteenth -century). No paintings enable us to understand so well the ecclesiastical -piety of the Middle Ages, which was altogether like that of the -Buddhists.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_266_1" id="Note_266_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_266_1"><span class="label">[266]</span></a>The first carriage was in 1564. It caused much -astonishment. Some said that it was "a great sea-shell brought -from China"; others, "that it was a temple in which cannibals -worshipped the devil."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_267_267" id="Note_267_267"></a><a href="#NoteRef_267_267"><span class="label">[267]</span></a>For a picture of this state of things, see Fenn's -"Paston Letters."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_268_268" id="Note_268_268"></a><a href="#NoteRef_268_268"><span class="label">[268]</span></a>Louis XI in France, Ferdinand and Isabella in Spain, -Henry VII in England. In Italy the feudal regime ended earlier, by -the establishment of republics and principalities.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_269_1" id="Note_269_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_269_1"><span class="label">[269]</span></a>1488, Act of Parliament on Enclosures.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_270_1" id="Note_270_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_270_1"><span class="label">[270]</span></a>A "Compendious Examination," 1581, by William -Strafford. Act of Parliament, 1541.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_271_1" id="Note_271_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_271_1"><span class="label">[271]</span></a>Between 1377 and 1588 the increase was from two and a -half to five millions.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_272_1" id="Note_272_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_272_1"><span class="label">[272]</span></a>In 1585; Ludovic Guicciardini.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_273_273" id="Note_273_273"></a><a href="#NoteRef_273_273"><span class="label">[273]</span></a>Henry VIII at the beginning of his reign had but one -ship of war. Elizabeth sent out one hundred and fifty against the -Armada. In 1553 was founded a company to trade with Russia. In 1578 -Drake circumnavigated the globe. In 1600 the East India Company was -founded.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_274_274" id="Note_274_274"></a><a href="#NoteRef_274_274"><span class="label">[274]</span></a>Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," 1817, I. V. -72 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_275_275" id="Note_275_275"></a><a href="#NoteRef_275_275"><span class="label">[275]</span></a>Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," I. V. 102.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_276_276" id="Note_276_276"></a><a href="#NoteRef_276_276"><span class="label">[276]</span></a>This was called the Tudor style. Under James I, in the -hands of Inigo Jones, it became entirely Italian, approaching the -antique.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_277_277" id="Note_277_277"></a><a href="#NoteRef_277_277"><span class="label">[277]</span></a>Burton, "Anatomy of Melancholy," 12th ed. 1821. -Stubbes, "Anatomie of Abuses," ed. Turnbull, 1836.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_278_278" id="Note_278_278"></a><a href="#NoteRef_278_278"><span class="label">[278]</span></a>Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," II. 6, 87.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_279_1" id="Note_279_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_279_1"><span class="label">[279]</span></a>Holinshed (1586), 1808, 6 vols. III. 763 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_280_1" id="Note_280_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_280_1"><span class="label">[280]</span></a>Ibid., Reign of Henry VII "Elizabeth and James -Progresses," by Nichols.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_281_1" id="Note_281_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_281_1"><span class="label">[281]</span></a>Laneham's Entertainment at Killingworth Castle, 1575. -Nichols's "Progresses," vol. I. London, 1788.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_282_282" id="Note_282_282"></a><a href="#NoteRef_282_282"><span class="label">[282]</span></a>Ben Jonson's works, ed. Gifford, 1816, 9 vols. "Masque -of Hymen," vol. VII. 76.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_283_1" id="Note_283_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_283_1"><span class="label">[283]</span></a>Certain private letters also describe the court of -Elizabeth as a place where there was little piety or practice of -religion, and where all enormities reigned in the highest degree.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_284_284" id="Note_284_284"></a><a href="#NoteRef_284_284"><span class="label">[284]</span></a>Nathan Drake, "Shakespeare and his Times," chap. -V. and VI.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_285_285" id="Note_285_285"></a><a href="#NoteRef_285_285"><span class="label">[285]</span></a>Stubbes, "Anatomie of Abuses," p. 168 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_286_1" id="Note_286_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_286_1"><span class="label">[286]</span></a>Hentzner's "Travels in England" (Bentley's -translation). He thought that the figure carried about in the -Harvest Home represented Ceres.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_287_287" id="Note_287_287"></a><a href="#NoteRef_287_287"><span class="label">[287]</span></a>Warton, vol. II. sec. 35. Before 1600 all the great -poets were translated into English, and between 1550 and 1616 all -the great historians of Greece and Rome. Lyly in 1500 first taught -Greek in public.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_288_288" id="Note_288_288"></a><a href="#NoteRef_288_288"><span class="label">[288]</span></a>Ascham, "The Scholemaster" (1570), ed. Arber, 1870, -first book, 78 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_289_1" id="Note_289_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_289_1"><span class="label">[289]</span></a>Ma il vero e principal ornemento dell' animo in -ciascuno penso io che siano le lettere, benche i Franchesi solamente -conoscano la nobilita dell'arme... et tutti i litterati tengon per -vilissimi huomini. Castiglione "Il Cortegiano," ed. 1585, p. 112.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_290_290" id="Note_290_290"></a><a href="#NoteRef_290_290"><span class="label">[290]</span></a>See Burchard (the Pope's Steward) account of the -festival at which Lucretia Borgia was present. Letters of Aretinus, -"Life of Cellini," etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_291_1" id="Note_291_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_291_1"><span class="label">[291]</span></a>See his sketches at Oxford, and those of Fra -Bartolomeo at Florence. See also the Martyrdom of St. Laurence, -by Baccio Bandinelli.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_292_292" id="Note_292_292"></a><a href="#NoteRef_292_292"><span class="label">[292]</span></a>Benvenuto Cellini, "Principles of the Art of Design."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_293_293" id="Note_293_293"></a><a href="#NoteRef_293_293"><span class="label">[293]</span></a>"Life of Cellini." Compare also these exercises which -Castiglione prescribes for a well-educated man, in his "Cortegiano," -ed. 1585, p. 55: "Peró voglio che il nostro cortegiano sia perfetto -cavaliere d'ogni sella.... Et perche degli Italiani è peculiar -laude il cavalcare bene alia brida, il maneggiar con raggione massimamente -cavalli aspri, il corre lance, il giostare, sia in questo de meglior -Italiani.... Nel torneare, teper un passo, combattere una sbarra, sia -buono tra il miglior francesi.... Nel giocare a canne, correr torri, -lanciar haste e dardi, sia tra Spagnuoli eccelente.... Conveniente -è ancor sapere saltare, e correre;... ancor nobile exercitio il gioco -di palla.... Non di minor laude estimo il voltegiar a cavallo."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_294_294" id="Note_294_294"></a><a href="#NoteRef_294_294"><span class="label">[294]</span></a>Puttenham, "The Arte of English Poesie," ed. Arber, -1869, book I. ch. 31, p. 74.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_295_1" id="Note_295_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_295_1"><span class="label">[295]</span></a>Surrey's "Poems," Pickering, 1831, p. 17.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_296_1" id="Note_296_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_296_1"><span class="label">[296]</span></a>Ibid. "The faithful lover declareth his pains and his -uncertain joys, and with only hope recomforteth his woful heart," p. 53.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_297_1" id="Note_297_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_297_1"><span class="label">[297]</span></a>Ibid. "Description of Spring, wherein everything -renews, save only the lover," p. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_298_1" id="Note_298_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_298_1"><span class="label">[298]</span></a>Ibid. p. 50.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_299_1" id="Note_299_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_299_1"><span class="label">[299]</span></a>Syrrey's "Poems. A description of the restless state -of the lover when absent from the mistress of his heart," p. 78</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_300_1" id="Note_300_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_300_1"><span class="label">[300]</span></a>In another piece, "Complaint on the Absence of her -Lover being upon the Sea," he speaks in direct terms of his wife, -almost as affectionately.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_301_301" id="Note_301_301"></a><a href="#NoteRef_301_301"><span class="label">[301]</span></a>Greene, Beaumont and Fletcher, Webster, Shakespeare, -Ford, Otway, Richardson, De Foe, Fielding, Dickens, Thackeray, etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_302_1" id="Note_302_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_302_1"><span class="label">[302]</span></a>"The Frailty and Hurtfulness of Beauty."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_303_1" id="Note_303_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_303_1"><span class="label">[303]</span></a>"Description of Spring. A Vow to Love Faithfully."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_304_1" id="Note_304_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_304_1"><span class="label">[304]</span></a>"Complaint of the Lover Disdarned."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_305_1" id="Note_305_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_305_1"><span class="label">[305]</span></a>Surrey, ed. Nott.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_306_1" id="Note_306_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_306_1"><span class="label">[306]</span></a>The Speaker's address to Charles II on his restoration. -Compare it with the speech of M. de Fontanes under the Empire. In each -case it was the close of a literary epoch. Read for illustration the -speech before the University of Oxford, "Athenæ Oxonienses," I. 193.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_307_1" id="Note_307_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_307_1"><span class="label">[307]</span></a>His second work, "Euphues and his England," appeared in -1581.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_308_308" id="Note_308_308"></a><a href="#NoteRef_308_308"><span class="label">[308]</span></a>See Shakespeare's young men, Mercutio especially.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_309_1" id="Note_309_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_309_1"><span class="label">[309]</span></a>"The Maid her Metamorphosis."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_310_1" id="Note_310_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_310_1"><span class="label">[310]</span></a>Two French novels of the age of Louis XIV, each in -ten volumes, and written by Mademoiselle de Scudéry.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_311_311" id="Note_311_311"></a><a href="#NoteRef_311_311"><span class="label">[311]</span></a>Celadon, a rustic lover in "Astrée," a French novel -in five volumes, named after the heroine, and written by d'Urfé -(d. 1625).—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_312_1" id="Note_312_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_312_1"><span class="label">[312]</span></a>"Arcadia," ed. fol. 1629, p. 117.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_313_1" id="Note_313_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_313_1"><span class="label">[313]</span></a>"Arcadia," ed. fol. 1629, p. 114.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_314_1" id="Note_314_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_314_1"><span class="label">[314]</span></a>"The Defence of Poesie," ed. fol. 1629, p. 558: "I -dare undertake, that Orlando Furioso, or honest King Arthur, will -never displease a soldier: but the quidditie of Ens and prima materia, -will hardly agree with a Corselet." See also, in the same book, the -very lively and spirited personification of History and Philosophy, -full of genuine talent.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_315_1" id="Note_315_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_315_1"><span class="label">[315]</span></a>"The Defence of Poesie," ed. fol. 1629, p. 553.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_316_1" id="Note_316_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_316_1"><span class="label">[316]</span></a>Ibid. p. 550.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_317_1" id="Note_317_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_317_1"><span class="label">[317]</span></a>Ibid. p. 552.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_318_1" id="Note_318_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_318_1"><span class="label">[318]</span></a>Ibid. p. 560. Here and there we find also verse as -spirited as this:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Or Pindar's Apes, flaunt they in</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">phrases fine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enam'ling with pied flowers their</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">thoughts of gold."—p. 568.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_319_1" id="Note_319_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_319_1"><span class="label">[319]</span></a>"Astrophel and Stella," ed. fol. 1629, 101st sonnet, -p. 613.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_320_1" id="Note_320_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_320_1"><span class="label">[320]</span></a>Ibid. 8th song, p. 603.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_321_1" id="Note_321_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_321_1"><span class="label">[321]</span></a>"Astrophel and Stella" (1629), 8th song, 604.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_322_1" id="Note_322_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_322_1"><span class="label">[322]</span></a>Ibid. 10th song, p. 610.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_323_1" id="Note_323_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_323_1"><span class="label">[323]</span></a>Ibid, sonnet 69, p. 555.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_324_1" id="Note_324_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_324_1"><span class="label">[324]</span></a>"Astrophel and Stella" (1629), sonnet 102, p. 614.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_325_325" id="Note_325_325"></a><a href="#NoteRef_325_325"><span class="label">[325]</span></a>Ibid. p. 525: this sonnet is headed E. D. Wood, in -his "Athen. Oxon." i., says it was written by Sir Edward Dyer, -Chancellor of the Most noble Order of the Garter.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_326_1" id="Note_326_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_326_1"><span class="label">[326]</span></a>Ibid, sonnet 43, p. 545.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_327_1" id="Note_327_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_327_1"><span class="label">[327]</span></a>"Astrophel and Stella" (1629), sonnet 18, p. 573.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_328_1" id="Note_328_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_328_1"><span class="label">[328]</span></a>Ibid, last sonnet, p. 539.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_329_329" id="Note_329_329"></a><a href="#NoteRef_329_329"><span class="label">[329]</span></a>Nathan Drake, "Shakspeare and his Times," I. Part 2, -ch. 2, 3, 4. Among these 233 poets the authors of isolated pieces are -not reckoned, but only those who published or collected their works.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_330_330" id="Note_330_330"></a><a href="#NoteRef_330_330"><span class="label">[330]</span></a>Drayton's "Polyolbion," ed. 1622, 13th song, p. 214.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_331_331" id="Note_331_331"></a><a href="#NoteRef_331_331"><span class="label">[331]</span></a>Shakespeare's "Tempest," act IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_332_1" id="Note_332_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_332_1"><span class="label">[332]</span></a>Ibid, act IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_333_333" id="Note_333_333"></a><a href="#NoteRef_333_333"><span class="label">[333]</span></a>Greene's Poems, ed. Bell, "Eurymachus in Laudem -Mirimidæ," p. 73.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_334_1" id="Note_334_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_334_1"><span class="label">[334]</span></a>Ibid. Melicertus's description of his Mistress, p. 38.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_335_1" id="Note_335_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_335_1"><span class="label">[335]</span></a>Spenser's Works, ed. Todd, 1863, "The Faërie Queene," -I. c. II, st. 51.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_336_1" id="Note_336_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_336_1"><span class="label">[336]</span></a>Ben Jonson's Poems, ed. R. Bell. Celebration of Charis; -her Triumph, p. 125.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_337_1" id="Note_337_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_337_1"><span class="label">[337]</span></a>"Cupid's Pastime," unknown author, ab. 1621.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_338_1" id="Note_338_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_338_1"><span class="label">[338]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_339_1" id="Note_339_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_339_1"><span class="label">[339]</span></a>"Rosalind's Madrigal."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_340_340" id="Note_340_340"></a><a href="#NoteRef_340_340"><span class="label">[340]</span></a>Greene's Poems, ed. R. Bell, Menaphon's Eclogue, p. 41.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_341_1" id="Note_341_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_341_1"><span class="label">[341]</span></a>Ibid., Melicertus's Eclogue, p. 43.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_342_1" id="Note_342_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_342_1"><span class="label">[342]</span></a>"As you Like It."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_343_1" id="Note_343_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_343_1"><span class="label">[343]</span></a>"The Sad Shepherd." See also Beaumont and Fletcher, -"The Faithful Shepherdess."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_344_344" id="Note_344_344"></a><a href="#NoteRef_344_344"><span class="label">[344]</span></a>This poem was, and still is, frequently attributed -to Shakespeare. It appears as his in Knight's edition, published a -few years ago. Izaak Walton, however, writing about fifty years after -Marlowe's death, attributes it to him. In Palgrave's "Golden Treasury," -it is also ascribed to the same author. As a confirmation, let us state -that Ithamore, in Marlowe's "Jew of Malta," says to the courtesan -(Act IV. Sc. 4):<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thou in those groves, by Dis above,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shalt live with me, and be my love."—Tr.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_345_345" id="Note_345_345"></a><a href="#NoteRef_345_345"><span class="label">[345]</span></a>Chalmers's "English Poets"; William Warner, "Fourth Book -of Albion's England," ch. XX. p. 551.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_346_346" id="Note_346_346"></a><a href="#NoteRef_346_346"><span class="label">[346]</span></a>Chalmers's "English Poets," M. Drayton's "Fourth -Eclogue," IV. p. 436.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_347_347" id="Note_347_347"></a><a href="#NoteRef_347_347"><span class="label">[347]</span></a>M. Jourdain is the hero of Molière's comedy, "Le -Bourgeois Gentilhomme," the type of a vulgar and successful upstart; -Mamamouchi is a mock title.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_348_348" id="Note_348_348"></a><a href="#NoteRef_348_348"><span class="label">[348]</span></a>Lulli, a celebrated Italian composer of the time -of Molière.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_349_1" id="Note_349_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_349_1"><span class="label">[349]</span></a>It is very doubtful whether Spenser was so poor as -he is generally believed to have been.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_350_1" id="Note_350_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_350_1"><span class="label">[350]</span></a>"He died for want of bread, in King Street." Ben -Jonson, quoted by Drummond.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_351_1" id="Note_351_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_351_1"><span class="label">[351]</span></a>"Hymns of Love and Beauty"; Of Heavenly Love and Beauty.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_352_1" id="Note_352_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_352_1"><span class="label">[352]</span></a>"A Hymne in Honour of Beautie," lines 92-105.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_353_1" id="Note_353_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_353_1"><span class="label">[353]</span></a>"A Hymne in Honour of Love," lines 176-182.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_354_1" id="Note_354_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_354_1"><span class="label">[354]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," I. c. 8, stanzas 22, 23.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_355_1" id="Note_355_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_355_1"><span class="label">[355]</span></a>"The Shepherd's Calendar, Amoretti, Sonnets, -Prothalamion, Epithalamion, Muiopotmos, Vergil's Gnat, The Ruines -of Time, The Teares of the Muses," etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_356_1" id="Note_356_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_356_1"><span class="label">[356]</span></a>Published in 1580: dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_357_1" id="Note_357_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_357_1"><span class="label">[357]</span></a>"Prothalamion," lines 19-54.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_358_1" id="Note_358_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_358_1"><span class="label">[358]</span></a>"Astrophel and Stella," lines 181-192.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_359_1" id="Note_359_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_359_1"><span class="label">[359]</span></a>Words attributed to him by Lodowick Bryskett, -"Discourse of Civil Life," ed. 1606, p. 26.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_360_360" id="Note_360_360"></a><a href="#NoteRef_360_360"><span class="label">[360]</span></a>Ariosto, 1474-1533. Tasso, 1544-1595. Cervantes, -1547-1616. Rabelais, 1483-1553.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_361_1" id="Note_361_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_361_1"><span class="label">[361]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," II. c. 3, stanzas 22-30.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_362_1" id="Note_362_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_362_1"><span class="label">[362]</span></a>Ibid. III. c. 5, stanza 51.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_363_1" id="Note_363_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_363_1"><span class="label">[363]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," III. c. 6, stanzas 6 and 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_364_1" id="Note_364_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_364_1"><span class="label">[364]</span></a>Ibid, stanzas 17 and 18.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_365_1" id="Note_365_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_365_1"><span class="label">[365]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," IV. c. 1, stanza 13.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_366_366" id="Note_366_366"></a><a href="#NoteRef_366_366"><span class="label">[366]</span></a>Clorinda, the heroine of the infidel army in Tasso's -epic poem, "Jerusalem Delivered"; Marfisa, an Indian Queen, who figures -in Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso," and also, in Boyardo's "Orlando -Innamorato."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_367_1" id="Note_367_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_367_1"><span class="label">[367]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," III. c. 4, stanza 33.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_368_1" id="Note_368_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_368_1"><span class="label">[368]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," II. c. 7, stanzas 28-46.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_369_1" id="Note_369_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_369_1"><span class="label">[369]</span></a>"The Faërie Queene," II. c. 12, stanzas 53-78.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_370_1" id="Note_370_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_370_1"><span class="label">[370]</span></a>"Nugæ Antiquæ," I. 349 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_371_371" id="Note_371_371"></a><a href="#NoteRef_371_371"><span class="label">[371]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Some asked me where the Rubies grew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing I did say;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But with my finger pointed to</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lips of Julia.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then spake I to my girle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To part her lips, and shew me there</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The quarelets of Pearl.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One ask'd me where the roses grew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I bade him not go seek;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But forthwith bade my Julia show</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bud in either cheek."</span><br /> -—Herrick's "Hesperides," ed. Walford, 1859; The Rock of Rubies, p. 32.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"About the sweet bag of a bee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Cupids fell at odds;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whose the pretty prize shu'd be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They vow'd to ask the Gods.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which Venus hearing, thither came,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for their boldness stript them;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And taking thence from each his flame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With rods of mirtle whipt them.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which done, to still their wanton cries,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When quiet grown sh'ad seen them.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She kist and wip'd their dove-like eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gave the bag between them."</span><br /> -—Herrick, Ibid. The Bag of the Bee, p. 42.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why so pale and wan, fond lover?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pr'ythee, why so pale?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will, when looking well can't move her,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looking ill prevail?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pr'ythee, why so pale?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why so dull and mute, young sinner?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pr'ythee, why so mute?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will, when speaking well can't win her,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saying nothing do't?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pr'ythee, why so mute?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This cannot take her;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If of herself she will not love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing can make her.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The devil take her!"</span><br /> -—Sir John Suckling's Works, ed. A. Suckling, 1836, p. 70.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"As when a lady, walking Flora's bower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Picks here a pink, and there a gilly-flower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now plucks a violet from her purple bed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There nips the brier, here the lover's pansy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This on her arms, and that she lists to wear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the borders of her curious hair;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At length a rose-bud (passing all the rest)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She plucks, and bosoms in her lily breast."—Quarles, Stanzas.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_372_372" id="Note_372_372"></a><a href="#NoteRef_372_372"><span class="label">[372]</span></a>See, in particular, his satire against courtiers. The -following is against imitators:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"But he is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Others wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rankly digested, doth those things out-spew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As his owne things; and they 're his owne, 't is true,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meat was mine, th' excrement is his owne."</span><br /> -—Donne's "Satires," 1639. Satire II. p. 128.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_373_373" id="Note_373_373"></a><a href="#NoteRef_373_373"><span class="label">[373]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"When I behold a stream, which from the spring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or in a speechless slumber calmly ride</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her wedded channel's bosom, ana there chide</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bend her brows, and swell, if any bough</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Does but stoop down to kiss her utmost brow;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet if her often gnawing kisses win</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The traiterous banks to gape and let her in,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She rusheth violently and doth divorce</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her from her native and her long-kept course,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And roares, and braves it, and in gallant scorn</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In flatt'ring eddies promising return,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She flouts her channel, which thenceforth is dry.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then say I: That is she, and this am I."—Donne, Elegy VI.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_374_374" id="Note_374_374"></a><a href="#NoteRef_374_374"><span class="label">[374]</span></a>Donne's Poems, 1639, "A Feaver," p. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_375_1" id="Note_375_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_375_1"><span class="label">[375]</span></a>Ibid. "The Flea," p. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_376_1" id="Note_376_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_376_1"><span class="label">[376]</span></a>A valet in Molière's "Les Précieuses Ridicules," who -apes and exaggerates his master's manners and style, and pretends to -be a marquess. He also appears in "L'Etourdi" and "Le dépit Amoureux," -by the same author.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_377_1" id="Note_377_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_377_1"><span class="label">[377]</span></a>1608-1667. I refer to the eleventh edition, of 1710.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_378_1" id="Note_378_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_378_1"><span class="label">[378]</span></a> "The Spring" ("The Mistress," I. 72).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_379_1" id="Note_379_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_379_1"><span class="label">[379]</span></a>See in Shakespeare, "The Tempest, Measure for -Measure, Hamlet"; in Beaumont and Fletcher, "Thierry and Theodoret," -Act IV; Webster, passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_380_1" id="Note_380_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_380_1"><span class="label">[380]</span></a>"Anatomy of Melancholy," 12th ed. 1821, 2 vols; Democritus -to the Reader, I. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_381_1" id="Note_381_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_381_1"><span class="label">[381]</span></a>"Anatomy of Melancholy," I. part 2, sec. 2, Mem. 4, -p. 420 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_382_382" id="Note_382_382"></a><a href="#NoteRef_382_382"><span class="label">[382]</span></a>"The Works of Sir Thomas Browne," ed. Wilkin, 1852, 3 -vols. "Hydriotaphia," III. ch. V. 14 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_383_383" id="Note_383_383"></a><a href="#NoteRef_383_383"><span class="label">[383]</span></a>See Milsand, Étude sur Sir Thomas Browne, in the "Revue -des Deux Mondes," 1858.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_384_384" id="Note_384_384"></a><a href="#NoteRef_384_384"><span class="label">[384]</span></a>Bacon's Works. Translation of the "De Augmentis -Scientiarum," Book II; To the King.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_385_1" id="Note_385_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_385_1"><span class="label">[385]</span></a>Ibid. Book I. The true end of learning mistaken.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_386_1" id="Note_386_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_386_1"><span class="label">[386]</span></a>Especially in the Essays.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_387_1" id="Note_387_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_387_1"><span class="label">[387]</span></a>See also "Novum Organum," Books I and II; the -twenty-seven kinds of examples, with their metaphorical names: -Instantiæ crucis, divortii januæ, Instantiæ innuentes, polychrestæ, -magicæ, etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_388_1" id="Note_388_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_388_1"><span class="label">[388]</span></a>"The Works of Francis Bacon," London, 1824, vol. VII. -p. 2. "Latin Biography," by Rawley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_389_1" id="Note_389_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_389_1"><span class="label">[389]</span></a>This point is brought out by the review of Lord Macaulay. -"Critical and Historical Essays," vol. III.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_390_1" id="Note_390_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_390_1"><span class="label">[390]</span></a>"Novum Organum," II. 15 and 16.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_391_1" id="Note_391_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_391_1"><span class="label">[391]</span></a>Ibid. I. I. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_392_1" id="Note_392_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_392_1"><span class="label">[392]</span></a>"Natural History," 800, 24, etc. "De Augmentis," III. 1.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_SECOND_II">CHAPTER SECOND</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_Theatre">The Theatre</a></h4> - - -<p>We must look at this world more closely, and beneath the ideas which are -developed seek for the living men; it is the theatre especially which is -the original product of the English Renaissance, and it is the theatre -especially which will exhibit the men of the English Renaissance. Forty -poets, amongst them ten of superior rank, as well as one, the greatest -of all artists who have represented the soul in words; many hundreds of -pieces, and nearly fifty masterpieces; the drama extended over all the -provinces of history, imagination, and fancy—expanded so as to embrace -comedy, tragedy, pastoral and fanciful literature—to represent all -degrees of human condition, and all the caprices of human invention—to -express all the perceptible details of actual truth, and all the -philosophic grandeur of general reflection; the stage disencumbered of -all precept and freed from all imitation, given up and appropriated in -the minutest particulars to the reigning taste and public intelligence; -all this was a vast and manifold work, capable by its flexibility, its -greatness, and its form, of receiving and preserving the exact imprint -of the age and of the nation.<a name="NoteRef_393_1" id="NoteRef_393_1"></a><a href="#Note_393_1" class="fnanchor">[393]</a></p> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Public_and_the_Stage">SECTION I.—The Public and the Stage</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us try, then, to set before our eyes this public, this audience, and -this stage—all connected with one another, as in every natural and -living work; and if ever there was a living and natural work, it is -here. There were already seven theatres in London, in Shakespeare's -time, so brisk and universal was the taste for dramatic representations. -Great and rude contrivances, awkward in their construction, barbarous in -their appointments; but a fervid imagination readily supplied all that -they <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> lacked, and hardy bodies endured all inconveniences without -difficulty. On a dirty site, on the banks of the Thames, rose the -principal theatre, the Globe, a sort of hexagonal tower, surrounded by a -muddy ditch, on which was hoisted a red flag. The common people could -enter as well as the rich: there were sixpenny, twopenny, even penny -seats; but they could not see it without money. If it rained, and it -often rains in London, the people in the pit, butchers, mercers, bakers, -sailors, apprentices, receive the streaming rain upon their heads. I -suppose they did not trouble themselves about it; it was not so long -since they began to pave the streets of London; and when men, like -these, have had experience of sewers and puddles, they are not afraid of -catching cold. While waiting for the piece, they amuse themselves after -their fashion, drink beer, crack nuts, eat fruit, howl, and now and then -resort to their lists; they have been known to fall upon the actors, and -turn the theatre upside down. At other times they were dissatisfied and -went to the tavern to give the poet a hiding, or toss him in a blanket; -they were coarse fellows, and there was no month when the cry of "Clubs" -did not call them out of their shops to exercise their brawny arms. When -the beer took effect, there was a great upturned barrel in the pit, a -peculiar receptacle for general use. The smell rises, and then comes the -cry, "Burn the juniper!" They burn some in a plate on the stage, and the -heavy smoke fills the air. Certainly the folk there assembled could -scarcely get disgusted at anything, and cannot have had sensitive noses. -In the time of Rabelais there was not much cleanliness to speak of. -Remember that they were hardly out of the Middle Ages and that in the -Middle Ages man lived on a dunghill.</p> - -<p>Above them, on the stage, were the spectators able to pay a shilling, -the elegant people, the gentlefolk. These were sheltered from the rain, -and if they chose to pay an extra shilling, could have a stool. To this -were reduced the prerogatives of rank and the devices of comfort: it -often happened that there were not stools enough; then they lie down on -the ground: this was not a time to be dainty. They play cards, smoke, -insult the pit, who gave it them back without stinting, and throw apples -at them into the bargain. They also gesticulate, swear in Italian, -French, English;<a name="NoteRef_394_394" id="NoteRef_394_394"></a><a href="#Note_394_394" class="fnanchor">[394]</a> crack aloud jokes in dainty, composite, high-colored <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> -words: in short, they have the energetic, original, gay manners of -artists, the same humor, the same absence of constraint, and, to -complete the resemblance, the same desire to make themselves singular, -the same imaginative cravings, the same absurd and picturesque devices, -beards cut to a point, into the shape of a fan, a spade, the letter T, -gaudy and expensive dresses, copied from five or six neighboring -nations, embroidered, laced with gold, motley, continually heightened in -effect or changed for others: there was, as it were, a carnival in their -brains as well as on their backs.</p> - -<p>With such spectators illusions could be produced without much trouble: -there were no preparations or perspectives; few or no movable scenes: -their imaginations took all this upon them. A scroll in big letters -announced to the public that they were in London or Constantinople; and -that was enough to carry the public to the desired place. There was no -trouble about probability. Sir Philip Sidney writes:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"You shall have Asia of the one side, and Africke of the other, and so -many other under-kingdomes, that the Plaier when hee comes in, must ever -begin with telling where hee is, or else the tale will not be conceived. -Now shall you have three Ladies walke to gather flowers, and then wee -must beleeve the stage to be a garden. By and by wee heare newes of -shipwracke in the same place, then wee are to blame if we accept it not -for a rocke;... while in the meane time two armies flie in, represented -with foure swordes and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not -receive it for a pitched field? Now of time they are much more liberall. -For ordinary it is, that two young Princes fall in love, after many -traverses, shee is got with childe, delivered of a faire boy, hee is -lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and is readie to get another -childe; and all this in two hours space."<a name="NoteRef_395_1" id="NoteRef_395_1"></a><a href="#Note_395_1" class="fnanchor">[395]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Doubtless these enormities were somewhat reduced under Shakespeare; with -a few hangings, crude representations of animals, towers, forests, they -assisted somewhat the public imagination. But after all, in -Shakespeare's plays, as in all others, the imagination from within is -chiefly drawn upon for the machinery; it must lend itself to all, -substitute all, accept for a queen a young man who has just been shaved, -endure in one act ten changes of place, leap suddenly over twenty years -or five hundred miles,<a name="NoteRef_396_1" id="NoteRef_396_1"></a><a href="#Note_396_1" class="fnanchor">[396]</a> take half a dozen supernumeraries for forty <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> -thousand men, and to have represented by the rolling of the drums all -the battles of Caesar, Henry V, Coriolanus, Richard III. And -imagination, being so overflowing and so young, accepts all this. Recall -your own youth; for my part, the deepest emotions I have ever felt at a -theatre were given to me by a strolling bevy of four young girls, -playing comedy and tragedy on a stage in a coffee-house; true, I was -eleven years old. So in this theatre, at this moment, their souls were -fresh, as ready to feel everything as the poet was to dare everything.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Manners_of_the_Sixteenth_Century">SECTION II.—Manners of the Sixteenth Century</a></h4> - - -<p>These are but externals; let us try to advance further, to observe the -passions, the bent of mind, the inner man: it is this inner state which -raised and modelled the drama, as everything else; invisible -inclinations are everywhere the cause of visible works, and the interior -shapes the exterior. What are these townspeople, courtiers, this public, -whose taste fashions the theatre? what is there peculiar in the -structure and condition of their minds? The condition must needs be -peculiar; for the drama flourishes all of a sudden, and for sixty years -together, with marvellous luxuriance, and at the end of this time is -arrested so that no effort could ever revive it. The structure must be -peculiar; for of all theatres, old and new, this is distinct in form, -and displays a style, action, characters, an idea of life, which are not -found in any age or any country beside. This particular feature is the -free and complete expansion of nature.</p> - -<p>What we call nature in men is, man such as he was before culture and -civilization had deformed and reformed him. Almost always, when a new -generation arrives at manhood and consciousness, it finds a code of -precepts impose on it with all the weight and authority of antiquity. A -hundred kinds of chains, a hundred thousand kinds of ties, religion, -morality, good breeding, every legislation which regulates sentiments, -morals, manners, fetter and tame the creature of impulse and passion -which breathes and frets within each of us. There is nothing like that -here. It is a regeneration, and the curb of the past is wanting to the -present. Catholicism, reduced to external ceremony and clerical -chicanery, had just ended; Protestantism, arrested in its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> first gropings -after truth, or straying into sects, had not yet gained the mastery; the -religion of discipline was grown feeble, and the religion of morals was -not yet established; men ceased to listen to the directions of the -clergy, and has not yet spelled out the law of conscience. The church -was turned into an assembly-room, as in Italy; the young fellows came to -St. Paul's to walk, laugh, chatter, display their new cloaks; the thing -had even passed into a custom. They paid for the noise they made with -their spurs, and this tax was a source of income to the canons;<a name="NoteRef_397_1" id="NoteRef_397_1"></a><a href="#Note_397_1" class="fnanchor">[397]</a> -pickpockets, loose girls, came there by crowds; these latter struck -their bargains while service was going on. Imagine, in short, that the -scruples of conscience and the severity of the Puritans were at that -time odious and ridiculed on the stage, and judge of the difference -between this sensual, unbridled England, and the correct, disciplined, -stiff England of our own time. Ecclesiastical or secular, we find no -signs of rule. In the failure of faith, reason had not gained sway, and -opinion is as void of authority as tradition. The imbecile age, which -has just ended, continues buried in scorn, with its ravings, its -verse-makers, and its pedantic text-books; and out of the liberal -opinions derived from antiquity, from Italy, France, and Spain, everyone -could pick and choose as it pleased him, without stooping to restraint -or acknowledging a superiority. There was no model imposed on them, as -nowadays; instead of affecting imitation, they affected -originality.<a name="NoteRef_398_398" id="NoteRef_398_398"></a><a href="#Note_398_398" class="fnanchor">[398]</a> Each strove to be himself, with his own oaths, -peculiar ways, costumes, his specialties of conduct and humor, and to be -unlike everyone else. They said not, "So and so is done," but "I do so -and so." Instead of restraining, they gave free vent to themselves. -There was no etiquette of society; save for an exaggerated jargon of -chivalresque courtesy, they are masters of speech and action on the -impulse of the moment. You will find them free from decorum, as of all -else. In <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> this outbreak and absence of fetters, they resemble fine strong -horses let loose in the meadow. Their inborn instincts have not been -tamed, nor muzzled, nor diminished.</p> - -<p>On the contrary, they have been preserved intact by bodily and military -training; and escaping as they were from barbarism, not from -civilization, they had not been acted upon by the innate softening and -hereditary tempering which are new transmitted with the blood, and -civilize a man from the moment of his birth. This is why man, who for -three centuries has been a domestic animal, was still almost a savage -beast, and the force of his muscles and the strength of his nerves -increased the boldness and energy of his passions. Look at these -uncultivated men, men of the people, how suddenly the blood warms and -rises to their face; their fists double, their lips press together, and -those vigorous bodies rush at once into action. The courtiers of that -age were like our men of the people. They had the same taste for the -exercise of their limbs, the same indifference toward the inclemencies -of the weather, the same coarseness of language, the same undisguised -sensuality. They were carmen in body and gentlemen in sentiment, with -the dress of actors and the tastes of artists. "At fourtene," says John -Hardyng, "a lordes sonnes shalle to felde hunte the dere, and catch an -hardynesse. For dere to hunte and slea, and see them blede, ane -hardyment gyffith to his courage.... At sextene yere, to werray and to -wage, to juste and ryde, and castels to assayle... and every day his -armure to assay in fete of armes with some of his meyne."<a name="NoteRef_399_1" id="NoteRef_399_1"></a><a href="#Note_399_1" class="fnanchor">[399]</a> When -ripened to manhood, he is employed with the bow, in wrestling, leaping, -vaulting. Henry VII's court, in its noisy merriment, was like a village -fair. The king, says Holinshed, exercised himself "dailie in shooting, -singing, dancing, wrestling, casting of the barre, plaieing at the -recorders, flute, virginals, in setting of songs, and making of -ballads." He leaps the moats with a pole, and was once within an ace of -being killed. He is so fond of wrestling, that publicly, on the field of -the Cloth of Gold, he seized Francis I in his arms to try a throw with -him. This is how a common soldier or a bricklayer nowadays tries a new -comrade. In fact, they regarded gross jests and brutal buffooneries as -amusements, as soldiers and bricklayers do now. In every nobleman's -house <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> there was a fool, whose business it was to utter pointed jests, to -make eccentric gestures, horrible faces, to sing licentious songs, as we -might hear now in a beer-house. They thought insults and obscenity a -joke. They were foul-mouthed, they listened to Rabelais's words -undiluted, and delighted in conversation which would revolt us. They had -no respect for humanity; the rules of proprieties and the habits of good -breeding began only under Louis XIV, and by imitation of the French; at -this time they all blurted out the word that fitted in, and that was -most frequently a coarse word. You will see on the stage, in -Shakespeare's "Pericles," the filth of a haunt of vice.<a name="NoteRef_400_400" id="NoteRef_400_400"></a><a href="#Note_400_400" class="fnanchor">[400]</a> The great -lords, the well-dressed ladies, speak billingsgate. When Henry V pays -his court to Catherine of France, it is with the coarse bearing of a -sailor who may have taken a fancy to a sutler; and like the tars who -tattoo a heart on their arms to prove their love for the girls they left -behind them, there were men who "devoured sulphur and drank urine"<a name="NoteRef_401_401" id="NoteRef_401_401"></a><a href="#Note_401_401" class="fnanchor">[401]</a> -to win their mistress by a proof of affection. Humanity is as much -lacking as decency.<a name="NoteRef_402_402" id="NoteRef_402_402"></a><a href="#Note_402_402" class="fnanchor">[402]</a> Blood, suffering, does not move them. The court -frequents bear and bull baitings, where dogs are ripped up and chained -beasts are sometimes beaten to death, and it was, says an officer of the -palace, "a charming entertainment."<a name="NoteRef_403_1" id="NoteRef_403_1"></a><a href="#Note_403_1" class="fnanchor">[403]</a> No wonder they used their arms -like clodhoppers and gossips. Elizabeth used to beat her maids of honor, -"so that these beautiful girls could often be heard crying and lamenting -in a piteous manner." One day she spat upon Sir Mathew's fringed coat; -at another time, when Essex, whom she was scolding, turned his back, she -gave him a box on the ear. It was then the practice of great ladies to -beat their children and their servants. Poor Jane Grey was sometimes so -wretchedly "boxed, struck, pinched, and ill-treated in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> other manners -which she dare not relate," that she used to wish herself dead. Their -first idea is to come to words, to blows, to have satisfaction. As in -feudal times, they appeal at once to arms, and retain the habit of -taking the law in their own hands, and without delay. "On Thursday -laste," writes Gilbert Talbot to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury, -"as my Lorde Rytche was rydynge in the streates, there was one Wyndam -that stode in a dore, and shotte a dagge at him, thynkynge to have -slayne him. ... The same daye, also, as Sr John Conway was goynge in the -streetes, M<sup>r.</sup> Lodovyke Grevell came sodenly upon him, and stroke him on -the hedd w<sup>th</sup> a sworde.... I am forced to trouble yo<sup>r</sup> Honors w<sup>th</sup> thes -tryflynge matters, for I know no greater."<a name="NoteRef_404_404" id="NoteRef_404_404"></a><a href="#Note_404_404" class="fnanchor">[404]</a> No one, not even the -queen, is safe among these violent dispositions.<a name="NoteRef_405_1" id="NoteRef_405_1"></a><a href="#Note_405_1" class="fnanchor">[405]</a> Again, when one -man struck another in the precincts of the court, his hand was cut off, -and the arteries stopped with a red-hot iron. Only such atrocious -imitations of their own crimes, and the painful image of bleeding and -suffering flesh, could tame their vehemence and restrain the uprising of -their instincts. Judge now what materials they furnish to the theatre, -and what characters they look for at the theatre. To please the public, -the stage cannot deal too much in open lust and the strongest passions; -it must depict man attaining the limit of his desires, unchecked, almost -mad, now trembling and rooted before the white palpitating flesh which -his eyes devour, now haggard and grinding his teeth before the enemy -whom he wishes to tear to pieces, now carried beyond himself and -overwhelmed at the sight of the honors and wealth which he covets, -always raging and enveloped in a tempest of eddying ideas, sometimes -shaken by impetuous joy, more often on the verge of fury and madness, -stronger, more ardent, more daringly let loose to infringe on reason and -law than ever. We hear from the stage as from the history of the time, -these fierce murmurs: the sixteenth century is like a den of lions.</p> - -<p>Amid passions so strong as these there is not one lacking. Nature -appears here in all its violence, but also in all its fulness. If -nothing had been weakened, nothing had been mutilated. It is the entire -man who is displayed, heart, mind, body, senses, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> with his noblest and -finest aspirations, as with his most bestial and savage appetites, -without the preponderance of any dominant circumstance to cast him -altogether in one direction, to exalt or degrade him. He has not become -rigid, as he will be under Puritanism. He is not uncrowned as in the -Restoration. After the hollowness and weariness of the fifteenth -century, he rose up by a second birth, as before in Greece man had risen -by a first birth; and now, as then, the temptations of the outer world -came combined to raise his faculties from their sloth and torpor. A sort -of generous warmth spread over them to ripen and make them flourish. -Peace, prosperity, comfort began; new industries and increasing activity -suddenly multiplied objects of utility and luxury tenfold. America and -India, by their discovery, caused the treasures and prodigies heaped up -afar over distant seas to shine before their eyes; antiquity -rediscovered, sciences mapped out, the Reformation begun, books -multiplied by printing, ideas by books, doubled the means of enjoyment, -imagination, and thought. People wanted to enjoy, to imagine, and to -think; for the desire grows with the attraction, and here all -attractions were combined. There were attractions for the senses, in the -chambers which they began to warm, in the beds newly furnished with -pillows, in the coaches which they began to use for the first time. -There were attractions for the senses, in the chambers which they began -to warm, in the beds newly furnished with pillows, in the coaches which -they began to use for the first time. There were attractions for the -imagination in the new palaces, arranged after the Italian manner; in -the variegated hangings from Flanders; in the rich garments, -gold-embroidered, which, being continually changed, combined the fancies -and the splendors of all Europe. There were attractions for the mind, in -the noble and beautiful writings which, spread abroad, translated, -explained, brought in philosophy, eloquence, and poetry, from restored -antiquity, and from the surrounding renaissances. Under this appeal all -aptitudes and instincts at once started up; the low and the lofty, ideal -and sensual love, gross cupidity and pure generosity. Recall what you -yourself experienced, when from being a child you became a man: what -wishes for happiness, what breadth of anticipation, what intoxication of -heart wafted you towards all joys; with what impulse your hands seized -involuntarily and all at once every branch of the tree, and would not -let a single fruit escape. At sixteen years, like Chérubin,<a name="NoteRef_406_1" id="NoteRef_406_1"></a><a href="#Note_406_1" class="fnanchor">[406]</a> we -wish for a servant girl <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> while we adore a Madonna; we are capable of -every species of covetousness, and also of every species of self-denial; -we find virtue more lovely, our meals more enjoyable; pleasure has more -zest, heroism more worth: there is no allurement which is not keen; the -sweetness and novelty of things are too strong; and in the hive of -passions which buzzes within us, and stings us like the sting of a bee, -we can do nothing but plunge, one after another, in all directions. Such -were the men of this time, Raleigh, Essex, Elizabeth, Henry VIII -himself, excessive and inconstant, ready for devotion and for crime, -violent in good and evil, heroic with strange weaknesses, humble with -sudden changes of mood, never vile with premeditation like the -roisterers of the Restoration, never rigid on principle like the -Puritans of the Revolution, capable of weeping like children,<a name="NoteRef_407_407" id="NoteRef_407_407"></a><a href="#Note_407_407" class="fnanchor">[407]</a> and -of dying like men, often base courtiers, more than once true knights, -displaying constantly, amidst all these contradictions of bearing, only -the fulness of their characters. Thus prepared, they could take in -everything, sanguinary ferocity and refined generosity, the brutality of -shameless debauchery, and the most divine innocence of love, accept all -the characters, prostitutes and virgins, princes and mountebanks, pass -quickly from trivial buffoonery to lyrical sublimities, listen -alternately to the quibbles of clowns and the songs of lovers. The drama -even, in order to imitate and satisfy the fertility of their nature, -must talk all tongues, pompous, inflated verse, loaded with imagery, and -side by side with this, vulgar prose: more, it must distort its natural -style and limits; put songs, poetical devices, into the discourse of -courtiers and the speeches of statesmen; bring on the stage the fairy -world of the opera, as Middleton says, gnomes, nymphs of the land and -sea, with their groves and their meadows; compel the gods to descend -upon the stage, and hell itself to furnish its world of marvels. No -other theatre is so complicated; for nowhere else do we find men so -complete. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Some_Aspects_of_the_English_Mind">SECTION III.—Some Aspects of the English Mind</a></h4> - - -<p>In this free and universal expansion, the passions had their special -bent withal, which was an English one, inasmuch as they were English. -After all, in every age, under every civilization, a people is always -itself. Whatever be its dress, goat-skin blouse, gold-laced doublet, -black dress-coat, the five or six great instincts which it possessed in -its forests, follow it in its palaces and offices. To this day, warlike -passions, a gloomy humor, subsist under the regularity and propriety of -modern manners.<a name="NoteRef_408_1" id="NoteRef_408_1"></a><a href="#Note_408_1" class="fnanchor">[408]</a> Their native energy and harshness pierce through -the perfection of culture and the habits of comfort. Rich young men, on -leaving Oxford, go to hunt bears on the Rocky Mountains, the elephant in -South Africa, live under canvas, box, jump hedges on horseback, sail -their yachts on dangerous coasts, delight in solitude and peril. The -ancient Saxon, the old rover of the Scandinavian seas, has not perished. -Even at school the children roughly treat one another, withstand one -another, fight like men; and their character is so indomitable that they -need the birch and blows to reduce them to the discipline of law. Judge -what they were in the sixteenth century; the English race passed then -for the most warlike of Europe, the most redoubtable in battle, the most -impatient of anything like slavery.<a name="NoteRef_409_409" id="NoteRef_409_409"></a><a href="#Note_409_409" class="fnanchor">[409]</a> "English savages" is what -Cellini calls them; and the "great shins of beef" with which they fill -themselves, keep up the force and ferocity of their instincts. To harden -them thoroughly, institutions work in the same groove with nature. The -nation is armed, every man is brought up like a soldier, bound to have -arms according to his condition, to exercise himself on Sundays or -holidays; from the yeoman to the lord, the old military constitution -keeps them enrolled and ready for action.<a name="NoteRef_410_1" id="NoteRef_410_1"></a><a href="#Note_410_1" class="fnanchor">[410]</a> In a state which -resembles an army it is necessary that punishments, as in an army, shall -inspire terror; and to make them worse, the hideous Wars of the Roses, -which on every flaw of the succession to the throne are ready to break -out again, are ever present in their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> recollection. Such instincts, such -a constitution, such a history, raise before them, with tragic severity, -an idea of life: death is at hand, as well as wounds, the block, -tortures. The fine cloaks of purple which the renaissances of the South -displayed joyfully in the sun, to wear like a holiday garment, are here -stained with blood, and edged with black. Throughout,<a name="NoteRef_411_411" id="NoteRef_411_411"></a><a href="#Note_411_411" class="fnanchor">[411]</a> a stern -discipline, and the axe ready for every suspicion of treason; great men, -bishops, a chancellor, princes, the king's relatives, queens, a -protector, all kneeling in the straw, sprinkled the Tower with their -blood; one after the other they marched past, stretched out their necks; -the Duke of Buckingham, Queen Anne Boleyn, Queen Catherine Howard, the -Earl of Surrey, Admiral Seymour, the Duke of Somerset, Lady Jane Grey -and her husband, the Duke of Northumberland, Mary Stuart, the Earl of -Essex, all on the throne, or on the steps of the throne, in the highest -rank of honors, beauty, youth, and genius; of the bright procession -nothing is left but senseless trunks, marred by the tender mercies of -the executioner. Shall I count the funeral pyres, the hangings, living -men cut down from the gibbet, disembowelled, quartered,<a name="NoteRef_412_1" id="NoteRef_412_1"></a><a href="#Note_412_1" class="fnanchor">[412]</a> their limbs -cast into the fire, their heads exposed on the walls? There is a page in -Holinshed which reads like a death register:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The five and twentith daie of Maie (1535), was in saint Paules church -at London examined nineteene men and six women born in Holland, whose -opinions were (heretical). Fourteene of them were condemned, a man and a -woman of them were burned in Smithfield, the other twelve were sent to -other townes, there to be burnt. On the nineteenth of June were three -moonkes of the Charterhouse hanged, drawne, and quartered at Tiburne, -and their heads and quarters set up about London, for denieng the king -to be supreme head of the church. Also the one and twentith of the same -moneth, and for the same cause, doctor John Fisher, bishop of Rochester, -was beheaded for denieng of the supremacie, and his head set upon London -bridge, but his bodie buried within Barking churchyard. The pope had -elected him a cardinall, and sent his hat as far as Calais, but his head -was off before his hat was on: so that they met not. On the sixt of -Julie, was Sir Thomas Moore beheaded for the like crime, that is to wit, -for denieng the king to be supreme head."<a name="NoteRef_413_1" id="NoteRef_413_1"></a><a href="#Note_413_1" class="fnanchor">[413]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - - -<p>None of these murders seem extraordinary; the chroniclers mention them -without growing indignant; the condemned go quietly to the block, as if -the thing were perfectly natural. Anne Boleyn said seriously, before -giving up her head to the executioner: "I praie God save the king, and -send him long to reigne over you, for a gentler, nor a more merciful -prince was there never."<a name="NoteRef_414_1" id="NoteRef_414_1"></a><a href="#Note_414_1" class="fnanchor">[414]</a> Society is, as it were, in a state of -siege, so incited that beneath the idea of order everyone entertained -the idea of the scaffold. They saw it, the terrible machine, planted on -all the highways of human life; and the byways as well as the highways -led to it. A sort of martial law, introduced by conquests into civil -affairs, entered thence into ecclesiastical matters,<a name="NoteRef_415_1" id="NoteRef_415_1"></a><a href="#Note_415_1" class="fnanchor">[415]</a> and social -economy ended by being enslaved by it. As in a camp,<a name="NoteRef_416_1" id="NoteRef_416_1"></a><a href="#Note_416_1" class="fnanchor">[416]</a> expenditure, -dress, the food of each class, are fixed and restricted; no one might -stray out of his district, be idle, live after his own devices. Every -stranger was seized, interrogated; if he could not give a good account -of himself, the parish-stocks bruised his limbs; as in time of war he -would have passed for a spy and an enemy, if caught amidst the army. Any -person, says the law,<a name="NoteRef_417_1" id="NoteRef_417_1"></a><a href="#Note_417_1" class="fnanchor">[417]</a> found living idly or loiteringly for the -space of three days, shall be marked with a hot iron on his breast, and -adjudged as a slave to the man who shall inform against him. This one -"shall take the same slave, and give him bread, water, or small drink, -and refuse meat, and cause him to work, by beating, chaining, or -otherwise, in such work and labour as he shall put him to, be it never -so vile." He may sell him, bequeath him, let him out for hire, or trade -upon him "after the like sort as they may do of any other their moveable -goods or chattels," put a ring of iron about his neck or leg; if he runs -away and absents himself for fourteen days, he is branded on the -forehead with a hot iron, and remains a slave for the whole of his life; -if he runs away a second time, he is put to death. Sometimes, says More, -you might see a score of thieves hung on the same gibbet. In one -year<a name="NoteRef_418_1" id="NoteRef_418_1"></a><a href="#Note_418_1" class="fnanchor">[418]</a> forty persons were put to death in the county of Somerset -alone, and in each county there were three or four hundred vagabonds who -would sometimes gather together and rob in armed bands of sixty at a -time. Follow the whole of this history closely, the fires of Mary, the -pillories of Elizabeth, and it is plain that the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> moral tone of the land, -like its physical condition, is harsh by comparison with other -countries. They have no relish in their enjoyments, as in Italy; what is -called Merry England is England given up to animal spirits, a coarse -animation, produced by abundant feeding, continued prosperity, courage, -and self-reliance; voluptuousness does not exist in this climate and -this race. Mingled with the beautiful popular beliefs, the lugubrious -dreams and the cruel nightmare of witchcraft make their appearance. -Bishop Jewell, preaching before the queen, tells her that witches and -sorcerers within these last few years are marvellously increased. Some -ministers assert</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"That they have had in their parish at one instant xvij or xviij -witches; meaning such as could worke miracles supernaturallie; that they -work spells by which men pine away even unto death, their colour fadeth, -their flesh rotteth, their speech is benumbed, their senses are bereft; -that instructed by the devil, they make ointments of the bowels and -members of children, whereby they ride in the aire, and accomplish all -their desires. When a child is not baptized, or defended by the sign of -the cross, then the witches catch them from their mothers sides in the -night,... kill them... or after buriall steale them out of their graves, -and seeth them in a caldron, untill their flesh be made potable.... It -is an infallible rule, that everie fortnight, or at the least everie -moneth, each witch must kill one child at the least for hir part."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Here was something to make the teeth chatter with fright. Add to this -revolting and absurd descriptions, wretched tomfooleries, details about -the infernal caldron, all the nastinesses which could haunt the trite -imagination of a hideous and drivelling old woman, and you have the -spectacles, provided by Middleton and Shakespeare, and which suit the -sentiments of the age and the national humor. The fundamental gloom -pierces through the glow and rapture of poetry. Mournful legends have -multiplied; every churchyard has its ghost; wherever a man has been -murdered his spirit appears. Many people dare not leave their village -after sunset. In the evening, before bed-time, men talk of the coach -which is seen drawn by headless horses, with headless postilions and -coachmen, or of unhappy spirits who, compelled to inhabit the plain, -under the sharp northeast wind, pray for the shelter of a hedge or a -valley. They dream terribly of death:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To die and go we know not where;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This sensible warm motion to become</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And blown with restless violence round about</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The pendent world; or to be worse than worst</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of those that lawless and incertain thought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!"<a name="NoteRef_419_1" id="NoteRef_419_1"></a><a href="#Note_419_1" class="fnanchor">[419]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The greatest speak with a sad resignation of the infinite obscurity -which embraces our poor, short, glimmering life, our life, which is but -a troubled dream;<a name="NoteRef_420_1" id="NoteRef_420_1"></a><a href="#Note_420_1" class="fnanchor">[420]</a> the sad state of humanity, which is but passion, -madness, and sorrow; the human being who is himself, perhaps, but a vain -phantom, a grievous sick man's dream. In their eyes we roll down a fatal -slope, where chance dashes us one against the other, and the inner -destiny which urges us onward, only shatters after it has blinded us. -And at the end of all is "the silent grave, no conversation, no joyful -tread of friends, no voice of lovers, no careful father's counsel; -nothing's heard, nor nothing is, but all oblivion, dust, and endless -darkness."<a name="NoteRef_421_421" id="NoteRef_421_421"></a><a href="#Note_421_421" class="fnanchor">[421]</a> If yet there were nothing. "To die, to sleep; to sleep, -perchance to dream." To dream sadly, to fall into a nightmare like the -nightmare of life, like that in which we are struggling and crying -to-day, gasping with hoarse throat!—this is their idea of man and of -existence, the national idea, which fills the stage with calamities and -despair, which makes a display of tortures and massacres, which abounds -in madness and crime, which holds up death as the issue throughout. A -threatening and sombre fog veils their mind like their sky, and joy, -like the sun, only appears in its full force now and then. They are -different from the Latin race, and in the common Renaissance they are -regenerated otherwise than the Latin races. The free and full -development of pure nature which, in Greece and Italy, ends in the -painting of beauty and happy energy, ends here in the painting of -ferocious energy, agony, and death. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--The_Poets_of_the_Period">SECTION IV.—The Poets of the Period</a></h4> - - -<p>Thus was this theatre produced; a theatre unique in history, like the -admirable and fleeting epoch from which it sprang, the work and the -picture of this young world, as natural, as unshackled, and as tragic as -itself. When an original and national drama springs up, the poets who -establish it carry in themselves the sentiments which it represents. -They display better than other men the feelings of the public, because -those feelings arc stronger in them than in other men. The passions -which surround them, break forth in their heart with a harsher or a -juster cry, and hence their voices become the voices of all. Chivalric -and Catholic Spain had her interpreters in her enthusiasts and her Don -Quixotes: in Calderon, first a soldier, afterwards a priest; in Lope de -Vega, a volunteer at fifteen, a passionate lover, a wandering duelist, a -soldier of the Armada, finally, a priest and familiar of the Holy -Office; so full of fervor that he fasts till he is exhausted, faints -with emotion while singing mass, and in his flagellations stains the -walls of his cell with blood. Calm and noble Greece had in her principal -tragic poet one of the most accomplished and fortunate of her sons:<a name="NoteRef_422_1" id="NoteRef_422_1"></a><a href="#Note_422_1" class="fnanchor">[422]</a> -Sophocles, first in song and palaestra; who at fifteen sang, unclad, the -pæan before the trophy of Salamis, and who afterwards, as ambassador, -general, ever loving the gods and impassioned for his state, presented, -in his life as in his works, the spectacle of the incomparable harmony -which made the beauty of the ancient world, and which the modern world -will never more attain to. Eloquent and worldly France, in the age which -carried the art of good manners and conversation to its highest pitch, -finds, to write her oratorical tragedies and to paint her drawing-room -passions, the most able craftsman of words, Racine, a courtier, a man of -the world; the most capable, by the delicacy of his tact and the -adaptation of his style, of making men of the world and courtiers speak. -So in England the poets are in harmony with their works. Almost all are -Bohemians; they sprang from the people,<a name="NoteRef_423_423" id="NoteRef_423_423"></a><a href="#Note_423_423" class="fnanchor">[423]</a> were educated, and usually -studied at Oxford or Cambridge, but they were poor, so that their -education contrasts with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> their condition. Ben Jonson is the step-son of -a bricklayer, and himself a bricklayer; Marlowe is the son of a -shoemaker; Shakespeare of a wool merchant; Massinger of a servant of a -noble family.<a name="NoteRef_424_424" id="NoteRef_424_424"></a><a href="#Note_424_424" class="fnanchor">[424]</a> They live as they can, get into debt, write for their -bread, go on the stage. Peele, Lodge, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Shakespeare, -Heywood, are actors; most of the details which we have of their lives -are taken from the journal of Henslowe, a retired pawnbroker, later a -money-lender and manager of a theatre, who gives them work, advances -money to them, receives their manuscripts or their wardrobes as -security. For a play he gives seven or eight pounds; after the year 1600 -prices rise, and reach as high as twenty or twenty-five pounds. It is -clear that, even after this increase, the trade of author scarcely -brings in bread. In order to earn money, it was necessary, like -Shakespeare, to become a manager, to try to have a share in the property -of a theatre; but such success is rare, and the life which they lead, a -life of actors and artists, improvident, full of excess, lost amid -debauchery and acts of violence, amidst women of evil fame, in contact -with young profligates, among the temptations of misery, imagination and -license, generally leads them to exhaustion, poverty, and death. Men -received enjoyment from them, but neglected and despised them. One -actor, for a political allusion, was sent to prison, and only just -escaped losing his ears; great men, men in office, abused them like -servants. Heywood, who played almost every day, bound himself, in -addition, to write a sheet daily, for several years composes at -haphazard in taverns, labors and sweats like a true literary hack, and -dies leaving two hundred and twenty pieces, of which most are lost. Kyd, -one of the earliest in date, died in misery. Shirley, one of the last, -at the end of his career, was obliged to become once more a -schoolmaster. Massinger dies unknown; and in the parish register we find -only this sad mention of him: "Philip Massinger, a stranger." A few -months after the death of Middleton, his widow was obliged to ask alms -of the City, because he had left nothing. Imagination, as Drummond said -of Ben Jonson, oppressed their reason; it is the common failing of -poets. They wish to enjoy, and give themselves wholly up to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> enjoyment; -their mood, their heart governs them; in their life, as in their works, -impulses are irresistible; desire comes suddenly, like a wave, drowning -reason, resistance—often even giving neither reason nor resistance time -to show themselves.<a name="NoteRef_425_425" id="NoteRef_425_425"></a><a href="#Note_425_425" class="fnanchor">[425]</a> Many are roisterers, sad roisterers of the same -sort, such as Musset and Murger, who give themselves up to every -passion, and "drown their sorrows in the bowl"; capable of the purest -and most poetic dreams, of the most delicate and touching tenderness, -and who yet can only undermine their health and mar their fame. Such -are Nash, Decker, and Greene; Nash, a fantastic satirist, who abused his -talent, and conspired like a prodigal against good fortune; Decker, who -passed three years in the King's Bench prison; Greene, above all, a -pleasing wit, copious, graceful, who took a delight in destroying -himself, publicly with tears confessing his vices,<a name="NoteRef_426_426" id="NoteRef_426_426"></a><a href="#Note_426_426" class="fnanchor">[426]</a> and the next -moment plunging into them again. These are mere androgynes, true -courtesans, in manners, body, and heart. Quitting Cambridge, "with good -fellows as free-living as himself," Greene had travelled over Spain, -Italy, "in which places he sawe and practizde such villainie as is -abhominable to declare." You see the poor man is candid, not sparing -himself; he is natural; passionate in everything, repentance or -otherwise; above all of ever-varying mood; made for self-contradiction; -not self-correction. On his return he became, in London, a supporter of -taverns, a haunter of evil places. In his "Groatsworth of Wit bought -with a Million of Repentance" he says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"I was dround in pride, whoredom was my daily exercise, and gluttony -with drunkenness was my onely delight.... After I had wholly betaken me -to the penning of plaies (which was my continuall exercise) I was so far -from calling upon God that I sildome thought on God, but tooke such -delight in swearing and blaspheming the name of God that none could -thinke otherwise of me than that I was the child of perdition. These -vanities and other trifling pamphlets I penned of love and vaine -fantasies was my chiefest stay of living; and for those my vaine -discourses I was beloved of the more vainer sort of people, who being my -continuall companions, came still to my lodging, and there <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> would -continue quaffing, carowsing, and surfeting with me all the day long.... -If I may have my disire while I live I am satisfied; let me shift after -death as I may.... 'Hell!' quoth I; 'what talke you of hell to me? I -know if I once come there I shall have the company of better men than -myselfe; I shall also meete with some madde knaves in that place, and so -long as I shall not sit there alone, my care is the lesse.... If I -feared the judges of the bench no more than I dread the judgments of God -I would before I slept dive into one carles bagges or other, and make -merrie with the shelles I found in them so long as they would last.'"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>A little later he is seized with remorse, marries, depicts in delicious -verse the regularity and calm of an upright life; then returns to -London, spends his property and his wife's fortune with "a sorry ragged -queane," in the company of ruffians, pimps, sharpers, courtesans; -drinking, blaspheming, wearing himself out by sleepless nights and -orgies; writing for bread, sometimes amid the brawling and effluvia of -his wretched lodging, lighting upon thoughts of adoration and love, -worthy of Rolla;<a name="NoteRef_427_427" id="NoteRef_427_427"></a><a href="#Note_427_427" class="fnanchor">[427]</a> very often disgusted with himself, seized with a -fit of weeping between two merry bouts, and writing little pieces to -accuse himself, to regret his wife, to convert his comrades, or to warn -young people against the tricks of prostitutes and swindlers. He was -soon worn out by this kind of life; six years were enough to exhaust -him. An indigestion arising from Rhenish wine and pickled herrings -finished him. If it had not been for his landlady, who succored him, he -"would have perished in the streets." He lasted a little longer, and -then his light went out; now and then he begged her "pittifully for a -penny pott of malmesie"; he was covered with lice, he had but one shirt, -and when his own was "awashing," he was obliged to borrow her husband's. -"His doublet and hose and sword were sold for three shillinges," and the -poor folks paid the cost of his burial, four shillings for the winding -sheet, and six and fourpence for the burial.</p> - -<p>In such low places, on such dunghills, amid such excesses and violence, -dramatic genius forced its way, and amongst others, that of the first, -of the most powerful, of the true founder of the dramatic school, -Christopher Marlowe.</p> - -<p>Marlowe was an ill-regulated, dissolute, outrageously vehement and -audacious spirit, but grand and sombre, with the genuine poetic frenzy; -pagan moreover, and rebellious in manners <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> and creed. In this universal -return to the senses, and in this impulse of natural forces which -brought on the Renaissance, the corporeal instincts and the ideas which -hallow them, break forth impetuously. Marlowe, like Greene, like -Kett,<a name="NoteRef_428_1" id="NoteRef_428_1"></a><a href="#Note_428_1" class="fnanchor">[428]</a> is a sceptic, denies God and Christ, blasphemes the Trinity, -declares Moses "a juggler," Christ more worthy of death than Barabas, -says that "yf he wer to write a new religion, he wolde undertake both a -more excellent and more admirable methode," and "almost in every company -he commeth, perswadeth men to Athiesme."<a name="NoteRef_429_429" id="NoteRef_429_429"></a><a href="#Note_429_429" class="fnanchor">[429]</a> Such were the rages, the -rashnesses, the excesses which liberty of thought gave rise to in these -new minds, who for the first time, after so many centuries, dared to -walk unfettered. From his father's shop, crowded with children, from the -straps and awls, he found himself studying at Cambridge, probably -through the patronage of a great man, and on his return to London, in -want, amid the license of the green-room, the low houses and taverns, -his head was in a ferment, and his passions became excited. He turned -actor; but having broken his leg in a scene of debauchery, he remained -lame, and could no longer appear on the boards. He openly avowed his -infidelity, and a prosecution was begun, which, if time had not failed, -would probably have brought him to the stake. He made love to a drab, -and in trying to stab his rival, his hand was turned, so that his own -blade entered his eye and his brain, and he died, cursing and -blaspheming. He was only thirty years old.</p> - -<p>Think what poetry could emanate from a life so passionate, and occupied -in such a manner! First, exaggerated declamation, heaps of murder, -atrocities, a pompous and furious display of tragedy bespattered with -blood, and passions raised to a pitch of madness. All the foundations of -the English stage, "Ferrex and Porrex, Cambyses, Hieronymo," even -the "Pericles" of Shakespeare, reach the same height of extravagance, -magniloquence and horror.<a name="NoteRef_430_1" id="NoteRef_430_1"></a><a href="#Note_430_1" class="fnanchor">[430]</a> It is the first outbreak of youth. Recall -Schiller's "Robbers," and how modern democracy has recognized for the -first time its picture in the metaphors and cries of Charles Moor.<a name="NoteRef_431_1" id="NoteRef_431_1"></a><a href="#Note_431_1" class="fnanchor">[431]</a> -So here the characters struggle and roar, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> stamp on the earth, gnash -their teeth, shake their fists against heaven. The trumpets sound, the -drums beat, coats of mail file past armies clash, men stab each other, -or themselves; speeches are full of gigantic threats and lyrical -figures;<a name="NoteRef_432_1" id="NoteRef_432_1"></a><a href="#Note_432_1" class="fnanchor">[432]</a> kings die, straining a bass voice; "now doth ghastly death -with greedy talons gripe my bleeding heart, and like a harpy tires on my -life." The hero in "Tamburlaine the Great"<a name="NoteRef_433_433" id="NoteRef_433_433"></a><a href="#Note_433_433" class="fnanchor">[433]</a> is seated on a chariot -drawn by chained kings; he burns towns, drowns women and children, puts -men to the sword, and finally, seized with an inscrutable sickness, -raves in monstrous outcries against the gods, whose hands afflict his -soul, and whom he would fain dethrone. There already is the picture of -senseless pride, of blind and murderous rage, which passing through many -devastations, at last arms against heaven itself. The overflowing of -savage and immoderate instinct produces this mighty sounding verse, this -prodigality of carnage, this display of splendors and exaggerated -colors, this railing of demoniacal passions, this audacity of grand -impiety. If in the dramas which succeed it, "The Massacre at Paris," -"The Jew of Malta," the bombast decreases, the violence remains. Barabas -the Jew maddened with hate, is henceforth no longer human; he has been -treated by the Christians like a beast, and he hates them like a beast. -He advises his servant Ithamore in the following words:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Hast thou no trade? then listen to my words,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And I will teach thee that shall stick by thee:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">First, be thou void of these affections,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Compassion, love, vain hope, and heartless fear;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Be mov'd at nothing, see thou pity none,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But to thyself smile when the Christians moan.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 13em;">... I walk abroad a-nights,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And kill sick people groaning under walls;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sometimes I go about and poison wells....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Being young, I studied physic, and began</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To practice first upon the Italian;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There I enrich'd the priests with burials,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And always kept the sexton's arms in ure</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I fill'd the jails with bankrouts in a year,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with young orphans planted hospitals;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every moon made some or other mad,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And now and then one hang himself for grief,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How I with interest tormented him."<a name="NoteRef_434_434" id="NoteRef_434_434"></a><a href="#Note_434_434" class="fnanchor">[434]</a></span></p> - - -<p>All these cruelties he boasts of and chuckles over, like a demon who -rejoices in being a good executioner, and plunges his victims in the -very extremity of anguish. His daughter has two Christian suitors; and -by forged letters he causes them to slay each other. In despair she -takes the veil, and to avenge himself he poisons his daughter and the -whole convent. Two friars wish to denounce him, then to convert him; he -strangles the first, and jokes with his slave Ithamore, a cut-throat by -profession, who loves his trade, rubs his hands with joy, and says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Pull amain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis neatly done, sir; here's no print at all.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So, let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he were</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">begging of bacon."<a name="NoteRef_435_1" id="NoteRef_435_1"></a><a href="#Note_435_1" class="fnanchor">[435]</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O mistress, I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottlenosed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">knave to my master, that ever gentleman had."<a name="NoteRef_436_1" id="NoteRef_436_1"></a><a href="#Note_436_1" class="fnanchor">[436]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The second friar comes up, and they accuse him of the murder.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Barabas.</i> Heaven bless me! what, a friar a murderer!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When shall you see a Jew commit the like?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ithamore.</i> Why, a Turk could ha' done no more.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Bar.</i> To-morrow is the sessions; you shall do it—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come Ithamore, let's help to take him hence.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Friar.</i> Villains, I am a sacred person; touch me not.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Bar.</i> The law shall touch you; we'll but lead you, we:</span><br /> -'<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Las, I could weep at your calamity!"<a name="NoteRef_437_1" id="NoteRef_437_1"></a><a href="#Note_437_1" class="fnanchor">[437]</a></span></p> - - -<p>We have also two other poisonings, an infernal machine to blow up the -Turkish garrison, a plot to cast the Turkish commander into a well. -Barabas falls into it himself, and dies in the hot caldron,<a name="NoteRef_438_1" id="NoteRef_438_1"></a><a href="#Note_438_1" class="fnanchor">[438]</a> -howling, hardened, remorseless, having but one <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> regret, that he had not -done evil enough. These are the ferocities of the Middle Ages; we might -find them to this day among the companions of Ali Pacha, among the -pirates of the Archipelago; we retain pictures of them in the paintings -of the fifteenth century, which represent a king with his court, seated -calmly round a living man who is being flayed; in the midst the flayer -on his knees is working conscientiously, very careful not to spoil the -skin.<a name="NoteRef_439_1" id="NoteRef_439_1"></a><a href="#Note_439_1" class="fnanchor">[439]</a></p> - -<p>All this is pretty strong, you will say; these people kill too readily, -and too quickly. It is on this very account that the painting is a true -one. For the specialty of the men of the time, as of Marlowe's -characters, is the abrupt commission of a deed; they are children, -robust children. As a horse kicks out instead of speaking, so they pull -out their knives instead of asking an explanation. Nowadays we hardly -know what nature is; instead of observing it we still retain the -benevolent prejudices of the eighteenth century; we only see it -humanized by two centuries of culture, and we take its acquired calm for -an innate moderation. The foundations of the natural man are -irresistible impulses, passions, desires, greeds; all blind. He sees a -woman,<a name="NoteRef_440_1" id="NoteRef_440_1"></a><a href="#Note_440_1" class="fnanchor">[440]</a> thinks her beautiful; suddenly he rushes towards her; people -try to restrain him, he kills these people, gluts his passion, then -thinks no more of it, save when at times a vague picture of a moving -lake of blood crosses his brain and makes him gloomy. Sudden and extreme -resolves are confused in his mind with desire; barely planned, the thing -is done; the wide interval which a Frenchman places between the idea of -an action and the action itself is not to be found here.<a name="NoteRef_441_441" id="NoteRef_441_441"></a><a href="#Note_441_441" class="fnanchor">[441]</a> Barabas -conceived murders, and straightway murders were accomplished; there is -no deliberation, no pricks of conscience; that is how he commits a score -of them; his daughter leaves him, he becomes unnatural, and poisons her; -his confidential servant betrays him, he disguises himself, and poisons -him. Rage seizes these men like a fit, and then they are forced to kill. -Benvenuto Cellini relates how, being offended, he tried to restrain -himself, but was nearly suffocated; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> and that in order to cure himself, -he rushed with his dagger upon his opponent. So, in "Edward the Second," -the nobles immediately appeal to arms; all is excessive and unforeseen: -between two replies the heart is turned upside down, transported to the -extremes of hate or tenderness. Edward, seeing his favorite Gaveston -again, pours out before him his treasure, casts his dignities at his -feet, gives him his seal, himself, and, on a threat from the Bishop of -Coventry, suddenly cries:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in the channel christen him anew."<a name="NoteRef_442_442" id="NoteRef_442_442"></a><a href="#Note_442_442" class="fnanchor">[442]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then, when the queen supplicates:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Fawn not on me, French strumpet! get thee gone....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Speak not unto her: let her droop and pine."<a name="NoteRef_443_1" id="NoteRef_443_1"></a><a href="#Note_443_1" class="fnanchor">[443]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Furies and hatreds clash together like horsemen in battle. The Earl of -Lancaster draws his sword on Gaveston to slay him, before the king; -Mortimer wounds Gaveston. These powerful loud voices growl; the noblemen -will not even let a dog approach the prince, and rob them of their rank. -Lancaster says of Gaveston:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9em;">"... He comes not back,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unless the sea cast up his shipwrack'd body.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Warwick.</i> And to behold so sweet a sight as that,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There's none here but would run his horse to death."<a name="NoteRef_444_1" id="NoteRef_444_1"></a><a href="#Note_444_1" class="fnanchor">[444]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They have seized Gaveston, and intend to hang him "at a bough"; they -refuse to let him speak a single minute with the king. In vain they are -entreated; when they do at last consent, they are sorry for it; it is a -prey they want immediately, and Warwick, seizing him by force, "strake -off his head in a trench." Those are the men of the Middle Ages. They -have the fierceness, the tenacity, the pride of big, well-fed, -thorough-bred bull-dogs. It is this sternness and impetuosity of -primitive passions which produced the Wars of the Roses, and for thirty -years drove the nobles on each other's swords and to the block.</p> - -<p>What is there beyond all these frenzies and gluttings of blood? The idea -of crushing necessity and inevitable ruin in which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> everything sinks and -comes to an end. Mortimer, brought to the block, says with a smile:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There is a point, to which, when men aspire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They tumble headlong down: that point I touch'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why should I grieve at my declining fall?—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Farewell, fair queen; weep not for Mortimer,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That scorns the world, and, as a traveller,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Goes to discover countries yet unknown."<a name="NoteRef_445_445" id="NoteRef_445_445"></a><a href="#Note_445_445" class="fnanchor">[445]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Weigh well these grand words; they are a cry from the heart, the -profound confession of Marlowe, as also of Byron, and of the old -sea-kings. The northern paganism is fully expressed in this heroic and -mournful sigh: it is thus they imagine the world so long as they remain -on the outside of Christianity, or as soon as they quit it. Thus, when -men see in life, as they did, nothing but a battle of unchecked -passions, and in death but a gloomy sleep, perhaps filled with mournful -dreams, there is no other supreme good but a day of enjoyment and -victory. They glut themselves, shutting their eyes to the issue, except -that they may be swallowed up on the morrow. That is the master-thought -of "Doctor Faustus," the greatest of Marlowe's dramas: to satisfy his -soul, no matter at what price, or with what results:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A sound magician is a mighty god....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How am I glutted with conceit of this!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll have them fly to India for gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ransack the ocean for orient pearl....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll have them read me strange philosophy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tell the secrets of all foreign kings;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll have them wall all Germany with brass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like lions shall they guard us when we please;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like Almain rutters with their horsemen's staves,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or Lapland giants, trotting by our sides;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sometimes like women, or unwedded maids,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than have the white breasts of the queen of love."<a name="NoteRef_446_446" id="NoteRef_446_446"></a><a href="#Note_446_446" class="fnanchor">[446]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What brilliant dreams, what desires, what vast or voluptuous wishes, -worthy of a Roman Cæsar or an Eastern poet, eddy in this teeming brain! -To satiate them, to obtain four-and-twenty <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> years of power, Faustus gave -his soul, without fear, without need of temptation, at the first outset, -voluntarily, so sharp is the prick within:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Had I as many souls as there be stars,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'd give them all for Mephistophilis.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By him I'll be great emperor of the world,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And make a bridge thorough the moving air....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why shouldst thou not? Is not thy soul thine own?"<a name="NoteRef_447_447" id="NoteRef_447_447"></a><a href="#Note_447_447" class="fnanchor">[447]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And with that he gives himself full swing: he wants to know everything, -to have everything; a book in which he can behold all herbs and trees -which grow upon the earth; another in which shall be drawn all the -constellations and planets; another which shall bring him gold when he -wills it, and "the fairest courtezans"; another which summons "men in -armour" ready to execute his commands, and which holds "whirlwinds, -tempests, thunder and lightning" chained at his disposal. He is like a -child, he stretches out his hands for everything shining; then grieves -to think of hell, then lets himself be diverted by shows:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Faustus.</i> O this feeds my soul!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Lucifer.</i> Tut, Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Faustus.</i> Oh, might I see hell, and return again,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How happy were I then!..."<a name="NoteRef_448_1" id="NoteRef_448_1"></a><a href="#Note_448_1" class="fnanchor">[448]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He is conducted, being invisible, over the whole world: lastly to Rome, -amongst the ceremonies of the pope's court. Like a schoolboy during a -holiday, he has insatiable eyes, he forgets everything before a pageant, -he amuses himself in playing tricks, in giving the pope a box on the -ear, in beating the monks, in performing magic tricks before princes, -finally in drinking, feasting, filling his belly, deadening his -thoughts. In his transport he becomes an atheist, and says there is no -hell, that those are "old wives' tales." Then suddenly the sad idea -knocks at the gates of his brain.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I will renounce this magic, and repent...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My heart's so harden'd I cannot repent:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Faustus, thou are damn'd!' then swords and knives,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Poison, guns, halters, and envenom'd steel</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are laid before me to despatch myself;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And long ere this I should have done the deed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Had not sweet pleasure conquer'd deep despair.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have not I made blind Homer sing to me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of Alexander's love and Œnon's death?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hath not he, that built the walls of Thebes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With ravishing sound of his melodious harp,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Made music with my Mephistophilis?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why should I die, then, or basely despair?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am resolv'd; Faustus shall ne'er repent.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come Mephistophilis, let us dispute again,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And argue of divine astrology.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are all celestial bodies but one globe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As is the substance of this centric earth?..."<a name="NoteRef_449_449" id="NoteRef_449_449"></a><a href="#Note_449_449" class="fnanchor">[449]</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"One thing... let me crave of thee</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To glut the longing of my heart's desire....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all is dross that is not Helena....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O thou art fairer than the evening air</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars!"<a name="NoteRef_450_1" id="NoteRef_450_1"></a><a href="#Note_450_1" class="fnanchor">[450]</a></span></p> - - -<p>"Oh, my God, I would weep! but the devil draws in my tears. Gush forth -blood, instead of tears! yea, life and soul! Oh, he stays my tongue! I -would lift up my hands; but see, they hold them, they hold them; Lucifer -and Mephistophilis...."<a name="NoteRef_451_1" id="NoteRef_451_1"></a><a href="#Note_451_1" class="fnanchor">[451]</a></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 16em;">"Ah, Faustus,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That time may cease, and midnight never come....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, I'll leap up to my God!—Who pulls me down?—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah, my Christ,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet will I call on him....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ah, half the hour is past! 'twill all be past anon....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A hundred thousand, and at last be sav'd....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It strikes, it strikes....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh soul, be chang'd into little water-drops,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found!"<a name="NoteRef_452_452" id="NoteRef_452_452"></a><a href="#Note_452_452" class="fnanchor">[452]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is the living, struggling, natural, personal man, not the -philosophic type which Goethe has created, but a primitive and genuine -man, hot-headed, fiery, the slave of his passions, the sport of his -dreams, wholly engrossed in the present, moulded by his lusts, -contradictions, and follies, who amidst noise and starts, cries of -pleasure and anguish, rolls, knowing it and willing it, down the slope -and crags of his precipice. The whole English drama is here, as a plant -in its seed, and Marlowe is to Shakespeare what Perugino was to Raphael.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Formation_of_the_Drama">SECTION V.—Formation of the Drama</a></h4> - - -<p>Gradually art is being formed; and toward the close of the century it is -complete. Shakespeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Ben Jonson, Webster, -Massinger, Ford, Middleton, Heywood, appear together, or close upon each -other, a new and favored generation, flourishing largely in the soil -fertilized by the efforts of the generation which preceded them. -Henceforth the scenes are developed and assume consistency, the -characters cease to move all of a piece, the drama is no longer like a -piece of statuary. The poet who a little while ago knew only how to -strike or kill, introduces now a sequence of situation and a rationale -in intrigue. He begins to prepare the way for sentiments, to forewarn us -of events, to combine effects, and we find a theatre at last, the most -complete, the most life-like, and also the most strange that ever -existed.</p> - -<p>We must follow its formation, and regard the drama when it was formed, -that is, in the minds of its authors. What was going on in these minds? -What sorts of ideas were born there, and how were they born? In the -first place, they see the event, whatever it be, and they see it as it -is; I mean that they have it within themselves, with its persons and -details, beautiful and ugly, even dull and grotesque. If it is a trial, -the judge is there, in their minds, in his place, with his physiognomy -and his warts; the plaintiff in another place, with his spectacles and -brief-bag; the accused is opposite, stooping and remorseful; each with -his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> friends, cobblers, or lords; then the buzzing crowd behind, all with -their grinning faces, their bewildered or kindling eyes.<a name="NoteRef_453_1" id="NoteRef_453_1"></a><a href="#Note_453_1" class="fnanchor">[453]</a> It is a -genuine trial which they imagine, a trial like those they have seen -before the justice, where they screamed or shouted as witnesses or -interested parties, with their quibbling terms, their pros and cons, the -scribblings, the sharp voices of the counsel, the stamping of feet, the -crowding, the smell of their fellow-men, and so forth. The endless -myriads of circumstances which accompany and influence every event, -crowd round that event in their heads, and not merely the externals, -that is, the visible and picturesque traits, the details of color and -costume, but also, and chiefly, the internals, that is, the motions of -anger and joy, the secret tumult of the soul, the ebb and flow of ideas -and passions which are expressed by the countenance, swell the veins, -make a man to grind his teeth, to clench his fists, which urge him on or -restrain him. They see all the details, the tides that sway a man, one -from without, another from within, one through another, one within -another, both together without faltering and without ceasing. And what -is this insight but sympathy, an imitative sympathy, which puts us in -another's place, which carries over their agitations to our own breasts, -which makes our life a little world, able to reproduce the great one in -abstract? Like the characters they imagine, poets and spectators make -gestures, raise their voices, act. No speech or story can show their -inner mood, but it is the scenic effect which can manifest it. As some -men invent a language for their ideas, so these act and mimic them; -theatrical imitation and figured representation is their genuine speech: -all other expression, the lyrical song of Æschylus, the reflective -symbolism of Goethe, the oratorical development of Racine, would be -impossible for them. Involuntarily, instantaneously, without forecast, -they cut life into scenes, and carry it piecemeal on the boards; this -goes so far that often a mere character becomes an actor,<a name="NoteRef_454_454" id="NoteRef_454_454"></a><a href="#Note_454_454" class="fnanchor">[454]</a> playing a -part within a part; the scenic faculty is the natural form of their -mind. Beneath the effort of this instinct, all the accessory parts of -the drama come before the footlights and expand before your eyes. A -battle has been fought; instead of relating it, they bring it before the -public, trumpets and drums, pushing crowds, slaughtering <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> combatants. A -shipwreck happens; straightway the ship is before the spectator, with -the sailors' oaths, the technical orders of the pilot. Of all the -details of human life,<a name="NoteRef_455_1" id="NoteRef_455_1"></a><a href="#Note_455_1" class="fnanchor">[455]</a> tavern-racket and statesmen's councils, -scullion's talk and court processions, domestic tenderness and -pandering—none is to small or too lofty: these things exist in -life—let them exist on the stage, each in full, in the rough, -atrocious, or absurd, just as they are, no matter how. Neither in -Greece, nor Italy, nor Spain, nor France, has an art been seen which -tried so boldly to express the soul, and its innermost depths—the -truth, and the whole truth.</p> - -<p>How did they succeed, and what is this new art which tramples on all -ordinary rules? It is an art for all that, since it is natural; a great -art, since it embraces more things, and that more deeply than others do, -like the art of Rembrandt and Rubens; but like theirs, it is a Teutonic -art, and one whose every step is in contrast with those of classical -art. What the Greeks and Romans, the originators of the latter, sought -in everything, was charm and order. Monuments, statues, and paintings, -the theatre, eloquence and poetry, from Sophocles to Racine, they shaped -all their work in the same mould, and attained beauty by the same -method. In the infinite entanglement and complexity of things, they -grasped a small number of simple ideas, which they embraced in a small -number of simple representations, so that the vast confused vegetation -of life is presented to the mind from that time forth, pruned and -reduced, and perhaps easily embraced at a single glance. A square of -walls with rows of columns all alike; a symmetrical group of draped or -undraped forms; a young man standing up and raising one arm; a wounded -warrior who will not return to the camp, though they beseech him: this, -in their noblest epoch, was their architecture, their painting, their -sculpture, and their theatre. No poetry but a few sentiments not very -intricate, always natural, not toned down, intelligible to all; no -eloquence but a continuous argument, a limited vocabulary, the loftiest -ideas brought down to their sensible origin, so that children can -understand such eloquence and feel such poetry; and in this sense they -are classical.<a name="NoteRef_456_1" id="NoteRef_456_1"></a><a href="#Note_456_1" class="fnanchor">[456]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> In the hands of Frenchmen, the last inheritors of -the simple art, these great legacies of antiquity undergo no change. If -poetic genius is less, the structure of mind has not altered. Racine -puts on the stage a sole action, whose details he adjusts, and whose -course he regulates; no incident, nothing unforeseen, no appendices or -incongruities; no secondary intrigue. The subordinate parts are effaced; -at the most four or five principal characters, the fewest possible; the -rest, reduced to the condition of confidants, take the tone of their -masters, and merely reply to them. All the scenes are connected, and -flow insensibly one into the other, and every scene, like the entire -piece, has its order and progress. The tragedy stands out symmetrically -and clear in the midst of human life, like a complete and solitary -temple which limns its regular outline on the luminous azure of the sky, -in England all is different. All that the French call proportion and -fitness is wanting; Englishmen do not trouble themselves about them, -they do not need them. There is no unity; they leap suddenly over twenty -years, or five hundred leagues. There are twenty scenes in an act—we -stumble without preparation from one to the other, from tragedy to -buffoonery; usually it appears as though the action gained no ground; -the different personages waste their time in conversation, dreaming, -displaying their character. We were moved, anxious for the issue, and -here they bring us in quarrelling servants, lovers making poetry. Even -the dialogue and speeches, which we would think ought particularly to be -of a regular and continuous flow of engrossing ideas, remain stagnant, -or are scattered in windings and deviations. At first sight we fancy we -are not advancing, we do not feel at every phrase that we have made a -step. There are none of those solid pleadings, none of those conclusive -discussions, which every moment add reason to reason, objection to -objection; people might say that the different personages only knew how -to scold, to repeat themselves, and to mark time. And the disorder is as -great in general as in particular things. They heap a whole reign, a -complete war, an entire novel, into a drama; they cut up into scenes an -English chronicle or an Italian novel: this is all their art; the events -matter little; whatever they are, they accept them. They have no idea of -progressive and individual action. Two or three actions connected -endwise, or entangled one within another, two or three incomplete <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> -endings badly contrived, and opened up again; no machinery but death, -scattered right and left and unforeseen: such is the logic of their -method. The fact is, that our logic, the Latin, fails them. Their mind -does not march by the smooth and straightforward paths of rhetoric and -eloquence. It reaches the same end, but by other approaches. It is at -once more comprehensive and less regular than ours. It demands a -conception more complete, but less consecutive. It proceeds, not as with -us, by a line of uniform steps, but by sudden leaps and long pauses. It -does not rest satisfied with a simple idea drawn from a complex fact, -but demands the complex fact entire, with its numberless -particularities, its interminable ramifications. It sees in man not a -general passion—ambition, anger, or love; not a pure -quality—happiness, avarice, folly; but a character, that is, the -imprint, wonderfully complicated, which inheritance, temperament, -education, calling, age, society, conversation, habits, have stamped on -every man; an incommunicable and individual imprint, which, once stamped -in a man, is not found again in any other. It sees in the hero not only -the hero, but the individual, with his manner of walking, drinking, -swearing, blowing his nose; with the tone of his voice, whether he is -thin or fat;<a name="NoteRef_457_1" id="NoteRef_457_1"></a><a href="#Note_457_1" class="fnanchor">[457]</a> and thus plunges to the bottom of things, with every -look, as by a miner's deep shaft. This sunk, it little cares whether the -second shaft be two paces or a hundred from the first; enough that it -reaches the same depth, and serves equally well to display the inner and -visible layer. Logic is here from beneath, not from above. It is the -unity of a character which binds the two actions of the personage, as -the unity of an impression connects the two scenes of a drama. To speak -exactly, the spectator is like a man whom we should lead along a wall -pierced at separate intervals with little windows; at every window he -catches for an instant a glimpse of a new landscape, with its million -details: the walk over, if he is of Latin race and training, he finds a -medley of images jostling in his head, and asks for a map that he may -recollect himself; if he is of German race and training, he perceives as -a whole, by natural concentration, the wide country which he has only -seen piecemeal. Such a conception, by the multitude of details which it -combines, and by the depth of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> vistas which it embraces, is a -half-vision which shakes the whole soul. What its works are about to -show us is, with what energy, what disdain of contrivance, what -vehemence of truth, it dares to coin and hammer the human medal; with -what liberty it is able to reproduce in full prominence worn-out -characters, and the extreme flights of virgin nature.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Furious_Passions--Exaggerated_Characters">SECTION VI.—Furious Passions—Exaggerated Characters</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us consider the different personages which this art, so suited to -depict real manners, and so apt to paint the living soul, goes in search -of amidst the real manners and the living souls of its time and country. -They are of two kinds, as befits the nature of the drama: one which -produces terror, the other which moves to pity; these graceful and -feminine, those manly and violent. All the differences of sex, all the -extremes of life, all the resources of the stage, are embraced in this -contrast; and if ever there was a complete contrast, it is here.</p> - -<p>The reader must study for himself some of these pieces, or he will have -no idea of the fury into which the stage is hurled: force and transport -are driven every instant to the point of atrocity, and further still, if -there be any further. Assassinations, poisonings, tortures, outcries of -madness and rage; no passion and no suffering are too extreme for their -energy or their effort. Anger is with them a madness, ambition a frenzy, -love a delirium. Hippolyto, who has lost his mistress, says, "Were thine -eyes clear as mine, thou mightst behold her, watching upon yon -battlements of stars, how I observe them."<a name="NoteRef_458_458" id="NoteRef_458_458"></a><a href="#Note_458_458" class="fnanchor">[458]</a> Aretus, to be avenged on -Valentinian, poisons him after poisoning himself, and with the -death-rattle in his throat, is brought to his enemy's side, to give him -a foretaste of agony. Queen Brunhalt has panders with her on the stage, -and causes her two sons to slay each other. Death everywhere; at the -close of every play, all the great people wade in blood: with slaughter -and butcheries, the stage becomes a field of battle or a -churchyard.<a name="NoteRef_459_459" id="NoteRef_459_459"></a><a href="#Note_459_459" class="fnanchor">[459]</a> Shall I describe a few of these tragedies? In the "Duke -of Milan," Francesco, to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> avenge his sister, who has been seduced, wishes -to seduce in his turn the Duchess Marcelia, wife of Sforza, the seducer; -he desires her, he will have her; he says to her, with cries of love and -rage:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For with this arm I'll swim through seas of blood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or make a bridge, arch'd with the bones of men,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dearest, and best of women!"<a name="NoteRef_460_460" id="NoteRef_460_460"></a><a href="#Note_460_460" class="fnanchor">[460]</a></span></p> - - -<p>For he wishes to strike the duke through her, whether she lives or dies, -if not by dishonor, at least by murder; the first is as good as the -second, nay, better, for so he will do a greater injury. He calumniates -her, and the duke, who adores her, kills her; then, being undeceived, -loses his senses, will not believe she is dead, has the body brought in, -kneels before it, rages and weeps. He knows now the name of the traitor, -and at the thought of him he swoons or raves:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And there live a fourth Fury to torment him.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then, for this cursed hand and arm that guided</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion."<a name="NoteRef_461_1" id="NoteRef_461_1"></a><a href="#Note_461_1" class="fnanchor">[461]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Suddenly he gasps for breath, and falls; Francesco has poisoned him. The -duke dies, and the murderer is led to torture. There are worse scenes -than this; to find sentiments strong enough, they go to those which -change the very nature of man. Massinger puts on the stage a father who -judges and condemns his daughter, stabbed by her husband; Webster and -Ford, a son who assassinates his mother; Ford, the incestuous loves of a -brother and sister.<a name="NoteRef_462_462" id="NoteRef_462_462"></a><a href="#Note_462_462" class="fnanchor">[462]</a> Irresistible love overtakes them; the ancient -love of Pasiphaë and Myrrha, a kind of madness-like enchantment, and -beneath which the will entirely gives way. Giovanni says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Lost! I am lost! My fates have doom'd my death!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The more I strive, I love; the more I love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The less I hope: I see my ruin certain....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have even wearied heaven with pray'rs, dried up</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The spring of my continual tears, even starv'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Could counsel, I have practis'd; but, alas!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To fright unsteady youth: I am still the same;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or I must speak, or burst."<a name="NoteRef_463_1" id="NoteRef_463_1"></a><a href="#Note_463_1" class="fnanchor">[463]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What transports follow! what fierce and bitter joys, and how short too, -how grievous and mingled with anguish, especially for her! She is -married to another. Read for yourself the admirable and horrible scene -which represents the wedding night. She is pregnant, and Soranzo, the -husband, drags her along the ground, with curses, demanding the name of -her lover:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Come strumpet, famous whore?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Harlot, rare, notable harlot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That with thy brazen face maintain'st thy sin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was there no man in Parma to be bawd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To your loose cunning whoredom else but I?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Must your hot itch and plurisy of lust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The heyday of your luxury, be fed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Up to a surfeit, and could none but I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Be pick'd out to be cloak to your close tricks,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your belly-sports?—Now I must be the dad</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To all that gallimaufry that is stuff'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In thy corrupted bastard-bearing womb?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Say, must I?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Annabella.</i> Beastly man? why, 'tis thy fate.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I su'd not to thee....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> Tell me by whom."<a name="NoteRef_464_1" id="NoteRef_464_1"></a><a href="#Note_464_1" class="fnanchor">[464]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She gets excited, feels and cares for nothing more, refuses to tell the -name of her lover, and praises him in the following words. This praise -in the midst of danger is like a rose she has plucked, and of which the -odor intoxicates her:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>A.</i> Soft! 'twas not in my bargain.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet somewhat, sir, to stay your longing stomach</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am content t' acquaint you with <i>the</i> man,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The more than man, that got this sprightly boy—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(For 'tis a boy, and therefore glory, sir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your heir shall be a son.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> Damnable monster?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>A.</i> Nay, and you will not hear, I'll speak no more.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> Yes, speak, and speak thy last.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>A.</i> A match, a match?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You, why you are not worthy once to name</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His name without true worship, or, indeed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unless you kneel'd to hear another name him.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> What was he call'd?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>A.</i> We are not come to that;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let it suffice that you shall have the glory</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To father what so brave a father got....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> Dost thou laugh?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come, whore, tell me your lover, or, by truth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll hew thy flesh to shreds; who is't?"<a name="NoteRef_465_1" id="NoteRef_465_1"></a><a href="#Note_465_1" class="fnanchor">[465]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She laughs; the excess of shame and terror has given her courage; she -insults him, she sings; so like a woman!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>A.</i> (Sings) <i>Che morte piu dolce che morire per amore.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> Thus will I pull thy hair, and thus I'll drag</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy lust be-leper'd body through the dust....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 18em;">(<i>Hales her up and down</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>A.</i> Be a gallant hangman....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I leave revenge behind, and thou shalt feel't....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(<i>To Vasquez.</i>) Pish, do not beg for me, I prize my life</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As nothing; if the man will needs be mad,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why, let him take it."<a name="NoteRef_466_1" id="NoteRef_466_1"></a><a href="#Note_466_1" class="fnanchor">[466]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In the end all is discovered, and the two lovers know they must die. For -the last time, they see each other in Annabella's chamber, listening to -the noise of the feast below which shall serve for their funeral feast. -Giovanni, who has made his resolve like a madman, sees Annabella richly -dressed, dazzling. He regards her in silence, and remembers the past. He -weeps and says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"These are the funeral tears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shed on your grave; these furrow'd-up my cheeks</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When first I lov'd and knew not how to woo....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Give me your hand: how sweetly life doth run</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In these well-colour'd veins! How constantly</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">These palms do promise health!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Kiss me again, forgive me.... Farewell."<a name="NoteRef_467_1" id="NoteRef_467_1"></a><a href="#Note_467_1" class="fnanchor">[467]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He then stabs her, enters the banqueting room, with her heart upon his -dagger:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Soranzo see this heart, which was thy wife's.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thus I exchange it royally for thine."<a name="NoteRef_468_1" id="NoteRef_468_1"></a><a href="#Note_468_1" class="fnanchor">[468]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He kills him, and casting himself on the swords of banditti, dies. It -would seem that tragedy could go no further.</p> - -<p>But it did go further; for if these are melodramas, they are sincere, -composed, not like those of to-day, by Grub Street writers for peaceful -citizens, but by impassioned men, experienced in tragical arts, for a -violent, over-fed, melancholy race. From Shakespeare to Milton, Swift, -Hogarth, no race has been more glutted with coarse expressions and -horrors, and its poets supply them plentifully; Ford less so than -Webster; the latter a sombre man, whose thoughts seem incessantly to be -haunting tombs and charnel-houses. "Places in court," he says, "are but -like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at that man's -foot, and so lower and lower."<a name="NoteRef_469_1" id="NoteRef_469_1"></a><a href="#Note_469_1" class="fnanchor">[469]</a> Such are his images. No one has -equalled Webster in creating desperate characters, utter wretches, -bitter misanthropes,<a name="NoteRef_470_1" id="NoteRef_470_1"></a><a href="#Note_470_1" class="fnanchor">[470]</a> in blackening and blaspheming human life, -above all, in depicting the shameless depravity and refined ferocity of -Italian manners.<a name="NoteRef_471_471" id="NoteRef_471_471"></a><a href="#Note_471_471" class="fnanchor">[471]</a> The Duchess of Malfi has secretly married her -steward Antonio, and her brother learns that she has children; almost -mad<a name="NoteRef_472_1" id="NoteRef_472_1"></a><a href="#Note_472_1" class="fnanchor">[472]</a> with rage and wounded pride, he remains silent, waiting until -he knows the name of the father; then he arrives all of a sudden, means -to kill her, but so that she shall taste the lees of death. She must -suffer much, but above all, she must not die too quickly! She must -suffer in mind; these griefs are worse than the body's. He sends -assassins to kill Antonio, and meanwhile comes to her in the dark, with -affectionate words; he pretends to be reconciled, and suddenly shows her -waxen figures, covered with wounds, whom she takes for her slaughtered -husband and children. She staggers under the blow, and remains in gloom -without crying out. Then she says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Good comfortable fellow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To have all his bones new set; entreat him live</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To be executed again. Who must despatch me?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Bosola.</i> Come, be of comfort, I will save your life.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Duchess.</i> Indeed, I have not leisure to tend</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So small a business.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>B.</i> Now, by my life, I pity you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>D.</i> Thou art a fool, then,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers."<a name="NoteRef_473_1" id="NoteRef_473_1"></a><a href="#Note_473_1" class="fnanchor">[473]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Slow words, spoken in a whisper, as in a dream, or as if she were -speaking of a third person. Her brother sends to her a company of -madmen, who leap and howl and rave around her in mournful wise; a -pitiful sight, calculated to unseat the reason; a kind of foretaste of -hell. She says nothing, looking upon them; her heart is dead, her eyes -fixed, with vacant stare:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Cariola.</i> What think you of, madam?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Duchess.</i> Of nothing:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When I muse thus, I sleep.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Like a madman, with your eyes open?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>D.</i> Dost thou think we shall know one another</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In the other world?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Yes, out of question.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>D.</i> O that it were possible we might</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But hold some two days' conference with the dead!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I never shall know here. I'll teach thee a miracle;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am acquainted with sad misery</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar...."<a name="NoteRef_474_1" id="NoteRef_474_1"></a><a href="#Note_474_1" class="fnanchor">[474]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In this state, the limbs, like those of one who has been newly executed, -still quiver, but the sensibility is worn out; the miserable body only -stirs mechanically; it has suffered too much. At last the gravedigger -comes with executioners, a coffin, and they sing before her a funeral -dirge:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Duchess.</i> Farewell, Cariola...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Say her prayers ere she sleep.—Now, what you please:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What death?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Bosola.</i> Strangling; here are your executioners.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>D.</i> I forgive them:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Would do as much as they do.... My body</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bestow upon my women, will you?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Go, tell my brothers, when I am laid out,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They then may feed in quiet."<a name="NoteRef_475_1" id="NoteRef_475_1"></a><a href="#Note_475_1" class="fnanchor">[475]</a></span></p> - - -<p>After the mistress the maid; the latter cries and struggles:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Cariola.</i> I will not die; I must not; I am contracted</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To a young gentleman.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>1st Executioner.</i> Here's your wedding-ring.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> If you kill me now,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am damn'd. I have not been at confession</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This two years.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>B.</i> When?<a name="NoteRef_476_1" id="NoteRef_476_1"></a><a href="#Note_476_1" class="fnanchor">[476]</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> I am quick with child."<a name="NoteRef_477_1" id="NoteRef_477_1"></a><a href="#Note_477_1" class="fnanchor">[477]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They strangle her also, and the two children of the duchess. Antonio is -assassinated; the cardinal and his mistress, the duke and his confidant, -are poisoned or butchered; and the solemn words of the dying, in the -midst of this butchery, utter, as from funereal trumpets, a general -curse upon existence:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That, ruin'd yield no echo. Fare you well....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O this gloomy world!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Doth womanish and fearful mankind live!"<a name="NoteRef_478_1" id="NoteRef_478_1"></a><a href="#Note_478_1" class="fnanchor">[478]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In all our quest of greatness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We follow after bubbles blown in the air.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pleasure of life, what is't? only the good hours</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of an ague; merely a preparative to rest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To endure vexation....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust."<a name="NoteRef_479_1" id="NoteRef_479_1"></a><a href="#Note_479_1" class="fnanchor">[479]</a></span></p> - - -<p>You will find nothing sadder or greater from the Edda to Lord Byron.</p> - -<p>We can well imagine what powerful characters are necessary to sustain -these terrible dramas. All these personages are ready <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> for extreme acts; -their resolves break forth like blows of a sword; we follow, meet at -every change of scene their glowing eyes, wan lips, the starting of -their muscles, the tension of their whole frame. Their powerful will -contracts their violent hands, and their accumulated passion breaks out -in thunderbolts, which tear and ravage all around them, and in their own -hearts. We know them, the heroes of this tragic population, Iago, -Richard III, Lady Macbeth, Othello, Coriolanus, Hotspur, full of genius, -courage, desire, generally mad or criminal, always self-driven to the -tomb. There are as many around Shakespeare as in his own works. Let me -exhibit one character more, written by the same dramatist, Webster. No -one, except Shakespeare, has seen further into the depths of diabolical -and unchained nature. The "White Devil" is the name which he gives to -his heroine. His Vittoria Corombona receives as her lover the Duke of -Brachiano, and at the first interview dreams of the issue:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To pass away the time, I'll tell your grace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A dream I had last night."</span></p> - - -<p>It is certainly well related, and still better chosen, of deep meaning -and very clear import. Her brother Flaminio says, aside:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Excellent devil! she hath taught him in a dream</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To make away his duchess and her husband."<a name="NoteRef_480_1" id="NoteRef_480_1"></a><a href="#Note_480_1" class="fnanchor">[480]</a></span></p> - - -<p>So, her husband, Camillo, is strangled, the Duchess poisoned, and -Vittoria, accused of the two crimes, is brought before the tribunal. -Step by step, like a soldier brought to bay with his back against a -wall, she defends herself, refuting and defying advocates and judges, -incapable of blenching or quailing, clear in mind, ready in word, amid -insults and proofs, even menaced with death on the scaffold. The -advocate begins to speak in Latin.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Vittoria.</i> Pray my lord, let him speak his usual tongue;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll make no answer else.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Francisco de Medicis.</i> Why, you understand Latin.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>V.</i> I do, sir; but amongst this auditory</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which come to hear my cause, the half or more</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">May be ignorant in't."</span> <span class="pagenum"> <a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She wants a duel, bare-breasted, in open day, and challenges the -advocate:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I am at the mark, sir: I'll give aim to you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tell you how near you shoot."</span></p> - - -<p>She mocks his legal phraseology, insults him, with biting irony:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallow'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some pothecaries' bills, or proclamations;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And now the hard and undigestible words</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why, this is Welsh to Latin."</span></p> - - -<p>Then, to the strongest adjuration of the judges:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"To the point,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Find me but guilty, sever head from body,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We'll part good friends; I scorn to hold my life</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At yours, or any man's entreaty, sir....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">These are but feigned shadows of my evils:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am past such needless palsy. For your names</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of whore and murderess, they proceed from you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if a man should spit against the wind;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The filth returns in's face."<a name="NoteRef_481_1" id="NoteRef_481_1"></a><a href="#Note_481_1" class="fnanchor">[481]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Argument for argument: she has a parry for every blow: a parry and a -thrust:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But take you your course: it seems you have beggar'd me first,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And now would fain undo me. I have houses.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Would those would make you charitable!"</span></p> - - -<p>Then, in a harsher voice:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In faith, my lord, you might go pistol flies;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The sport would be more noble."</span></p> - - -<p>They condemn her to be shut up in a house of convertites:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>V.</i> A house of convertites! What's that?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Monticelso.</i> A house of penitent whores.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>V.</i> Do the noblemen in Rome</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Erect it for their wives, that I am sent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To lodge there?"<a name="NoteRef_482_1" id="NoteRef_482_1"></a><a href="#Note_482_1" class="fnanchor">[482]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The sarcasm comes home like a sword-thrust; then another behind <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> it; then -cries and curses. She will not bend, she will not weep. She goes off -erect, bitter and more haughty than ever:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 14em;">"I will not weep;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No, I do scorn to call up one poor tear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To fawn on your injustice: bear me hence</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unto this house of what's your mitigating title?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mont.</i> Of convertites.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>V.</i> It shall not be a house of convertites;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My mind shall make it honester to me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than thy soul, though thou art a cardinal."<a name="NoteRef_483_1" id="NoteRef_483_1"></a><a href="#Note_483_1" class="fnanchor">[483]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Against her furious lover, who accuses her of unfaithfulness, she is as -strong as against her judges; she copes with him, casts in his teeth the -death of his duchess, forces him to beg pardon, to marry her; she will -play the comedy to the end, at the pistol's mouth, with the -shamelessness and courage of a courtesan and an empress;<a name="NoteRef_484_1" id="NoteRef_484_1"></a><a href="#Note_484_1" class="fnanchor">[484]</a> snared at -last, she will be just as brave and more insulting when the dagger's -point threatens her:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Yes, I shall welcome death</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As princes do some great ambassadors;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll meet thy weapon half way.... 'Twas a manly blow;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then thou wilt be famous."<a name="NoteRef_485_1" id="NoteRef_485_1"></a><a href="#Note_485_1" class="fnanchor">[485]</a></span></p> - - -<p>When a woman unsexes herself, her actions transcend man's, and there is -nothing which she will not suffer or dare.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Female_Characters">SECTION VII.—Female Characters</a></h4> - - -<p>Opposed to this band of tragic characters, with their distorted -features, brazen fronts, combative attitudes, is a troop of sweet and -timid figures, pre-eminently tender-hearted, the most graceful and -loveworthy whom it has been given to man to depict. In Shakespeare you -will meet them in Miranda, Juliet, Desdemona, Virgilia, Ophelia, -Cordelia, Imogen; but they abound also in the others; and it is a -characteristic of the race to have furnished them, as it is of the drama -to have represented them. By a singular coincidence, the women are more -of women, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> men more of men, here than elsewhere. The two natures go -each to its extreme: in the one to boldness, the spirit of enterprise -and resistance, the warlike, imperious, and unpolished character; in the -other to sweetness, devotion, patience, inextinguishable -affection<a name="NoteRef_486_1" id="NoteRef_486_1"></a><a href="#Note_486_1" class="fnanchor">[486]</a>—a thing unknown in distant lands, in France especially -so: a woman in England gives herself without drawing back, and places -her glory and duty in obedience, forgiveness, adoration, wishing and -professing only to be melted and absorbed daily deeper and deeper in him -whom she has freely and forever chosen.<a name="NoteRef_487_487" id="NoteRef_487_487"></a><a href="#Note_487_487" class="fnanchor">[487]</a> It is this, an old German -instinct, which these great painters of instinct diffuse here, one and -all: Penthea, Dorothea, in Ford and Greene; Isabella and the Duchess of -Malfi, in Webster; Bianca, Ordella, Arethusa, Juliana, Euphrasia, -Amoret, and others, in Beaumont and Fletcher: there are a score of them -who, under the severest tests and the strongest temptations, display -this wonderful power of self-abandonment and devotion.<a name="NoteRef_488_488" id="NoteRef_488_488"></a><a href="#Note_488_488" class="fnanchor">[488]</a> The soul, in -this race, is at once primitive and serious. Women keep their purity -longer than elsewhere. They lose respect less quickly; weigh worth and -characters less suddenly: they are less apt to think evil, and to take -the measure of their husbands. To this day, a great lady, accustomed to -company, blushes in the presence of an unknown man, and feels bashful -like a little girl: the blue eyes are dropped, and a child-like shame -flies to her rosy cheeks. Englishwomen have not the smartness, the -boldness of ideas, the assurance of bearing, the precocity, which with -the French make of a young girl, in six months, a woman of intrigue and -the queen of a drawing-room.<a name="NoteRef_489_489" id="NoteRef_489_489"></a><a href="#Note_489_489" class="fnanchor">[489]</a> Domestic life and obedience are more -easy to them. More pliant and more sedentary, they are at the same time -more concentrated and introspective, more disposed to follow the noble -dream called duty, which is hardly generated in mankind but by silence -of the senses. They are not tempted by the voluptuous sweetness which in -southern countries is breathed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> out in the climate, in the sky, in the -general spectacle of things; which dissolves every obstacle, which -causes privation to be looked upon as a snare and virtue as a theory. -They can rest content with dull sensations, dispense with excitement, -endure weariness; and in this monotony of a regulated existence, fall -back upon themselves, obey a pure idea, employ all the strength of their -hearts in maintaining their moral dignity. Thus supported by innocence -and conscience, they introduce into love a profound and upright -sentiment, abjure coquetry, vanity, and flirtation: they do not lie nor -simper. When they love, they are not tasting a forbidden fruit, but are -binding themselves for their whole life. Thus understood, love becomes -almost a holy thing; the spectator no longer wishes to be spiteful or to -jest; women do not think of their own happiness, but of that of the -loved ones; they aim not at pleasure, but at devotion. Euphrasia, -relating her history to Philaster, says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"My father oft would speak</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">More and more apprehensive, I did thirst</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To see the man so prais'd; but yet all this</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was but a maiden longing, to be lost</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As soon as found; till sitting in my window,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I thought (but it was you), enter our gates.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My blood flew out, and back again as fast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like breath: Then was I call'd away in haste</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To entertain you. Never was a man,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heav'd from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, rais'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So high in thoughts as I: You left a kiss</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From you forever. I did hear you talk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Far above singing! After you were gone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What stirr'd it so: Alas! I found it love;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet far from lust; for could I but have liv'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In presence of you, I had had my end."<a name="NoteRef_490_490" id="NoteRef_490_490"></a><a href="#Note_490_490" class="fnanchor">[490]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She had disguised herself as a page,<a name="NoteRef_491_1" id="NoteRef_491_1"></a><a href="#Note_491_1" class="fnanchor">[491]</a> followed him, was his servant; -what greater happiness for a woman than to serve on her knees the man -she loves? She let him scold her, threaten her with death, wound her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"Blest be that hand!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake!"<a name="NoteRef_492_1" id="NoteRef_492_1"></a><a href="#Note_492_1" class="fnanchor">[492]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Do what he will, nothing but words of tenderness and adoration can -proceed from this heart, these wan lips. Moreover, she takes upon -herself a crime of which he is accused, contradicts him when he asserts -his guilt, is ready to die in his place. Still more, she is of use to -him with the Princess Arethusa, whom he loves; she justifies her rival, -brings about their marriage, and asks no other thanks but that she may -serve them both. And strange to say, the princess is not jealous.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Euphrasia.</i> Never, Sir, will I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Marry; it is a thing within my vow:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But if I may have leave to serve the princess,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To see the virtues of her lord and her,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I shall have hope to live.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Arethusa.</i>... Come, live with me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Live free as I do. She that loves my lord,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Curst be the wife that hates her!"<a name="NoteRef_493_1" id="NoteRef_493_1"></a><a href="#Note_493_1" class="fnanchor">[493]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What notion of love have they in this country? Whence happens it that -all selfishness, all vanity, all rancor, every little feeling, either -personal or base, flees at its approach? How comes it that the soul is -given up wholly, without hesitation, without reserve, and only dreams -thenceforth of prostrating and annihilating itself, as in the presence -of a god? Biancha, thinking Cesario ruined, offers herself to him as his -wife; and learning that he is not so, gives him up straightway, without -a murmur:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Biancha.</i> So dearly I respected both your fame</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And quality, that I would first have perish'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In my sick thoughts, than e'er have given consent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To have undone your fortunes, by inviting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A marriage with so mean a one as I am:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I should have died sure, and no creature known</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The sickness that had kill'd me... Now since I know</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There is no difference 'twixt your birth and mine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not much 'twixt our estates (if any be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The advantage is on my side) I come willingly</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To tender you the first-fruits of my heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And am content t' accept you for my husband.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now when you are at the lowest....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cesario.</i> Why, Biancha,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Report has cozen'd thee; I am not fallen</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From my expected honors or possessions,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tho' from the hope of birth-right.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>B.</i> Are you not?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then I am lost again! I have a suit too;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You'll grant it, if you be a good man....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pray do not talk of aught what I have said t'ye....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em;">... Pity me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But never love me more!... I'll pray for you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That you may have a virtuous wife, a fair one;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And when I'm dead...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Fy, fy!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>B.</i> Think on me sometimes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With mercy for this trespass!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Let us kiss</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At parting, as at coming!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>B.</i> This I have</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As a free dower to a virgin's grave,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All goodness dwell with you!"<a name="NoteRef_494_494" id="NoteRef_494_494"></a><a href="#Note_494_494" class="fnanchor">[494]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Isabella, Brachiano's duchess, is defrayed, insulted by her faithless -husband; to shield him from the vengeance of her family, she takes upon -herself the blame of the rupture, purposely plays the shrew, and leaving -him at peace with his courtesan, dies embracing his picture. Arethusa -allows herself to be wounded by Philaster, stays the people who would -hold back the murderer's arm, declares that he has done nothing, that it -is not he, prays for him, loves him in spite of all, even to the end, as -though all his acts were sacred, as if he had power of life and death -over her. Ordella devotes herself, that the king, her husband, may have -children;<a name="NoteRef_495_495" id="NoteRef_495_495"></a><a href="#Note_495_495" class="fnanchor">[495]</a> she offers herself for a sacrifice, simply, without grand -words, with her whole heart:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Ordella.</i> Let it be what it may then, what it dare,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have a mind will hazard it.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Thierry.</i> But, hark you;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What may that woman merit, makes this blessing?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> Only her duty, sir.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> 'Tis terrible!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> 'Tis so much the more noble.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> 'Tis full of fearful shadows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> So is sleep, sir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or anything that's merely ours, and mortal;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We were begotten gods else: but those fears,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Feeling but once the fires of noble thoughts,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fly, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> Suppose it death!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> I do.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> And endless parting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For in the silent grave, no conversation,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No careful father's counsel, nothing's heard,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor nothing is, but all oblivion,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dust and endless darkness: and dare you, woman,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Desire this place?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And kings from height of all their painted glories</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fall, like spent exhalations, to this centre....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> Then you can suffer?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> As willingly as say it.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> Martell, a wonder!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here is a woman that dares die.—Yet, tell me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are you a wife?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> I am, sir.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> And have children?—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She sighs and weeps!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> Oh, none, sir.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>T.</i> Dare you venture</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To part with these sweet hopes?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> With all but Heaven."<a name="NoteRef_496_1" id="NoteRef_496_1"></a><a href="#Note_496_1" class="fnanchor">[496]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Is not this prodigious? Can you understand how one human being can thus -be separated from herself, forget and lose herself in another? They do -so lose themselves, as in an abyss. When they love in vain and without -hope, neither reason nor life resist; they languish, grow mad, die like -Ophelia. Aspasia, forlorn,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Walks discontented, with her watry eyes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are her delight; and when she sees a bank</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her servants what a pretty place it were</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To bury lovers in; and make her maids</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She carries with her an infectious grief,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That strikes all her beholders; she will sing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sigh and sing again; and when the rest</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tell mirthful tales in course, that fill the room</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With laughter, she will with so sad a look</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bring forth a story of the silent death</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She'll send them weeping one by one away."<a name="NoteRef_497_497" id="NoteRef_497_497"></a><a href="#Note_497_497" class="fnanchor">[497]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Like a spectre about a tomb, she wanders forever about the remains of -her destroyed love, languishes, grows pale, swoons, ends by causing -herself to be killed. Sadder still are those who, from duty or -submission, allow themselves to be married while their heart belongs to -another. They are not resigned, do not recover, like Pauline in -"Polyeucte." They are crushed to death. Penthea, in Ford's "Broken -Heart," is as upright, but not so strong, as Pauline; she is the English -wife, not the Roman, stoical and calm.<a name="NoteRef_498_1" id="NoteRef_498_1"></a><a href="#Note_498_1" class="fnanchor">[498]</a> She despairs sweetly, -silently, and pines to death. In her innermost heart she holds herself -married to him to whom she has pledged her soul: it is the marriage of -the heart which in her eyes is alone genuine; the other is only -disguised adultery. In marrying Bassanes she has sinned against Orgilus; -moral infidelity is worse than legal infidelity, and thenceforth she is -fallen in her own eyes. She says to her brother:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Pray, kill me....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Kill me, pray; nay, will ye</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ithocles.</i> How does thy lord esteem thee?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>P.</i> Such an one</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As only you have made me; a faith-breaker,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A spotted whore; forgive me, I am one—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In act, not in desires, the gods must witness....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For she's that wife to Orgilus, and lives</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In known adultery with Bassanes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is, at the best, a whore. Wilt kill me now?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The handmaid to the wages</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of country toil, drinks the untroubled streams</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With leaping kids, and with the bleating lambs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And so allays her thirst secure; whiles I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears."<a name="NoteRef_499_1" id="NoteRef_499_1"></a><a href="#Note_499_1" class="fnanchor">[499]</a></span></p> - - -<p>With tragic greatness, from the height of her incurable grief, she -throws her gaze on life:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"My glass of life, sweet princess, hath few minutes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Remaining to run down; the sands are spent;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For by an inward messenger I feel</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The summons of departure short and certain.... Glories</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shadows soon decaying; on the stage</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of my mortality, my youth hath acted</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By varied pleasures, sweeten'd in the mixture,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But tragical in issue... That remedy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Must be a winding-sheet, a fold of lead,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And some untrod-on corner in the earth."<a name="NoteRef_500_1" id="NoteRef_500_1"></a><a href="#Note_500_1" class="fnanchor">[500]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is no revolt, no bitterness; she affectionately assists her -brother who has caused her unhappiness; she tries to enable him to win -the woman he loves; feminine kindness and sweetness overflow in her in -the depths of her despair. Love here is not despotic, passionate, as in -southern climes. It is only deep and sad; the source of life is dried -up, that is all; she lives no longer, because she cannot; all go by -degrees—health, reason, soul; in the end she becomes mad, and behold -her dishevelled, with wide staring eyes, with words that can hardly find -utterance. For ten days she has not slept, and will not eat any more; -and the same fatal thought continually afflicts her heart, amidst vague -dreams of maternal tenderness and happiness brought to nought, which -come and go in her mind like phantoms:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Sure, if we were all sirens, we would sing pitifully,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And 'twere a comely music, when in parts</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One sung another's knell; the turtle sighs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When he hath lost his mate; and yet some say</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He must be dead first: 'tis a fine deceit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To pass away in a dream! indeed, I've slept</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With mine eyes open, a great while. No falsehood</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Equals a broken faith; there's not a hair</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sticks on my head, but, like a leaden plummet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It sinks me to the grave: I must creep thither;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The journey is not long....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Since I was first a wife, I might have been</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mother to many pretty prattling babes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They would have smiled when I smiled; and, for certain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I should have cried when they cried:—truly, brother,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My father would have pick'd me out a husband,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then my little ones had been no bastards;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But 'tis too late for me to marry now,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'm past child-bearing; Tis not my fault....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Spare your hand;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Believe me, I'll not hurt it....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Complain not though I wring it hard: I'll kiss it,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, 'tis a fine soft palm!—hark, in thine ear;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like whom do I look, prithee?—nay, no whispering,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Goodness! we had been happy; too much happiness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will make folk proud, they say....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There is no peace left for a ravish'd wife,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Widow'd by lawless marriage; to all memory</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forgive me; Oh! I faint."<a name="NoteRef_501_1" id="NoteRef_501_1"></a><a href="#Note_501_1" class="fnanchor">[501]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She dies, imploring that some gentle voice may sing her a plaintive air, -a farewell ditty, a sweet funeral song. I know nothing in the drama more -pure and touching.</p> - -<p>When we find a constitution of soul so new, and capable of such great -effects, it behooves us to look at the bodies. Man's extreme actions -come not from his will, but his nature.<a name="NoteRef_502_1" id="NoteRef_502_1"></a><a href="#Note_502_1" class="fnanchor">[502]</a> In order to understand the -great tensions of the whole machine, we must look upon the whole—I mean -man's temperament, the manner in which his blood flows, his nerves -quiver, his muscles act, the moral interprets the physical, and human -qualities have their root in the animal species. Consider then the -species in this case—namely, the race; for the sisters of Shakespeare's -Ophelia and Virgilia, Goethe's Clara and Margaret, Otway's Belvidera, -Richardson's Pamela, constitute a race by themselves, soft and fair, -with blue eyes, lily whiteness, blushing, of timid delicacy, serious -sweetness, framed to yield, bend, cling. Their poets feel it clearly -when they bring them on the stage; they surround them with the poetry -which becomes them, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> murmur of streams, the pendant willow-tresses, -the frail and humid flowers of the country, so like themselves:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The azure harebell, like thy veins; no, nor</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Out-sweeten'd not thy breath."<a name="NoteRef_503_1" id="NoteRef_503_1"></a><a href="#Note_503_1" class="fnanchor">[503]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They make them sweet, like the south wind, which with its gentle breath -causes the violets to bend their heads, abashed at the slightest -reproach, already half bowed down by a tender and dreamy -melancholy.<a name="NoteRef_504_1" id="NoteRef_504_1"></a><a href="#Note_504_1" class="fnanchor">[504]</a> Philaster, speaking of Euphrasia, whom he takes to be a -page, and who has disguised herself in order to be near him, says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Hunting the buck,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I found him sitting by a fountain-side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And paid the nymph again as much in tears.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A garland lay him by, made by himself,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Delighted me: But ever when he turn'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if he meant to make 'em grow again.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seeing such pretty helpless innocence</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He told me, that his parents gentle dy'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which did not stop their courses; and the sun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then he took up his garland, and did shew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What every flower, as country people hold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did signify; and how all, order'd thus,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Express'd his grief: And, to my thoughts, did read</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The prettiest lecture of his country art</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That could be wish'd.... I gladly entertain'd him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who was as glad to follow; and have got</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That ever master kept."<a name="NoteRef_505_1" id="NoteRef_505_1"></a><a href="#Note_505_1" class="fnanchor">[505]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The idyl is self-produced among these human flowers: the dramatic action -is stopped before the angelic sweetness of their tenderness and modesty. -Sometimes even the idyl is born complete <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> and pure, and the whole -theatre is occupied by a sentimental and poetical kind of opera. There -are two or three such plays in Shakespeare; in rude Jonson, "The Sad -Shepherd"; in Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess." Ridiculous titles -nowadays, for they remind us of the interminable platitudes of d'Urfé, -or the affected conceits of Florian; charming titles, if we note the -sincere and overflowing poetry which they contain. Amoret, the faithful -shepherdess, lives in an imaginary country, full of old gods, yet -English, like the dewy verdant landscapes in which Rubens sets his -nymphs dancing:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Thro' yon same bending plain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That flings his arms down to the main,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thro' these thick woods, have I run,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Since the lusty spring began."...</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For to that holy wood is consecrate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A virtuous well, about whose flow'ry banks</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their stolen children, so to make them free</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From dying flesh, and dull mortality...<a name="NoteRef_506_506" id="NoteRef_506_506"></a><a href="#Note_506_506" class="fnanchor">[506]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"See the dew-drops, how they kiss</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ev'ry little flower that is;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hanging on their velvet heads,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like a rope of christal beads.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">See the heavy clouds low falling,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And bright Hesperus down calling</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The dead Night from underground."<a name="NoteRef_507_1" id="NoteRef_507_1"></a><a href="#Note_507_1" class="fnanchor">[507]</a></span></p> - - -<p>These are the plants and the aspects of the ever fresh English country, -now enveloped in a pale diaphanous mist, now glistening under the -absorbing sun, teeming with grasses so full of sap, so delicate, that in -the midst of their most brilliant splendor and their most luxuriant -life, we feel that to-morrow will wither them. There, on a summer night, -the young men and girls, after their custom,<a name="NoteRef_508_508" id="NoteRef_508_508"></a><a href="#Note_508_508" class="fnanchor">[508]</a> go to gather flowers -and plight their troth. Amoret and Perigot are together; Amoret,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 16em;">"Fairer far</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That guides the wand'ring seaman thro' the deep,"</span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> - - -<p>modest like a virgin, and tender as a wife, says to Perigot:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I do believe thee: 'Tis as hard for me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To think thee false, and harder, than for thee</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To hold me foul."<a name="NoteRef_509_509" id="NoteRef_509_509"></a><a href="#Note_509_509" class="fnanchor">[509]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Strongly as she is tried, her heart, once given, never draws back. -Perigot, deceived, driven to despair, persuaded that she is unchaste, -strikes her with his sword, and casts her bleeding to the ground. The -"sullen shepherd" throws her into a well; but the god lets fall "a drop -from his watery locks" into the wound; the chaste flesh closes at the -touch of the divine water, and the maiden, recovering, goes once more in -search of him she loves:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Speak, if thou be here,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My Perigot! Thy Amoret, thy dear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Calls on thy loved name.... 'Tis thy friend,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy Amoret; come hither, to give end</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To these consumings. Look up, gentle boy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have forgot those pains and dear annoy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I suffer'd for thy sake, and am content</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To be thy love again. Why hast thou rent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Those curled locks, where I have often hung</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ribbons, and damask-roses, and have flung</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Waters distill'd to make thee fresh and gay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweeter than nosegays on a bridal day?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From those two little Heav'ns, upon the ground,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Show'rs of more price, more orient, and more round,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than those that hang upon the moon's pale brow?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cease these complainings, shepherd! I am now</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The same I ever was, as kind and free,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And can forgive before you ask of me:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Indeed, I can and will."<a name="NoteRef_510_1" id="NoteRef_510_1"></a><a href="#Note_510_1" class="fnanchor">[510]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Who could resist her sweet and sad smile? Still deceived, Perigot wounds -her again; she falls, but without anger.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"So this work hath end!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Farewell, and live! be constant to thy friend</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That loves thee next."<a name="NoteRef_511_1" id="NoteRef_511_1"></a><a href="#Note_511_1" class="fnanchor">[511]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A nymph cures her, and at last Perigot, disabused, comes and throws -himself on his knees before her. She stretches out her arms; in spite of -all that he had done, she was not changed:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"I am thy love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy Amoret, for evermore thy love!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Strike once more on my naked breast, I'll prove</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As constant still. Oh, could'st thou love me yet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How soon could I my former griefs forget!"<a name="NoteRef_512_512" id="NoteRef_512_512"></a><a href="#Note_512_512" class="fnanchor">[512]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such are the touching and poetical figures which these poets introduce -in their dramas, or in connection with their dramas, amidst murders, -assassinations, the clash of swords, the howl of slaughter, striving -against the raging men who adore or torment them, like them carried to -excess, transported by their tenderness as the others by their violence; -it is a complete exposition, as well as a perfect opposition of the -feminine instinct ending in excessive self-abandonment, and of masculine -harshness ending in murderous inflexibility. Thus built up and thus -provided, the drama of the age was enabled to bring out the inner depths -of man, and to set in motion the most powerful human emotions; to bring -upon the stage Hamlet and Lear, Ophelia and Cordelia, the death of -Desdemona and the butcheries of Macbeth. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_393_1" id="Note_393_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_393_1"><span class="label">[393]</span></a>"The very age and body of the time, his form and -pressure."—Shakespeare.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_394_394" id="Note_394_394"></a><a href="#NoteRef_394_394"><span class="label">[394]</span></a>Ben Jonson, "Every Man in his Humour"; "Cynthia's Revels."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_395_1" id="Note_395_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_395_1"><span class="label">[395]</span></a>"The Defence of Poesie," ed. 1629, p. 562.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_396_1" id="Note_396_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_396_1"><span class="label">[396]</span></a>"Winter's Tale, Cymbeline, Julius Cæsar."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_397_1" id="Note_397_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_397_1"><span class="label">[397]</span></a>Strype, in his "Annals of the Reformation" (1571), -says: "Many now were wholly departed from the communion of the church, -and came no more to hear divine service in their parish churches, nor -received the holy sacrament, according to the laws of the realm." -Richard Baxter, in his "Life," published in 1696, says: "We lived in -a country that had but little preaching at all.... In the village -where I lived the Reader read the Common Prayer briefly; and the rest -of the day, even till dark night almost, except Eating time, was spent -in Dancing under a Maypole ana a great tree, not far from my father's -door, where all the Town did meet together. And though one of my father's -own Tenants was the piper, he could not restrain him nor break the -sport. So that we could not read the Scripture in our family without -the great disturbance of the Taber and Pipe and noise in the street."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_398_398" id="Note_398_398"></a><a href="#NoteRef_398_398"><span class="label">[398]</span></a>Ben Jonson, "Every Man in his Humour."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_399_1" id="Note_399_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_399_1"><span class="label">[399]</span></a>"The Chronicle" of John Hardyng (1436), ed. H. Ellis, -1812, Preface.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_400_400" id="Note_400_400"></a><a href="#NoteRef_400_400"><span class="label">[400]</span></a>Act IV. sc. 2 and 4. See also the character of Calypso -in Massinger; Putana in Ford; Protalyce in Beaumont and Fletcher.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_401_401" id="Note_401_401"></a><a href="#NoteRef_401_401"><span class="label">[401]</span></a>Middleton, "Dutch Courtezan."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_402_402" id="Note_402_402"></a><a href="#NoteRef_402_402"><span class="label">[402]</span></a>Commission given by Henry VIII to the Earl of Hertford, -1544: "You are there to put all to fire and sword; to burn Edinburgh -town, and to raze and deface it, when you have sacked it, and gotten -what you can out of it.... Do what you can out of hand, and without -long tarrying, to beat down and overthrow the castle, sack Holyrood-House, -and as many towns and villages about Edinburgh as ye conveniently can; -sack Leith, and burn and subvert it, and all the rest, putting man, -woman, and child to fire and sword, without exception, when any resistance -shall be made against you; and this done, pass over to the Fife land, -and extend like extremities and destructions in all towns and villages -whereunto ye may reach conveniently, not forgetting amongst all the rest, -so to spoil and turn upside down the cardinal's town of St. Andrew's, -as the upper stone may be the nether, and not one stick stand by another, -sparing no creature alive within the same, specially such as either in -friendship or blood be allied to the cardinal. This journey shall -succeed most to his majesty's honour."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_403_1" id="Note_403_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_403_1"><span class="label">[403]</span></a>Laneham, "A Goodly Relief."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_404_404" id="Note_404_404"></a><a href="#NoteRef_404_404"><span class="label">[404]</span></a>February 13, 1587. Nathan Drake, "Shakspeare and his -Times," II. p. 165. See also the same work for all these details.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_405_1" id="Note_405_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_405_1"><span class="label">[405]</span></a>Essex, when struck by the queen, put his hand on the -hilt of his sword.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_406_1" id="Note_406_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_406_1"><span class="label">[406]</span></a>A page in the "Mariage de Figaro," a comedy by -Beaumarchais.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_407_407" id="Note_407_407"></a><a href="#NoteRef_407_407"><span class="label">[407]</span></a>The great Chancellor Burleigh often wept, so harshly -was he used by Elizabeth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_408_1" id="Note_408_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_408_1"><span class="label">[408]</span></a>Compare, to understand this character, the parts assigned -to James Harlowe by Richardson, old Osborne by Thackeray, Sir Giles -Overreach by Massinger, and Manly by Wycherley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_409_409" id="Note_409_409"></a><a href="#NoteRef_409_409"><span class="label">[409]</span></a>Hentzner's "Travels"; Benvenuto Cellini. See passim, -the costumes printed in Venice and Germany: "Belicosissimi." Froude, -I. pp. 19, 52.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_410_1" id="Note_410_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_410_1"><span class="label">[410]</span></a>This is not so true of the English now, if it was in -the sixteenth century, as it is of Continental nations. The French -lycées are far more military in character than English schools.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_411_411" id="Note_411_411"></a><a href="#NoteRef_411_411"><span class="label">[411]</span></a>Froude's "History of England," vols. I. II. III.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_412_1" id="Note_412_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_412_1"><span class="label">[412]</span></a>"When his heart was torn out he uttered a deep -groan."—"Execution of Parry;" Strype, III. 251.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_413_1" id="Note_413_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_413_1"><span class="label">[413]</span></a>Holinshed, "Chronicles of England," III. p. 793.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_414_1" id="Note_414_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_414_1"><span class="label">[414]</span></a>Holinshed, "Chronicles of England," III, p. 797.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_415_1" id="Note_415_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_415_1"><span class="label">[415]</span></a>Under Henry IV and Henry V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_416_1" id="Note_416_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_416_1"><span class="label">[416]</span></a>Froude, I. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_417_1" id="Note_417_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_417_1"><span class="label">[417]</span></a>In 1547.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_418_1" id="Note_418_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_418_1"><span class="label">[418]</span></a>In 1596.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_419_1" id="Note_419_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_419_1"><span class="label">[419]</span></a>Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure," Act III. I. See -also "The Tempest, Hamlet, Macbeth."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_420_1" id="Note_420_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_420_1"><span class="label">[420]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"We are such stuff</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As dreams are made on, and our little life</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is rounded with a sleep."—"Tempest," IV. I.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_421_421" id="Note_421_421"></a><a href="#NoteRef_421_421"><span class="label">[421]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "Thierry and Theodoret," Act IV. I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_422_1" id="Note_422_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_422_1"><span class="label">[422]</span></a>Αιεηονήθη δ’ ὲν παισὶ καὶ περὶ παλαΐστραν καὶ μουσικὴν, -ὲξ ὼν ὰμφοτέοων ὲστέφανώθη... Φιλαθηναιότατος καὶ θεοφιλής.—Scholiast.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_423_423" id="Note_423_423"></a><a href="#NoteRef_423_423"><span class="label">[423]</span></a>Except Beaumont and Fletcher.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_424_424" id="Note_424_424"></a><a href="#NoteRef_424_424"><span class="label">[424]</span></a>Hartley Coleridge, in his "Introduction to the -Dramatic Works of Massinger and Ford," says of Massinger's father: -"We are not certified of the situation which he held in the noble -house-hold (Earl of Pembroke), but we may be sure that it was neither -menial nor mean. Service in those days was not derogatory to gentle -birth."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_425_425" id="Note_425_425"></a><a href="#NoteRef_425_425"><span class="label">[425]</span></a>See, amongst others, "The Woman Killed with Kindness," by -Heywood. Mrs. Frankfort, so upright of heart, accepts Wendoll at his -first offer. Sir Francis Acton, at the sight of her whom he wishes to -dishonor, and whom he hates, falls "into an ecstasy," and dreams of -nothing save marriage. Compare the sudden transport of Juliet, Romeo, -Macbeth, Miranda, etc.; the counsel of Prospero to Fernando, when he -leaves him alone for a moment with Miranda.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_426_426" id="Note_426_426"></a><a href="#NoteRef_426_426"><span class="label">[426]</span></a>Compare "La Vie de Bohême" and "Les Nuits d'Hiver," by -Murger; "Confession d'un Enfant du Siècle," by A. de Musset.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_427_427" id="Note_427_427"></a><a href="#NoteRef_427_427"><span class="label">[427]</span></a>The hero of one of Alfred de Musset's poems.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_428_1" id="Note_428_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_428_1"><span class="label">[428]</span></a>Burnt in 1589.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_429_429" id="Note_429_429"></a><a href="#NoteRef_429_429"><span class="label">[429]</span></a>I have used Marlowe's Works, ed. Dyce, 3 vols. 1850. -Append, I. vol. 3.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_430_1" id="Note_430_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_430_1"><span class="label">[430]</span></a>See especially "Titus Andronicus," attributed to -Shakespeare: there are parricides, mothers whom they cause to -eat their children, a young girl who appears on the stage violated, -with her tongue and hands cut off.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_431_1" id="Note_431_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_431_1"><span class="label">[431]</span></a>The chief character in Schiller's "Robbers," a -virtuous brigand and redresser of wrongs.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_432_1" id="Note_432_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_432_1"><span class="label">[432]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For in a field, whose superficies</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is cover'd with a liquid purple veil,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sprinkled with the brains of slaughter'd men.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My royal chair of state shall be advanc'd;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he that means to place himself therein,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must armed wade up to the chin in blood....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I would strive to swim through pools of blood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or make a bridge of murder'd carcasses,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose arches should be fram'd with bones of Turks</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere I would lose the title of a king.—"Tamburlaine," part II. I. 3.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_433_433" id="Note_433_433"></a><a href="#NoteRef_433_433"><span class="label">[433]</span></a>The editor of Marlowe's Works, Pickering, 1826, says in -his Introduction: "Both the matter and style of 'Tamburlaine,' however, -differ materially from Marlowe's other compositions, and doubts have -more than once been suggested as to whether the play was properly -assigned to him. We think that Marlowe did not write it." Dyce is of -a contrary opinion.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_434_434" id="Note_434_434"></a><a href="#NoteRef_434_434"><span class="label">[434]</span></a>Marlowe's "The Jew of Malta," II. p. 275 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_435_1" id="Note_435_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_435_1"><span class="label">[435]</span></a>Ibid. IV. p. 311.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_436_1" id="Note_436_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_436_1"><span class="label">[436]</span></a>Ibid. III. p. 291.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_437_1" id="Note_437_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_437_1"><span class="label">[437]</span></a>Ibid. IV. p. 313.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_438_1" id="Note_438_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_438_1"><span class="label">[438]</span></a>Up to this time, in England, poisoners were cast into -a boiling caldron.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_439_1" id="Note_439_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_439_1"><span class="label">[439]</span></a>In the Museum of Ghent.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_440_1" id="Note_440_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_440_1"><span class="label">[440]</span></a>See in the "Jew of Malta" the seduction of Ithamore, -by Bellamira, a rough, but truly admirable picture.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_441_441" id="Note_441_441"></a><a href="#NoteRef_441_441"><span class="label">[441]</span></a>Nothing could be falser than the hesitation and arguments -of Schiller's "William Tell"; for a contrast, see Goethe's "Goetz von -Berlichingen." In 1377, Wycliff pleaded in St. Paul's before the bishop -of London, and that raised a quarrel. The Duke of Lancaster, Wycliff's -protector, "threatened to drag the bishop out of the church by the hair"; -and next day the furious crowd sacked the duke's palace.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_442_442" id="Note_442_442"></a><a href="#NoteRef_442_442"><span class="label">[442]</span></a>Marlowe, "Edward the Second," I. p. 173.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_443_1" id="Note_443_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_443_1"><span class="label">[443]</span></a>Ibid. p. 186.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_444_1" id="Note_444_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_444_1"><span class="label">[444]</span></a>Ibid. p. 188.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_445_445" id="Note_445_445"></a><a href="#NoteRef_445_445"><span class="label">[445]</span></a>Marlowe, "Edward the Second," last scene, p. 288.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_446_446" id="Note_446_446"></a><a href="#NoteRef_446_446"><span class="label">[446]</span></a>Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," I. p. 9 et passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_447_447" id="Note_447_447"></a><a href="#NoteRef_447_447"><span class="label">[447]</span></a>Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," I. pp. 22, 29.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_448_1" id="Note_448_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_448_1"><span class="label">[448]</span></a>Ibid. p. 43.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_449_449" id="Note_449_449"></a><a href="#NoteRef_449_449"><span class="label">[449]</span></a>Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," I. p. 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_450_1" id="Note_450_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_450_1"><span class="label">[450]</span></a>Ibid. p. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_451_1" id="Note_451_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_451_1"><span class="label">[451]</span></a>Ibid. p. 78.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_452_452" id="Note_452_452"></a><a href="#NoteRef_452_452"><span class="label">[452]</span></a>Marlowe "Doctor Faustus," I. p. 80.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_453_1" id="Note_453_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_453_1"><span class="label">[453]</span></a>See the trial of Vittoria Corombona, of Virginia in -Webster, of Coriolanus and Julius Cæsar in Shakespeare.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_454_454" id="Note_454_454"></a><a href="#NoteRef_454_454"><span class="label">[454]</span></a>Falstaff in Shakespeare; the queen in "London," by -Greene and Decker; Rosalind in Shakespeare.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_455_1" id="Note_455_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_455_1"><span class="label">[455]</span></a>In Webster's "Duchess of Malfi" there is an admirable -accouchement scene.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_456_1" id="Note_456_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_456_1"><span class="label">[456]</span></a>This is, in fact, the English view of the French mind, -which is doubtless a refinement, many times refined, of the classical -spirit. But M. Taine has seemingly not taken into account such -products as the Medea on the one hand, and the works of Aristophanes -and the Latin sensualists on the other.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_457_1" id="Note_457_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_457_1"><span class="label">[457]</span></a>See Hamlet, Coriolanus, Hotspur. The queen in -"Hamlet" (V. 2) says: "He (Hamlet) is fat, and scant of breath."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_458_458" id="Note_458_458"></a><a href="#NoteRef_458_458"><span class="label">[458]</span></a>Middleton, "The Honest Whore," part I. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_459_459" id="Note_459_459"></a><a href="#NoteRef_459_459"><span class="label">[459]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "Valentinian, Thierry and -Theodoret." See Massinger's "Picture," which resembles Musset's -"Barberine." Its crudity, the extraordinary repulsive energy, will -show the difference of the two ages.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_460_460" id="Note_460_460"></a><a href="#NoteRef_460_460"><span class="label">[460]</span></a>Massinger's Works, ed. H. Coleridge, 1859, "Duke of -Milan," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_461_1" id="Note_461_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_461_1"><span class="label">[461]</span></a>Ibid. V. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_462_462" id="Note_462_462"></a><a href="#NoteRef_462_462"><span class="label">[462]</span></a>Massinger, "The Fatal Dowry"; Webster and Ford, "A -late Murther of the Sonne upon the Mother" (a play not extant); "'Tis -pity she's a Whore." See also Ford's "Broken Heart," with its sublime -scenes of agony and madness.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_463_1" id="Note_463_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_463_1"><span class="label">[463]</span></a>Ford's Works, ed. H. Coleridge, 1859.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_464_1" id="Note_464_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_464_1"><span class="label">[464]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_465_1" id="Note_465_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_465_1"><span class="label">[465]</span></a>Ford's Works, ed. H. Coleridge, 1859, IV. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_466_1" id="Note_466_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_466_1"><span class="label">[466]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_467_1" id="Note_467_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_467_1"><span class="label">[467]</span></a>Ibid. V. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_468_1" id="Note_468_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_468_1"><span class="label">[468]</span></a>Ibid. V. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_469_1" id="Note_469_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_469_1"><span class="label">[469]</span></a>Webster's Works, ed. Dyce, 1857, "Duchess of Malfi," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_470_1" id="Note_470_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_470_1"><span class="label">[470]</span></a>The characters of Bosola, Flaminio.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_471_471" id="Note_471_471"></a><a href="#NoteRef_471_471"><span class="label">[471]</span></a>See Stendhal, "Chronicles of Italy, The Cenci, The -Duchess of Palliano," and all the biographies of the time; of the Borgias, -of Bianca Capello, of Vittoria Corombona.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_472_1" id="Note_472_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_472_1"><span class="label">[472]</span></a>Ferdinand, one of the brothers, says (II. 5):<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I would have their bodies</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrap them in't, and then light them as a match;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or else to boil their bastard to a cullis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And give't his lecherous father to renew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sin of his back."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_473_1" id="Note_473_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_473_1"><span class="label">[473]</span></a>"Duchess of Malfi," IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_474_1" id="Note_474_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_474_1"><span class="label">[474]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_475_1" id="Note_475_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_475_1"><span class="label">[475]</span></a>"Duchess of Malfi," IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_476_1" id="Note_476_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_476_1"><span class="label">[476]</span></a>"When," an exclamation of impatience, equivalent to -"make haste," very common among the old English dramatists.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_477_1" id="Note_477_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_477_1"><span class="label">[477]</span></a>"Duchess of Malfi," IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_478_1" id="Note_478_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_478_1"><span class="label">[478]</span></a>Ibid. V. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_479_1" id="Note_479_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_479_1"><span class="label">[479]</span></a>Ibid. V. 4 and 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_480_1" id="Note_480_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_480_1"><span class="label">[480]</span></a>"Vittoria Corombona," I. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_481_1" id="Note_481_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_481_1"><span class="label">[481]</span></a>Webster Dyce, 1857, "Vittoria Corombona," p. 20, 21.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_482_1" id="Note_482_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_482_1"><span class="label">[482]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2, p. 23.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_483_1" id="Note_483_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_483_1"><span class="label">[483]</span></a>"Vittoria Corombona," III. 2, p. 24.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_484_1" id="Note_484_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_484_1"><span class="label">[484]</span></a>Compare Mme. Marneffe in Balzac's "La Cousine Bette."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_485_1" id="Note_485_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_485_1"><span class="label">[485]</span></a>"Vittoria Corombona," V. last scene, pp. 49, 50.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_486_1" id="Note_486_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_486_1"><span class="label">[486]</span></a>Hence the happiness and strength of the marriage tie. In -France it is but an association of two comrades, tolerably alike and -tolerably equal, which gives rise to endless disturbance and bickering.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_487_487" id="Note_487_487"></a><a href="#NoteRef_487_487"><span class="label">[487]</span></a>See the representation of this character throughout English -and German literature. Stendhal, an acute observer, saturated with -Italian and French morals and ideas, is astonished at this phenomenon. -He understands nothing of this kind of devotion, "this slavery which -English husbands have had the wit to impose on their wives under the -name of duty." These are "the manners of a seraglio." See also "Corinne," -by Mme de Staël.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_488_488" id="Note_488_488"></a><a href="#NoteRef_488_488"><span class="label">[488]</span></a>A perfect woman already: meek and patient.—Heywood.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_489_489" id="Note_489_489"></a><a href="#NoteRef_489_489"><span class="label">[489]</span></a>See, by way of contrast, all Molière's women, so French; -even Agnes and little Louison.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_490_490" id="Note_490_490"></a><a href="#NoteRef_490_490"><span class="label">[490]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, Works, ed. G. Colman, 3 vols. 1811, -"Philaster", V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_491_1" id="Note_491_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_491_1"><span class="label">[491]</span></a>Like Kaled in Byron's "Lara."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_492_1" id="Note_492_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_492_1"><span class="label">[492]</span></a>"Philaster," IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_493_1" id="Note_493_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_493_1"><span class="label">[493]</span></a>Ibid. V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_494_494" id="Note_494_494"></a><a href="#NoteRef_494_494"><span class="label">[494]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Fair Maid of the Inn," IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_495_495" id="Note_495_495"></a><a href="#NoteRef_495_495"><span class="label">[495]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "Thierry and Theodoret, The Maid's -Tragedy, Philaster." See also the part of Lucina in "Valentinian."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_496_1" id="Note_496_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_496_1"><span class="label">[496]</span></a>"Thierry and Theodoret," IV, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_497_497" id="Note_497_497"></a><a href="#NoteRef_497_497"><span class="label">[497]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Maid's Tragedy," I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_498_1" id="Note_498_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_498_1"><span class="label">[498]</span></a>Pauline says, in Corneille's "Polyeucte" (III. 2):<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Avant qu'abandonner mon âme à mes douleurs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Il me faut essayer la force de mes pleurs;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">En qualité de femme ou de fille, j'espère</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Qu'ils vaincront un époux, ou fléchiront un père.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Que si sur l'un et l'autre ils manquent de pouvoir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Je ne prendrai conseil que de mon désespoir.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Apprends-moi cependant ce qu'ils ont fait au temple."</span></p> - -<p>We could not find a more reasonably and reasoning woman. So with Éliante, -and Henrietta in Molière.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_499_1" id="Note_499_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_499_1"><span class="label">[499]</span></a>Ford's "Broken Heart," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_500_1" id="Note_500_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_500_1"><span class="label">[500]</span></a>Ibid. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_501_1" id="Note_501_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_501_1"><span class="label">[501]</span></a>Ford's "Broken Heart," IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_502_1" id="Note_502_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_502_1"><span class="label">[502]</span></a>Schopenhauer, "Metaphysics of Love and Death." Swift -also said that death and love are the two things in which man is -fundamentally irrational. In fact, it is the species and the instinct -which are displayed in them, not the will and the individual.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_503_1" id="Note_503_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_503_1"><span class="label">[503]</span></a>"Cymbeline," IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_504_1" id="Note_504_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_504_1"><span class="label">[504]</span></a>The death of Ophelia, the obsequies of Imogen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_505_1" id="Note_505_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_505_1"><span class="label">[505]</span></a>"Philaster," I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_506_506" id="Note_506_506"></a><a href="#NoteRef_506_506"><span class="label">[506]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess," I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_507_1" id="Note_507_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_507_1"><span class="label">[507]</span></a>Ibid, II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_508_508" id="Note_508_508"></a><a href="#NoteRef_508_508"><span class="label">[508]</span></a>See the description in Nathan Drake, "Shakspeare and his -Times."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_509_509" id="Note_509_509"></a><a href="#NoteRef_509_509"><span class="label">[509]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess," I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_510_1" id="Note_510_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_510_1"><span class="label">[510]</span></a>Ibid. IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_511_1" id="Note_511_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_511_1"><span class="label">[511]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_512_512" id="Note_512_512"></a><a href="#NoteRef_512_512"><span class="label">[512]</span></a>Beaumont and Fletcher, "The Faithful Shepherdess," V. -Compare, as an illustration of the contrast of races, the Italian -pastorals, Tasso's "Aminta," Guarini's "Il Pastor fido," etc.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_THIRD_II">CHAPTER THIRD</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="Ben_Jonson">Ben Jonson</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Man--His_Life">SECTION I.—The Man—His Life</a></h4> - - -<p>When a new civilization brings a new art to light, there are about a -dozen men of talent who partly express the general idea, surrounding one -or two men of genius who express it thoroughly. Guillen de Castro, Perez -de Montalvan, Tirzo de Molina, Ruiz de Alarcon, Agustin Moreto, -surrounding Calderon and Lope de Vega; Crayer, Van Oost, Rombouts, Van -Thulden, Vandyke, Honthorst, surrounding Rubens; Ford, Marlowe, -Massinger, Webster, Beaumont, Fletcher, surrounding Shakespeare and Ben -Jonson. The first constitute the chorus, the others are the leading men. -They sing the same piece together, and at times the chorist is equal to -the solo artist; but only at times. Thus, in the dramas which I have -just referred to, the poet occasionally reaches the summit of his art, -hits upon a complete character, a burst of sublime passion; then he -falls back, gropes amid qualified successes, rough sketches, feeble -imitations, and at last takes refuge in the tricks of his trade. It is -not in him, but in great men like Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, that we -must look for the attainment of his idea and the fulness of his art. -"Numerous were the wit-combats," says Fuller, "betwixt him (Shakespeare) -and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an -English man-of-war. Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher -in learning; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare, with the -English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn -with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the -quickness of his wit and invention."<a name="NoteRef_513_513" id="NoteRef_513_513"></a><a href="#Note_513_513" class="fnanchor">[513]</a> Such was Ben Jonson <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> physically -and morally, and his portraits do but confirm this just and animated -outline: a vigorous, heavy, and uncouth person; a broad and long face, -early disfigured by scurvy, a square jaw, large cheeks; his animal -organs as much developed as those of his intellect: the sour aspect of a -man in a passion or on the verge of a passion; to which add the body of -an athlete, about forty years of age, "mountain belly, ungracious gait." -Such was the outside, and the inside is like it. He was a genuine -Englishman, big and coarsely framed, energetic, combative, proud, often -morose, and prone to strange splenetic imaginations. He told Drummond -that for a whole night he imagined "that he saw the Carthaginians and -Romans fighting on his great toe."<a name="NoteRef_514_514" id="NoteRef_514_514"></a><a href="#Note_514_514" class="fnanchor">[514]</a> Not that he is melancholic by -nature; on the contrary, he loves to escape from himself by free and -noisy, unbridled merriment, by copious and varied converse, assisted by -good Canary wine, which he imbibes, and which ends by becoming a -necessity to him. These great phlegmatic butchers' frames require a -generous liquor to give them a tone, and to supply the place of the sun -which they lack. Expansive moreover, hospitable, even lavish, with a -frank imprudent spirit,<a name="NoteRef_515_1" id="NoteRef_515_1"></a><a href="#Note_515_1" class="fnanchor">[515]</a> making him forget himself wholly before -Drummond, his Scotch host, an over-rigid and malicious pedant, who has -marred his ideas and vilified his character.<a name="NoteRef_516_1" id="NoteRef_516_1"></a><a href="#Note_516_1" class="fnanchor">[516]</a> What we know of his -life is in harmony with his person; he suffered much, fought much, dared -much. He was studying at Cambridge, when his stepfather, a bricklayer, -recalled him, and taught him to use the trowel. He ran away, enlisted as -a common soldier, and served in the English army, at that time engaged -against the Spaniards in the Low Countries, killed and despoiled a man -in single combat, "in the view of both armies." He was a man of bodily -action, and he exercised his limbs in early life.<a name="NoteRef_517_1" id="NoteRef_517_1"></a><a href="#Note_517_1" class="fnanchor">[517]</a> On his return to -England, at the age of nineteen, he went on the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> stage for his -livelihood, and occupied himself also in touching up dramas. Having been -challenged, he fought a duel, was seriously wounded, but killed his -adversary; for this he was cast into prison, and found himself "nigh the -gallows." A Catholic priest visited and converted him; quitting his -prison penniless, at twenty years of age, he married. At last, four -years later, his first successful play was acted. Children came, he must -earn bread for them; and he was not inclined to follow the beaten track -to the end, being persuaded that a fine philosophy—a special nobleness -and dignity—ought to be introduced into comedy—that it was necessary -to follow the example of the ancients, to imitate their severity and -their accuracy, to be above the theatrical racket and the common -improbabilities in which the vulgar delighted. He openly proclaimed his -intention in his prefaces, sharply railed at his rivals, proudly set -forth on the stage<a name="NoteRef_518_1" id="NoteRef_518_1"></a><a href="#Note_518_1" class="fnanchor">[518]</a> his doctrines, his morality, his character. He -thus made bitter enemies, who defamed him outrageously and before their -audiences, whom he exasperated by the violence of his satires, and -against whom he struggled without intermission to the end. He did more, -he constituted himself a judge of the public corruption, sharply -attacked the reigning vices, "fearing no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's -stab."<a name="NoteRef_519_1" id="NoteRef_519_1"></a><a href="#Note_519_1" class="fnanchor">[519]</a> He treated his hearers like schoolboys, and spoke to them -always like a censor and a master. If necessary, he ventured further. -His companions, Marston and Chapman, had been committed to prison for -some reflections on the Scotch in one of their pieces called -"Eastward-Hoe"; and the report spreading that they were in danger of -losing their noses and ears, Jonson, who had written part of the piece, -voluntarily surrendered himself a prisoner, and obtained their pardon. -On his return, amid the feasting and rejoicing, his mother showed him a -violent poison which she intended to put into his drink, to save him -from the execution of the sentence; and "to show that she was not a -coward," adds Jonson, "she had resolved to drink first." We see that in -vigorous actions he found examples in his own family. Toward the end of -his life, money was scarce with him; he was liberal, improvident; his -pockets always had holes in them, and his hand was always ready to give; -though he had written a vast quantity, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> he was still obliged to write in -order to live. Paralysis came on, his scurvy became worse, dropsy set -in. He could not leave his room, nor walk without assistance. His last -plays did not succeed. In the epilogue to the "New Inn" he says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"If you expect more than you had to-night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The maker is sick and sad....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All that his faint and fait'ring tongue doth crave,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is, that you not impute it to his brain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That's yet unhurt, altho, set round with pain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It cannot long hold out."</span></p> - - -<p>His enemies brutally insulted him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Thy Pegasus...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He had bequeathed his belly unto thee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To hold that little learning which is fled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into thy guts from out thy emptye head."</span></p> - - -<p>Inigo Jones, his colleague, deprived him of the patronage of the court. -He was obliged to beg a supply of money from the Lord Treasurer, then -from the Earl of Newcastle:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Disease, the enemy, and his engineers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Want, with the rest of his concealed compeers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have cast a trench about me, now five years....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But lies blocked up and straitened, narrowed in,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fixed to the bed and boards, unlike to win</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been."<a name="NoteRef_520_520" id="NoteRef_520_520"></a><a href="#Note_520_520" class="fnanchor">[520]</a></span></p> - - -<p>His wife and children were dead; he lived alone, forsaken, waited on by -an old woman. Thus almost always sadly and miserably is dragged out and -ends the last act of the human comedy. After so many years, after so -many sustained efforts, amid so much glory and genius, we find a poor -shattered body, drivelling and suffering, between a servant and a -priest.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--His_Freedom_and_Precision_of_Style">SECTION II.—His Freedom and Precision of Style</a></h4> - - -<p>This is the life of a combatant, bravely endured, worthy of the -seventeenth century by its crosses and its energy; courage and force -abounded throughout. Few writers have labored more, and more -conscientiously; his knowledge was vast, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> in this age of eminent -scholars he was one of the best classics of his time, as deep as he was -accurate and thorough, having studied the most minute details and -understood the true spirit of ancient life. It was not enough for him to -have stored his mind from the best writers, to have their whole works -continually in his mind, to scatter his pages whether he would or no, -with recollections of them. He dug into the orators, critics, -scholiasts, grammarians, and compilers of inferior rank; he picked up -stray fragments; he took characters, jokes, refinements, from Athenæus, -Libanius, Philostratus. He had so well entered into and digested the -Greek and Latin ideas, that they were incorporated with his own. They -enter into his speech without incongruity; they spring forth in him as -vigorous as at their first birth; he originates even when he remembers. -On every subject he had this thirst for knowledge, and this gift of -mastering knowledge. He knew alchemy when he wrote the "Alchemist." He -is familiar with alembics, retorts, receivers, as if he had passed his -life seeking after the philosopher's stone. He explains incineration, -calcination, imbibition, rectification, reverberation, as well as -Agrippa and Paracelsus. If he speaks of cosmetics,<a name="NoteRef_521_1" id="NoteRef_521_1"></a><a href="#Note_521_1" class="fnanchor">[521]</a> he brings out a -shopful of them; we might make out of his plays a dictionary of the -oaths and costumes of courtiers; he seems to have a specialty in all -branches. A still greater proof of his force is, that his learning in no -wise mars his vigor; heavy as is the mass with which he loads himself, -he carries it without stooping. This wonderful mass of reading and -observation suddenly begins to move, and falls like a mountain on the -overwhelmed reader. We must hear Sir Epicure Mammon unfold the vision of -splendors and debauchery, in which he means to plunge, when he has -learned to make gold. The refined and unchecked impurities of the Roman -decadence, the splendid obscenities of Heliogabalus, the gigantic -fancies of luxury and lewdness, tables of gold spread with foreign -dainties, draughts of dissolved pearls, nature devastated to provide a -single dish, the many crimes committed by sensuality against nature, -reason, and justice, the delight in defying and outraging law—all -these images pass before the eyes with the dash of a torrent and the -force of a great river. Phrase follows phrase without intermission, -ideas and facts <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> crowd into the dialogue to paint a situation, to give -clearness to a character, produced from this deep memory, directed by -this solid logic, launched by this powerful reflection. It is a pleasure -to see him advance weighted with so many observations and recollections, -loaded with technical details and learned reminiscences, without -deviation or pause, a genuine literary Leviathan, like the war elephants -which used to bear towers, men, weapons, machines, on their backs, and -ran as swiftly with their freight as a nimble steed.</p> - -<p>In the great dash of this heavy attempt, he finds a path which suits -him. He has his style. Classical erudition and education made him a -classic, and he writes like his Greek models and his Roman masters. The -more we study the Latin races and literatures in contrast with the -Teutonic, the more fully we become convinced that the proper and -distinctive gift of the first is the art of development; that is, of -drawing up ideas in continuous rows, according to the rules of rhetoric -and eloquence, by studied transitions, with regular progress, without -shock or bounds. Jonson received from his acquaintance with the ancients -the habit of decomposing ideas, unfolding them bit by bit in natural -order, making himself understood and believed. From the first thought to -the final conclusion, he conducts the reader by a continuous and uniform -ascent. The track never fails with him as with Shakespeare. He does not -advance like the rest by abrupt intuitions, but by consecutive -deductions; we can walk with him without need of bounding, and we are -continually kept upon the straight path: antithesis of words unfolds -antithesis of thoughts; symmetrical phrases guide the mind through -difficult ideas; they are like barriers set on either side of the road -to prevent our falling into the ditch. We do not meet on our way -extraordinary, sudden, gorgeous images, which might dazzle or delay us; -we travel on, enlightened by moderate and sustained metaphors. Jonson -has all the methods of Latin art; even, when he wishes it, especially on -Latin subjects, he has the last and most erudite, the brilliant -conciseness of Seneca and Lucan, the squared, equipoised, filed-off -antithesis, the most happy and studied artifices of oratorical -architecture.<a name="NoteRef_522_1" id="NoteRef_522_1"></a><a href="#Note_522_1" class="fnanchor">[522]</a> Other poets are nearly visionaries; Jonson is almost -a logician. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hence his talent, his successes, and his faults: if he has a better -style and better plots than the others, he is not, like them, a creator -of souls. He is too much of a theorist, too preoccupied by rules. His -argumentative habits spoil him when he seeks to shape and motion -complete and living men. No one is capable of fashioning these unless he -possesses, like Shakespeare, the imagination of a seer. The human being -is so complex that the logician who perceives his different elements in -succession can hardly study them all, much less gather them all in one -flash, so as to produce the dramatic response or action in which they -are concentrated and which should manifest them. To discover such -actions and responses, we need a kind of inspiration and fever. Then the -mind works as in a dream. The characters move within the poet, almost -involuntarily: he waits for them to speak, he remains motionless, -hearing their voices, wholly wrapt in contemplation, in order that he -may not disturb the inner drama which they are about to act in his soul. -That is his artifice: to let them alone. He is quite astonished at their -discourse; as he observes them he forgets that it is he who invents -them. Their mood, character, education, disposition of mind, situation, -attitude, and actions, form within him so well-connected a whole, and so -readily unite into palpable and solid beings, that he dares not -attribute to his reflection or reasoning a creation so vast and speedy. -Beings are organized in him as in nature; that is, of themselves, and by -a force which the combinations of his art could not replace.<a name="NoteRef_523_523" id="NoteRef_523_523"></a><a href="#Note_523_523" class="fnanchor">[523]</a> Jonson -has nothing wherewith to replace it but these combinations of art. He -chooses a general idea—cunning, folly, severity—and makes a person out -of it. This person is called Crites, Asper, Sordido, Deliro, Pecunia, -Subtil, and the transparent name indicates the logical process which -produced it. The poet took an abstract quality, and putting together all -the actions to which it may give rise, trots it out on the stage in a -man's dress. His characters, like those of La Bruyère and Theophrastus, -were hammered out of solid deductions. Now it is a vice selected from -the catalogue of moral philosophy, sensuality thirsting for gold: this -perverse double inclination becomes a personage, Sir Epicure Mammon; -before the alchemist, before the famulus, before his friend, before his -mistress, in public or alone, all his words denote a greed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> of pleasure -and of gold, and they express nothing more.<a name="NoteRef_524_1" id="NoteRef_524_1"></a><a href="#Note_524_1" class="fnanchor">[524]</a> Now it is a mania -gathered from the old sophists, a babbling with horror of noise; this -form of mental pathology becomes a personage, Morose; the poet has the -air of a doctor who has undertaken to record exactly all the desires of -speech, all the necessities of silence, and to record nothing else. Now -he picks out a ridicule, an affectation, a species of folly, from the -manners of the dandies and the courtiers; a mode of swearing, an -extravagant style, a habit of gesticulating, or any other oddity -contracted by vanity or fashion. The hero whom he covers with these -eccentricities is overloaded by them. He disappears beneath his enormous -trappings; he drags them about with him everywhere; he cannot get rid of -them for an instant. We no longer see the man under the dress; he is -like a manikin, oppressed under a cloak, too heavy for him. Sometimes, -doubtless, his habits of geometrical construction produce personages -almost life-like. Bobadil, the grave boaster; Captain Tucca, the begging -bully, inventive buffoon, ridiculous talker; Amorphus the traveller, a -pedantic doctor of good manners, laden with eccentric phrases, create as -much illusion as we can wish; but it is because they are flitting -comicalities and low characters. It is not necessary for a poet to study -such creatures; it is enough that he discovers in them three or four -leading features; it is of little consequence if they always present -themselves with the same attitudes; they produce laughter, like the -Countess d'Escarbagans or any of the Fâcheux in Molière; we want -nothing else of them. On the contrary, the others weary and repel us. -They are stage-masks, not living figures. Having acquired a fixed -expression, they persist to the end of the piece in their unvarying -grimace or their eternal frown. A man is not an abstract passion. He -stamps the vices and virtues which he possesses with his individual -mark. These vices and virtues receive, on entering into him, a bent and -form which they have not in others. No one is unmixed sensuality. Take a -thousand sensualists, and you will find a thousand different modes of -sensuality; for there are a thousand paths, a thousand circumstances and -degrees, in sensuality. If Jonson wanted to make Sir Epicure Mammon a -real being, he should have given him <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> the kind of disposition, the -species of education, the manner of imagination, which produce -sensuality. When we wish to construct a man, we must dig down to the -foundations of mankind; that is, we must define to ourselves the -structure of his bodily machine, and the primitive gait of his mind. -Jonson has not dug sufficiently deep, and his constructions are -incomplete; he has built on the surface, and he has built but a single -story. He was not acquainted with the whole man and he ignored man's -basis; he put on the stage and gave a representation of moral treatises, -fragments of history, scraps of satire; he did not stamp new beings on -the imagination of mankind.</p> - -<p>He possesses all other gifts, and in particular the classical; first of -all, the talent for composition. For the first time we see a connected, -well-contrived plot, a complete intrigue, with its beginning, middle, -and end; subordinate actions well arranged, well combined; an interest -which grows and never flags; a leading truth which all the events tend -to demonstrate; a ruling idea which all the characters unite to -illustrate; in short, an art like that which Molière and Racine were -about to apply and teach. He does not, like Shakespeare, take a novel -from Greene, a chronicle from Holinshed, a life from Plutarch, such as -they are, to cut them into scenes, irrespective of likelihood, -indifferent as to order and unity, caring only to set up men, at times -wandering into poetic reveries, at need finishing up the piece abruptly -with a recognition or a butchery. He governs himself and his characters; -he wills and he knows all that they do, and all that he does. But beyond -his habits of Latin regularity, he possesses the great faculty of his -age and race—the sentiment of nature and existence, the exact knowledge -of precise detail, the power in frankly and boldly handling frank -passions. This gift is not wanting in any writer of the time; they do -not fear words that are true, shocking, and striking details of the -bedchamber or medical study; the prudery of modern England and the -refinement of monarchical France veil not the nudity of their figures, -or dim the coloring of their pictures. They live freely, amply, amidst -living things; they see the ins and outs of lust raging without any -feeling of shame, hypocrisy, or palliation; and they exhibit it as they -see it, Jonson as boldly as the rest, occasionally more boldly than the -rest, strengthened as he is by the vigor and ruggedness of his athletic -temperament, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> by the extraordinary exactness and abundance of his -observations and his knowledge. Add also his moral loftiness, his -asperity, his powerful chiding wrath, exasperated and bitter against -vice, his will strengthened by pride and by conscience:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"With an armed and resolved hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll strip the ragged follies of the time</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Naked as at their birth... and with a whip of steel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I fear no mood stampt in a private brow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When I am pleas'd t' unmask a public vice.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Should I detect their hateful luxuries;"<a name="NoteRef_525_1" id="NoteRef_525_1"></a><a href="#Note_525_1" class="fnanchor">[525]</a></span></p> - - -<p>above all, a scorn of base compliance, an open disdain for</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Those jaded wits</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That run a broken pace for common hire,"<a name="NoteRef_526_1" id="NoteRef_526_1"></a><a href="#Note_526_1" class="fnanchor">[526]</a></span></p> - - -<p>an enthusiasm, or deep love of</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 14em;">"A happy muse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Borne on the wings of her immortal thought,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs."<a name="NoteRef_527_1" id="NoteRef_527_1"></a><a href="#Note_527_1" class="fnanchor">[527]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such are the energies which he brought to the drama and to comedy; they -were great enough to insure him a high and separate position.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--The_Dramas_Catiline_and_Sejanus">SECTION III.—The Dramas Catiline and Sejanus</a></h4> - - -<p>For whatever Jonson undertakes, whatever be his faults, haughtiness, -rough-handling, predilection for morality and the past, antiquarian and -censorious instincts, he is never little or dull. It signifies nothing -that in his latinized tragedies, "Sejanus, Catiline," he is fettered -by the worship of the old worn models of the Roman decadence; nothing -that he plays the scholar, manufactures Ciceronian harangues, hauls in -choruses imitated from Seneca, holds forth in the style of Lucan and the -rhetors of the empire; he more than once attains a genuine accent; -through his pedantry, heaviness, literary adoration of the ancients, -nature forces its way; he lights, at his first attempt, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> on the -crudities, horrors, gigantic lewdness, shameless depravity of imperial -Rome; he takes in hand and sets in motion the lusts and ferocities, the -passions of courtesans and princesses, the daring of assassins and of -great men, which produced Messalina, Agrippina, Catiline, Tiberius.<a name="NoteRef_528_1" id="NoteRef_528_1"></a><a href="#Note_528_1" class="fnanchor">[528]</a> -In the Rome which he places before us we go boldly and straight to the -end; justice and pity oppose no barriers. Amid these customs of victors -and slaves, human nature is upset, corruption and villainy are held as -proofs of insight and energy. Observe how, in "Sejanus," assassination -is plotted and carried out with marvellous coolness. Livia discusses -with Sejanus the methods of poisoning her husband, in a clear style, -without circumlocution, as if the subject were how to gain a lawsuit or -to serve up a dinner. There are no equivocations, no hesitation, no -remorse in the Rome of Tiberius. Glory and virtue consist in power; -scruples are for base minds; the mark of a lofty heart is to desire all -and to dare all. Macro says rightly:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Men's fortune there is virtue; reason their will;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their license, law; and their observance, skill.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Occasion is their foil; conscience, their stain;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Profit, their lustre; and what else is, vain."<a name="NoteRef_529_1" id="NoteRef_529_1"></a><a href="#Note_529_1" class="fnanchor">[529]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Sejanus addresses Livia thus:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9em;">"Royal lady,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet, now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To your own good and greatness, I protest</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Myself through rarified, and turn'd all aflame</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In your affection."<a name="NoteRef_530_1" id="NoteRef_530_1"></a><a href="#Note_530_1" class="fnanchor">[530]</a></span></p> - - -<p>These are the loves of the wolf and his mate; he praises her for being -so ready to kill. And observe in one moment the morals of a prostitute -appear behind the manners of the poisoner. Sejanus goes out, and -immediately, like a courtesan, Livia turns to her physician, saying:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"How do I look to-day?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Eudemus.</i> Excellent clear, believe it. This same fucus</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was well laid on.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Livia.</i> Methinks 'tis here not white.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>E.</i> Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You should have us'd of the white oil I gave you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sejanus, for your love! His very name</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em;">[<i>Paints her cheeks.</i>]</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 12em;">"'Tis now well, lady, you should</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Use of the dentrifice I prescrib'd you too,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To clear your teeth, and the prepar'd pomatum,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To smooth the skin. A lady cannot be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Too curious of her form, that still would hold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The heart of such a person, made her captive,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As you have his: who, to endear him more</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In your clear eye, hath put away his wife...'"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fair Apicata, and made spacious room</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To your new pleasures.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>L.</i> Have not we return'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of all his counsels?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>E.</i> When will you take some physic, lady?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>L.</i> When</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I shall, Eudemus: but let Drusus' drug</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Be first prepar'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>E.</i> Were Lygdus made, that's done....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll send you a perfume, first to resolve</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To cleanse and clear the cutis; against when</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll have an excellent new fucus made</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Resistive 'gainst the sun, the rain or wind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which you shall lay on with a breath or oil,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As you best like, and last some fourteen hours.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This change came timely, lady, for your health."<a name="NoteRef_531_1" id="NoteRef_531_1"></a><a href="#Note_531_1" class="fnanchor">[531]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He ends by congratulating her on her approaching change of husbands; -Drusus was injuring her complexion; Sejanus is far preferable; a -physiological and practical conclusion. The Roman apothecary kept on the -same shelf his medicine-chest, his chest of cosmetics, and his box of -poisons.<a name="NoteRef_532_1" id="NoteRef_532_1"></a><a href="#Note_532_1" class="fnanchor">[532]</a></p> - -<p>After this we find one after another all the scenes of Roman life -unfolded, the bargain of murder, the comedy of justice, the -shamelessness of flattery, the anguish and vacillation of the Senate. -When Sejanus wishes to buy a conscience, he questions, jokes, plays -round the offer he is about to make, throws it out as if in pleasantry, -so as to be able to withdraw it, if need be; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> then, when the intelligent -look of the rascal, whom he is trafficking with, shows that he is -understood:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Protest not,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy looks are vows to me....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou art a man, made to make consuls. Go."<a name="NoteRef_533_1" id="NoteRef_533_1"></a><a href="#Note_533_1" class="fnanchor">[533]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Elsewhere, the senator Latiaris in his own house storms before his -friend Sabinus against tyranny, openly expresses a desire for liberty, -provoking him to speak. Then two spies who were hid "between the roof -and ceiling," cast themselves on Sabinus, crying, "Treason to Cæsar!" -and drag him, with his face covered, before the tribunal, thence to "be -thrown upon the Gemonies."<a name="NoteRef_534_1" id="NoteRef_534_1"></a><a href="#Note_534_1" class="fnanchor">[534]</a> So, when the Senate is assembled, -Tiberius has chosen beforehand the accusers of Silius, and their parts -distributed to them. They mumble in a corner, whilst aloud is heard, in -the emperor's presence:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">"Cæsar,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Live long and happy, great and royal Cæsar;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gods preserve thee and thy modesty,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy wisdom and thy innocence....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 17em;">Guard</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His meekness, Jove, his piety, his care,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His bounty."<a name="NoteRef_535_1" id="NoteRef_535_1"></a><a href="#Note_535_1" class="fnanchor">[535]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then the herald cites the accused; Varro, the consul, pronounces the -indictment; After hurls upon them his bloodthirsty eloquence: the -senators get excited; we see laid bare, as in Tacitus and Juvenal, the -depths of Roman servility, hypocrisy, insensibility, the venomous craft -of Tiberius. At last, after so many others, the turn of Sejanus comes. -The fathers anxiously assemble in the temple of Apollo; for some days -past Tiberius has seemed to be trying to contradict himself; one day he -appoints the friends of his favorite to high places, and the next day -sets his enemies in eminent positions. The senators mark the face of -Sejanus, and know not what to anticipate; Sejanus is troubled, then -after a moment's cringing is more arrogant than ever. The plots are -confused, the rumors contradictory. Macro alone is in the confidence of -Tiberius, and soldiers are seen, drawn up at the porch of the temple, -ready to enter at the slightest commotion. The formula of convocation is -read, and the council marks the names of those who do not respond to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> -summons; then Regulus addresses them, and announces that Cæsar</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Propounds to this grave Senate, the bestowing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon the man he loves, honor'd Sejanus,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The tribunitial dignity and power:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here are his letters, signed with his signet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What pleaseth now the Fathers to be done?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Senators.</i> Read, read them, open, publicly read them.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cotta.</i> Cæsar hath honor'd his own greatness much</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In thinking of this act.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Trio.</i> It was a thought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Happy, and worthy Cæsar.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Latiaris.</i> And the lord</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As worthy it, on whom it is directed!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Haterius.</i> Most worthy!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Sanquinius.</i> Rome did never boast the virtue</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That could give envy bounds, but his: Sejanus—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>1st Sen.</i> Honor'd and noble!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>2d Sen.</i> Good and great Sejanus!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Prœcones.</i> Silence!"<a name="NoteRef_536_1" id="NoteRef_536_1"></a><a href="#Note_536_1" class="fnanchor">[536]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Tiberius's letter is read. First, long, obscure, and vague phrases, -mingled with indirect protestations and accusations, foreboding -something and revealing nothing. Suddenly comes an insinuation against -Sejanus. The fathers are alarmed, but the next line reassures them. A -word or two further on the same insinuation is repeated with greater -exactness. "Some there be that would interpret this his public severity -to be particular ambition; and that, under a pretext of service to us, -he doth but remove his own lets: alleging the strengths he hath made to -himself, by the praetorian soldiers, by his faction in court and Senate, -by the offices he holds himself, and confers on others, his popularity -and dependents, his urging (and almost driving) us to this our unwilling -retirement, and lastly, his aspiring to be our son-in-law." The fathers -rise: "This is strange!" Their eager eyes are fixed on the letter, on -Sejanus, who perspires and grows pale; their thoughts are busy with -conjectures, and the words of the letter fall one by one, amidst a -sepulchral silence, caught up as they fall with all devouring and -attentive eagerness. The senators anxiously weigh the value of these -shifty expressions, fearing to compromise themselves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> with the favorite -or with the prince, all feeling that they must understand, if they value -their lives.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'<i>Your wisdoms, conscript fathers, are able to examine, and censure</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>these suggestions. But, were they left to our absolving voice, we durst</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>pronounce them, as we think them, most malicious.</i>'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Senator.</i> O, he has restor'd all; list.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Prœco. 'Yet are they offered to be averr'd, and on the lives of the</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>informers.</i>'"<a name="NoteRef_537_1" id="NoteRef_537_1"></a><a href="#Note_537_1" class="fnanchor">[537]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At this word the letter becomes menacing. Those next Sejanus forsake -him. "Sit farther.... Let's remove!" The heavy Sanquinius leaps panting -over the benches. The soldiers come in; then Macro. And now, at last, -the letter orders the arrest of Sejanus.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"<i>Regulus.</i> Take him hence;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And all the gods guard Cæsar!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;"><i>Trio.</i> Take him hence.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;"><i>Haterius.</i> Hence.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cotta.</i> To the dungeon with him.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Sanquinius.</i> He deserves it.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Senator.</i> Crown all our doors with bays.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>San.</i> And let an ox,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unto the Capitol.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Hat.</i> And sacrific'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To Jove, for Cæsar's safety.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Tri.</i> All our gods</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Be present still to Cæsar!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cot.</i> Let all the traitor's titles be defac'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Tri.</i> His images and statues be pull'd down....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Sen.</i> Liberty, liberty, liberty! Lead on,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And praise to Macro that hath saved Rome!"<a name="NoteRef_538_1" id="NoteRef_538_1"></a><a href="#Note_538_1" class="fnanchor">[538]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It is the baying of a furious pack of hounds, let loose at last on him, -under whose hand they had crouched, and who had for a long time beaten -and bruised them. Jonson discovered in his own energetic soul the energy -of these Roman passions; and the clearness of his mind, added to his -profound knowledge, powerless to construct characters, furnished him -with general ideas and striking incidents, which suffice to depict -manners. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Comedies">SECTION IV.—Comedies</a></h4> - - -<p>Moreover, it was to this that he turned his talent. Nearly all his work -consists of comedies, not sentimental and fanciful as Shakespeare's, but -imitative and satirical, written to represent and correct follies and -vices. He introduced a new model; he had a doctrine; his masters were -Terence and Plautus. He observes the unity of time and place, almost -exactly. He ridicules the authors who, in the same play,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Make a child now swaddled, to proceed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Past threescore years; or, with three rusty swords,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And help of some few foot and half-foot words,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see."<a name="NoteRef_539_1" id="NoteRef_539_1"></a><a href="#Note_539_1" class="fnanchor">[539]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He wishes to represent on the stage</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"One such to-day, as other plays shou'd be;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor nimble squib is seen to' make afeard</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gentlewomen....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But deeds, and language, such as men do use....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You, that have so grac'd monsters, may like men."<a name="NoteRef_540_1" id="NoteRef_540_1"></a><a href="#Note_540_1" class="fnanchor">[540]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Men, as we see them in the streets, with their whims and humors—</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"When some one peculiar quality</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All his affects, his spirits, and his powers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In their conductions, all to run one way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This may be truly said to be a humor."<a name="NoteRef_541_1" id="NoteRef_541_1"></a><a href="#Note_541_1" class="fnanchor">[541]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It is these humors which he exposes to the light, not with the artist's -curiosity, but with the moralist's hate:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"I will scourge those apes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As large as is the stage whereon we act;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where they shall see the time's deformity</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Anatomized in every nerve, and sinew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With constant courage, and contempt of fear....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 15em;">My strict hand</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was made to seize on vice, and with a gripe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Squeeze out the humour of such spongy souls,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As lick up every idle vanity."<a name="NoteRef_542_1" id="NoteRef_542_1"></a><a href="#Note_542_1" class="fnanchor">[542]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Doubtless a determination so strong and decided does violence to the -dramatic spirit. Jonson's comedies are not rarely harsh; his characters -are too grotesque, laboriously constructed, mere automatons; the poet -thought less of producing living beings than of scotching a vice; the -scenes get arranged, or are confused together in a mechanical manner; we -see the process, we feel the satirical intention throughout; delicate -and easy-flowing imitation is absent, as well as the graceful fancy -which abounds in Shakespeare. But if Jonson comes across harsh passions, -visibly evil and vile, he will derive from his energy and wrath the -talent to render them odious and visible, and will produce a "Volpone," -a sublime work, the sharpest picture of the manners of the age, in which -is displayed the full brightness of evil lusts, in which lewdness, -cruelty, love of gold, shamelessness of vice, display a sinister yet -splendid poetry, worthy of one of Titian's bacchanals.<a name="NoteRef_543_1" id="NoteRef_543_1"></a><a href="#Note_543_1" class="fnanchor">[543]</a> All this -makes itself apparent in the first scene, when Volpone says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Good morning to the day; and next, my gold!——</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Open the shrine, that I may see my saint."</span></p> - - -<p>This saint is his piles of gold, jewels, precious plate:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Hail the world's soul, and mine!... O thou son of Sol,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With adoration, thee, and every relick</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of sacred treasure in this blessed room."<a name="NoteRef_544_1" id="NoteRef_544_1"></a><a href="#Note_544_1" class="fnanchor">[544]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Presently after, the dwarf, the eunuch, and the hermaphrodite of the -house sing a sort of pagan and fantastic interlude; they chant in -strange verses the metamorphoses of the hermaphrodite, who was first the -soul of Pythagoras. We are at Venice, in the palace of the magnifico -Volpone. These deformed creatures, the splendor of gold, this strange -and poetical buffoonery, carry the thought immediately to the sensual -city, queen of vices and of arts. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> - -<p>The rich Volpone lives like an ancient Greek or Roman. Childless and -without relatives, playing the invalid, he makes all his flatterers hope -to be his heir, receives their gifts,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Letting the cherry knock against their lips,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And draw it by their mouths, and back again."<a name="NoteRef_545_1" id="NoteRef_545_1"></a><a href="#Note_545_1" class="fnanchor">[545]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Glad to have their gold, but still more glad to deceive them, artistic -in wickedness as in avarice, and just as pleased to look at a contortion -of suffering as at the sparkle of a ruby.</p> - -<p>The advocate Voltore arrives, bearing a "huge piece of plate." Volpone -throws himself on his bed, wraps himself in furs, heaps up his pillows, -and coughs as if at the point of death:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Volpone.</i> I thank you, signior Voltore,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.... Your love</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer'd....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I cannot now last long.... I fell me going—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Uh, uh, uh, uh!"<a name="NoteRef_546_1" id="NoteRef_546_1"></a><a href="#Note_546_1" class="fnanchor">[546]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He closes his eyes, as though exhausted:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Voltore.</i> Am I inscrib'd his heir for certain?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mosca</i> (<i>Volpone's Parasite</i>). Are you!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To write me in your family. All my hopes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Depend upon your worship: I am lost,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Except the rising sun do shine on me.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Volt.</i> It shall both shine and warm thee, Mosca.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Sir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am man, that hath not done your love</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All the worst offices: here I wear your keys,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your plate and monies; am your steward, sir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Husband your goods here.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Volt.</i> But am I sole heir?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon the parchment.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Volt.</i> Happy, happy me!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By what good chance, sweet Mosca?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Your desert, sir;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I know no second cause."<a name="NoteRef_547_1" id="NoteRef_547_1"></a><a href="#Note_547_1" class="fnanchor">[547]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And he details the abundance of the wealth in which Voltore is about to -revel, the gold which is to pour upon him, the opulence which is to flow -in his house as a river:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When will you have your inventory brought, sir?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or see a copy of the will?"</span></p> - - -<p>The imagination is fed with precise words, precise details. Thus, one -after another, the would-be heirs come like beasts of prey. The second -who arrives is an old miser, Corbaccio, deaf, "impotent," almost dying, -who, nevertheless, hopes to survive Volpone. To make more sure of it, he -would fain have Mosca give his master a narcotic. He has it about him, -this excellent opiate: he has had it prepared under his own eyes, he -suggests it. His joy on finding Volpone more ill than himself is -bitterly humorous:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Corbaccio.</i> How does your patron?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mosca.</i> His mouth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Good.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And makes the color of his flesh like lead.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> 'Tis good.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> His pulse beats slow, and dull.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Good symptoms still.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> And from his brain—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> I conceive you; good.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Is't possible? Yet I am better, ha!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How does he, with the swimming of his head?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy; he now</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Excellent, excellent! sure I shall outlast him:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This makes me young again, a score of years."<a name="NoteRef_548_1" id="NoteRef_548_1"></a><a href="#Note_548_1" class="fnanchor">[548]</a></span></p> - - -<p>If you would be his heir, says Mosca, the moment is favorable, but you -must not let yourself be forestalled. Voltore has been here, and -presented him with this piece of plate:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>C.</i> See, Mosca, look,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will quite weigh down his plate....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My master your sole heir....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> This plot</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did I think on before....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> And you so certain to survive him—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Ay.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Being so lusty a man—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> 'Tis true."<a name="NoteRef_549_1" id="NoteRef_549_1"></a><a href="#Note_549_1" class="fnanchor">[549]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And the old man hobbles away, not hearing the insults and ridicule -thrown at him, he is so deaf.</p> - -<p>When he is gone the merchant Corvino arrives, bringing an orient pearl -and a splendid diamond:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Corvino.</i> Am I his heir?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mosca.</i> Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till he be dead; but here has been Corbaccio,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here has been Voltore, here were others too,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I cannot number 'em, they were so many;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All gaping here for legacies: but I,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Taking the vantage of his naming you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino</i>, took</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Should be executor? Corvino. And,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To any question he was silent to,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I still interpreted the nods he made,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through weakness, for consent: and sent home th' others,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cor.</i> O my dear Mosca!... Has he children?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> Bastards,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 18em;">Speak out:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You may be louder yet....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Faith, I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As well as any woman that should keep him.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>C.</i> Do as you will; but I'll begone."<a name="NoteRef_550_1" id="NoteRef_550_1"></a><a href="#Note_550_1" class="fnanchor">[550]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Corvino presently departs; for the passions of the time have all the -beauty of frankness. And Volpone, casting aside his sick man's garb, -cries:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"My divine Mosca!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou hast to-day out gone thyself.... Prepare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than will Volpone."<a name="NoteRef_551_1" id="NoteRef_551_1"></a><a href="#Note_551_1" class="fnanchor">[551]</a></span></p> - - -<p>On this invitation, Mosca draws a most voluptuous portrait of Corvino's -wife, Celia. Smitten with a sudden desire, Volpone dresses himself as a -mountebank, and goes singing under her windows with all the -sprightliness of a quack; for he is naturally a comedian, like a true -Italian, of the same family as Scaramouch, as good an actor in the -public square as in his house. Having once seen Celia, he resolves to -obtain her at any price:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Mosca, take my keys,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca."<a name="NoteRef_552_1" id="NoteRef_552_1"></a><a href="#Note_552_1" class="fnanchor">[552]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Mosca then tells Corvino that some quack's oil has cured his master, and -that they are looking for a "young woman, lusty and full of juice," to -complete the cure:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Have you no kinswoman?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Odso—Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One o' the doctors offer'd there his daughter.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corvino.</i> How!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mosca.</i> Yes, signior Lupo, the physician.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> His daughter!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> And a virgin, sir....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Wretch!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Covetous wretch."<a name="NoteRef_553_1" id="NoteRef_553_1"></a><a href="#Note_553_1" class="fnanchor">[553]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Though unreasonably jealous, Corvino is gradually induced to offer his -wife. He has given too much already, and would not lose his advantage. -He is like a half-ruined gamester, who with a shaking hand throws on the -green cloth the remainder of his fortune. He brings the poor sweet -woman, weeping and resisting. Excited by his own hidden pangs, he -becomes furious:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 16em;">"Be damn'd!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like a raw rochet!—Do not tempt me; come,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yield, I am loth—Death! I will buy some slave</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And at my window hang you forth, devising</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Celia.</i> Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corvino.</i> Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserv'd it:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Think who it is intreats you. Prithee, sweet;—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Good faith thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or touch him, but. For my sake.—At my suit.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This once.—No! not! I shall remember this.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?"<a name="NoteRef_554_1" id="NoteRef_554_1"></a><a href="#Note_554_1" class="fnanchor">[554]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Mosca turned a moment before, to Volpone:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">"Sir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Signior Corvino... hearing of the consultation had</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So lately, for your health, is come to offer,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or rather, sir, to prostitute.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corvino.</i> Thanks, sweet Mosca.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mosca.</i> Freely, unask'd, or unintreated.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Well.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Mosca.</i> As the true fervent instance of his love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Only of price in Venice.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> 'Tis well urg'd."<a name="NoteRef_555_1" id="NoteRef_555_1"></a><a href="#Note_555_1" class="fnanchor">[555]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Where can we see such blows launched and driven hard, full in the face, -by the violent hand of satire? Celia is alone with Volpone, who, -throwing off his feigned sickness, comes upon her "as fresh, as hot, as -high, and in as jovial plight," as on the gala days of the Republic, -when he acted the part of the lovely Antinous. In his transport he sings -a love-song; his voluptuousness culminates in poetry; for poetry was -then in Italy the blossom of vice. He spreads before her pearls, -diamonds, carbuncles. He is in raptures at the sight of the treasures, -which he displays and sparkles before her eyes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Take these,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And wear, and lose them: yet remains an ear-ring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To purchase them again, and this whole state.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A gem but worth a private patrimony,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The brains of peacocks, and of estriches,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall be our food....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Conscience? 'Tis the beggar's virtue....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy baths shall be of the juice of July flowers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Spirit of roses, and of violets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Gather'd in bags, and mixt with Cretan wines.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which we will take, until my roof whirl round</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So, of the rest, till we have quite run through,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And wearied all the fables of the gods."<a name="NoteRef_556_1" id="NoteRef_556_1"></a><a href="#Note_556_1" class="fnanchor">[556]</a></span></p> - - -<p>We recognize Venice in this splendor of debauchery—Venice, the throne -of Aretinus, the country of Tintoretto and Giorgione. Volpone seizes -Celia: "Yield, or I'll force thee!" But suddenly Bonario, disinherited -son of Corbaccio, whom Mosca had concealed there with another design, -enters violently, delivers her, wounds Mosca, and accuses Volpone before -the tribunal, of imposture and rape.</p> - -<p>The three rascals who aim at being his heirs, work together to save -Volpone. Corbaccio disavows his son, and accuses him of parricide. -Corvino declares his wife an adulteress, the shameless mistress of -Bonario. Never on the stage was seen such energy of lying, such open -villany. The husband, who knows his wife to be innocent, is the most -eager:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"This woman (please your fatherhoods) is a whore,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of most hot exercise, more than a partrich,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon record.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>1st Advocate.</i> No more.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corvino.</i> Neighs like a jennet.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Notary.</i> Preserve the honor of the court.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> I shall,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And modesty of your most reverend ears.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That fine well-timber'd gallant; and that here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The letters may be read, thorough the horn,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That make the story perfect....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>3d Adv.</i> His grief hath made him frantic. (<i>Celia swoons.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Rare! Prettily feign'd! again!"<a name="NoteRef_557_1" id="NoteRef_557_1"></a><a href="#Note_557_1" class="fnanchor">[557]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They have Volpone brought in, like a dying man; manufacture false -"testimony," to which Voltore gives weight with his advocate's tongue, -with words worth a sequin apiece. They throw Celia and Bonario into -prison, and Volpone is saved. This public imposture is for him only -another comedy, a pleasant pastime, and a masterpiece.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Mosca.</i> To gull the court.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Volpone.</i> And quite divert the torrent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon the innocent....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> You are not taken with it enough, methinks.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>V.</i> O, more than if I had enjoy'd the wench?"<a name="NoteRef_558_1" id="NoteRef_558_1"></a><a href="#Note_558_1" class="fnanchor">[558]</a></span></p> - - -<p>To conclude, he writes a will in Mosca's favor, has his death reported, -hides behind a curtain, and enjoys the looks of the would-be heirs. They -had just saved him from being thrown into prison, which makes the fun -all the better; the wickedness will be all the greater and more -exquisite. "Torture 'em rarely," Volpone says to Mosca. The latter -spreads the will on the table, and reads the inventory aloud. "Turkey -carpets nine. Two cabinets, one of ebony, the other mother-of-pearl. A -perfum'd box, made of an onyx." The heirs are stupefied with -disappointment, and Mosca drives them off with insults. He says to -Corvino:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Why should you stay here? with what thought, what promise?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hear you; do you not know, I know you an ass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And that you would most fain have been a wittol,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If fortune would have let you? That you are</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A declar'd cuckold, on good terms? This pearl,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You'll say, was yours? Right: this diamond?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here else?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It may be so. Why, think that these good works</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">May help to hide your bad. [<i>Exit Corvino.</i>]...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corbaccio.</i> I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Harlot, thou hast gull'd me.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Mosca.</i> Yes, sir. Stop your mouth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or I shall draw the only tooth is left.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With the three legs, that here, in hope of prey,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have, any time this three years, snufft about,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With your most grov'ling nose, and would have hir'd</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Me to the pois'ning of my patron, sir?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are not you he that have to-day in court</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Profess'd the disinheriting of your son?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Perjur'd yourself? Go home, and die, and stink."<a name="NoteRef_559_1" id="NoteRef_559_1"></a><a href="#Note_559_1" class="fnanchor">[559]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Volpone goes out disguised, comes to each of them in turn, and succeeds -in wringing their hearts. But Mosca, who has the will, acts with a high -hand, and demands of Volpone half his fortune. The dispute between the -two rascals discovers their impostures, and the master, the servant, -with the three would-be heirs, are sent to the galleys, to prison, to -the pillory—as Corvino says, to</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bruis'd fruit, and rotten eggs.—'Tis well. I'm glad,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I shall not see my shame yet."<a name="NoteRef_560_1" id="NoteRef_560_1"></a><a href="#Note_560_1" class="fnanchor">[560]</a></span></p> - - -<p>No more vengeful comedy has been written, none more persistently athirst -to make vice suffer, to unmask, triumph over, and to punish it.</p> - -<p>Where can be the gayety of such a theatre? In caricature and farce. -There is a rough gayety, a sort of physical, external laughter which -suits this combative, drinking, blustering mood. It is thus that this -mood relaxes from war-waging and murderous satire; the pastime is -appropriate to the manners of the time, excellent to attract men who -look upon hanging as a good joke, and laugh to see the Puritan's ears -cut. Put yourself for an instant in their place, and you will think like -them, that "The Silent Woman" is a masterpiece. Morose is an old -monomaniac, who has a horror of noise, but loves to speak. He inhabits a -street so narrow that a carriage cannot enter it. He drives off with his -stick the bear-leaders and sword-players, who venture to pass under his -windows. He has sent away his servant whose shoes creaked; and Mute, the -new one, wears slippers "soled with wool," and only speaks in a whisper -through a tube. Morose ends by forbidding the whisper, and makes him -reply by signs. He is also rich, an uncle, and he ill-treats his nephew -Sir Dauphine Eugenie, a man of wit, but who lacks money. We anticipate -all the tortures which poor Morose is to suffer. Sir Dauphine finds him -a supposed silent woman, the beautiful Epicœne. Morose, enchanted by -her brief replies and her voice, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> which he can hardly hear, marries her, -to play his nephew a trick. It is his nephew who has played him a trick. -As soon as she is married, Epicœne speaks, scolds, argues as loud and -as long as a dozen women: "Why, did you think you had married a statue? -or a motion only? one of the French puppets, with the eyes turned with a -wire? or some innocent out of the hospital, that would stand with her -hands thus, and a plaise mouth, and look upon you?"<a name="NoteRef_561_1" id="NoteRef_561_1"></a><a href="#Note_561_1" class="fnanchor">[561]</a></p> - -<p>She orders the servants to speak louder; she opens the doors wide to her -friends. They arrive in shoals, offering their noisy congratulations to -Morose. Five or six women's tongues overwhelm him all at once with -compliments, questions, advice, remonstrances. A friend of Sir Dauphine -comes with a band of music, who play all together, suddenly, with their -whole force. Morose says, "O, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot, upon me! -This day I shall be their anvil to work on; they will grate me asunder. -'Tis worse than the noise of a saw."<a name="NoteRef_562_1" id="NoteRef_562_1"></a><a href="#Note_562_1" class="fnanchor">[562]</a> A procession of servants is -seen coming, with dishes in their hands; it is the racket of a tavern -which Sir Dauphine is bringing to his uncle. The guests clash the -glasses, shout, drink healths; they have with them a drum and trumpets -which make great noise. Morose flees to the top of the house, puts "a -whole nest of night-caps" on his head and stuffs up his ears. Captain -Otter cries, "Sound, Tritons o' the Thames! <i>Nunc est bibendum, nunc -pede libero.</i> Villains, murderers, sons of the earth and traitors," -cries Morose from above, "what do you there?" The racket increases. Then -the captain, somewhat "jovial," maligns his wife, who falls upon him and -gives him a good beating. Blows, cries, music, laughter, resound like -thunder. It is the poetry of uproar. Here is a subject to shake coarse -nerves, and to make the mighty chests of the companions of Drake and -Essex shake with uncontrollable laughter. "Rogues, hell-hounds, -Stentors! ... They have rent my roof, walls, and all my windows asunder, -with their brazen throats!" Morose casts himself on his tormentors with -his long sword, breaks the instruments, drives away the musicians, -disperses the guests amidst an inexpressible uproar, gnashing his teeth, -looking haggard. Afterwards they pronounce him mad and discuss his -madness <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> before him.<a name="NoteRef_563_563" id="NoteRef_563_563"></a><a href="#Note_563_563" class="fnanchor">[563]</a> The disease in Greek is called <i>μανία</i>, in -Latin <i>insania, furor, vel ecstasis melancholica</i>; that is, <i>egressio</i>, -when a man <i>ex melancholico evadit fanaticus.</i>... But he may be but -phreneticus yet, mistress; and phrenetis is only delirium, or so. They -talk of the books which he must read aloud to cure him. They add, by way -of consolation, that his wife talks in her sleep, "and snores like a -porpoise. O redeem me, fate; redeem me, fate!" cries the poor -man.<a name="NoteRef_564_1" id="NoteRef_564_1"></a><a href="#Note_564_1" class="fnanchor">[564]</a> "For how many causes may a man be divorced, nephew?" Sir -Dauphine chooses two knaves, and disguises them, one as a priest, the -other as a lawyer, who launch at his head Latin terms of civil and canon -law, explain to Morose the twelve cases of nullity, jingle in his ears -one after another the most barbarous words in their obscure vocabulary, -wrangle, and make between them as much noise as a couple of bells in a -belfry. Following their advice, he declares himself impotent. The -wedding-guests propose to toss him in a blanket; others demand an -immediate inspection. Fall after fall, shame after shame; nothing serves -him: his wife declares that she consents to "take him with all his -faults." The lawyer proposes another legal method; Morose shall obtain a -divorce by proving that his wife is faithless. Two boasting knights, who -are present, declare that they have been her lovers. Morose, in -raptures, throws himself at their knees, and embraces them. Epicœne -weeps, and Morose seems to be delivered. Suddenly the lawyer decides -that the plan is of no avail, the infidelity having been committed -before the marriage. "O, this is worst of all worst worsts that hell -could have devis'd! marry a whore, and so much noise!" There is Morose -then, declared impotent and a deceived husband, at his own request, in -the eyes of the whole world, and moreover married forever. Sir Dauphine -comes in like a clever rascal, and as a succoring deity. "Allow me but -five hundred during life, uncle, and I free you." Morose signs the deed -of gift with alacrity; and his nephew shows him that Epicœne is a boy -in disguise.<a name="NoteRef_565_1" id="NoteRef_565_1"></a><a href="#Note_565_1" class="fnanchor">[565]</a> Add to this enchanting farce the funny parts of the -two accomplished and gallant knights, who, after having boasted of their -bravery, receive gratefully, and before the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> ladies, flips and -kicks.<a name="NoteRef_566_1" id="NoteRef_566_1"></a><a href="#Note_566_1" class="fnanchor">[566]</a> Never was coarse physical laughter more adroitly produced. -In this broad coarse gayety, this excess of noisy transport, you -recognize the stout roisterer, the stalwart drinker who swallowed -hogsheads of Canary, and made the windows of the Mermaid shake with his -bursts of humor.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Limits_of_Jonsons_Talent--His_Smaller_Poems--His_Masques">SECTION V.—Limits of Jonson's Talent—His Smaller Poems—His Masques</a></h4> - - -<p>Jonson did not go beyond this; he was not a philosopher like Molière, -able to grasp and dramatize the crisis of human life, education, -marriage, sickness, the chief characters of his country and century, the -courtier, the tradesman, the hypocrite, the man of the world.<a name="NoteRef_567_1" id="NoteRef_567_1"></a><a href="#Note_567_1" class="fnanchor">[567]</a> He -remained on a lower level, in the comedy of plot,<a name="NoteRef_568_1" id="NoteRef_568_1"></a><a href="#Note_568_1" class="fnanchor">[568]</a> the painting of -the grotesque,<a name="NoteRef_569_1" id="NoteRef_569_1"></a><a href="#Note_569_1" class="fnanchor">[569]</a> the representation of too transient subjects of -ridicule,<a name="NoteRef_570_1" id="NoteRef_570_1"></a><a href="#Note_570_1" class="fnanchor">[570]</a> too general vices.<a name="NoteRef_571_1" id="NoteRef_571_1"></a><a href="#Note_571_1" class="fnanchor">[571]</a> If at times, as in the -"Alchemist," he has succeeded by the perfection of plot and the vigor of -satire, he has miscarried more frequently by the ponderousness of his -work and the lack of comic lightness. The critic in him mars the artist; -his literary calculations strip him of spontaneous invention; he is too -much of a writer and moralist, not enough of a mimic and an actor. But -he is loftier from another side, for he is a poet; almost all writers, -prose-authors, preachers even, were so at the time we speak of. Fancy -abounded, as well as the perception of colors and forms, the need and -wont of enjoying through the imagination and the eyes. Many of Jonson's -pieces, the "Staple of News, Cynthia's Revels," are fanciful and -allegorical comedies like those of Aristophanes. He there dallies with -the real, and beyond the real, with characters who are but theatrical -masks, abstractions personified, buffooneries, decorations, dances, -music, pretty laughing whims of a picturesque and sentimental -imagination. Thus, in "Cynthia's Revels," three children come on -"pleading possession of the cloke" of black velvet, which an actor -usually wore when he spoke the prologue. They draw lots for it; one of -the losers, in revenge, tells the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> audience beforehand the incidents of -the piece. The others interrupt him at every sentence, put their hands -on his mouth, and taking the cloak one after the other, begin to -criticise the spectators and authors. This child's play, these gestures -and loud voices, this little amusing dispute, divert the public from -their serious thoughts, and prepare them for the oddities which they are -to look upon.</p> - -<p>We are in Greece, in the valley of Gargaphie, where Diana<a name="NoteRef_572_1" id="NoteRef_572_1"></a><a href="#Note_572_1" class="fnanchor">[572]</a> has -proclaimed "a solemn revels." Mercury and Cupid have come down, and -begin by quarrelling; the latter says: "My light feather-heel'd coz, -what are you any more than my uncle Jove's pander? a lacquey that runs -on errands for him, and can whisper a light message to a loose wench -with some round volubility?... One that sweeps the gods' drinking-room -every morning, and sets the cushions in order again, which they threw -one at another's head over night?"<a name="NoteRef_573_1" id="NoteRef_573_1"></a><a href="#Note_573_1" class="fnanchor">[573]</a></p> - -<p>They are good-tempered gods. Echo, awoke by Mercury, weeps for the "too -beauteous boy Narcissus":</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who, now transformed into this drooping flower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hangs the repentant head, back from the stream....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Witness thy youth's dear sweets, here spent untasted,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like a fair taper, with his own flame wasted!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with thy water let this curse remain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As an inseparate plague, that who but taste</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Grow doatingly enamour'd on themselves."<a name="NoteRef_574_1" id="NoteRef_574_1"></a><a href="#Note_574_1" class="fnanchor">[574]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The courtiers and ladies drink thereof, and behold, a sort of a review -of the follies of the time, arranged, as in Aristophanes, in an -improbable farce, a brilliant show. A silly spendthrift, Asotus, wishes -to become a man of the court and of fashionable manners; he takes for -his master Amorphus, a learned traveller, expert in gallantry, who, to -believe himself, is</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"An essence so sublimated and refined by travel... able... to speak the -mere extraction of language; one that... was your first that ever -enrich'd his country with the true laws of the duello; whose optics have -drunk the spirit of beauty in some eight-score and eighteen princes' -courts, where I have resided, and been there fortunate in the amours of -three hundred forty and five ladies, all nobly if not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> princely -descended,... in all so happy, as even admiration herself doth seem to -fasten her kisses upon me."<a name="NoteRef_575_1" id="NoteRef_575_1"></a><a href="#Note_575_1" class="fnanchor">[575]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Asotus learns at this good school the language of the court, fortifies -himself like other people with quibbles, learned oaths, and metaphors; -he fires off in succession supersubtle tirades, and duly imitates the -grimaces and tortuous style of his masters. Then, when he has drunk the -water of the fountain, becoming suddenly pert and rash, he proposes to -all comers a tournament of "court compliment." This odd tournament is -held before the ladies; it comprises four jousts, and at each the -trumpets sound. The combatants perform in succession "the <i>bare -accost</i>; the <i>better regard</i>; the <i>solemn address</i>;" and "the perfect -close."<a name="NoteRef_576_1" id="NoteRef_576_1"></a><a href="#Note_576_1" class="fnanchor">[576]</a> In this grave buffoonery the courtiers are beaten. The -severe Crites, the moralist of the play, copies their language, and -pierces them with their own weapons. Already, with grand declamation, he -had rebuked them thus:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"O vanity,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How are thy painted beauties doated on,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By light, and empty idiots! how pursu'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With open and extended appetite!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rais'd on their toes, to catch thy airy forms,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Still turning giddy, till they reel like drunkards,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That buy the merry madness of one hour,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With the long irksomeness of following time!"<a name="NoteRef_577_1" id="NoteRef_577_1"></a><a href="#Note_577_1" class="fnanchor">[577]</a></span></p> - - -<p>To complete the overthrow of the vices, appear two symbolical masques, -representing the contrary virtues. They pass gravely before the -spectators, in splendid array, and the noble verses exchanged by the -goddess and her companions raise the mind to the lofty regions of serene -morality, whither the poet desires to carry us:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now the sun is laid to sleep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seated in thy silver chair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">State in wonted manner keep....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lay thy bow of pearl apart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thy crystal shining quiver;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Give unto the flying hart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Space to breathe, how short soever."<a name="NoteRef_578_1" id="NoteRef_578_1"></a><a href="#Note_578_1" class="fnanchor">[578]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In the end, bidding the dancers to unmask, Cynthia shows that the vices -have disguised themselves as virtues. She condemns them to make fit -reparation, and to bathe themselves in Helicon. Two by two they go off -singing a palinode, whilst the chorus sings the supplication "Good -Mercury defend us."<a name="NoteRef_579_1" id="NoteRef_579_1"></a><a href="#Note_579_1" class="fnanchor">[579]</a> Is it an opera or a comedy? It is a lyrical -comedy; and if we do not discover in it the airy lightness of -Aristophanes, at least we encounter, as in the "Birds" and the "Frogs," -the contrasts and medleys of poetic invention, which, through caricature -and ode, the real and the impossible, the present and the past, sent -forth to the four quarters of the globe, simultaneously unites all kinds -of incompatibilities, and culls all flowers.</p> - -<p>Jonson went further than this, and entered the domain of pure poetry. He -wrote delicate, voluptuous, charming love poems, worthy of the ancient -idyllic muse.<a name="NoteRef_580_1" id="NoteRef_580_1"></a><a href="#Note_580_1" class="fnanchor">[580]</a> Above all, he was the great, the inexhaustible -inventor of Masques, a kind of masquerades, ballets, poetic choruses, in -which all the magnificence and the imagination of the English -Renaissance is displayed. The Greek gods, and all the ancient Olympus, -the allegorical personages whom the artists of the time delineate in -their pictures; the antique heroes of popular legends; all worlds, the -actual, the abstract, the divine, the human, the ancient, the modern, -are searched by his hands, brought on the stage to furnish costumes, -harmonious groups, emblems, songs, whatever can excite, intoxicate the -artistic sense. The <i>élite</i>, moreover, of the kingdom is there on the -stage. They are not mountebanks moving about in borrowed clothes, -clumsily worn, for which they are still in debt to the tailor; they are -ladies of the court, great lords, the queen, in all the splendor of -their rank and pride, with real diamonds, bent on displaying their -riches, so that the whole splendor of the national life is concentrated -in the opera which they enact, like jewels in a casket. What dresses! -what profusion of splendors! what medley of strange characters, gipsies, -witches, gods, heroes, pontiffs, gnomes, fantastic beings! How many -metamorphoses, jousts, dances, marriage songs! What variety of scenery, -architecture, floating isles, triumphal arches, symbolic spheres! Gold -glitters; jewels flash; purple absorbs the lustre-lights in its costly -folds; streams of light shine upon the crumpled silks; diamond -necklaces, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> darting flame, clasp the bare bosoms of the ladies; strings -of pearls are displayed, loop after loop, upon the silver-sown brocaded -dresses; gold embroidery, weaving whimsical arabesques, depicts upon -their dresses flowers, fruits, and figures, setting picture within -picture. The steps of the throne bear groups of Cupids, each with a -torch in his hand.<a name="NoteRef_581_1" id="NoteRef_581_1"></a><a href="#Note_581_1" class="fnanchor">[581]</a> On either side the fountains cast up plumes of -pearls; musicians, in purple and scarlet, laurel-crowned, make harmony -in the bowers. The trains of masques cross, commingling their groups; -"the one half in orange-tawny and silver, the other in sea-green and -silver. The bodies and short skirts (were of) white and gold to both."</p> - -<p>Such pageants Jonson wrote year after year, almost to the end of his -life, true feasts for the eyes, like the processions of Titian. Even -when he grew to be old, his imagination, like that of Titian, remained -abundant and fresh. Though forsaken, lying gasping on his bed, feeling -the approach of death, in his supreme bitterness he did not lose his -faculties, but wrote "The Sad Shepherd," the most graceful and pastoral -of his pieces. Consider that this beautiful dream arose in a -sick-chamber, amidst medicine bottles, physic, doctors, with a nurse at -his side, amidst the anxieties of poverty and the choking-fits of a -dropsy! He is transported to a green forest, in the days of Robin Hood, -amidst the gay chase and the great barking greyhounds. There are the -malicious fairies, who, like Oberon and Titania, lead men to flounder in -mishaps. There are open-souled lovers, who, like Daphne and Chloe, taste -with awe the painful sweetness of the first kiss. There lived Earine, -whom the stream has "suck'd in," whom her lover, in his madness, will -not cease to lament:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Earine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who had her very being, and her name</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With the first knots or buddings of the spring,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Born with the primrose or the violet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or earliest roses blown: when Cupid smil'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Venus led the graces out to dance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all the flowers and sweets in nature's lap</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Leap'd out, and made their solemn conjuration</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To last but while she liv'd!"...<a name="NoteRef_582_1" id="NoteRef_582_1"></a><a href="#Note_582_1" class="fnanchor">[582]</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But she, as chaste as was her name, Earine,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Died undeflower'd: and now her sweet soul hovers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here in the air above us."<a name="NoteRef_583_1" id="NoteRef_583_1"></a><a href="#Note_583_1" class="fnanchor">[583]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Above the poor old paralytic artist, poetry still hovers like a haze of -light. Yes, he had cumbered himself with science, clogged himself with -theories, constituted himself theatrical critic and social censor, -filled his soul with unrelenting indignation, fostered a combative and -morose disposition; but divine dreams never left him. He is the brother -of Shakespeare.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--General_Idea_of_Shakespeare">SECTION VI.—General Idea of Shakespeare</a></h4> - - -<p>So now at last we are in the presence of one, whom we perceived before -us through all the vistas of the Renaissance, like some vast oak to -which all the forest ways converge. I will treat of Shapespeare by -himself. In order to take him in completely, we must have a wide and -open space. And yet how shall we comprehend him? how lay bare his inner -constitution? Lofty words, eulogies, are all used in vain; he needs no -praise, but comprehension merely; and he can only be comprehended by the -aid of science. As the complicated revolutions of the heavenly bodies -become intelligible only by use of a superior calculus, as the delicate -transformations of vegetation and life need for their explanation the -intervention of the most difficult chemical formulas, so the great works -of art can be interpreted only by the most advanced psychological -systems; and we need the loftiest of all these to attain to -Shakespeare's level—to the level of his age and his work, of his genius -and of his art.</p> - -<p>After all practical experience and accumulated observations of the soul, -we find as the result that wisdom and knowledge are in man only effects -and fortuities. Man has no permanent and distinct force to secure truth -to his intelligence, and common-sense to his conduct. On the contrary, -he is naturally unreasonable and deceived. The parts of his inner -mechanism are like the wheels of clock-work, which go of themselves, -blindly, carried away by impulse and weight, and which yet sometimes, by -virtue of a certain unison, end by indicating the hour. This final -intelligent motion is not natural, but fortuitous; not spontaneous, but -forced; not innate, but acquired. The clock did <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> not always go regularly; -on the contrary, it had to be regulated little by little, with much -difficulty. Its regularity is not insured; it may go wrong at any time. -Its regularity is not complete; it only approximately marks the time. -The mechanical force of each piece is always ready to drag all the rest -from their proper action, and to disarrange the whole agreement. So -ideas, once in the mind, pull each their own way blindly and separately, -and their imperfect agreement threatens confusion every moment. Strictly -speaking, man is mad, as the body is ill, by nature; reason and health -come to us as a momentary success, a lucky accident.<a name="NoteRef_584_1" id="NoteRef_584_1"></a><a href="#Note_584_1" class="fnanchor">[584]</a> If we forget -this, it is because we are now regulated, dulled, deadened, and because -our internal motion has become gradually, by friction and reparation, -half harmonized with the motion of things. But this is only a semblance; -and the dangerous primitive forces remain untamed and independent under -the order which seems to restrain them. Let a great danger arise, a -revolution take place, they will break out and explode, almost as -terribly as in earlier times. For an idea is not a mere inner mark, -employed to designate one aspect of things, inert, always ready to fall -into order with other similar ones, so as to make an exact whole. -However it may be reduced and disciplined, it still retains a sensible -tinge which shows its likeness to an hallucination; a degree of -individual persistence which shows its likeness to a monomania; a -network of singular affinities which shows its likeness to the ravings -of delirium. Being such, it is beyond question the rudiment of a -nightmare, a habit, an absurdity. Let it become once developed in its -entirety, as its tendency leads it,<a name="NoteRef_585_1" id="NoteRef_585_1"></a><a href="#Note_585_1" class="fnanchor">[585]</a> and you will find that it is -essentially an active and complete image, a vision drawing along with it -a train of dreams and sensations, which increases of itself, suddenly, -by a sort of rank and absorbing growth, and which ends by possessing, -shaking, exhausting the whole man. After this, another, perhaps entirely -opposite, and so on successively: there is nothing else in man, no free -and distinct power: he is in himself but the process of these headlong -impulses and swarming imaginations: civilization has mutilated, -attenuated, but not destroyed them; shocks, collisions, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> transports, -sometimes at long intervals a sort of transient partial equilibrium: -this is his real life, the life of a lunatic, who now and then simulates -reason, but who is in reality "such stuff as dreams are made on";<a name="NoteRef_586_1" id="NoteRef_586_1"></a><a href="#Note_586_1" class="fnanchor">[586]</a> -and this is man, as Shakespeare has conceived him. No writer, not even -Molière, has penetrated so far beneath the semblance of common-sense -and logic in which the human machine is enclosed, in order to -disentangle the brute powers which constitute its substance and its -mainspring.</p> - -<p>How did Shakespeare succeed? and by what extraordinary instinct did he -divine the remote conclusions, the deepest insights of physiology and -psychology? He had a complete imagination; his whole genius lies in that -complete imagination. These words seem commonplace and void of meaning. -Let us examine them closer, to understand what they contain. When we -think a thing, we, ordinary men, we only think a part of it; we see one -side, some isolated mark, sometimes two or three marks together; for -what is beyond, our sight fails us; the infinite network of its -infinitely complicated and multiplied properties escapes us; we feel -vaguely that there is something beyond our shallow ken, and this vague -suspicion is the only part of our idea which at all reveals to us the -great beyond. We are like tyro naturalists, quiet people of limited -understanding, who, wishing to represent an animal, recall its name and -ticket in the museum, with some indistinct image of its hide and figure; -but their mind stops there. If it so happens that they wish to complete -their knowledge, they lead their memory, by regular classifications, -over the principal characters of the animal, and slowly, discursively, -piecemeal, bring at last the bare anatomy before their eyes. To this -their idea is reduced, even when perfected; to this also most frequently -is our conception reduced, even when elaborated. What a distance there -is between this conception and the object, how imperfectly and meanly -the one represents the other, to what extent this mutilates that; how -the consecutive idea, disjoined in little, regularly arranged and inert -fragments, resembles but slightly the organized, living thing, created -simultaneously, ever in action, and ever transformed, words cannot -explain. Picture to yourself, instead of this poor dry idea, propped up -by a miserable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> mechanical linkwork of thought, the complete idea, that -is, an inner representation, so abundant and full that it exhausts all -the properties and relations of the object, all its inward and outward -aspects; that it exhausts them instantaneously; that it conceives of the -entire animal, its color, the play of the light upon its skin, its form, -the quivering of its outstretched limbs, the flash of its eyes, and at -the same time its passion of the moment, its excitement, its dash; and -beyond this its instincts, their composition, their causes, their -history; so that the hundred thousand characteristics which make up its -condition and its nature find their analogues in the imagination which -concentrates and reflects them: there you have the artist's conception, -the poet's—Shakespeare's; so superior to that of the logician, of the -mere savant or man of the world, the only one capable of penetrating to -the very essence of existences, of extricating the inner from beneath -the outer man, of feeling through sympathy, and imitating without -effort, the irregular oscillation of human imaginations and impressions, -of reproducing life with its infinite fluctuations, its apparent -contradictions, its concealed logic; in short, to create as nature -creates. This is what is done by the other artists of this age; they -have the same kind of mind, and the same idea of life: you will find in -Shakespeare only the same faculties, with a still stronger impulse; the -same idea, with a still more prominent relief. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_513_513" id="Note_513_513"></a><a href="#NoteRef_513_513"><span class="label">[513]</span></a>Fuller's "Worthies," ed. Nuttall, 1840, 3 vols. III. 284.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_514_514" id="Note_514_514"></a><a href="#NoteRef_514_514"><span class="label">[514]</span></a>There is a similar hallucination to be met with in the -life of Lord Castlereagh, who afterwards committed suicide.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_515_1" id="Note_515_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_515_1"><span class="label">[515]</span></a>His character lies between those of Fielding and Dr. -Johnson.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_516_1" id="Note_516_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_516_1"><span class="label">[516]</span></a>Mr. David Laing remarks, however, in Drummond's defence, -that as "Jonson died August 6, 1637, Drummond survived till December 4, -1649, and no portion of these Notes (Conversations) were made public till -1711, or sixty-two years after Drummond's death, and seventy-four after -Jonson's, which renders quite nugatory all Gifford's accusations of -Drummond's having published them 'without shame.' As to Drummond decoying -Jonson under his roof with any premeditated design on his reputation, as -Mr. Campbell has remarked, no one can seriously believe it."—"Archæologica -Scotica," vol. IV. page 243.—-Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_517_1" id="Note_517_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_517_1"><span class="label">[517]</span></a>At the age of forty-four he went to Scotland on foot.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_518_1" id="Note_518_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_518_1"><span class="label">[518]</span></a>Parts of "Crites" and "Asper."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_519_1" id="Note_519_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_519_1"><span class="label">[519]</span></a>"Every Man out of his Humour," I; Gifford's "Jonson," -p. 30.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_520_520" id="Note_520_520"></a><a href="#NoteRef_520_520"><span class="label">[520]</span></a>Ben Jonson's Poems, ed. Bell, An Epistle Mendicant, -to Richard, Lord Weston, Lord High Treasurer (1631), p. 244.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_521_1" id="Note_521_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_521_1"><span class="label">[521]</span></a>"The Devil is an Ass."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_522_1" id="Note_522_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_522_1"><span class="label">[522]</span></a>Sejanus, Catiline, passim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_523_523" id="Note_523_523"></a><a href="#NoteRef_523_523"><span class="label">[523]</span></a>Alfred de Musset, preface to "La Coupe et les Lèvres." -Plato: "Ion."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_524_1" id="Note_524_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_524_1"><span class="label">[524]</span></a>Compare Sir Epicure Mammon with Baron Hulot from Balzac's -"Cousine Bette." Balzac, who is learned like Jonson, creates real beings -like Shakespeare.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_525_1" id="Note_525_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_525_1"><span class="label">[525]</span></a>"Every Man out of his Humour," Prologue.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_526_1" id="Note_526_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_526_1"><span class="label">[526]</span></a>"Poetaster," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_527_1" id="Note_527_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_527_1"><span class="label">[527]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_528_1" id="Note_528_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_528_1"><span class="label">[528]</span></a>See the second act of "Catiline."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_529_1" id="Note_529_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_529_1"><span class="label">[529]</span></a>"The Fall of Sejanus," III. last scene.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_530_1" id="Note_530_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_530_1"><span class="label">[530]</span></a>Ibid. II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_531_1" id="Note_531_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_531_1"><span class="label">[531]</span></a>"The Fall of Sejanus." II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_532_1" id="Note_532_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_532_1"><span class="label">[532]</span></a>See "Catiline," Act II; a very fine scene, no less plain -spoken and animated, on the dissipation of the higher ranks in Rome.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_533_1" id="Note_533_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_533_1"><span class="label">[533]</span></a>"The Fall of Sejanus," I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_534_1" id="Note_534_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_534_1"><span class="label">[534]</span></a>Ibid. IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_535_1" id="Note_535_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_535_1"><span class="label">[535]</span></a>Ibid. III.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_536_1" id="Note_536_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_536_1"><span class="label">[536]</span></a>"The Fall of Sejanus," V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_537_1" id="Note_537_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_537_1"><span class="label">[537]</span></a>"The Fall of Sejanus," V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_538_1" id="Note_538_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_538_1"><span class="label">[538]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_539_1" id="Note_539_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_539_1"><span class="label">[539]</span></a>"Every Man in his Humour," Prologue.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_540_1" id="Note_540_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_540_1"><span class="label">[540]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_541_1" id="Note_541_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_541_1"><span class="label">[541]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_542_1" id="Note_542_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_542_1"><span class="label">[542]</span></a>"Every Man in his Humour," Prologue.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_543_1" id="Note_543_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_543_1"><span class="label">[543]</span></a>Compare "Volpone" with Regnard's "Légataire"; the end of -the sixteenth with the beginning of the eighteenth century.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_544_1" id="Note_544_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_544_1"><span class="label">[544]</span></a>"Volpone," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_545_1" id="Note_545_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_545_1"><span class="label">[545]</span></a>"Volpone," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_546_1" id="Note_546_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_546_1"><span class="label">[546]</span></a>Ibid. I. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_547_1" id="Note_547_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_547_1"><span class="label">[547]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_548_1" id="Note_548_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_548_1"><span class="label">[548]</span></a>"Volpone," I. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_549_1" id="Note_549_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_549_1"><span class="label">[549]</span></a>"Volpone," I. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_550_1" id="Note_550_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_550_1"><span class="label">[550]</span></a>Ibid. I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_551_1" id="Note_551_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_551_1"><span class="label">[551]</span></a>"Volpone," I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_552_1" id="Note_552_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_552_1"><span class="label">[552]</span></a>Ibid. II. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_553_1" id="Note_553_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_553_1"><span class="label">[553]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_554_1" id="Note_554_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_554_1"><span class="label">[554]</span></a>"Volpone," III. 5. We pray reader to pardon us for Ben -Jonson's broadness. If I omit it, I cannot depict the sixteenth century. -Grant the same the indulgence to the historian as to the anatomist.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_555_1" id="Note_555_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_555_1"><span class="label">[555]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_556_1" id="Note_556_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_556_1"><span class="label">[556]</span></a>"Volpone," III. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_557_1" id="Note_557_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_557_1"><span class="label">[557]</span></a>"Volpone" IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_558_1" id="Note_558_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_558_1"><span class="label">[558]</span></a>Ibid. V. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_559_1" id="Note_559_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_559_1"><span class="label">[559]</span></a>"Volpone," V. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_560_1" id="Note_560_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_560_1"><span class="label">[560]</span></a>Ibid. V. 8.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_561_1" id="Note_561_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_561_1"><span class="label">[561]</span></a>"Epicœne," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_562_1" id="Note_562_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_562_1"><span class="label">[562]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_563_563" id="Note_563_563"></a><a href="#NoteRef_563_563"><span class="label">[563]</span></a>Compare M. de Pourceaugnac in Molière.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_564_1" id="Note_564_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_564_1"><span class="label">[564]</span></a>"Epicœne," IV. I, 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_565_1" id="Note_565_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_565_1"><span class="label">[565]</span></a>Ibid. V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_566_1" id="Note_566_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_566_1"><span class="label">[566]</span></a>Compare Polichinelle in "Le Malade imaginaire"; Géronte -in "Les Fourberies de Scapin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_567_1" id="Note_567_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_567_1"><span class="label">[567]</span></a>Compare "L'École des Femmes, Tartuffe, Le Misanthrope, -Le Bourgeois-gentilhomme, Le Malade imaginaire, Georges Dandin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_568_1" id="Note_568_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_568_1"><span class="label">[568]</span></a>Compare "Les Fourberies de Scapin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_569_1" id="Note_569_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_569_1"><span class="label">[569]</span></a>Compare "Les Fâcheux."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_570_1" id="Note_570_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_570_1"><span class="label">[570]</span></a>Compare "Les Précieuses Ridicules."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_571_1" id="Note_571_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_571_1"><span class="label">[571]</span></a>Compare the plays of Destouches.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_572_1" id="Note_572_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_572_1"><span class="label">[572]</span></a>By Diana, Queen Elizabeth is meant.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_573_1" id="Note_573_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_573_1"><span class="label">[573]</span></a>"Cynthia's Revels," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_574_1" id="Note_574_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_574_1"><span class="label">[574]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_575_1" id="Note_575_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_575_1"><span class="label">[575]</span></a>"Cynthia's Revels," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_576_1" id="Note_576_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_576_1"><span class="label">[576]</span></a>Ibid. V. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_577_1" id="Note_577_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_577_1"><span class="label">[577]</span></a>Ibid. I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_578_1" id="Note_578_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_578_1"><span class="label">[578]</span></a>Ibid. V. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_579_1" id="Note_579_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_579_1"><span class="label">[579]</span></a>"Cynthia's Revels," last scene.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_580_1" id="Note_580_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_580_1"><span class="label">[580]</span></a>Celebration of Charis; "Miscellaneous Poems."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_581_1" id="Note_581_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_581_1"><span class="label">[581]</span></a>"Masque of Beauty."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_582_1" id="Note_582_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_582_1"><span class="label">[582]</span></a>"The Sad Shepherd," I. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_583_1" id="Note_583_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_583_1"><span class="label">[583]</span></a>"The Sad Shepherd," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_584_1" id="Note_584_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_584_1"><span class="label">[584]</span></a>This idea may be expanded psychologically: external -perception, memory, are real hallucinations, etc. This is the -analytical aspect: under another aspect reason and health are the -natural goals.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_585_1" id="Note_585_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_585_1"><span class="label">[585]</span></a>See Spinoza and Dugald Stewart: Conception in its natural -state is belief.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_586_1" id="Note_586_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_586_1"><span class="label">[586]</span></a>"Tempest," IV. 1.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FOURTH_II">CHAPTER FOURTH</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="Shakespeare">Shakespeare</a></h4> - - -<p>I am about to describe an extraordinary species of mind, perplexing to -all the French modes of analysis and reasoning, all-powerful, excessive, -master of the sublime as well as of the base; the most creative mind -that ever engaged in the exact copy of the details of actual existence, -in the dazzling caprice of fancy, in the profound complications of -superhuman passions; a nature poetical, immoral, inspired, superior to -reason by the sudden revelations of its seer's madness; so extreme in -joy and grief, so abrupt of gait, so agitated and impetuous, in its -transports, that this great age alone could have cradled such a child.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Life_and_Character_of_Shakespeare">SECTION I.—Life and Character of Shakespeare</a></h4> - - -<p>Of Shakespeare all came from within—I mean from his soul and his -genius; circumstances and the externals contributed but slightly to his -development.<a name="NoteRef_587_1" id="NoteRef_587_1"></a><a href="#Note_587_1" class="fnanchor">[587]</a> He was intimately bound up with his age; that is, he -knew by experience the manners of country, court, and town; he had -visited the heights, depths, the middle ranks of mankind; nothing more. -In all other respects his life was commonplace; its irregularities, -troubles, passions, successes, were, on the whole, such as we meet with -everywhere else.<a name="NoteRef_588_1" id="NoteRef_588_1"></a><a href="#Note_588_1" class="fnanchor">[588]</a> His father, a glover and wool-stapler, in very -easy circumstances, having married a sort of country heiress, had become -high-bailiff and chief alderman in his little town; but when Shakespeare -was nearly fourteen he was on the verge of ruin, mortgaging his wife's -property, obliged to resign his municipal offices, and to remove his son -from school to assist <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> him in his business. The young fellow applied -himself to it as well as he could, not without some scrapes and frolics: -if we are to believe tradition, he was one of the thirsty souls of the -place, with a mind to support the reputation of his little town in its -drinking powers. Once, they say, having been beaten at Bideford in one -of these ale-bouts, he returned staggering from the fight, or rather -could not return, and passed the night with his comrades under an -apple-tree by the roadside. Without doubt he had already begun to write -verses, to rove about like a genuine poet, taking part in the noisy -rustic feasts, the gay allegorical pastorals, the rich and bold outbreak -of pagan and poetical life, as it was then to be found in an English -village. At all events, he was not a pattern of propriety, and his -passions were as precocious as they were imprudent. While not yet -nineteen years old, he married the daughter of a substantial yeoman, -about eight years older than himself—and not too soon, as she was about -to become a mother.<a name="NoteRef_589_1" id="NoteRef_589_1"></a><a href="#Note_589_1" class="fnanchor">[589]</a> Other of his outbreaks were no more fortunate. -It seems that he was fond of poaching, after the manner of the time, -being "much given to all unluckinesse in stealing venison and rabbits," -says the Rev. Richard Davies;<a name="NoteRef_590_1" id="NoteRef_590_1"></a><a href="#Note_590_1" class="fnanchor">[590]</a> "particularly from Sir Thomas Lucy, -who had him oft whipt and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly -the country;... but his revenge was so great, that he is his Justice -Clodpate." Moreover, about this time Shakespeare's father was in prison, -his affairs were not prosperous, and he himself had three children, -following one close upon the other; he must live, and life was hardly -possible for him in his native town. He went to London, and took to the -stage: took the lowest parts, was a "servant" in the theatre, that is, -an apprentice, or perhaps a supernumerary. They even said that he had -begun still lower, and that to earn his bread he had held gentlemen's -horses at the door of the theatre.<a name="NoteRef_591_1" id="NoteRef_591_1"></a><a href="#Note_591_1" class="fnanchor">[591]</a> At all events he tasted misery, -and felt, not in imagination, but in fact, the sharp thorn of care, -humiliation, disgust, forced labor, public discredit, the power of the -people. He was a comedian, one of "His Majesty's poor players"<a name="NoteRef_592_1" id="NoteRef_592_1"></a><a href="#Note_592_1" class="fnanchor">[592]</a>—a -sad trade, degraded in all ages by the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> contrasts and the falsehoods -which it allows: still more degraded then by the brutalities of the -crowd, who not seldom would stone the actors, and by the severities of -the magistrates, who would sometimes condemn them to lose their ears. He -felt it, and spoke of it with bitterness:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And made myself a motley to the view,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear."<a name="NoteRef_593_1" id="NoteRef_593_1"></a><a href="#Note_593_1" class="fnanchor">[593]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And again:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When in disgrace with fortune<a name="NoteRef_594_1" id="NoteRef_594_1"></a><a href="#Note_594_1" class="fnanchor">[594]</a> and men's eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I all alone beweep my outcast state,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And look upon myself and curse my fate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Featured like him, like him with friends possessed....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With what I most enjoy contented least;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet in those thoughts myself almost despising."<a name="NoteRef_595_1" id="NoteRef_595_1"></a><a href="#Note_595_1" class="fnanchor">[595]</a></span></p> - - -<p>We shall find further on the traces of this long-enduring disgust, in -his melancholy characters, as where he says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The insolence of office and the spurns</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The patient merit of the unworthy takes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When he himself might his quietus make</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With a bare bodkin?"<a name="NoteRef_596_1" id="NoteRef_596_1"></a><a href="#Note_596_1" class="fnanchor">[596]</a></span></p> - - -<p>But the worst of this undervalued position is, that it eats into the -soul. In the company of actors we become actors: it is vain to wish to -keep clean, if you live in a dirty place; it cannot be. No matter if a -man braces himself; necessity drives him into a corner and sullies him. -The machinery of the decorations, the tawdriness and medley of the -costumes, the smell of the tallow and the candles, in contrast with the -parade of refinement and loftiness, all the cheats and sordidness of the -representation, the bitter alternative of hissing or applause, the -keeping of the highest and lowest company, the habit of sporting <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> with -human passions, easily unhinge the soul, drive it down the slope of -excess, tempt it to loose manners, green-room adventures, the loves of -strolling actresses. Shakespeare escaped them no more than Molière, and -grieved for it, like Molière:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That did not better for my life provide</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than public means which public manners breeds."<a name="NoteRef_597_1" id="NoteRef_597_1"></a><a href="#Note_597_1" class="fnanchor">[597]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They used to relate in London how his comrade Burbadge, who played -Richard III, having a rendezvous with the wife of a citizen, Shakespeare -went before, was well received, and was pleasantly occupied, when -Burbage arrived, to whom he sent the message that William the Conqueror -came before Richard III.<a name="NoteRef_598_1" id="NoteRef_598_1"></a><a href="#Note_598_1" class="fnanchor">[598]</a> We may take this as an example of the -tricks and somewhat coarse intrigues which are planned, and follow in -quick succession, on this stage. Outside the theatre he lived with -fashionable young nobles, Pembroke, Montgomery, Southampton,<a name="NoteRef_599_1" id="NoteRef_599_1"></a><a href="#Note_599_1" class="fnanchor">[599]</a> and -others, whose hot and licentious youth gratified his imagination and -senses by the example of Italian pleasures and elegancies. Add to this -the rapture and transport of poetical nature, and this kind of afflux, -this boiling over of all the powers and desires which takes place in -brains of this kind, when the world for the first time opens before -them, and you will understand the "Venus and Adonis, the first heir of -his invention." In fact, it is a first cry, a cry in which the whole man -is displayed. Never was seen a heart so quivering to the touch of -beauty, of beauty of every kind, so delighted with the freshness and -splendor of things, so eager and so excited in adoration and enjoyment, -so violently and entirely carried to the very essence of voluptuousness. -His Venus is unique; no painting of Titian's has a more brilliant and -delicious coloring;<a name="NoteRef_600_600" id="NoteRef_600_600"></a><a href="#Note_600_600" class="fnanchor">[600]</a> no strumpet-goddess of Tintoretto or Giorgione -is more soft and beautiful:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"With blindfold fury she begins to forage,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry."<a name="NoteRef_601_1" id="NoteRef_601_1"></a><a href="#Note_601_1" class="fnanchor">[601]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And where she ends she doth anew begin."<a name="NoteRef_602_1" id="NoteRef_602_1"></a><a href="#Note_602_1" class="fnanchor">[602]</a></span></p> - - -<p>All is taken by storm, the senses first, the eyes dazzled by carnal -beauty, but the heart also from whence the poetry overflows: the fulness -of youth inundates even inanimate things; the country looks charming -amidst the rays of the rising sun, the air, saturated with brightness, -makes a gala-day:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The sun riseth in his majesty;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who doth the world so gloriously behold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold."<a name="NoteRef_603_1" id="NoteRef_603_1"></a><a href="#Note_603_1" class="fnanchor">[603]</a></span></p> - - -<p>An admirable debauch of imagination and rapture, yet disquieting; for -such a mood will carry one a long way.<a name="NoteRef_604_1" id="NoteRef_604_1"></a><a href="#Note_604_1" class="fnanchor">[604]</a> No fair and frail dame in -London was without "Adonis" on her table.<a name="NoteRef_605_1" id="NoteRef_605_1"></a><a href="#Note_605_1" class="fnanchor">[605]</a> Perhaps Shakespeare -perceived that he had transcended the bounds, for the tone of his next -poem, the "Rape of Lucrece," is quite different; but as he had already a -mind liberal enough to embrace at the same time, as he did afterwards in -his dramas, the two extremes of things, he continued none the less to -follow his bent. The "sweet abandonment of love" was the great -occupation of his life; he was tender-hearted, and he was a poet: -nothing more is required to be smitten, deceived, to suffer, to traverse -without pause the circle of illusions and troubles, which whirls and -whirls round, and never ends.</p> - -<p>He had many loves of this kind, amongst others one for a sort of Marion -Delorme,<a name="NoteRef_606_606" id="NoteRef_606_606"></a><a href="#Note_606_606" class="fnanchor">[606]</a> a miserable deluding despotic passion, of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> which he felt -the burden and the shame, but from which nevertheless he could not and -would not free himself. Nothing can be sadder than his confessions, or -mark better the madness of love, and the sentiment of human weakness:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When my love swears that she is made of truth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I do believe her, though I know she lies."<a name="NoteRef_607_1" id="NoteRef_607_1"></a><a href="#Note_607_1" class="fnanchor">[607]</a></span></p> - - -<p>So spoke Alceste of Célimène;<a name="NoteRef_608_608" id="NoteRef_608_608"></a><a href="#Note_608_608" class="fnanchor">[608]</a> but what a soiled Célimène is the -creature before whom Shakespeare kneels, with as much of scorn as of -desire!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Those lips of thine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That have profaned their scarlet ornaments</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee."<a name="NoteRef_609_1" id="NoteRef_609_1"></a><a href="#Note_609_1" class="fnanchor">[609]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This is plain-speaking and deep shamelessness of soul, such as we find -only in the stews; and these are the intoxications, the excesses, the -delirium into which the most refined artists fall, when they resign -their own noble hand to these soft, voluptuous, and clinging ones. They -are higher than princes, and they descend to the lowest depths of -sensual passion. Good and evil then lose their names; all things are -inverted:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That tongue that tells the story of thy days,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Making lascivious comments on thy sport,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Naming thy name blesses an ill report."<a name="NoteRef_610_1" id="NoteRef_610_1"></a><a href="#Note_610_1" class="fnanchor">[610]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What are proofs, the will, reason, honor itself, when the passion is so -absorbing? What can be said further to a man who answers, "I know all -that you are going to say, and what does it all amount to?" Great loves -are inundations, which drown all repugnance and all delicacy of soul, -all preconceived opinions and all received principles. Thenceforth the -heart is dead <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> to all ordinary pleasures: it can only feel and breathe on -one side. Shakespeare envies the keys of the instrument over which his -mistress's fingers run. If he looks at flowers, it is she whom he -pictures beyond them; and the extravagant splendors of dazzling poetry -spring up in him repeatedly, as soon as he thinks of those glowing black -eyes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"From you have I been absent in the spring,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him."<a name="NoteRef_611_1" id="NoteRef_611_1"></a><a href="#Note_611_1" class="fnanchor">[611]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He saw none of it:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose."<a name="NoteRef_612_1" id="NoteRef_612_1"></a><a href="#Note_612_1" class="fnanchor">[612]</a></span></p> - - -<p>All this sweetness of spring was but her perfume and her shade:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The forward violet thus I did chide:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If not from my love's breath? The purple pride,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The lily I condemned for thy hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One blushing shame, another white despair:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">More flowers I noted, yet I none could see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But sweet or color it had stol'n from thee."<a name="NoteRef_613_1" id="NoteRef_613_1"></a><a href="#Note_613_1" class="fnanchor">[613]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Passionate archness, delicious affectations, worthy of Heine and the -contemporaries of Dante, which tell us of long rapturous dreams -concentrated on one subject. Under a sway so imperious and sustained, -what sentiment could maintain its ground? That of family? He was married -and had children—a family which he went to see "once a year"; and it -was probably on his return from one of these journeys that he used the -words above quoted. Conscience? "Love is too young to know what -conscience is." Jealousy and anger?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For, thou betraying me, I do betray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My nobler part to my gross body's treason."<a name="NoteRef_614_1" id="NoteRef_614_1"></a><a href="#Note_614_1" class="fnanchor">[614]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Repulses?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He is contented thy poor drudge to be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side."<a name="NoteRef_615_1" id="NoteRef_615_1"></a><a href="#Note_615_1" class="fnanchor">[615]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He is no longer young; she loves another, a handsome, young, -light-haired fellow, his own dearest friend, whom he has presented to -her, and whom she wishes to seduce:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Two loves I have of comfort and despair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which like two spirits do suggest me still:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The better angel is a man right fair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The worser spirit a woman color'd ill.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To win me soon to hell, my female evil</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tempteth my better angel from my side."<a name="NoteRef_616_1" id="NoteRef_616_1"></a><a href="#Note_616_1" class="fnanchor">[616]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And when she has succeeded in this,<a name="NoteRef_617_1" id="NoteRef_617_1"></a><a href="#Note_617_1" class="fnanchor">[617]</a> he dares not confess it to -himself, but suffers all, like Molière. What wretchedness is there in -these trifles of every-day life! How man's thoughts instinctively place -by Shakespeare's side the great unhappy French poet (Molière), also a -philosopher by nature, but more of a professional laugher, a mocker of -old men in love, a bitter railer at deceived husbands, who, after having -played in one of his most approved comedies, said aloud to a friend, "My -dear fellow, I am in despair; my wife does not love me!" Neither glory, -nor work, nor invention satisfies these vehement souls: love alone can -gratify them, because, with their senses and heart, it contents also -their brain; and all the powers of man, imagination like the rest, find -in it their concentration and their employment. "Love is my sin," he -said, as did Musset and Heine; and in the Sonnets we find traces of yet -other passions, equally abandoned; one in particular, seemingly for a -great lady. The first half of his dramas, "Midsummer Night's Dream," -"Romeo and Juliet," the "Two Gentlemen of Verona," preserve the warm -imprint more completely; and we have only to consider his latest women's -character,<a name="NoteRef_618_1" id="NoteRef_618_1"></a><a href="#Note_618_1" class="fnanchor">[618]</a> to see with what exquisite tenderness, what full -adoration, he loved them to the end. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p> - -<p>In this is all his genius; his was one of those delicate souls which, -like a perfect instrument of music, vibrate of themselves at the -slightest touch. This fine sensibility was the first thing observed in -him. "My darling Shakespeare, Sweet Swan of Avon": these words of Ben -Jonson only confirm what his contemporaries reiterate. He was -affectionate and kind, "civil in demeanor, and excellent in the qualitie -he professes";<a name="NoteRef_619_1" id="NoteRef_619_1"></a><a href="#Note_619_1" class="fnanchor">[619]</a> if he had the impulse, he had also the effusion of -true artists; he was loved, men were delighted in his company; nothing -is more sweet or winning than this charm, this half-feminine abandonment -in a man. His wit in conversation was ready, ingenious, nimble; his -gayety brilliant; his imagination fluent, and so copious, that, as his, -friends tell us, he never erased what he had written; at least when he -wrote out a scene for the second time, it was the idea which he would -change, not the words, by an after-glow of poetic thought, not with a -painful tinkering of the verse. All these characteristics are combined -into a single one: he had a sympathetic genius; I mean that naturally he -knew how to forget himself and become transfused into all the objects -which he conceived. Look around you at the great artists of your time, -try to approach them, to become acquainted with them, to see them as -they think, and you will observe the full force of this word. By an -extraordinary instinct, they put themselves at once in a position of -existences; men, animals, flowers, plants, landscapes, whatever the -objects are, living or not, they feel by intuition the forces and -tendencies which produce the visible external; and their soul, -infinitely complex, becomes by its ceaseless metamorphoses a sort of -abstract of the universe. This is why they seem to live more than other -men; they have no need to be taught, they divine. I have seen such a -man, a propos of a piece of armor, a costume, a collection of furniture, -enter into the Middle Ages more fully than three savants together. They -reconstruct, as they build, naturally, surely, by an inspiration which -is a winged chain of reasoning. Shakespeare had only an imperfect -education, "small Latin and less <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> Greek," barely French and Italian,<a name="NoteRef_620_1" id="NoteRef_620_1"></a><a href="#Note_620_1" class="fnanchor">[620]</a> -nothing else; he had not travelled, he had only read the current -literature of his day, he had picked up a few law words in the court of -his little town: reckon up, if you can, all that he knew of man and of -history. These men see more objects at a time; they grasp them more -closely than other men, more quickly and thoroughly; their mind is full, -and runs over. They do not rest in simple reasoning; at every idea their -whole being, reflections, images, emotions, are set a-quiver. See them -at it; they gesticulate, mimic their thought, brim over with -comparisons; even in their talk they are imaginative and original, with -familiarity and boldness of speech, sometimes happily, always -irregularly, according to the whims and starts of the adventurous -improvisation. The animation, the brilliancy of their language is -marvellous; so are their fits, the wide leaps which they couple widely -removed ideas, annihilating distance, passing from pathos to humor, from -vehemence to gentleness. This extraordinary rapture is the last thing to -quit them. If perchance ideas fail, or if their melancholy is too -violent, they still speak and produce, even if it be nonsense: they -become clowns, though at their own expense, and to their own hurt. I -know one of these men who will talk nonsense when he thinks he is dying, -or has a mind to kill himself; the inner wheel continues to turn, even -upon nothing, that wheel which man must needs see ever turning, even -though it tear him as it turns; his buffoonery is an outlet: you will -find him, this inextinguishable urchin, this ironical puppet, at -Ophelia's tomb, at Cleopatra's death-bed, at Juliet's funeral. High or -low, these men must always be at some extreme. They feel their good and -their ill too deeply; they expatiate too abundantly on each condition of -their soul, by a sort of involuntary novel. After their traducings and -the disgusts by which they debase themselves beyond measure they rise -and become exalted in a marvellous fashion, even trembling with pride -and joy. "Haply," says Shakespeare, after one of these dull moods:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Haply I think on thee, and then my state,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like to the lark at break of day arising</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate."<a name="NoteRef_621_1" id="NoteRef_621_1"></a><a href="#Note_621_1" class="fnanchor">[621]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then all fades away, as in a furnace where a stronger flare than usual -has left no substance fuel behind it.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"That time of year thou mayst in me behold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In me thou see'st the twilight of such day</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As after sunset fadeth in the west,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which by and by black night doth take away,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Death's second self, that seals up all in rest...."<a name="NoteRef_622_1" id="NoteRef_622_1"></a><a href="#Note_622_1" class="fnanchor">[622]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"No longer mourn for me when I am dead</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Give warning to the world that I am fled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nay, if you read this line, remember not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The hand that writ it; for I love you so.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If thinking on me then should make you woe."<a name="NoteRef_623_1" id="NoteRef_623_1"></a><a href="#Note_623_1" class="fnanchor">[623]</a></span></p> - - -<p>These sudden alternatives of joy and sadness, divine transports and -grand melancholies, exquisite tenderness and womanly depressions, depict -the poet, extreme in emotions, ceaselessly troubled with grief or -merriment, feeling the slightest shock, more strong, more dainty in -enjoyment and suffering than other men, capable of more intense and -sweeter dreams, within whom is stirred an imaginary world of graceful or -terrible beings, all impassioned like their author.</p> - -<p>Such as I have described him, however, he found his resting-place. -Early, at least what regards outward appearances, he settled down to an -orderly, sensible, almost humdrum existence, engaged in business, -provident of the future. He remained on the stage for at least seventeen -years, though taking secondary parts;<a name="NoteRef_624_1" id="NoteRef_624_1"></a><a href="#Note_624_1" class="fnanchor">[624]</a> he sets his wits at the same -time to the touching up of plays with so much activity, that Greene -called him "an upstart crow beautified with our feathers;... an absolute -Johannes factotum, in his owne conceyte the onely shake-scene in a -countrey."<a name="NoteRef_625_1" id="NoteRef_625_1"></a><a href="#Note_625_1" class="fnanchor">[625]</a> At the age of thirty-three he had amassed money enough -to buy at Stratford a house with two barns and two gardens, and he went -on steadier and steadier in the same course. A man attains only to easy -circumstances by his own labor; if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> he gains wealth, it is by making -others labor for him. This is why, to the trades of actor and author, -Shakespeare added those of manager and director of a theatre. He -acquired a share in the Blackfriars and Globe theatres, farmed tithes, -bought large pieces of land, more houses, gave a dowry to his daughter -Susanna, and finally retired to his native town on his property, in his -own house, like a good landlord, an honest citizen, who manages his -fortune fitly, and takes his share of municipal work. He had an income -of two or three hundred pounds, which would be equivalent to about eight -or twelve hundred at the present time, and according to tradition, lived -cheerfully and on good terms with his neighbors; at all events, it does -not seem that he thought much about his literary glory, for he did not -even take the trouble to collect and publish his works. One of his -daughters married a physician, the other a wine merchant; the last did -not even know how to sign her name. He lent money, and cut a good figure -in this little world. Strange close; one which at first sight resembles -more that of a shopkeeper than of a poet. Must we attribute it to that -English instinct which places happiness in the life of a country -gentleman and a landlord with a good rent-roll, well connected, -surrounded by comforts, who quietly enjoys his undoubted -respectability,<a name="NoteRef_626_1" id="NoteRef_626_1"></a><a href="#Note_626_1" class="fnanchor">[626]</a> his domestic authority, and his county standing? Or -rather, was Shakespeare, like Voltaire, a common-sense man, though of an -imaginative brain, keeping a sound judgment under the sparkling of his -genius, prudent from scepticism, saving through a desire for -independence, and capable, after going the round of human ideas, of -deciding with Candide,<a name="NoteRef_627_1" id="NoteRef_627_1"></a><a href="#Note_627_1" class="fnanchor">[627]</a> that the best thing one can do in this world -is "to cultivate one's garden"? I had rather think, as his full and -solid head suggests,<a name="NoteRef_628_1" id="NoteRef_628_1"></a><a href="#Note_628_1" class="fnanchor">[628]</a> that by the mere force of his overflowing -imagination he escaped, like Goethe, the perils of an overflowing -imagination; that in depicting passion, he succeeded, like Goethe, in -deadening passion; that the fire did not break out in his conduct, -because it found issue in his poetry; that his theatre kept pure his -life; and that, having passed, by sympathy, through every kind of folly -and wretchedness that is incident to human existence, he was able to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> -settle down amidst them with a calm and melancholic smile, listening, -for the sake of relaxation, to the aerial music of the fancies in which -he revelled.<a name="NoteRef_629_1" id="NoteRef_629_1"></a><a href="#Note_629_1" class="fnanchor">[629]</a> I am willing to believe, lastly, that in frame as in -other things, he belonged to his great generation and his great age; -that with him, as with Rabelais, Titian, Michel Angelo, and Rubens, the -solidity of the muscles was a counterpoise to the sensibility of the -nerves; that in those days the human machine, more severely tried and -more firmly constructed, could withstand the storms of passion and the -fire of inspiration; that soul and body were still at equilibrium; that -genius was then a blossom, and not, as now, a disease. We can but make -conjectures about all this: if we would become acquainted more closely -with the man, we must seek him in his works.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Shakespeares_Style--Copiousness--Excesses">SECTION II.—Shakespeare's Style—Copiousness—Excesses</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us then look for the man, and in his style. The style explains the -work; whilst showing the principal features of the genius, it infers the -rest. When we have once grasped the dominant faculty, we see the whole -artist developed like a flower.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare imagines with copiousness and excess; he scatters metaphors -profusely over all he writes; every instant abstract ideas are changed -into images; it is a series of paintings which is unfolded in his mind. -He does not seek them, they come of themselves; they crowd within him, -covering his arguments; they dim with their brightness the pure light of -logic. He does not labor to explain or prove; picture on picture, image -on image, he is forever copying the strange and splendid visions which -are engendered one after another, and are heaped up within him. Compare -to our dull writers this passage, which I take at hazard from a tranquil -dialogue:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The single and peculiar life is bound,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With all the strength and armor of the mind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To keep itself from noyance; but much more</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The lives of many. The cease of majesty</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Each small annexment, petty consequence,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did the king sigh, but with a general groan."<a name="NoteRef_630_1" id="NoteRef_630_1"></a><a href="#Note_630_1" class="fnanchor">[630]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Here we have three successive images to express the same thought. It is -a whole blossoming; a bough grows from the trunk, from that another, -which is multiplied into numerous fresh branches. Instead of a smooth -road, traced by a regular line of dry and cunningly fixed landmarks, you -enter a wood, crowded with interwoven trees and luxuriant bushes, which -conceal and prevent your progress, which delight and dazzle your eyes by -the magnificence of their verdure and the wealth of their bloom. You are -astonished at first, modern mind that you are, business man, used to the -clear dissertations of classical poetry; you become cross; you think the -author is amusing himself, and that through conceit and bad taste he is -misleading you and himself in his garden thickets. By no means; if he -speaks thus, it is not from choice, but of necessity; metaphor is not -his whim, but the form of his thought. In the height of passion, he -imagines still. When Hamlet, in despair, remembers his father's noble -form, he sees the mythological pictures with which the taste of the age -filled the very streets:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A station like the herald Mercury</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill."<a name="NoteRef_631_1" id="NoteRef_631_1"></a><a href="#Note_631_1" class="fnanchor">[631]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This charming vision, in the midst of a bloody invective, proves that -there lurks a painter underneath the poet. Involuntarily and out of -season, he tears off the tragic mask which covered his face; and the -reader discovers, behind the contracted features of this terrible mask, -a graceful and inspired smile which he did not expect to see.</p> - -<p>Such an imagination must needs be vehement. Every metaphor is a -convulsion. Whosoever involuntarily and naturally transforms a dry idea -into an image, has his brain on fire; true metaphors are flaming -apparitions, which are like a picture in a flash of lightning. Never, I -think, in any nation of Europe, or in any age of history, has so grand a -passion been seen. Shakespeare's style is a compound of frenzied -expressions. No man <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> has submitted words to such a contortion. Mingled -contrasts, tremendous exaggerations, apostrophes, exclamations; the -whole fury of the ode, confusion of ideas, accumulation of images, the -horrible and the divine, jumbled into the same line; it seems to my -fancy as though he never writes a word without shouting it. "What have I -done?" the queen asks Hamlet. He answers:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 14em;">"Such an act</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From the fair forehead of an innocent love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As from the body of contraction plucks</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The very soul, and sweet religion makes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yea, this solidity and compound mass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With tristful visage, as against the doom,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is thought-sick at the act."<a name="NoteRef_632_1" id="NoteRef_632_1"></a><a href="#Note_632_1" class="fnanchor">[632]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It is the style of frenzy. Yet I have not given all. The metaphors are -all exaggerated, the ideas all verge on the absurd. All is transformed -and disfigured by the whirlwind of passion. The contagion of the crime, -which he denounces, has marred all nature. He no longer sees anything in -the world but corruption and lying. To vilify the virtuous were little; -he vilifies virtue herself. Inanimate things are sucked into this -whirlpool of grief. The sky's red tint at sunset, the pallid darkness -spread by night over the landscape, become the blush and the pallor of -shame, and the wretched man who speaks and weeps sees the whole world -totter with him in the dimness of despair.</p> - -<p>Hamlet, it will be said, is half-mad; this explains the vehemence of his -expressions. The truth is that Hamlet, here, is Shakespeare. Be the -situation terrible or peaceful, whether he is engaged on an invective or -a conversation, the style is excessive throughout. Shakespeare never -sees things tranquilly. All the powers of his mind are concentrated in -the present image or idea. He is buried and absorbed in it. With such a -genius, we are on the brink of an abyss; the eddying water dashes in -headlong, swallowing up whatever objects it meets, and only bringing -them to light transformed and mutilated. We pause <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> stupefied before these -convulsive metaphors, which might have been written by a fevered hand in -a night's delirium, which gather a pageful of ideas and pictures in half -a sentence, which scorch the eyes they would enlighten. Words lose their -meaning; constructions are put out of joint; paradoxes of style, -apparently false expressions, which a man might occasionally venture -upon with diffidence in the transport of his rapture, become the -ordinary language. Shakespeare dazzles, repels, terrifies, disgusts, -oppresses; his verses are a piercing and sublime song, pitched in too -high a key, above the reach of our organs, which offends our ears, of -which our mind alone can divine the justice and beauty.</p> - -<p>Yet this is little; for that singular force of concentration is -redoubled by the suddenness of the dash which calls it into existence. -In Shakespeare there is no preparation, no adaptation, no development, -no care to make himself understood. Like a too fiery and powerful horse, -he bounds, but cannot run. He bridges in a couple of words an enormous -interval; is at the two poles in a single instant. The reader vainly -looks for the intermediate track; dazed by these prodigious leaps, he -wonders by what miracle the poet has entered upon a new idea the very -moment when he quitted the last, seeing perhaps between the two images a -long scale of transitions, which we mount with difficulty step by step, -but which he has spanned in a stride. Shakespeare flies, we creep. Hence -comes a style made up of conceits, bold images, shattered in an instant -by others still bolder, barely indicated ideas completed by others far -removed, no visible connection, but a visible incoherence; at every step -we halt, the track failing; and there, far above us, lo, stands the -poet, and we find that we have ventured in his footsteps, through a -craggy land, full of precipices, which he threads as if it were a -straightforward road, but on which our greatest efforts barely carry us -along.</p> - -<p>What will you think, further, if we observe that these vehement -expressions, so natural in their up-welling, instead of following one -after the other, slowly and with effort, are hurled out by hundreds, -with an impetuous ease and abundance, like the bubbling waves from a -welling spring, which are heaped together, rise one above another, and -find nowhere room enough to spread and exhaust themselves? You may find -in "Romeo <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> and Juliet" a score of examples of this inexhaustible -inspiration. The two lovers pile up an infinite mass of metaphors, -impassioned exaggerations, clenches, contorted phrases, amorous -extravagances. Their language is like the trill of nightingales. -Shakespeare's wits, Mercutio, Beatrice, Rosalind, his clowns, buffoons, -sparkle with far-fetched jokes, which rattle out like a volley of -musketry. There is none of them but provides enough play on words to -stock a whole theatre. Lear's curses, or Queen Margaret's, would suffice -for all the madmen in an asylum, or all the oppressed of the earth. The -sonnets are a delirium of ideas and images, labored at with an obstinacy -enough to make a man giddy. His first poem, "Venus and Adonis," is the -sensual ecstasy of a Correggio, insatiable and excited. This exuberant -fecundity intensifies qualities already in excess, and multiplies a -hundred-fold the luxuriance of metaphor, the incoherence of style, and -the unbridled vehemence of expression.<a name="NoteRef_633_1" id="NoteRef_633_1"></a><a href="#Note_633_1" class="fnanchor">[633]</a></p> - -<p>All that I have said may be compressed into a few words. Objects were -taken into his mind organized and complete; they pass into ours -disjointed, decomposed, fragmentarily. He thought in the lump, we think -piecemeal; hence his style and our style—two languages not to be -reconciled. We, for our part, writers and reasoners, can note precisely -by a word each isolated fraction of an idea, and represent the due order -of its parts by the due order of our expressions. We advance gradually; -we follow the filiations, refer continually to the roots, try and treat -our words as numbers, our sentences as equations; we employ but general -terms, which every mind can understand, and regular constructions, into -which any mind can enter; we attain justness and clearness, not life. -Shakespeare lets justness and clearness look out for themselves, and -attains life. From amidst his' complex conception and his colored -semi-vision, he grasps a fragment, a quivering fibre, and shows it; it -is for you, from this fragment, to divine the rest. He, behind the word, -has a whole picture, an attitude, a long argument abridged, a mass of -swarming ideas; you know them, these abbreviative, condensive words: -these are they which we launch out amidst the fire of invention, in a -fit of passion—words of slang or of fashion, which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> appeal to local -memory or individual experience;<a name="NoteRef_634_1" id="NoteRef_634_1"></a><a href="#Note_634_1" class="fnanchor">[634]</a> little desultory and incorrect -phrases, which, by their irregularity, express the suddenness and the -breaks of the inner sensation; trivial words, exaggerated figures.<a name="NoteRef_635_1" id="NoteRef_635_1"></a><a href="#Note_635_1" class="fnanchor">[635]</a> -There is a gesture beneath each, a quick contraction of the brows, a -curl of laughing lips, a clown's trick, an unhinging of the whole -machine. None of them mark ideas, all suggest images; each is the -extremity and issue of a complete mimic action; none is the expression -and definition of a partial and limited idea. This is why Shakespeare is -strange and powerful, obscure and creative, beyond all the poets of his -or any other age; the most immoderate of all violators of language, the -most marvellous of all creators of souls, the farthest removed from -regular logic and classical reason, the one most capable of exciting in -us a world of forms and of placing living beings before us.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Shakespeares_Language_And_Manners">SECTION III.—Shakespeare's Language And Manners</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us reconstruct this world, so as to find in it the imprint of its -creator. A poet does not copy at random the manners which surround him; -he selects from this vast material, and involuntarily brings upon the -stage the habits of the heart and conduct which best suit his talent. If -he is a logician, a moralist, an orator, as, for instance, one of the -French great tragic poets (Racine) of the seventeenth century, he will -only represent noble manners; he will avoid low characters; he will have -a horror of menials and the plebs; he will observe the greatest decorum -amidst the strongest outbreaks of passion; he will reject as scandalous -every low or indecent word; he will give us reason, loftiness, good -taste throughout; he will suppress the familiarity, childishness, -artlessness, gay banter of domestic life; he will blot out precise -details, special traits, and will carry tragedy into a serene and -sublime region, where his abstract personages, unencumbered by time and -space, after an exchange of eloquent harangues and able dissertations, -will kill each other becomingly, and as though they were merely -concluding a ceremony. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> Shakespeare does just the contrary, because his -genius is the exact opposite. His master faculty is an impassioned -imagination, freed from the shackles of reason and morality. He abandons -himself to it, and finds in man nothing that he would care to lop off. -He accepts nature and finds it beautiful in its entirety. He paints it -in its littlenesses, it deformities, its weaknesses, its excesses, its -irregularities, and its rages; he exhibits man at his meals, in bed, at -play, drunk, mad, sick; he adds that which ought not to be seen to that -which passes on the stage. He does not dream of ennobling, but of -copying human life, and aspires only to make his copy more energetic and -more striking than the original.</p> - -<p>Hence the morals of this drama; and first, the want of dignity. Dignity -arises from self-command. A man selects the most noble of his acts and -attitudes, and allows himself no other. Shakespeare's characters select -none, but allow themselves all. His kings are men, and fathers of -families. The terrible Leontes, who is about to order the death of his -wife and his friend, plays like a child with his son: caresses him, -gives him all the pretty pet names which mothers are wont to employ; he -dares be trivial; he gabbles like a nurse; he has her language and -fulfils her duties:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Leontes.</i> What, hast smutch'd thy nose?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come, sir page,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Most dear'st! my collop... Looking on the lines</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lest it should bite its master....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This squash, this gentleman!... My brother,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are you so fond of your young prince as we</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do seem to be of ours?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Polixenes.</i> If at home, sir,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He makes a July's day short as December,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with his varying childness cures in me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thoughts that would thick my blood."<a name="NoteRef_636_1" id="NoteRef_636_1"></a><a href="#Note_636_1" class="fnanchor">[636]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There are a score of such passages in Shakespeare. The great passions, -with him as in nature, are preceded or followed by trivial actions, -small-talk, commonplace sentiments. Strong emotions are accidents in our -life: to drink, to eat, to talk of indifferent things, to carry out -mechanically a habitual duty, to dream of some stale pleasure or some -ordinary annoyance, that is in which we employ all our time. Shakespeare -paints us as we are; his heroes bow, ask people for news, speak of rain -and fine weather, as often and as casually as ourselves, on the very eve -of falling into the extremity of misery, or of plunging into fatal -resolutions. Hamlet asks what's o'clock, finds the wind biting, talks of -feasts and music heard without; and this quiet talk, so unconnected with -the action, so full of slight, insignificant facts, which chance alone -has raised up and guided, lasts until the moment when his father's -ghost, rising in the darkness, reveals the assassination which it is his -duty to avenge.</p> - -<p>Reason tells us that our manners should be measured; this is why the -manners which Shakespeare paints are not so. Pure nature is violent, -passionate: it admits no excuses, suffers no middle course, takes no -count of circumstances, wills blindly, breaks out into railing, has the -irrationality, ardor, anger of children. Shakespeare's characters have -hot blood and a ready hand. They cannot restrain themselves, they -abandon themselves at once to their grief, indignation, love, and plunge -desperately down the steep slope, where their passion urges them. How -many need I quote? Timon, Posthumus, Cressida, all the young girls, all -the chief characters in the great dramas; everywhere Shakespeare paints -the unreflecting impetuosity of the impulse of the moment. Capulet tells -his daughter Juliet that in three days she is to marry Earl Paris, and -bids her be proud of it; she answers that she is not proud of it, and -yet she thanks the earl for this proof of love. Compare Capulet's fury -with the anger of Orgon,<a name="NoteRef_637_1" id="NoteRef_637_1"></a><a href="#Note_637_1" class="fnanchor">[637]</a> and you may measure the difference of the -two poets and the two civilizations:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Capulet.</i> How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You tallow-face!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Juliet.</i> Good father, I beseech you on my knees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hear me with patience but to speak a word.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or never after look me in the face:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My fingers itch....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Lady C.</i> You are too hot.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> God's bread! it makes me mad:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alone, in company, still my care hath been</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To have her match'd: and having now provided</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A gentleman of noble parentage,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stuff'd, as they say, with honorable parts,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Proportion'd as one's thoughts would wish a man;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then to have a wretched puling fool,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To answer, '<i>I'll not wed; I cannot love</i>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>I am too young; I pray you, pardon me</i>,'—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Graze where you will, you shall not house with me:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee."<a name="NoteRef_638_1" id="NoteRef_638_1"></a><a href="#Note_638_1" class="fnanchor">[638]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This method of exhorting one's child to marry is peculiar to Shakespeare -and the sixteenth century. Contradiction to these men was like a red rag -to a bull; it drove them mad.</p> - -<p>We might be sure that in this age, and on this stage, decency was a -thing unknown. It is wearisome, being a check; men got rid of it, -because it was wearisome. It is a gift of reason and morality; as -indecency is produced by nature and passion. Shakespeare's words are too -indecent to be translated. His characters call things by their dirty -names, and compel the thoughts to particular images of physical love. -The talk of gentlemen and ladies is full of coarse allusions; we should -have to find out an alehouse of the lowest description to hear like -words nowadays.<a name="NoteRef_639_1" id="NoteRef_639_1"></a><a href="#Note_639_1" class="fnanchor">[639]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - -<p>It would be in an alehouse too that we should have to look for the rude -jests and brutal kind of wit which form the staple of these -conversations. Kindly politeness is the slow fruit of advanced -reflection; it is a sort of humanity and kindliness applied to small -acts and everyday discourse; it bids man soften towards others, and -forget himself for the sake of others; it constrains genuine nature, -which is selfish and gross. This is why it is absent from the manners of -the drama we are considering. You will see carmen, out of sportiveness -and good humor, deal one another hard blows; so it is pretty well with -the conversation of the lords and ladies of Shakespeare who are in a -sportive mood; for instance, Beatrice and Benedick, very well bred folk -as things go,<a name="NoteRef_640_1" id="NoteRef_640_1"></a><a href="#Note_640_1" class="fnanchor">[640]</a> with a great reputation for wit and politeness, whose -smart retorts create amusement for the bystanders. These "skirmishes of -wit" consist in telling one another plainly: You are a coward, a -glutton, an idiot, a buffoon, a rake, a brute! You are a parrot's -tongue, a fool, a... (the word is there). Benedick says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I will go... to the Antipodes... rather than hold three</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">words' conference with this harpy.... I cannot endure my</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lady Tongue....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don Pedro.</i> You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Beatrice.</i> So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">prove the mother of fools."<a name="NoteRef_641_1" id="NoteRef_641_1"></a><a href="#Note_641_1" class="fnanchor">[641]</a></span></p> - - -<p>We can infer the tone they use when in anger. Emilia, in "Othello," -says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He call'd her whore; a beggar in his drink</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Could not have laid such terms upon his callat."<a name="NoteRef_642_1" id="NoteRef_642_1"></a><a href="#Note_642_1" class="fnanchor">[642]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They have a vocabulary of foul words as complete as that of Rabelais, -and they exhaust it. They catch up handfuls of mud and hurl it at their -enemy, not conceiving themselves to be smirched.</p> - -<p>Their actions correspond. They go without shame or pity to the limits of -their passion. They kill, poison, violate, burn; the stage is full of -abominations. Shakespeare lugs upon the stage all the atrocious deeds of -the Civil Wars. These are the ways of wolves and hyenas. We must read of -Jack Cade's sedition<a name="NoteRef_643_1" id="NoteRef_643_1"></a><a href="#Note_643_1" class="fnanchor">[643]</a> to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> gain an idea of this madness and fury. We -might imagine we were seeing infuriated beasts, the murderous -recklessness of a wolf in a sheepfold, the brutality of a hog fouling -and rolling himself in filth and blood. They destroy, kill, butcher each -other; with their feet in the blood of their victims, they call for food -and drink; they stick heads on pikes and make them kiss one another, and -they laugh.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Jack Cade.</i> There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for -a penny.... There shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my -score, and I will apparel them all in one livery.... And here sitting -upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the -pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our -reign.... Away, burn all the records of the realm; my mouth shall be the -parliament of England.... And henceforth all things shall be in -common.... What canst thou answer to my majesty for giving up of -Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France?... The proudest -peer in the realm shall not wear a head on his shoulders, unless he pay -me tribute; there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me -her maidenhead ere they have it. (<i>Re-enter rebels with the heads of -Lord Say and his son-in-law.</i>) But is not this braver? Let them kiss one -another, for they loved well when they were alive."<a name="NoteRef_644_1" id="NoteRef_644_1"></a><a href="#Note_644_1" class="fnanchor">[644]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Man must not be let loose; we know not what lusts and rage may brood -under a sober guise. Nature was never so hideous, and this hideousness -is the truth.</p> - -<p>re these cannibal manners only met with among the scum? Why, the -princes are worse. The Duke of Cornwall orders the old Earl of -Gloucester to be tied to a chair, because, owing to him, King Lear has -escaped:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Fellows, hold the chair.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(<i>Gloucester is held down in the chair, while Cornwall plucks</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;"><i>out one of his eyes, and sets his foot on it.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Glou.</i> He that will think to live till he be old,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Give me some help! O cruel: O you gods!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Regan.</i> One side will mock another; the other too.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cornwall.</i> If you see vengeance—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Servant.</i> Hold your hand, my lord:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have served you ever since I was a child;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But better service have I never done you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than now to bid you hold.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Regan.</i> How now, you dog!</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Serv.</i> If you did wear a beard upon your chin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corn.</i> My villain! (<i>Draws and runs at him.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Serv.</i> Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">(<i>Draws; they fight; Cornwall is wounded.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Regan.</i> Give me thy sword. A peasant stands up thus.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">(<i>Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Serv.</i> O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To see some mischief on him. O! (<i>Dies.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Corn.</i> Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where is thy lustre now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Glou.</i> All dark and comfortless. Where's my son?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Regan.</i> Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His way to Dover."<a name="NoteRef_645_1" id="NoteRef_645_1"></a><a href="#Note_645_1" class="fnanchor">[645]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such are the manners of that stage. They are unbridled, like those of -the age, and like the poet's imagination. To copy the common actions of -every-day life, the puerilities and feeblenesses to which the greatest -continually sink, the outbursts of passion which degrade them, the -indecent, harsh, or foul words, the atrocious deeds in which license -revels, the brutality and ferocity of primitive nature, is the work of a -free and unencumbered imagination. To copy this hideousness and these -excesses with a selection of such familiar, significant, precise -details, that they reveal under every word of every personage a complete -civilization, is the work of a concentrated and all-powerful -imagination. This species of manners and this energy of description -indicate the same faculty, unique and excessive, which the style had -already indicated.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Dramatis_Personae">SECTION IV.—Dramatis Personæ</a></h4> - - -<p>On this common background stands out in striking relief a population of -distinct living figures, illuminated by an intense light. This creative -power is Shakespeare's great gift, and it communicates an extraordinary -significance to his words. Every phrase pronounced by one of its -characters enables us to see, besides the idea which it contains and the -emotion which prompted it, the aggregate of the qualities and the entire -character which produced it—the mood, physical attitude, bearing, look -of the man, all instantaneously, with a clearness and force approached -by no one. The words which strike our ears are not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> the thousandth part -of those we hear within; they are like sparks thrown off here and there; -the eyes catch rare flashes of flame; the mind alone perceives the vast -conflagration of which they are the signs and the effect. He gives us -two dramas in one: the first strange, convulsive, curtailed, visible; -the other consistent, immense, invisible; the one covers the other so -well, that as a rule we do not realize that we are perusing words: we -hear the roll of those terrible voices, we see contracted features, -glowing eyes, pallid faces; we see the agitation, the furious -resolutions which mount to the brain with the feverish blood, and -descend to the sharp-strung nerves. This property possessed by every -phrase to exhibit a world of sentiments and forms, comes from the fact -that the phrase is actually caused by a world of emotions and images. -Shakespeare, when he wrote, felt all that we feel, and much besides. He -had the prodigious faculty of seeing in a twinkling of the eye a -complete character, body, mind, past and present, in every detail and -every depth of his being, with the exact attitude and the expression of -face, which the situation demanded. A word here and there of Hamlet or -Othello would need for its explanation three pages of commentaries; each -of the half-understood thoughts, which the commentator may have -discovered, has left its trace in the turn of the phrase, in the nature -of the metaphor, in the order of the words; nowadays, in pursuing these -traces, we divine the thoughts. These innumerable traces have been -impressed in a second, within the compass of a line. In the next line -there are as many, impressed just as quickly, and in the same compass. -You can gauge the concentration and the velocity of the imagination -which creates thus.</p> - -<p>These characters are all of the same family. Good or bad, gross or -delicate, witty or stupid, Shakespeare gives them all the same kind of -spirit which is his own. He has made of them imaginative people, void of -will and reason, impassioned machines, vehemently jostled one against -another, who were outwardly whatever is most natural and most abandoned -in human nature. Let us act the play to ourselves, and see in all its -stages this clanship of figures, this prominence of portraits.</p> - -<p>Lowest of all are the stupid folk, babbling or brutish. Imagination -already exists there, where reason is not yet born; it exists also there -where reason is dead. The idiot and the brute blindly follow the -phantoms which exist in their benumbed or <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> mechanical brains. No poet has -understood this mechanism like Shakespeare. His Caliban, for instance, a -deformed savage, fed on roots, growls like a beast under the hand of -Prospero, who has subdued him. He howls continually against his master, -though he knows that every curse will be paid back with "cramps and -aches." He is a chained wolf, trembling and fierce, who tries to bite -when approached, and who crouches when he see's the lash raised. He has -a foul sensuality, a loud base laugh, the gluttony of degraded humanity. -He wishes to violate Miranda in her sleep. He cries for his food, and -gorges himself when he gets it. A sailor who had landed in the island, -Stephano, gives him wine; he kisses his feet, and takes him for a god; -he asks if he has not dropped from heaven, and adores him. We find in -him rebellious and baffled passions, which are eager to rise again and -to be satiated. Stephano had beaten his comrade. Caliban cries, "Beat -Him enough: after a little time I'll beat him too." He prays Stephano to -come with him and murder Prospero in his sleep; he thirsts to lead him -there, dances through joy and sees his master already with his "weasand" -cut, and his brains scattered on the earth:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou here,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do that good mischief which may make this island</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thine own forever, and I, thy Caliban,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For aye thy foot-licker."<a name="NoteRef_646_1" id="NoteRef_646_1"></a><a href="#Note_646_1" class="fnanchor">[646]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Others, like Ajax and Cloten, are more like men, and yet it is pure mood -that Shakespeare depicts in them, as in Caliban. The clogging corporeal -machine, the mass of muscles, the thick blood sluggishly moving along in -the veins of these fighting men, oppress the intelligence, and leave no -life but for animal passions. Ajax uses his fists, and devours meat; -that is his existence; if he is jealous of Achilles, it is pretty much -as a bull is jealous of his fellow. He permits himself to be restrained -and led by Ulysses, without looking before him: the grossest flattery -decoys him. The Greeks have urged him to accept Hector's challenge. -Behold him puffed up with pride, scorning to answer anyone, not knowing -what he says or does. Thersites cries, "Good-morrow, Ajax"; and he -replies, "Thanks, Agamemnon." He has no further thought than to -contemplate his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> enormous frame, and roll majestically his big stupid -eyes. When the day of the fight has come, he strikes at Hector as on an -anvil. After a good while they are separated. "I am not warm yet," says -Ajax, "let us fight again."<a name="NoteRef_647_1" id="NoteRef_647_1"></a><a href="#Note_647_1" class="fnanchor">[647]</a> Cloten is less massive than this -phlegmatic ox; but he is just as idiotic, just as vainglorious, just as -coarse. The beautiful Imogen, urged by his insults and his scullion -manners, tells him that his whole body is not worth as much a -Posthumus's meanest garment. He is stung to the quick, repeats the words -several times; he cannot shake off the idea, and runs at it again and -again with his head down, like an angry ram:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Cloten.</i> 'His garment?' Now, the devil—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Imogen.</i> To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>C.</i> 'His garment?'... You have abused me: 'His meanest</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">garment!'... I'll be revenged: 'His meanest garment!' Well."<a name="NoteRef_648_1" id="NoteRef_648_1"></a><a href="#Note_648_1" class="fnanchor">[648]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He gets some of Posthumus's garments, and goes to Milford Haven, -expecting to meet Imogen there. On his way he mutters thus:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in -her eyes; there shall she see my valor, which will then be a torment to -her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his -dead body, and when my lust has dined—which, as I say, to vex her I -will execute in the clothes that she so praised—to the court I'll knock -her back, foot her home again."<a name="NoteRef_649_1" id="NoteRef_649_1"></a><a href="#Note_649_1" class="fnanchor">[649]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Others again, are but babblers: for example, Polonius, the grave -brainless counsellor; a great baby, not yet out of his "swathing -clouts"; a solemn booby, who rains on men a shower of counsels, -compliments, and maxims; a sort of court speaking-trumpet, useful in -grand ceremonies, with the air of a thinker, but fit only to spout -words. But the most complete of all these characters is that of the -nurse in "Romeo and Juliet," a gossip, loose in her talk, a regular -kitchen oracle, smelling of the stewpan and old boots, foolish, -impudent, immoral, but otherwise a good creature, and affectionate to -her nurse-child. Mark this disjointed and never-ending gossip's babble:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Nurse.</i> 'Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Lady Capulet.</i> She's not fourteen....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Nurse.</i> Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She was too good for me: but, as I said,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That shall she, marry; I remember it well.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And she was wean'd—I never shall forget it—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of all the days of the year, upon that day:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My lord and you were then at Mantua:—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nay, I do bear a brain:—but, as I said,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To bid me trudge:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And since that time it is eleven years;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She could have run and waddled all about;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For even the day before, she broke her brow."<a name="NoteRef_650_1" id="NoteRef_650_1"></a><a href="#Note_650_1" class="fnanchor">[650]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then she tells an indecent anecdote, which she begins over again four -times. She is silenced: what then? She has her anecdote in her head, and -cannot cease repeating it and laughing to herself. Endless repetitions -are the mind's first step. The vulgar do not pursue the straight line of -reasoning and of the story; they repeat their steps, as it were merely -marking time: struck with an image, they keep it for an hour before -their eyes, and are never tired of it. If they do advance, they turn -aside to a hundred subordinate ideas before they get at the phrase -required. They allow themselves to be diverted by all the thoughts which -come across them. This is what the nurse does; and when she brings -Juliet news of her lover, she torments and wearies her, less from a wish -to tease than from a habit of wandering from the point:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">"<i>Nurse.</i> Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do you not see that I am out of breath?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>Juliet.</i> How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To say to me that thou art out of breath?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let me be satisfied: is't good or bad?</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>N.</i> Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">a man: Romeo! no, not he: though his face be better than any man's,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">yet his legs excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a body,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>J.</i> No, no: but all this did I know before.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What says he of our marriage? what of that?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>N.</i> Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My back o' t'other side—O, my back, my back!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Beshrew your heart for sending me about,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To catch my death with jaunting up and down!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>J.</i> I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>N.</i> Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous—Where is your</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">mother?"<a name="NoteRef_651_1" id="NoteRef_651_1"></a><a href="#Note_651_1" class="fnanchor">[651]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It is never-ending. Her gabble is worse when she comes to announce to -Juliet the death of her cousin and the banishment of Romeo. It is the -shrill cry and chatter of an overgrown asthmatic magpie. She laments, -confuses the names, spins roundabout sentences, ends by asking for -<i>aqua-vitœ.</i> She curses Romeo, then brings him to Juliet's chamber. -Next day Juliet is ordered to marry Earl Paris; Juliet throws herself -into her nurse's arms, praying for comfort, advice, assistance. The -other finds the true remedy: Marry Paris,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"O, he's a lovely gentleman!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I think you are happy in this second match.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For it excels your first."<a name="NoteRef_652_1" id="NoteRef_652_1"></a><a href="#Note_652_1" class="fnanchor">[652]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This cool immorality, these weather-cock arguments, this fashion of -estimating love like a fishwoman, completes the portrait.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Men_of_Wit">SECTION V.—Men of Wit</a></h4> - - -<p>The mechanical imagination produces Shakespeare's fool-characters: a -quick, venturesome, dazzling, unquiet imagination, produces his men of -wit. Of wit there are many kinds. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> One, altogether French, which is but -reason, a foe to paradox, scorner of folly, a sort of incisive -common-sense, having no occupation but to render truth amusing and -evident, the most effective weapon with an intelligent and vain people: -such was the wit of Voltaire and the drawing-rooms. The other, that of -improvisators and artists, is a mere inventive rapture, paradoxical, -unshackled, exuberant, a sort of self-entertainment, a phantasmagoria of -images, flashes of wit, strange ideas, dazing and intoxicating, like the -movement and illumination in a ball-room. Such is the wit of Mercutio, -of the clowns, of Beatrice, Rosalind, and Benedick. They laugh, not from -a sense of the ridiculous, but from the desire to laugh. You must look -elsewhere for the campaigns with aggressive reason makes against human -folly. Here folly is in its full bloom. Our folk think of amusement, and -nothing more. They are good-humored; they let their wit prance gayly -over the possible and the impossible. They play upon words, contort -their sense, draw absurd and laughable inferences, send them back to one -another, and without intermission, as if with shuttlecocks, and vie with -each other in singularity and invention. They dress all their ideas in -strange or sparkling metaphors. The taste of the time was for -masquerades; their conversation is a masquerade of ideas. They say -nothing in a simple style; they only seek to heap together subtle -things, far-fetched, difficult to invent and to understand; all their -expressions are over-refined, unexpected, extraordinary; they strain -their thought, and change it into a caricature. "Alas, poor Romeo!" says -Mercutio, "he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; -shot through the ear with a love-song, the very pin of his heart cleft -with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft."<a name="NoteRef_653_1" id="NoteRef_653_1"></a><a href="#Note_653_1" class="fnanchor">[653]</a> Benedick relates a -conversation he has just held with his mistress: "O, she misused me past -the endurance of a block! an oak, but with one green leaf on it would -have answered her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with -her."<a name="NoteRef_654_1" id="NoteRef_654_1"></a><a href="#Note_654_1" class="fnanchor">[654]</a> These gay and perpetual extravagances show the bearing of the -speakers. They do not remain quietly seated in their chairs, like the -Marquesses in the "Misanthrope"; they whirl round, leap, paint their -faces, gesticulate boldly their ideas; their wit-rockets end with a -song. Young folk, soldiers and artists, they let off their fireworks of -phrases, and gambol round <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> about. "There was a star danced, and under -that was I born."<a name="NoteRef_655_1" id="NoteRef_655_1"></a><a href="#Note_655_1" class="fnanchor">[655]</a> This expression of Beatrice's aptly describes the -kind of poetical, sparkling, unreasoning, charming wit, more akin to -music than to literature, a sort of dream, which is spoken out aloud, -and whilst wide awake, not unlike that described by Mercutio:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In shape no bigger than an agate-stone</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On the fore-finger of an alderman,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Drawn with a team of little atomies</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The traces of the smallest spider's web,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not half so big as a round little worm</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in this state she gallops night by night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tickling a person's nose as a' lies asleep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then dreams he of another benefice:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of healths five-fathom deep: and then anon</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sleeps again. This is that very Mab</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That plats the manes of horses in the night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which once untangled much misfortune bodes...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This is she."<a name="NoteRef_656_1" id="NoteRef_656_1"></a><a href="#Note_656_1" class="fnanchor">[656]</a></span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration5"></a> -<img src="images/illustration5.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center">CHOICE EXAMPLES OF BOOK ILLUMINATION.<br /> -Fac-similes from Illuminated Manuscripts and Illustrated Books -of Early Date.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>TITLE-PAGE OF THE HYPNEROTOMACHIA.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>The present frontispiece belongs to a French translation of the work of -Poliphilo, the only book with decorated borders and insertions ever -published by the Venetian Aldi. They printed the Hypnerotomachia in -1499, and it was reproduced in a French translation, with the present -title-page by the Parisian printer, Jacques Kerver, in 1546. All the -profuse embellishments of the Aldine edition were retained, but the -title-page here reproduced is from a design of the famous French -sculptor, Jean Goujon.</p></blockquote></div> - - - - -<p>Romeo interrupts him, or he would never end. Let the reader compare with -the dialogue of the French theatre this little poem</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 7em;">"Child of an idle brain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,"<a name="NoteRef_657_1" id="NoteRef_657_1"></a><a href="#Note_657_1" class="fnanchor">[657]</a></span></p> - - -<p>introduced without incongruity in the midst of a conversation of the -sixteenth century, and he will understand the difference between the wit -which devotes itself to reasoning, or to record a subject for laughter, -and that imagination which is self-amused with its own act.</p> - -<p>Falstaff has the passions of an animal, and the imagination of a man of -wit. There is no character which better exemplifies the fire and -immorality of Shakespeare. Falstaff is a great supporter of disreputable -places, swearer, gamester, idler, wine-bibber, as low as he well can be. -He has a big belly, bloodshot eyes, bloated face, shaking legs; he -spends his life with his elbows among the tavern-jugs, or asleep on the -ground behind the arras; he only wakes to curse, lie, brag, and steal. -He is as big a swindler as Panurge, who had sixty-three ways of making -money, "of which the honestest was by sly theft." And what is worse, he -is an old man, a knight, a courtier, and well educated. Must he not be -odious and repulsive? By no means; we cannot help liking him. At bottom, -like his brother Panurge, he is "the best fellow in the world." He has -no malice in his composition; no other wish than to laugh and be amused. -When insulted, he bawls out louder than his attackers, and pays them -back with interest in coarse words and insults; but he owes them no -grudge for it. The next minute he is sitting down with them in a low -tavern, drinking their health like a brother and comrade. If he has -vices, he exposes them so frankly that we are obliged to forgive him -them. He seems to say to us, "Well, so I am, what then? I like drinking: -isn't the wine good? I take to my heels when hard hitting begins; don't -blows hurt? I get into debt, and do fools out their money; isn't it nice -to have money in your pocket? I brag; isn't it natural to want to be -well thought of?"—"Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of -innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days -of villainy? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and -therefore more frailty."<a name="NoteRef_658_1" id="NoteRef_658_1"></a><a href="#Note_658_1" class="fnanchor">[658]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> Falstaff is so frankly immoral, that he -ceases to be so. Conscience ends at a certain point; nature assumes its -place, and man rushes upon what he desires, without more thought of -being just or unjust than an animal in the neighboring wood. Falstaff, -engaged in recruiting, has sold exemptions to all the rich people, and -only enrolled starved and half-naked wretches. There's but a shirt and a -half in all his company: that does not trouble him. Bah: "they'll find -linen enough on every hedge." The prince, who has seen them, says, "I -did never see such pitiful rascals. Tut, tut," answers Falstaff, "good -enough to toss; food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better; -tush, man, mortal men, mortal men."<a name="NoteRef_659_1" id="NoteRef_659_1"></a><a href="#Note_659_1" class="fnanchor">[659]</a> His second excuse is his -unfailing spirit. If ever there was a man who could jabber, it is he. -Insults and oaths, curses, jobations, protests, flow from him as from an -open barrel. He is never at a loss; he devises a shift for every -difficulty. Lies sprout out of him, fructify, increase, beget one -another, like mushrooms on a rich and rotten bed of earth. He lies still -more from his imagination and nature than from interest and necessity. -It is evident from the manner in which he strains his fictions. He says -he has fought alone against two men. The next moment it is four. -Presently we have seven, then eleven, then fourteen. He is stopped in -time, or he would soon be talking of a whole army. When unmasked, he -does not lose his temper, and is the first to laugh at his boastings. -"Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold.... What, shall we be merry? shall -we have a play extempore?"<a name="NoteRef_660_1" id="NoteRef_660_1"></a><a href="#Note_660_1" class="fnanchor">[660]</a> He does the scolding part of King Henry -with so much truth that we might take him for a king, or an actor. This -big potbellied fellow, a coward, a cynic, a brawler, a drunkard, a lewd -rascal, a pothouse poet, is one of Shakespeare's favorites. The reason -is, that his morals are those of pure nature, and Shakespeare's mind is -congenial with his own.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Shakespeares_Women">SECTION VI.—Shakespeare's Women</a></h4> - - -<p>Nature is shameless and gross amidst this mass of flesh, heavy with wine -and fatness. It is delicate in the delicate body of women, but as -unreasoning and impassioned in Desdemona as in Falstaff. Shakespeare's -women are charming children, who <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> feel in excess and love passionately. -They have unconstrained manners, little rages, nice words of friendship, -a coquettish rebelliousness, a graceful volubility, which recall the -warbling and the prettiness of birds. The heroines of the French stage -are almost men; these are women, and in every sense of the word. More -imprudent than Desdemona a woman could not be. She is moved with pity -for Cassio, and asks a favor for him passionately, recklessly, be the -thing just or no, dangerous or no. She knows nothing of man's laws, and -does not think of them. All that she sees is, that Cassio is unhappy:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Be thou assured, good Cassio... My lord shall never rest;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll watch him, tame and talk him out of patience;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll intermingle everything he does</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With Cassio's suit."<a name="NoteRef_661_1" id="NoteRef_661_1"></a><a href="#Note_661_1" class="fnanchor">[661]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She asks her favor:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Othello.</i> Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Desdemona.</i> But shall't be shortly?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> The sooner, sweet, for you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Des.</i> Shall't be to-night at supper?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> No, not to-night.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Des.</i> To-morrow dinner, then?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> I shall not dine at home;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I meet the captains at the citadel.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Des.</i> Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I prithee, name the time, but let it not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent."<a name="NoteRef_662_1" id="NoteRef_662_1"></a><a href="#Note_662_1" class="fnanchor">[662]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She is somewhat astonished to see herself refused: she scolds Othello. -He yields: who would not yield seeing a reproach in those lovely sulking -eyes? O, says she, with a pretty pout:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"This is not a boon;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or sue to you to do peculiar profit</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To your own person."<a name="NoteRef_663_1" id="NoteRef_663_1"></a><a href="#Note_663_1" class="fnanchor">[663]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A moment after, when he prays her to leave him alone for a while, mark -the innocent gayety, the ready observance, the playful child's tone: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Emilia, come: Be as your fancies teach you;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whate'er you be, I am obedient."<a name="NoteRef_664_1" id="NoteRef_664_1"></a><a href="#Note_664_1" class="fnanchor">[664]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This vivacity, this petulance, does not prevent shrinking modesty and -silent timidity: on the contrary, they spring from a common cause, -extreme sensibility. She who feels much and quickly has more reserve and -more passion than others; she breaks out or is silent; she says nothing -or everything. Such is this Imogen.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And strokes death to her."<a name="NoteRef_665_1" id="NoteRef_665_1"></a><a href="#Note_665_1" class="fnanchor">[665]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such is Virgilia, the sweet wife of Coriolanus; her heart is not a Roman -one; she is terrified at her husband's victories: when Volumnia -describes him stamping on the field of battle, and wiping his bloody -brow with his hand, she grows pale:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!"<a name="NoteRef_666_1" id="NoteRef_666_1"></a><a href="#Note_666_1" class="fnanchor">[666]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She wishes to forget all that she knows of these dangers; she dare not -think of them. When asked if Coriolanus does not generally return -wounded, she cries, "O, no, no, no." She avoids this cruel picture, and -yet nurses a secret pang at the bottom of her heart. She will not leave -the house: "I'll not over the threshold till my lord return."<a name="NoteRef_667_1" id="NoteRef_667_1"></a><a href="#Note_667_1" class="fnanchor">[667]</a> She -does not smile, will hardly admit a visitor; she would blame herself, as -for a lack of tenderness, for a moment's forgetfulness or gayety. When -he does return, she can only blush and weep. This exalted sensibility -must needs end in love. All Shakespeare's women love without measure, -and nearly all at first sight. At the first look Juliet cast on Romeo, -she says to the nurse:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Go, ask his name: if he be married,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My grave is like to be my wedding bed."<a name="NoteRef_668_1" id="NoteRef_668_1"></a><a href="#Note_668_1" class="fnanchor">[668]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It is the revelation of their destiny. As Shakespeare has made them, -they cannot but love, and they must love till death. But this first look -is an ecstasy: and this sudden approach of love is a transport. Miranda -seeing Fernando, fancies that she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> sees "a thing divine." She halts -motionless, in the amazement of this sudden vision, at the sound of -these heavenly harmonies which rise from the depths of her heart. She -weeps, on seeing him drag the heavy logs; with her slender white hands -she would do the work whilst he reposed. Her compassion and tenderness -carry her away; she is no longer mistress of her words, she says what -she would not, what her father has forbidden her to disclose, what an -instant before she would never have confessed. The too full heart -overflows unwittingly, happy, and ashamed at the current of joy and new -sensations with which an unknown feeling has flooded her:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Miranda.</i> I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Fernando.</i> Wherefore weep you?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>M.</i> At mine unworthiness that dare not offer</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What I desire to give, and much less take</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What I shall die to want....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am your wife, if you will marry me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If not, I'll die your maid."<a name="NoteRef_669_1" id="NoteRef_669_1"></a><a href="#Note_669_1" class="fnanchor">[669]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This irresistible invasion of love transforms the whole character. The -shrinking and tender Desdemona, suddenly, in full Senate, before her -father, renounces her father; dreams not for an instant of asking his -pardon, or consoling him. She will leave for Cyprus with Othello, -through the enemy's fleet and the tempest. Everything vanishes before -the one and adored image which has taken entire and absolute possession -of her whole heart. So, extreme evils, bloody resolves, are only the -natural sequence of such love. Ophelia becomes mad, Juliet commits -suicide; no one but looks upon such madness and death as necessary. You -will not then discover virtue in these souls, for by virtue is implied a -determinate desire to do good, and a rational observance of duty. They -are only pure through delicacy or love. They recoil from vice as a gross -thing, not as an immoral thing. What they feel is not respect for the -marriage vow, but adoration of their husband. "O sweetest, fairest -lily!" So Cymbeline speaks of one of these frail and lovely flowers -which cannot be torn from the tree to which they have grown, whose least -impurity would tarnish their whiteness. When Imogen learns that her -husband means to kill her as being faithless, she does not revolt at the -outrage; she has no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> pride, but only love. "False to his bed!" She faints -at the thought that she is no longer loved. When Cordelia hears her -father, an irritable old man, already almost insane, ask her how she -loves him, she cannot make up her mind to say aloud the flattering -protestations which her sisters have been lavishing. She is ashamed to -display her tenderness before the world, and to buy a dowry by it. He -disinherits her, and drives her away; she holds her tongue. And when she -afterwards finds him abandoned and mad, she goes on her knees before -him, with such a touching emotion, she weeps over that dear insulted -head with so gentle a pity, that you might fancy it was the tender voice -of a desolate but delighted mother, kissing the pale lips of her child:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 14em;">"O yon kind gods,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cure this great breach in his abused nature!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of this child-changed father!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O my dear father! Restoration hang</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Repair those violent harms that my two sisters</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have in thy reverence made!... Was this a face</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To be opposed against the warring winds?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em;">... Mine enemy's dog,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though he had bit me, should have stood that night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Against my fire....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?"<a name="NoteRef_670_1" id="NoteRef_670_1"></a><a href="#Note_670_1" class="fnanchor">[670]</a></span></p> - - -<p>If, in short, Shakespeare comes across a heroic character, worthy of -Corneille, a Roman, such as the mother of Coriolanus, he will explain by -passion what Corneille would have explained by heroism. He will depict -it violent and thirsting for the violent feelings of glory. She will not -be able to refrain herself. She will break out into accents of triumph -when she sees her son crowned; into imprecations of vengeance when she -sees him banished. She will descend to the vulgarities of pride and -anger; she will abandon herself to mad effusions of joy, to dreams of an -ambitious fancy,<a name="NoteRef_671_1" id="NoteRef_671_1"></a><a href="#Note_671_1" class="fnanchor">[671]</a> and will prove once more that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> the impassioned -imagination of Shakespeare has left its trace in all the creatures whom -it has called forth.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Types_of_Villains">SECTION VII.—Types of Villains</a></h4> - - -<p>Nothing is easier to such a poet than to create perfect villains. -Throughout he is handling the unruly passions which make their -character, and he never hits upon the moral law which restrains them; -but at the same time, and by the same faculty, he changes the inanimate -masks, which the conventions of the stage mould on an identical pattern, -into living and illusory figures. How shall a demon be made to look as -real as a man? Iago is a soldier of fortune who has roved the world from -Syria to England, who, nursed in the lowest ranks, having had close -acquaintance with the horrors of the wars of the sixteenth century, had -drawn thence the maxims of a Turk and the philosophy of a butcher; -principles he has none left. "O my reputation, my reputation!" cries the -dishonored Cassio. "As I am an honest man," says Iago, "I thought you -had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in -reputation."<a name="NoteRef_672_1" id="NoteRef_672_1"></a><a href="#Note_672_1" class="fnanchor">[672]</a> As for woman's virtue, he looks upon it like a man who -has kept company with slave-dealers. He estimates Desdemona's love as he -would estimate a mare's: that sort of thing lasts so long—then... And -then he airs an experimental theory with precise details and nasty -expressions like a stud doctor. "It cannot be that Desdemona should long -continue her love to the Moor, nor he his to her.... These Moors are -changeable in their wills;... the food that to him now is as luscious as -locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must -change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the -error of her choice."<a name="NoteRef_673_1" id="NoteRef_673_1"></a><a href="#Note_673_1" class="fnanchor">[673]</a> Desdemona, on the shore, trying! to forget -her cares, begs him to sing the praises of her sex. For every portrait -he finds the most insulting insinuations. She insists, and bids him take -the case of a deserving woman. "Indeed," he replies, "she was a wight, -if ever such wight were,... to suckle fools and chronicle small -beer."<a name="NoteRef_674_1" id="NoteRef_674_1"></a><a href="#Note_674_1" class="fnanchor">[674]</a> He also says, when Desdemona asks him what he would write in -praise of her: "O gentle lady do not put me to't, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> for I am nothing, if -not critical."<a name="NoteRef_675_1" id="NoteRef_675_1"></a><a href="#Note_675_1" class="fnanchor">[675]</a> This is the key to his character. He despises man; -to him Desdemona is a little wanton wench, Cassio an elegant -word-shaper, Othello a mad bull, Roderigo an ass to be basted, thumped, -made to go. He diverts himself by setting these passions at issue; he -laughs at it as at a play. When Othello, swooning, shakes in his -convulsions, he rejoices at this capital result: "Work on, my medicine, -work! Thus credulous fools are caught."<a name="NoteRef_676_1" id="NoteRef_676_1"></a><a href="#Note_676_1" class="fnanchor">[676]</a> You would take him for one -of the poisoners of the time, studying the effect of a new potion on a -dying dog. He only speaks in sarcasms; he has them ready for everyone, -even for those whom he does not know. When he wakes Brabantio to inform -him of the elopement of his daughter, he tells him the matter in coarse -terms, sharpening the sting of the bitter pleasantry, like a -conscientious executioner, rubbing his hands when he hears the culprit -groan under the knife. "Thou art a villain!" cries Brabantio. "You -are—a senator!" answers Iago. But the feature which really completes -him, and makes him take rank with Mephistopheles, is the atrocious truth -and the cogent reasoning by which he likens his crime to virtue.<a name="NoteRef_677_1" id="NoteRef_677_1"></a><a href="#Note_677_1" class="fnanchor">[677]</a> -Cassio, under his advice, goes to see Desdemona, to obtain her -intercession for him; this visit is to be the ruin of Desdemona and -Cassio. Iago, left alone, hums for an instant quietly, then cries:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And what's he then that says I play the villain?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When this advice is free I give and honest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Probal to thinking and indeed the course</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To win the Moor again."<a name="NoteRef_678_1" id="NoteRef_678_1"></a><a href="#Note_678_1" class="fnanchor">[678]</a></span></p> - - -<p>To all these features must be added a diabolical energy,<a name="NoteRef_679_1" id="NoteRef_679_1"></a><a href="#Note_679_1" class="fnanchor">[679]</a> an -inexhaustible inventiveness in images, caricatures, obscenity, the -manners of a guard-room, the brutal bearing and tastes of a trooper, -habits of dissimulation, coolness, hatred, and patience, contracted amid -the perils and devices of a military life, and the continuous miseries -of long degradation and frustrated hope; you will understand how -Shakespeare could transform abstract treachery into a concrete form, and -how Iago's atrocious vengeance is only the natural consequence of his -character, life, and training. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Principal_Characters">SECTION VIII.—Principal Characters</a></h4> - - -<p>How much more visible is this impassioned and unfettered genius of -Shakespeare in the great characters which sustain the whole weight of -the drama! The startling imagination, the furious velocity of the -manifold and exuberant ideas, passion let loose, rushing upon death and -crime, hallucinations, madness, all the ravages of delirium bursting -through will and reason: such are the forces and ravings which engender -them. Shall I speak of dazzling Cleopatra, who holds Antony in the -whirlwind of her devices and caprices, who fascinates and kills, who -scatters to the winds the lives of men as a handful of desert dust, the -fatal Eastern sorceress who sports with love and death, impetuous, -irresistible, child of air and fire, whose life is but a tempest, whose -thought, ever barbed and broken, is like the crackling of a lightning -flash? Of Othello, who, beset by the graphic picture of physical -adultery, cries at every word of Iago like a man on the rack; who, his -nerves hardened by twenty years of war and shipwreck, grows mad and -swoons for grief, and whose soul, poisoned by jealousy, is distracted -and disorganized in convulsions and in stupor? Or of old King Lear, -violent and weak, whose half-unseated reason is gradually toppled over -under the shocks of incredible treacheries, who presents the frightful -spectacle of madness, first increasing, then complete, of curses, -bowlings, superhuman sorrows, into which the transport of the first -access of fury carries him, and then of peaceful incoherence, chattering -imbecility, into which the shattered man subsides; a marvellous -creation, the supreme effort of pure imagination, a disease of reason, -which reason could never have conceived?<a name="NoteRef_680_1" id="NoteRef_680_1"></a><a href="#Note_680_1" class="fnanchor">[680]</a> Amid so many portraitures -let us choose two or three to indicate the depth and nature of them all. -The critic is lost in Shakespeare, as in an immense town; he will -describe a couple of monuments, and entreat the reader to imagine the -city.</p> - -<p>Plutarch's Coriolanus is an austere, coldly haughty patrician, a general -of the army. In Shakespeare's hands he becomes a coarse soldier, a man -of the people as to his language and manners, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> an athlete of war, with a -voice like a trumpet; whose eyes by contradiction are filled with a rush -of blood and anger, proud and terrible in mood, a lion's soul in the -body of a bull. The philosopher Plutarch told of him a lofty philosophic -action, saying that he had been at pains to save his landlord in the -sack of Corioli. Shakespeare's Coriolanus has indeed the same -disposition, for he is really a good fellow; but when Lartius asks him -the name of this poor Volscian, in order to secure his liberty, he yawns -out:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"By Jupiter! forgot.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have we no wine here?"<a name="NoteRef_681_1" id="NoteRef_681_1"></a><a href="#Note_681_1" class="fnanchor">[681]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He is hot, he has been fighting, he must drink; he leaves his Volscian -in chains, and thinks no more of him. He fights like a porter, with -shouts and insults, and the cries from that deep chest are heard above -the din of the battle like the sounds from a brazen trumpet. He has -scaled the walls of Corioli, he has butchered till he is gorged with -slaughter. Instantly he turns to the army of Cominius, and arrives red -with blood, "as he were flay'd. Come I too late?" Cominius begins to -compliment him. "Come I too late?" he repeats. The battle is not yet -finished: he embraces Cominius:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"O! let me clip ye</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As merry as when our nuptial day was done."<a name="NoteRef_682_1" id="NoteRef_682_1"></a><a href="#Note_682_1" class="fnanchor">[682]</a></span></p> - - -<p>For the battle is a real holiday to him. Such senses, such a strong -frame, need the outcry, the din of battle, the excitement of death and -wounds. This haughty and indomitable heart needs the joy of victory and -destruction. Mark the display of his patrician arrogance and his -soldier's bearing, when he is offered the tenth of the spoils:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9em;">"I thank you, general;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But cannot make my heart consent to take</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A bribe to pay my sword."<a name="NoteRef_683_1" id="NoteRef_683_1"></a><a href="#Note_683_1" class="fnanchor">[683]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The soldiers cry, Marcius! Marcius! and the trumpets sound. He gets into -a passion: rates the brawlers:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch—</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">... You shout me forth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In acclamations hyperbolical;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if I loved my little should be dieted</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In praises sauced with lies."<a name="NoteRef_684_1" id="NoteRef_684_1"></a><a href="#Note_684_1" class="fnanchor">[684]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They are reduced to loading him with honors: Cominius gives him a -war-horse; decrees him the cognomen of Coriolanus; the people shout -Caius Marcius Coriolanus! He replies:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"I will go wash;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And when my face is fair, you shall perceive</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I mean to stride your steed."<a name="NoteRef_685_1" id="NoteRef_685_1"></a><a href="#Note_685_1" class="fnanchor">[685]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This loud voice, loud laughter, blunt acknowledgment, of a man who can -act and shout better than speak, foretell the mode in which he will -treat the plebeians. He loads them with insults; he cannot find abuse -enough for the cobblers, tailors, envious cowards, down on their knees -for a coin. "To beg of Hob and Dick! Bid them wash their faces and -keep their teeth clean." But he must beg, if he would be consul; his -friends constrain him. It is then that the passionate soul, incapable of -self-restraint, such as Shakespeare knew how to paint, breaks forth -without hinderance. He is there in his candidate's gown, gnashing his -teeth, and getting up his lesson in this style:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13em;">"What must I say?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'I pray, sir'—Plague upon't! I cannot bring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My tongue to such a pace:—'Look, sir, my wounds!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I got them in my country's service, when</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From the noise of our own drums.'"<a name="NoteRef_686_1" id="NoteRef_686_1"></a><a href="#Note_686_1" class="fnanchor">[686]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The tribunes have no difficulty in stopping the election of a candidate -who begs in this fashion. They taunt him in full Senate, reproach him -with his speech about the corn. He repeats it, with aggravations. Once -roused, neither danger nor prayer restrains him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"His heart's his mouth:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, being angry, does forget that ever</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He heard the name of death."<a name="NoteRef_687_1" id="NoteRef_687_1"></a><a href="#Note_687_1" class="fnanchor">[687]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He rails against the people, the tribunes, ediles, flatterers of the -plebs. "Come, enough," says his friend Menenius. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> "Enough, with -over-measure," says Brutus the tribune. He retorts:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">"No, take more:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What may be sworn by, both divine and human,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seal what I end withal!... At once pluck out</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The sweet which is their poison."<a name="NoteRef_688_1" id="NoteRef_688_1"></a><a href="#Note_688_1" class="fnanchor">[688]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The tribune cries, Treason! and bids seize him. He cries:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Hence, old goat!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Out of thy garments!"<a name="NoteRef_689_1" id="NoteRef_689_1"></a><a href="#Note_689_1" class="fnanchor">[689]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He strikes him, drives the mob off: he fancies himself amongst -Volscians. "On fair ground I could beat forty of them!" And when his -friends hurry him off, he threatens still, and</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Speak(s) o' the people</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if you (he) were a god to punish, not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A man of their infirmity."<a name="NoteRef_690_1" id="NoteRef_690_1"></a><a href="#Note_690_1" class="fnanchor">[690]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Yet he bends before his mother, for he has recognized in her a soul as -lofty and a courage as intractable as his own. He has submitted from his -infancy to the ascendancy of this pride which he admires. Volumnia -reminds him: "My praises made thee first a soldier." Without power over -himself, continually tossed on the fire of his too hot blood, he has -always been the arm, she the thought. He obeys from involuntary respect, -like a soldier before his general, but with what effort!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Coriolanus.</i> The smiles of knaves</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The glances of my sight! a beggar's tongue</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That hath received an alms!—I will not do't....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Volumnia.</i> ... Do as thou list.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But owe thy pride thyself.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cor.</i> Pray, be content:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mother, I am going to the market-place;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of all the trades in Rome."<a name="NoteRef_691_1" id="NoteRef_691_1"></a><a href="#Note_691_1" class="fnanchor">[691]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He goes, and his friends speak for him. Except a few bitter asides, he -appears to be submissive. Then the tribunes pronounce the accusation, -and summon him to answer as a traitor:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Cor.</i> How! traitor!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Men.</i> Nay, temperately: your promise.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Cor.</i> The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the people!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Thou liest,' unto thee with a voice as free</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As I do pray the gods."<a name="NoteRef_692_1" id="NoteRef_692_1"></a><a href="#Note_692_1" class="fnanchor">[692]</a></span></p> - - -<p>His friends surround him, entreat him: he will not listen; he foams at -the mouth, he is like a wounded lion:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But with a grain a day, I would not buy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their mercy at the price of one fair word."<a name="NoteRef_693_1" id="NoteRef_693_1"></a><a href="#Note_693_1" class="fnanchor">[693]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The people vote exile, supporting by their shouts the sentence of the -tribune:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Cor.</i> You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As reek o' the rotten fens, whose love I prize</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As the dead carcasses of unburied men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That do corrupt my air, I banish you.... Despising,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For you, the city, thus I turn my back:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There is a world elsewhere."<a name="NoteRef_694_1" id="NoteRef_694_1"></a><a href="#Note_694_1" class="fnanchor">[694]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Judge of his hatred by these raging words. It goes on increasing whilst -waiting for vengeance. We find him next with the Volscian army before -Rome. His friends kneel before him, he lets them kneel. Old Menenius, -who had loved him as a son, only comes now to be driven away. "Wife, -mother, child, I know not."<a name="NoteRef_695_1" id="NoteRef_695_1"></a><a href="#Note_695_1" class="fnanchor">[695]</a> He knows not himself. For this strength -of hating in a noble heart is the same as the force of loving. He has -transports of tenderness as of rage, and can contain himself no more in -joy than in grief. He runs, spite of his resolution, to his wife's arms; -he bends his knee before his mother. He had summoned the Volscian chiefs -to make them witnesses of his refusals; and before them, he grants all, -and weeps. On his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> return to Corioli, an insulting word from Aufidius -maddens him, and drives him upon the daggers of the Volscians. Vices and -virtues, glory and misery, greatness and feebleness, the unbridled -passion which composes his nature, endowed him with all.</p> - -<p>If the life of Coriolanus is the history of a mood, that of Macbeth is -the history of a monomania. The witches' prophecy has sunk into his mind -at once, like a fixed idea. Gradually this idea corrupts the rest, and -transforms the whole man. He is haunted by it; he forgets the thanes who -surround him and "who stay upon his leisure"; he already sees in the -future an indistinct chaos of images of blood:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"... Why do I yield to that suggestion</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And make my seated heart knock at my ribs?...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shakes so my single state of man that function</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But what is not."<a name="NoteRef_696_1" id="NoteRef_696_1"></a><a href="#Note_696_1" class="fnanchor">[696]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This is the language of hallucination. Macbeth's hallucination becomes -complete when his wife has persuaded him to assassinate the king. He -sees in the air a blood-stained dagger, "in form as palpable, as this -which now I draw." His whole brain is filled with grand and terrible -phantoms, which the mind of a common murderer could never have -conceived: the poetry of which indicates a generous heart, enslaved to -an idea of fate, and capable of remorse:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"... Now o'er the one half world</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Moves like a ghost.... (<i>A bell rings.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That summons thee to heaven or to hell."<a name="NoteRef_697_1" id="NoteRef_697_1"></a><a href="#Note_697_1" class="fnanchor">[697]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He has done the deed, and returns tottering, haggard, like a drunken -man. He is horrified at his bloody hands, "these <span class="pagenum"> <a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> hangman's hands." -Nothing now can cleanse them. The whole ocean might sweep over them, but -they would keep the hue of murder. "What hands are here? ha, they pluck -out mine eyes!" He is disturbed by a word which the sleeping -chamberlains uttered:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"One cried, 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When they did say, 'God bless us!'...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen!'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stuck in my throat."<a name="NoteRef_698_1" id="NoteRef_698_1"></a><a href="#Note_698_1" class="fnanchor">[698]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Then comes a strange dream; a frightful vision of the punishment that -awaits him descends upon him.</p> - -<p>Above the beating of his heart, the tingling of the blood which seethes -in his brain, he had heard them cry:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13em;">"'Sleep no more!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Chief nourisher in life's feast."<a name="NoteRef_699_1" id="NoteRef_699_1"></a><a href="#Note_699_1" class="fnanchor">[699]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And the voice, like an angel's trumpet, calls him by all his titles:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more!'"<a name="NoteRef_700_1" id="NoteRef_700_1"></a><a href="#Note_700_1" class="fnanchor">[700]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This idea, incessantly repeated, beats in his brain, with monotonous and -quick strokes, like the tongue of a bell. Insanity begins; all the force -of his mind is occupied by keeping before him, in spite of himself, the -image of the man whom he has murdered in his sleep:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. (<i>Knock.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!"<a name="NoteRef_701_1" id="NoteRef_701_1"></a><a href="#Note_701_1" class="fnanchor">[701]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Thenceforth, in the rare intervals in which the fever of his mind is -assuaged, he is like a man worn out by a long malady. It is the sad -prostration of maniacs worn out by their fits of rage:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Had I but died an hour before this chance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There's nothing serious in mortality:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is left this vault to brag of."<a name="NoteRef_702_1" id="NoteRef_702_1"></a><a href="#Note_702_1" class="fnanchor">[702]</a></span></p> - - -<p>When rest has restored force to the human machine, the fixed idea shakes -him again, and drives him onward, like a pitiless horseman, who has left -his panting horse only for a moment, to leap again into the saddle, and -spur him over precipices. The more he has done, the more he must do:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"I am in blood</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Returning were as tedious as go o'er..."<a name="NoteRef_703_1" id="NoteRef_703_1"></a><a href="#Note_703_1" class="fnanchor">[703]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He kills in order to preserve the fruit of his murders. The fatal -circlet of gold attracts him like a magic jewel; and he beats down, from -a sort of blind instinct, the heads, which he sees between the crown and -him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In the affliction of these terrible dreams</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than on the torture of the mind to lie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Can touch him further."<a name="NoteRef_704_1" id="NoteRef_704_1"></a><a href="#Note_704_1" class="fnanchor">[704]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Macbeth has ordered Banquo to be murdered, and in the midst of a great -feast he is informed of the success of his plan. He smiles, and proposes -Banquo's health. Suddenly, conscience-smitten, he sees the ghost of the -murdered man; for this phantom, which Shakespeare summons, is not a mere -stage-trick: we feel that here the supernatural is unnecessary, and that -Macbeth would create it even if hell would not send it. With muscles -twitching, dilated eyes, his mouth half open with deadly terror, he sees -it shake its bloody head, and cries with that hoarse voice, which is -only to be heard in maniacs' cells:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Prithee, see there? Behold! look! lo! how say you?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If charnel-houses and our graves must send</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Those that we bury back, our monuments</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall be the maws of kites....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That, when the brains were out, the man would die,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And there an end; but now they rise again,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And push us from our stools:...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou hast no speculation in those eyes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which thou dost glare with!"<a name="NoteRef_705_1" id="NoteRef_705_1"></a><a href="#Note_705_1" class="fnanchor">[705]</a></span></p> - - -<p>His body trembling like that of an epileptic, his teeth clenched, -foaming at the mouth, he sinks on the ground, his limbs writhe, shaken -with convulsive quiverings, whilst a dull sob swells his panting breast, -and dies in his swollen throat. What joy can remain for a man beset by -such visions? The wide dark country, which he surveys from his towering -castle, is but a field of death, haunted by ominous apparitions; -Scotland, which he is depopulating, a cemetery,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9em;">"Where... the dead man's knell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Expire before the flowers in their caps.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dying or ere they sicken."<a name="NoteRef_706_1" id="NoteRef_706_1"></a><a href="#Note_706_1" class="fnanchor">[706]</a></span></p> - - -<p>His soul is "full of scorpions." He has "supp'd full with horrors," and -the loathsome odor of blood has disgusted him with all else. He goes -stumbling over the corpses which he has heaped up, with the mechanical -and desperate smile of a maniac-murderer. Thenceforth death, life, all -is one to him; the habit of murder has placed him out of the pale of -humanity. They tell him that his wife is dead:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Macbeth.</i> She should have died hereafter;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There would have been a time for such a word.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Creeps in this petty pace from day to day</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To the last syllable of recorded time,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all our yesterdays have lighted fools</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then is heard no more: it is a tale</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Signifying nothing."<a name="NoteRef_707_1" id="NoteRef_707_1"></a><a href="#Note_707_1" class="fnanchor">[707]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There remains for him the hardening of the heart in crime, the fixed -belief in destiny. Hunted down by his enemies, "bearlike, tied to a -stake," he fights, troubled only by the prediction of the witches, sure -of being invulnerable so long as the man whom they have described does -not appear. Henceforth his thoughts dwell on a supernatural world, and -to the last he walks with his eyes fixed on the dream, which has -possessed him, from the first.</p> - -<p>The history of Hamlet, like that of Macbeth, is a story of moral -poisoning. Hamlet has a delicate soul, an impassioned imagination, like -that of Shakespeare. He has lived hitherto, occupied in noble studies, -skilful in mental and bodily exercises, with a taste for art, loved by -the noblest father, enamored of the purest and most charming girl, -confiding, generous, not yet having perceived, from the height of the -throne to which he was born, aught but the beauty, happiness, grandeur -of nature and humanity.<a name="NoteRef_708_708" id="NoteRef_708_708"></a><a href="#Note_708_708" class="fnanchor">[708]</a> On this soul, which character and training -make more sensitive than others, misfortune suddenly falls, extreme, -overwhelming of the very kind to destroy all faith and every motive for -action: with one glance he has seen all the vileness of humanity; and -this insight is given him in his mother. His mind is yet intact; but -judge from the violence of his style, the crudity of his exact details, -the terrible tension of the whole nervous machine, whether he has not -already one foot on the verge of madness:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O that this too, too solid flesh would melt,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seem to me all the uses of this world!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Possess it merely. That it should come to this!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So excellent a king,... so loving to my mother</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That he might not let e'en the winds of heaven</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 11em;">... And yet, within a month—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let me not think on't—Frailty, thy name is woman!—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A little month, or ere those shoes were old</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With which she follow'd my poor father's body,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She married. O, most wicked speed, to post</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It is not nor it cannot come to good!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue!"<a name="NoteRef_709_1" id="NoteRef_709_1"></a><a href="#Note_709_1" class="fnanchor">[709]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Here already are contortions of thought, a beginning of hallucination, -the symptoms of what is to come after. In the middle of conversation the -image of his father rises before his mind. He thinks he sees him. How -then will it be when the "canonised bones have burst their cerements," -"the sepulchre hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws," and when the -ghost comes in the night, upon a high "platform" of land, to tell him of -the tortures of his prison of fire, and of the fratricide, who has -driven him thither? Hamlet grows faint, but grief strengthens him, and -he has a desire for living:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9em;">"Hold, hold, my heart;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And you my sinews, grow not instant old,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In this distracted globe.—Remember thee?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yea, from the table of my memory</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thy commandment all alone shall live,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My tables—meet it is I set it down,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So, uncle, there you are."<a name="NoteRef_710_1" id="NoteRef_710_1"></a><a href="#Note_710_1" class="fnanchor">[710]</a> (<i>Writing.</i>)</span></p> - - -<p>This convulsive outburst, this fevered writing hand, this frenzy of -intentness, prelude the approach of a kind of monomania. When his -friends come up, he treats them with the speeches of a child or an -idiot. He is no longer master of his words; hollow phrases whirl in his -brain, and fall from his mouth as in a dream. They call him; he answers -by imitating <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> the cry of a sportsman whistling to his falcon: "Hillo, ho, -ho, boy! come, bird, come." Whilst he is in the act of swearing them to -secrecy, the ghost below repeats "Swear." Hamlet cries, with a nervous -excitement and a fitful gayety:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ah ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, truepenny?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come on—you hear this fellow in the cellarage—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Consent to swear....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ghost</i> (<i>beneath</i>). Swear.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Hamlet. Hic et ubique?</i> then we'll shift our ground.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come hither, gentlemen.... Swear by my sword.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ghost</i> (<i>beneath</i>). Swear.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ham.</i> Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A worthy pioneer!"<a name="NoteRef_711_1" id="NoteRef_711_1"></a><a href="#Note_711_1" class="fnanchor">[711]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Understand that as he says this his teeth chatter, "pale as his shirt, -his knees knocking each other." Intense anguish ends with a kind of -laughter, which is nothing else than a spasm. Thenceforth Hamlet speaks -as though he had a continuous nervous attack. His madness is feigned, I -admit; but his mind, as a door whose hinges are twisted, swings and -bangs with every wind with a mad haste and with a discordant noise. He -has no need to search for the strange ideas, apparent incoherencies, -exaggerations, the deluge of sarcasms which he accumulates. He finds -them within him; he does himself no violence, he simply gives himself up -to himself. When he has the piece played which is to unmask his uncle, -he raises himself, lounges on the floor, lays his head in Ophelia's lap; -he addresses the actors, and comments on the piece to the spectators; -his nerves are strung, his excited thought is like a surging and -crackling flame, and cannot find fuel enough in the multitude of objects -surrounding it, upon all of which it seizes. When the king rises -unmasked and troubled, Hamlet sings, and says, "Would not this, sir, and -a forest of feathers—if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me—with -two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of -players, sir!"<a name="NoteRef_712_1" id="NoteRef_712_1"></a><a href="#Note_712_1" class="fnanchor">[712]</a> And he laughs terribly, for he is resolved on -murder. It is clear that this state is a disease, and that the man will -not survive it.</p> - -<p>In a soul so ardent of thought, and so mighty of feeling, what is left -but disgust and despair? We tinge all nature with the color of our -thoughts; we shape the world according to our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> own ideas; when our soul -is sick, we see nothing but sickness in the universe:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this -most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging -firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it -appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of -vapors. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite -in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how -like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! -the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of -dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither."<a name="NoteRef_713_1" id="NoteRef_713_1"></a><a href="#Note_713_1" class="fnanchor">[713]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Henceforth his thought sullies whatever it touches. He rails bitterly -before Ophelia against marriage and love. Beauty! Innocence! Beauty is -but a means of prostituting innocence: "Get thee to a nunnery: why -wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?... What should such fellows as I -do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe -none of us."<a name="NoteRef_714_1" id="NoteRef_714_1"></a><a href="#Note_714_1" class="fnanchor">[714]</a></p> - -<p>When he has killed Polonius by accident, he hardly repents it; it is one -fool less. He jeers lugubriously:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>King.</i> Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Hamlet.</i> At supper.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>K.</i> At supper! where?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>H.</i> Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">of politic worms are e'en at him."<a name="NoteRef_715_1" id="NoteRef_715_1"></a><a href="#Note_715_1" class="fnanchor">[715]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And he repeats in five or six fashions these gravedigger jests. His -thoughts already inhabit a churchyard; to this hopeless philosophy a -genuine man is a corpse. Public functions, honors, passions, pleasures, -projects, science, all this is but a borrowed mask, which death removes, -so that people may see what we are, an evil-smelling and grinning skull. -It is this sight he goes to see by Ophelia's grave. He counts the skulls -which the gravedigger turns up; this was a lawyer's, that a countier's. -What bows, intrigues, pretensions, arrogance! And here now is a clown -knocking it about with his spade, and playing "at loggats with 'em." -Cæsar and Alexander have turned to clay and make the earth fat; the -masters of the world have served to "patch a wall. Now get you to my -lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor -she must <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> come; make her laugh at that."<a name="NoteRef_716_1" id="NoteRef_716_1"></a><a href="#Note_716_1" class="fnanchor">[716]</a> When a man has come to -this, there is nothing left but to die.</p> - -<p>This heated imagination, which explains Hamlet's nervous disease and his -moral poisoning, explains also his conduct. If he hesitates to kill his -uncle, it is not from horror of blood or from our modern scruples. He -belongs to the sixteenth century. On board ship he wrote the order to -behead Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and to do so without giving them -"shriving-time." He killed Polonius, he caused Ophelia's death, and has -no great remorse for it. If for once he spared his uncle, it was because -he found him praying, and was afraid of sending him to heaven. He -thought he was killing him when he killed Polonius. What his imagination -robs him of, is the coolness and strength to go quietly and with -premeditation to plunge a sword into a breast. He can only do the thing -on a sudden suggestion; he must have a moment of enthusiasm; he must -think the king is behind the arras, or else, seeing that he himself is -poisoned, he must find his victim under his foil's point. He is not -master of his acts; opportunity dictates them; he cannot plan a murder, -but must improvise it. A too lively imagination exhausts the will, by -the strength of images which it heaps up, and by the fury of intentness -which absorbs it. You recognize in him a poet's soul, made not to act, -but to dream, which is lost in contemplating the phantoms of its -creation, which sees the imaginary world too clearly to play a part in -the real world; an artist whom evil chance has made a prince, whom worse -chance has made an avenger of crime, and who, destined by nature for -genius, is condemned by fortune to madness and unhappiness. Hamlet is -Shakespeare, and, at the close of this gallery of portraits which have -all some features of his own, Shakespeare has painted himself in the -most striking of all.</p> - -<p>If Racine or Corneille had framed a psychology, they would have said, -with Descartes: Man is an incorporeal soul, served by organs, endowed -with reason and will, dwelling in palaces or porticos, made for -conversation and society, whose harmonious and ideal action is developed -by discourse and replies, in a world constructed by logic beyond the -realms of time and place.</p> - -<p>If Shakespeare had framed a psychology, he would have said, with -Esquirol:<a name="NoteRef_717_1" id="NoteRef_717_1"></a><a href="#Note_717_1" class="fnanchor">[717]</a> Man is a nervous machine, governed by a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> mood, disposed to -hallucinations, carried away by unbridled passions, essentially -unreasoning, a mixture of animal and poet, having instead of mind -rapture, instead of virtue sensibility, imagination for prompter and -guide, and led at random, by the most determinate and complex -circumstances, to sorrow, crime, madness, and death.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IX.--Characteristics_of_Shakespeares_Genius">SECTION IX.—Characteristics of Shakespeare's Genius</a></h4> - - -<p>Could such a poet always confine himself to the imitation of nature? -Will this poetical world which is going on in his brain never break -loose from the laws of the world of reality? Is he not powerful enough -to follow his own laws? He is; and the poetry of Shakespeare naturally -finds an outlet in the fantastical. This is the highest grade of -unreasoning and creative imagination. Despising ordinary logic, it -creates another; it unites facts and ideas in a new order, apparently -absurd, in reality regular; it lays open the land of dreams, and its -dreams seem to us the truth.</p> - -<p>When we enter upon Shakespeare's comedies, and even his -half-dramas,<a name="NoteRef_718_1" id="NoteRef_718_1"></a><a href="#Note_718_1" class="fnanchor">[718]</a> it is as though we met him on the threshold, like an -actor to whom the prologue is committed, to prevent misunderstanding on -the part of the public, and to tell them: "Do not take too seriously -what you are about to hear: I am amusing myself. My brain, being full of -fancies, desired to array them, and here they are. Palaces, distant -landscapes, transparent clouds which blot in the morning the horizon -with their gray mists, the red and glorious flames into which the -evening sun descends, white cloisters in endless vista through the -ambient air, grottos, cottages, the fantastic pageant of all human -passions, the irregular sport of unlooked-for adventures—this is the -medley of forms, colors, sentiments, which I let become entangled and -confused in my presence, a many-tinted skein of glistening silks, a -slender arabesque, whose sinuous curves, crossing and mingled, bewilder -the mind by the whimsical variety of their infinite complications. Don't -regard it as a picture. Don't look for a precise composition, a sole and -increasing interest, the skilful management of a well-ordered and -congruous plot. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> I have tales and novels before me which I am cutting up -into scenes. Never mind the <i>finis</i>, I am amusing myself on the road. It -is not the end of the journey which pleases me, but the journey itself. -Is there any need in going so straight and quick? Do you only care to -know whether the poor merchant of Venice will escape Shylock's knife? -Here are two happy lovers, seated under the palace walls on a calm -night; wouldn't you like to listen to the peaceful reverie which arises -like a perfume from the bottom of their hearts?"</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here will we sit and let the sounds of music</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Become the touches of sweet harmony.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But in his motion like an angel sings,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such harmony is in immortal souls;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But whilst this muddy vesture of decay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 18em;">(<i>Enter musicians.</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And draw her home with music.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Jessica.</i> I am never merry when I hear sweet music.'"<a name="NoteRef_719_1" id="NoteRef_719_1"></a><a href="#Note_719_1" class="fnanchor">[719]</a></span></p> - - -<p>"Have I not the right, when I see the big laughing face of a clownish -servant, to stop near him, see him gesticulate, frolic, gossip, go -through his hundred pranks and his hundred grimaces, and treat myself to -the comedy of his spirit and gayety? Two fine gentlemen pass by. I hear -the rolling fire of their metaphors, and I follow their skirmish of wit. -Here in a corner is the artless arch face of a young wench. Do you -forbid me to linger by her, to watch her smiles, her sudden blushes, the -childish pout of her rosy lips, the coquetry of her pretty motions? You -are in a great hurry if the prattle of this fresh and musical voice -can't stop you. Is it no pleasure to view this succession of sentiments -and faces? Is your fancy so dull that you must have the mighty mechanism -of a geometrical plot to shake it? My sixteenth century playgoers were -easier to move. A sunbeam that had lost its way on an old wall, a -foolish song <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> thrown into the middle of a drama, occupied their mind as -well as the blackest of catastrophes. After the horrible scene in which -Shylock brandished his butcher's knife before Antonio's bare breast, -they saw just as willingly the petty household wrangle, and the amusing -bit of raillery which ends the piece. Like soft moving water, their soul -rose and sank in an instant to the level of the poet's emotion, and -their sentiments readily flowed in the bed he had prepared for them. -They let him stray here and there on his journey, and did not forbid him -to make two voyages at once. They allowed several plots in one. If but -the slightest thread united them it was sufficient. Lorenzo eloped with -Jessica, Shylock was frustrated in his revenge, Portia's suitors failed -in the test imposed upon them; Portia, disguised as a doctor of laws, -took from her husband the ring which he had promised never to part with; -these three or four comedies, disunited, mingled, were shuffled and -unfolded together, like an unknotted skein in which threads of a hundred -colors are entwined. Together with diversity, my spectators allowed -improbability. Comedy is a slight winged creature, which flutters from -dream to dream, whose wings you would break if you held it captive in -the narrow prison of common-sense. Do not press its fictions too hard; -do not probe their contents. Let them float before your eyes like a -charming swift dream. Let the fleeting apparition plunge back into the -bright misty land from whence it came. For an instant it deluded you; -let it suffice. It is sweet to leave the world of realities behind you; -the mind rests amidst impossibilities. We are happy when delivered from -the rough chains of logic, to wander amongst strange adventures, to live -in sheer romance, and know that we are living there. I do not try to -deceive you, and make you believe in the world where I take you. A man -must disbelieve it in order to enjoy it. We must give ourselves up to -illusion, and feel that we are giving ourselves up to it. We must smile -as we listen. We smile in "The Winter's Tale" when Hermione descends -from her pedestal, and when, Leontes discovers his wife in the statue, -having believed her to be dead. We smile in "Cymbeline" when we see the -lone cavern in which the young princes have lived like savage hunters. -Improbability deprives emotions of their sting. The events interest or -touch us without making us suffer. At the very moment when sympathy is -too <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> intense, we remind ourselves that it is all a fancy. They become -like distant objects, whose distance softens their outline, and wraps -them in a luminous veil of blue air. Your true comedy is an opera. We -listen to sentiments without thinking too much of plot. We follow the -tender or gay melodies without reflecting that they interrupt the -action. We dream elsewhere on hearing music; here I bid you dream on -hearing verse."</p> - -<p>Then the speaker of the prologue retires, and the actors come on.</p> - -<p>"As You Like It" is a caprice.<a name="NoteRef_720_1" id="NoteRef_720_1"></a><a href="#Note_720_1" class="fnanchor">[720]</a> Action there is none; interest -barely; likelihood still less. And the whole is charming. Two cousins, -princes' daughters, come to a forest with a court clown, Celia disguised -as a shepherdess, Rosalind as a boy. They find here the old duke, -Rosalind's father, who, driven out of his duchy, lives with his friends -like a philosopher and a hunter. They find amorous shepherds, who with -songs and prayers pursue intractable shepherdesses. They discover or -they meet with lovers who become their husbands. Suddenly it is -announced that the wicked Duke Frederick, who had usurped the crown, has -just retired to a cloister, and restored the throne to the old exiled -duke. Everyone gets married, everyone dances, everything ends with a -"rustic revelry." Where is the pleasantness of these puerilities? First, -the fact of its being puerile; the absence of the serious is refreshing; -There are no events, and there is no plot. We gently follow the easy -current of graceful or melancholy emotions, which takes us away and -moves us about without wearying. The place adds to the illusion and -charm. It is an autumn forest, in which the sultry rays permeate the -blushing oak leaves, or the half-stripped, ashes tremble and smile to -the feeble breath of evening. The lovers wander by brooks that "brawl" -under antique roots. As you listen to them you see the slim birches, -whose cloak of lace grows glossy under the slant rays of the sun that -gilds them, and the thoughts wander down the mossy vistas in which their -footsteps are not heard. What better place could be chosen for the -comedy of sentiment and the play of heart-fancies? Is not this a fit -spot in which to listen to love-talk? Someone has seen Orlando, -Rosalind's lover, in this glade; she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> hears it and blushes. "Alas the -day!... What did he, when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? -Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains -he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again?" Then, -with a lower voice, somewhat hesitating: "Looks he as freshly as he did -the day he wrestled?" She is not yet exhausted: "Do you not know I am a -woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on."<a name="NoteRef_721_1" id="NoteRef_721_1"></a><a href="#Note_721_1" class="fnanchor">[721]</a> One question -follows another, she closes the mouth of her friend, who is ready to -answer. At every word she jests, but agitated, blushing, with a forced -gayety; her bosom heaves, and her heart beats. Nevertheless she is -calmer when Orlando comes; bandies words with him; sheltered under her -disguise, she makes him confess that he loves Rosalind. Then she plagues -him, like the frolic, the wag, the coquette she is. "Why, how now, -Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover?" Orlando -repeats that he loves Rosalind, and she pleases herself by making him -repeat it more than once. She sparkles with wit, jests, mischievous -pranks; pretty fits of anger, feigned sulks, bursts of laughter, -deafening babble, engaging caprices. "Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am -in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent. What would you say to me -now, an I were your very, very Rosalind?" And every now and then she -repeats with an arch smile, "And I am your Rosalind; am I not your -Rosalind?"<a name="NoteRef_722_1" id="NoteRef_722_1"></a><a href="#Note_722_1" class="fnanchor">[722]</a> Orlando protests that he would die. Die! Who ever -thought of dying for love? Leander? He took one bath too many in the -Hellespont; so poets have said he died for love. Troilus? A Greek broke -his head with a club; so poets have said he died for love. Come, come, -Rosalind will be softer. And then she plays at marriage with him, and -makes Celia pronounce the solemn words. She irritates and torments her -pretended husband; tells him all the whims she means to indulge in, all -the pranks she will play, all the teasing he will have to endure. The -retorts come one after another like fireworks. At every phrase we follow -the looks of these sparkling eyes, the curves of this laughing mouth, -the quick movements of this supple figure. It is a bird's petulance and -volubility. "O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know -how many fathom deep I am in love." Then she provokes her cousin <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> Celia, -sports with her hair, calls her by every woman's name. Antitheses -without end, words all a-jumble, quibbles, pretty exaggerations, -word-racket; as you listen, you fancy it is the warbling of a -nightingale. The trill of repeated metaphors, the melodious roll of the -poetical gamut, the summer-warbling rustling under the foliage, change -the piece into a veritable opera. The three lovers end by chanting a -sort of trio. The first throws out a fancy, the others take it up. Four -times this strophe is renewed; and the symmetry of ideas, added to the -jingle of the rhymes, makes of a dialogue a concerto of love:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Phebe.</i> Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Silvius.</i> It is to be all made of sighs and tears;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And so am I for Phebe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>P.</i> And I for Ganymede.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Orlando.</i> And I for Rosalind.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Rosalind.</i> And I for no woman....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>S.</i> It is to be all made of fantasy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All made of passion, and all made of wishes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All adoration, duty, and observance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All humbleness, all patience and impatience,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All purity, all trial, all observance;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And so I am for Phebe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>P.</i> And so am I for Ganymede.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>O.</i> And so am I for Rosalind.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>R.</i> And so am I for no woman."<a name="NoteRef_723_1" id="NoteRef_723_1"></a><a href="#Note_723_1" class="fnanchor">[723]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The necessity of singing is so urgent that a minute later songs break -out of themselves. The prose and the conversation end in lyric poetry. -We pass straight on into these odes. We do not find ourselves in a new -country. We feel the emotion and foolish gayety as if it were a holiday. -We see the graceful couple whom the song of the two pages brings before -us, passing in the misty light "o'er the green corn-field," amid the hum -of sportive insects, on the finest day of the flowering spring-time. -Unlikelihood grows natural, and we are not astonished when we see Hymen -leading the two brides by the hand to give them to their husbands.</p> - -<p>Whilst the young folk sing, the old folk talk. Their life also is a -novel, but a sad one. Shakespeare's delicate soul, bruised by the shocks -of social life, took refuge in contemplations of solitary <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> life. To -forget the strife and annoyances of the world, he must bury himself in a -wide silent forest, and</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Under the shade of melancholy boughs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Loose and neglect the creeping hours of time."<a name="NoteRef_724_1" id="NoteRef_724_1"></a><a href="#Note_724_1" class="fnanchor">[724]</a></span></p> - - -<p>We look at the bright images which the sun carves on the white -beech-boles, the shade of trembling leaves flickering on the thick moss, -the long waves of the summit of the trees; then the sharp sting of care -is blunted; we suffer no more, simply remembering that we suffered once; -we feel nothing but a gentle misanthropy, and being renewed, we are the -better for it. The old duke is happy in his exile. Solitude has given -him rest, delivered him from flattery, reconciled him to nature. He -pities the stags which he is obliged to hunt for food:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Come, shall we go and kill us venison?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Being native burghers of this desert city,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Should in their own confines with forked heads</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have their round haunches gored."<a name="NoteRef_725_1" id="NoteRef_725_1"></a><a href="#Note_725_1" class="fnanchor">[725]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Nothing sweeter than this mixture of tender compassion, dreamy -philosophy, delicate sadness, poetical complaints, and rustic songs. One -of the lords sings:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 7em;">"Blow, blow, thou winter wind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Thou art not so unkind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">As man's ingratitude;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Thy tooth is not so keen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Because thou art not seen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Although thy breath be rude.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Then, heigh-ho, the holly!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">This life is most jolly."<a name="NoteRef_726_1" id="NoteRef_726_1"></a><a href="#Note_726_1" class="fnanchor">[726]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Amongst these lords is found a soul that suffers more, Jacques the -melancholy, one of Shakespeare's best-loved characters, a transparent -mask behind which we perceive the face of the poet. He is sad because he -is tender; he feels the contact of things too keenly, and what leaves -others indifferent, makes him weep.<a name="NoteRef_727_1" id="NoteRef_727_1"></a><a href="#Note_727_1" class="fnanchor">[727]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> He does not scold, he is sad; -he does not reason, he is moved; he has not the combative spirit of a -reforming moralist; his soul is sick and weary of life. Impassioned -imagination leads quickly to disgust. Like opium, it excites and -shatters. It leads man to the loftiest philosophy, then lets him down to -the whims of a child. Jacques leaves other men abruptly, and goes to the -quiet nooks to be alone. He loves his sadness, and would not exchange it -for joy. Meeting Orlando, he says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Rosalind is your love's name?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Orlando.</i> Yes, just.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Jacques.</i> I do not like her name."<a name="NoteRef_728_1" id="NoteRef_728_1"></a><a href="#Note_728_1" class="fnanchor">[728]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He has the fancies of a nervous woman. He is scandalized because Orlando -writes sonnets on the forest trees. He is eccentric, and finds subjects -of grief and gayety where others would see nothing of the sort:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A motley fool; a miserable world!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As I do live by food, I met a fool;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In good set terms and yet a motley fool...."</span></p> - - -<p>Jacques hearing him moralize in such a manner begins to laugh "sans -intermission" that a fool could be so meditative:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O noble fool; a worthy fool! Motley's the only wear....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O that I were a fool!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am ambitious for a motley coat."<a name="NoteRef_729_1" id="NoteRef_729_1"></a><a href="#Note_729_1" class="fnanchor">[729]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The next minute he returns to his melancholy dissertations, bright -pictures whose vivacity explains his character, and betrays Shakespeare, -hiding under his name:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"All the world's a stage,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all the men and women merely players:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They have their exits and their entrances;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And one man in his time plays many parts,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shining morning face, creeping like snail</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seeking the bubble reputation</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In fair round belly with good capon lined,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Full of wise saws and modern instances;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Turning again toward childish treble, pipes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That ends this strange eventful history,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In second childishness and mere oblivion,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."<a name="NoteRef_730_1" id="NoteRef_730_1"></a><a href="#Note_730_1" class="fnanchor">[730]</a></span></p> - - -<p>"As you Like it" is a half dream. "Midsummer Night's Dream" is a -complete one.</p> - -<p>The scene, buried in the far-off mist of fabulous antiquity, carries us -back to Theseus, Duke of Athens, who is preparing his palace for his -marriage with the beautiful queen of the Amazons. The style, loaded with -contorted images, fills the mind with strange and splendid visions, and -the airy elf-world divert the comedy into the fairy-land from whence it -sprung.</p> - -<p>Love is still the theme: of all sentiments, is it not the greatest -fancy-weaver? But love is not heard here in the charming, prattle of -Rosalind; it is glaring, like the season of the year. It does not brim -over in slight conversations, in supple and skipping prose; it breaks -forth into big rhyming odes, dressed in magnificent metaphors, sustained -by impassioned accents, such as a warm night, odorous and star-spangled, -inspires in a poet and a lover. Lysander and Hermia agree to meet.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Lysander.</i> To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her silver visage in the watery glass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Hermia.</i> And in the wood, where often you and I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There my Lysander and myself shall meet."<a name="NoteRef_731_1" id="NoteRef_731_1"></a><a href="#Note_731_1" class="fnanchor">[731]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They get lost, and fall asleep, wearied, under the trees. Puck squeezes -in the youth's eyes the juice of a magic flower, and changes his heart. -Presently, when he awakes, he will become enamored of the first woman he -sees. Meanwhile Demetrius, Hermia's rejected lover, wanders with Helena, -whom he rejects, in the solitary wood. The magic flower changes him in -turn, he now loves Helena. The lovers flee and pursue one another, -beneath the lofty trees, in the calm night. We smile at their -transports, their complaints, their ecstasies, and yet we join in them. -This passion is a dream, and yet it moves us: It is like those airy webs -which we find at morning on the crest of the hedgerows where the dew has -spread them, and whose weft sparkles like a jewel-casket. Nothing can be -more fragile, and nothing more graceful. The poet sports with emotions; -he mingles, confuses, redoubles, interweaves them; he twines and -untwines these loves like the mazes of a dance, and we see the noble and -tender figures pass by the verdant bushes, beneath the radiant eyes of -the stars, now wet with tears, now bright with rapture. They have the -abandonment of true love, not the grossness of sensual love. Nothing -causes us to fall from the ideal world in which Shakespeare conducts us. -Dazzled by beauty, they adore it, and the spectacle of their happiness, -their emotion, and their tenderness, is a kind of enchantment.</p> - -<p>Above these two couples flutters and hums the swarm of elves and -fairies. They also love. Titania, their queen, has a young boy for her -favorite, son of an Indian king, of whom Oberon, her husband, wishes to -deprive her. They quarrel, so that the elves creep for fear into the -acorn cups, in the golden primroses. Oberon, by way of vengeance, -touches Titania's sleeping eyes with the magic flower, and thus on -waking the nimblest and most charming of the fairies finds herself -enamored of a stupid blockhead with an ass's head. She kneels before -him; she sets on his "hairy temples a coronet of fresh and fragrant -flowers":</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And that same dew, which sometime on the buds</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stood now within the pretty floweret's eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail."<a name="NoteRef_732_1" id="NoteRef_732_1"></a><a href="#Note_732_1" class="fnanchor">[732]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She calls round her all her fairy attendants; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To have my love to bed and to arise;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And pluck the wings from painted butterflies</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lamenting some enforced chastity.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently."<a name="NoteRef_733_1" id="NoteRef_733_1"></a><a href="#Note_733_1" class="fnanchor">[733]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It was necessary, for her love brayed horribly, and to all the offers of -Titania, replied with a petition for hay. What can be sadder and sweeter -than this irony of Shakespeare? What raillery against love, and what -tenderness for love! The sentiment is divine; its object unworthy. The -heart is ravished, the eyes blind. It is a golden butterfly, fluttering -in the mud; and Shakespeare, whilst painting its misery, preserves all -its beauty:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Gently entwist; the female ivy so</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!"<a name="NoteRef_734_1" id="NoteRef_734_1"></a><a href="#Note_734_1" class="fnanchor">[734]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At the return of morning, when</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"The eastern gate, all fiery red,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams,"<a name="NoteRef_735_1" id="NoteRef_735_1"></a><a href="#Note_735_1" class="fnanchor">[735]</a></span></p> - - -<p>the enchantment ceases, Titania awakes on her couch of wild thyme and -drooping violets. She drives the monster away; her recollections of the -night are effaced in a vague twilight:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"These things seem small and undistinguishable,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like far-off mountains turned into clouds."<a name="NoteRef_736_1" id="NoteRef_736_1"></a><a href="#Note_736_1" class="fnanchor">[736]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And the fairies</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Go seek some dew drops here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear."<a name="NoteRef_737_1" id="NoteRef_737_1"></a><a href="#Note_737_1" class="fnanchor">[737]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such is Shakespeare's fantasy, a slight tissue of bold inventions, of -ardent passions, melancholy mockery, dazzling poetry, such as one of -Titania's elves would have made. Nothing could be more like the poet's -mind than these nimble genii, children of air and flame, whose flights -"compass the globe" in a second, who glide over the foam of the waves -and skip between the atoms of the winds. Ariel flies, an invisible -songster, around shipwrecked men to console them, discovers the thoughts -of traitors, pursues the savage beast Caliban, spreads gorgeous visions -before lovers, and does all in a lightning-flash:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Where the bee sucks, there suck I:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In a cowslip's bell I lie....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Merrily, merrily shall I live now</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Under the blossom that hangs on the bough....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I drink the air before me, and return</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or ere your pulse twice beat."<a name="NoteRef_738_1" id="NoteRef_738_1"></a><a href="#Note_738_1" class="fnanchor">[738]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Shakespeare glides over things on as swift a wing, by leaps as sudden, -with a touch as delicate.</p> - -<p>What a soul! what extent of action, and what sovereignty of an unique -faculty! what diverse creations, and what persistence of the same -impress! There they all are united, and all marked by the same sign, -void of will and reason, governed by mood, imagination, or pure passion, -destitute of the faculties contrary to those of the poet, dominated by -the corporeal type which his painter's eyes have conceived, endowed by -the habits of mind and by the vehement sensibility which he finds in -himself.<a name="NoteRef_739_1" id="NoteRef_739_1"></a><a href="#Note_739_1" class="fnanchor">[739]</a> Go through the groups, and you will only discover in them -divers forms and divers states of the same power. Here, a herd of -brutes, dotards, and gossips, made up of a mechanical imagination; -further on, a company of men of wit, animated by a gay and foolish -imagination; then, a charming swarm of women whom their delicate -imagination raises so high, and their self-forgetting love carries so -far; elsewhere a band of villains, hardened by unbridled passions, -inspired by artistic rapture; in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> centre a mournful train of grand -characters, whose excited brain is filled with sad or criminal visions, -and whom an inner destiny urges to murder, madness, or death. Ascend one -stage, and contemplate the whole scene: the aggregate bears the same -mark as the details. The drama reproduces promiscuously uglinesses, -basenesses, horrors, unclean details, profligate and ferocious manners, -the whole reality of life just as it is, when it is unrestrained by -decorum, common-sense, reason, and duty. Comedy, led through a -phantasmagoria of pictures, gets lost in the likely and the unlikely, -with no other connection but the caprice of an amused imagination, -wantonly disjointed and romantic, an opera without music, a concerto of -melancholy and tender sentiments, which bears the mind into the -supernatural world, and brings before our eyes on its fairy-wings the -genius which has created it. Look now. Do you not see the poet behind -the crowd of his creations? They have heralded his approach. They have -all shown somewhat of him. Ready, impetuous, impassioned, delicate, his -genius is pure imagination, touched more vividly and by slighter things -than ours. Hence his style, blooming with exuberant images, loaded with -exaggerated metaphors, whose strangeness is like incoherence, whose -wealth is superabundant, the work of a mind, which, at the least -incitement, produces too much and takes too wide leaps. Hence this -involuntary psychology, and this terrible penetration, which -instantaneously perceiving all the effects of a situation, and all the -details of a character, concentrates them in every response, and gives -to a figure a relief and a coloring which create illusion. Hence our -emotion and tenderness. We say to him, as Desdemona to Othello: "I love -thee for the battles, sieges, fortunes thou hast passed, and for the -distressful stroke that thy youth suffered." <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_587_1" id="Note_587_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_587_1"><span class="label">[587]</span></a>Halliwell's "Life of Shakespeare."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_588_1" id="Note_588_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_588_1"><span class="label">[588]</span></a>Born 1564, died 1616. He adapted plays as early as 1591. -The first play entirely from his pen appeared in 1593.—Payne Collier.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_589_1" id="Note_589_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_589_1"><span class="label">[589]</span></a>Mr. Halliwell and other commentators try to prove that at -this time the preliminary trothplight was regarded as the real marriage; -that this trothplight had taken place, and that there was therefore no -irregularity in Shakespeare's conduct.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_590_1" id="Note_590_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_590_1"><span class="label">[590]</span></a>Halliwell, 123.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_591_1" id="Note_591_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_591_1"><span class="label">[591]</span></a>All these anecdotes are traditions, and consequently more -or less doubtful; but the other facts are authentic.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_592_1" id="Note_592_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_592_1"><span class="label">[592]</span></a>Terms of an extant document. He is named along with Burbage -and Greene.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_593_1" id="Note_593_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_593_1"><span class="label">[593]</span></a>Sonnet 110.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_594_1" id="Note_594_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_594_1"><span class="label">[594]</span></a>See Sonnets 91 and 111; also "Hamlet," III. 2. Many of -Hamlet's words would come better from the mouth of an actor than a -prince. See also the 66th Sonnet, "Tired with all these."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_595_1" id="Note_595_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_595_1"><span class="label">[595]</span></a>Sonnet 29.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_596_1" id="Note_596_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_596_1"><span class="label">[596]</span></a>"Hamlet," III. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_597_1" id="Note_597_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_597_1"><span class="label">[597]</span></a>Sonnet 111.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_598_1" id="Note_598_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_598_1"><span class="label">[598]</span></a>Anecdote written in 1602 on the authority of Tooley the -actor.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_599_1" id="Note_599_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_599_1"><span class="label">[599]</span></a>The Earl of Southampton was nineteen years old when -Shakespeare dedicated his "Adonis" to him.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_600_600" id="Note_600_600"></a><a href="#NoteRef_600_600"><span class="label">[600]</span></a>See Titian's picture. Loves of the Gods, at Blenheim.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_601_1" id="Note_601_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_601_1"><span class="label">[601]</span></a>"Venus and Adonis," lines 548-553.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_602_1" id="Note_602_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_602_1"><span class="label">[602]</span></a>Ibid. lines 55-60.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_603_1" id="Note_603_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_603_1"><span class="label">[603]</span></a>Ibid, lines 853-858.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_604_1" id="Note_604_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_604_1"><span class="label">[604]</span></a>Compare the first pieces of Alfred de Musset, "Contes -d'Italie et d'Espagne."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_605_1" id="Note_605_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_605_1"><span class="label">[605]</span></a>Crawley, quoted by Ph. Chasles, "Études sur Shakspeare."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_606_606" id="Note_606_606"></a><a href="#NoteRef_606_606"><span class="label">[606]</span></a>A famed French courtesan (1613-1650), the heroine of a -drama of that name, by Victor Hugo, having for its subject-matter: -"Love purifies everything."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_607_1" id="Note_607_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_607_1"><span class="label">[607]</span></a>Sonnet 138.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_608_608" id="Note_608_608"></a><a href="#NoteRef_608_608"><span class="label">[608]</span></a>Two characters in Molière's "Misanthrope." The scene -referred to is Act V. Scene 7.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_609_1" id="Note_609_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_609_1"><span class="label">[609]</span></a>Sonnet 142.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_610_1" id="Note_610_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_610_1"><span class="label">[610]</span></a>Sonnet 95.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_611_1" id="Note_611_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_611_1"><span class="label">[611]</span></a>Sonnet 98.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_612_1" id="Note_612_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_612_1"><span class="label">[612]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_613_1" id="Note_613_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_613_1"><span class="label">[613]</span></a>Sonnet 99.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_614_1" id="Note_614_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_614_1"><span class="label">[614]</span></a>Sonnet 151.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_615_1" id="Note_615_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_615_1"><span class="label">[615]</span></a>Sonnet 151.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_616_1" id="Note_616_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_616_1"><span class="label">[616]</span></a>Sonnet 144; also the "Passionate Pilgrim," 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_617_1" id="Note_617_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_617_1"><span class="label">[617]</span></a>This new interpretation of the Sonnets is due to the -ingenious and learned conjectures of M. Ph. Chasles.—For a short history -of these Sonnets, see Dyce's "Shakspeare," I. pp. 96-102. This learned -editor says: "I contend that allusions scattered through the whole series -are not to be hastily referred to the personal circumstances of -Shakspeare."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_618_1" id="Note_618_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_618_1"><span class="label">[618]</span></a>Miranda, Desdemona, Viola. The following are the first -words of the Duke in "Twelfth Night":<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"If music be the food of love, play on;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The appetite may sicken, and so die.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That strain again! it had a dying fall:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">south,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That breathes upon a bank of violets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stealing and giving odor! Enough;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">no more:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O spirit of love! how quick and fresh</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">art thou,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That, notwithstanding thy capacity</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Receiveth as the sea, nought enters</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">there.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of what validity and pitch soever,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But falls into abatement and low price.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even in a minute: so full of shapes is</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">fancy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it alone is high-fantastical."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_619_1" id="Note_619_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_619_1"><span class="label">[619]</span></a>H. Chettle, in repudiating Greene's sarcasm, attributed -it to him.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_620_1" id="Note_620_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_620_1"><span class="label">[620]</span></a>Dyce, "Shakespeare," I. 27: "Of French and Italian, I -apprehend, he knew but little."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_621_1" id="Note_621_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_621_1"><span class="label">[621]</span></a>Sonnet 29.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_622_1" id="Note_622_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_622_1"><span class="label">[622]</span></a>Sonnet 73.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_623_1" id="Note_623_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_623_1"><span class="label">[623]</span></a>Sonnet 71.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_624_1" id="Note_624_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_624_1"><span class="label">[624]</span></a>The part in which he excelled was that of the ghost in -"Hamlet."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_625_1" id="Note_625_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_625_1"><span class="label">[625]</span></a>Greene's "A Groatsworth of Wit," etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_626_1" id="Note_626_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_626_1"><span class="label">[626]</span></a>"He was a respectable man. A good word; what does it -mean? He kept a gig."—From Thurtell's trial for the murder of Weare.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_627_1" id="Note_627_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_627_1"><span class="label">[627]</span></a>The model of an optimist, the hero of one of Voltaire's -tales.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_628_1" id="Note_628_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_628_1"><span class="label">[628]</span></a>See his portraits, and in particular his bust.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_629_1" id="Note_629_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_629_1"><span class="label">[629]</span></a>Especially in his later plays: "Tempest, Twelfth Night."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_630_1" id="Note_630_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_630_1"><span class="label">[630]</span></a>"Hamlet," III. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_631_1" id="Note_631_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_631_1"><span class="label">[631]</span></a>Act III. Scene 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_632_1" id="Note_632_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_632_1"><span class="label">[632]</span></a>Act III. Scene 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_633_1" id="Note_633_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_633_1"><span class="label">[633]</span></a>This is why, in the eyes of a writer of the seventeenth -century, Shakespeare's style is the most obscure, pretentious, painful, -barbarous, and absurd, that could be imagined.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_634_1" id="Note_634_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_634_1"><span class="label">[634]</span></a>Shakespeare's vocabulary is the most copious of all. It -comprises about 15,000 words; Milton's only 8,000.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_635_1" id="Note_635_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_635_1"><span class="label">[635]</span></a>See the conversation of Laertes and his sister, and of -Laertes and Polonius, in "Hamlet." The style is foreign to the situation; -and we see here plainly the natural and necessary process of -Shakespeare's thought.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_636_1" id="Note_636_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_636_1"><span class="label">[636]</span></a>"Winter's Tale," I. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_637_1" id="Note_637_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_637_1"><span class="label">[637]</span></a>One of Molière's characters in "Tartuffe."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_638_1" id="Note_638_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_638_1"><span class="label">[638]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," III. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_639_1" id="Note_639_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_639_1"><span class="label">[639]</span></a>"Henry VIII," II. 3, and many other scenes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_640_1" id="Note_640_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_640_1"><span class="label">[640]</span></a>"Much Ado about Nothing." See also the manner in which -Henry V in Shakespeare's "King Henry V" pays court to Katharine of -France (V. 2).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_641_1" id="Note_641_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_641_1"><span class="label">[641]</span></a>Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_642_1" id="Note_642_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_642_1"><span class="label">[642]</span></a>Act IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_643_1" id="Note_643_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_643_1"><span class="label">[643]</span></a>Second part of "Henry VI," IV. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_644_1" id="Note_644_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_644_1"><span class="label">[644]</span></a>"Henry VI," 2d part, IV. 2, 6, 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_645_1" id="Note_645_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_645_1"><span class="label">[645]</span></a>"King Lear," III. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_646_1" id="Note_646_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_646_1"><span class="label">[646]</span></a>"The Tempest," IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_647_1" id="Note_647_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_647_1"><span class="label">[647]</span></a>See "Troilus and Cressida," II. 3, the jesting manner in -which the generals drive on this fierce brute.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_648_1" id="Note_648_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_648_1"><span class="label">[648]</span></a>"Cymbeline," II. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_649_1" id="Note_649_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_649_1"><span class="label">[649]</span></a>Ibid. III. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_650_1" id="Note_650_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_650_1"><span class="label">[650]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," I. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_651_1" id="Note_651_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_651_1"><span class="label">[651]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," II. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_652_1" id="Note_652_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_652_1"><span class="label">[652]</span></a>Ibid. III. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_653_1" id="Note_653_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_653_1"><span class="label">[653]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," II. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_654_1" id="Note_654_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_654_1"><span class="label">[654]</span></a>"Much Ado about Nothing," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_655_1" id="Note_655_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_655_1"><span class="label">[655]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_656_1" id="Note_656_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_656_1"><span class="label">[656]</span></a>Ibid. I. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_657_1" id="Note_657_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_657_1"><span class="label">[657]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," I. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_658_1" id="Note_658_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_658_1"><span class="label">[658]</span></a>First part of "King Henry IV," III. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_659_1" id="Note_659_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_659_1"><span class="label">[659]</span></a>First Part of "King Henry IV," IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_660_1" id="Note_660_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_660_1"><span class="label">[660]</span></a>Ibid. II. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_661_1" id="Note_661_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_661_1"><span class="label">[661]</span></a>"Othello," III. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_662_1" id="Note_662_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_662_1"><span class="label">[662]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_663_1" id="Note_663_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_663_1"><span class="label">[663]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_664_1" id="Note_664_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_664_1"><span class="label">[664]</span></a>"Othello," III. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_665_1" id="Note_665_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_665_1"><span class="label">[665]</span></a>"Cymbeline," III. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_666_1" id="Note_666_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_666_1"><span class="label">[666]</span></a>"Coriolanus," I. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_667_1" id="Note_667_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_667_1"><span class="label">[667]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_668_1" id="Note_668_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_668_1"><span class="label">[668]</span></a>"Romeo and Juliet," I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_669_1" id="Note_669_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_669_1"><span class="label">[669]</span></a>"The Tempest," III. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_670_1" id="Note_670_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_670_1"><span class="label">[670]</span></a>"King Lear," IV. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_671_1" id="Note_671_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_671_1"><span class="label">[671]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the gods</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Requite your love!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If that I could for weeping, you should hear—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nay, and you shall hear some....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll tell thee what; yet go:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nay but thou shalt stay too: I would my son</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His good sword in his hand."—Coriolanus, IV. 2.</span></p> - -<p>See again, "Coriolanus," I. 3, the frank and abandoned triumph of a woman -of the people, "I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a -man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_672_1" id="Note_672_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_672_1"><span class="label">[672]</span></a>Ibid. I. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_673_1" id="Note_673_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_673_1"><span class="label">[673]</span></a>"Othello," II. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_674_1" id="Note_674_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_674_1"><span class="label">[674]</span></a>Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_675_1" id="Note_675_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_675_1"><span class="label">[675]</span></a>"Othello," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_676_1" id="Note_676_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_676_1"><span class="label">[676]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_677_1" id="Note_677_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_677_1"><span class="label">[677]</span></a>See the like cynicism and scepticism in Richard III. Both -begin by slandering human nature, and both are misanthropical of malice -prepense.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_678_1" id="Note_678_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_678_1"><span class="label">[678]</span></a>"Othello," II. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_679_1" id="Note_679_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_679_1"><span class="label">[679]</span></a>See his conversation with Brabantio, then with Roderigo, -Act I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_680_1" id="Note_680_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_680_1"><span class="label">[680]</span></a>See again, in Timon, and Hotspur more particularly, -perfect examples of vehement and unreasoning imagination.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_681_1" id="Note_681_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_681_1"><span class="label">[681]</span></a>"Coriolanus," I. 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_682_1" id="Note_682_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_682_1"><span class="label">[682]</span></a>Ibid. I. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_683_1" id="Note_683_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_683_1"><span class="label">[683]</span></a>Ibid. I. 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_684_1" id="Note_684_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_684_1"><span class="label">[684]</span></a>"Coriolanus," I. 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_685_1" id="Note_685_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_685_1"><span class="label">[685]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_686_1" id="Note_686_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_686_1"><span class="label">[686]</span></a>Ibid. II. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_687_1" id="Note_687_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_687_1"><span class="label">[687]</span></a>Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_688_1" id="Note_688_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_688_1"><span class="label">[688]</span></a>"Coriolanus," III. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_689_1" id="Note_689_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_689_1"><span class="label">[689]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_690_1" id="Note_690_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_690_1"><span class="label">[690]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_691_1" id="Note_691_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_691_1"><span class="label">[691]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_692_1" id="Note_692_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_692_1"><span class="label">[692]</span></a>"Coriolanus," III. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_693_1" id="Note_693_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_693_1"><span class="label">[693]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_694_1" id="Note_694_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_694_1"><span class="label">[694]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_695_1" id="Note_695_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_695_1"><span class="label">[695]</span></a>Ibid. V. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_696_1" id="Note_696_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_696_1"><span class="label">[696]</span></a>"Macbeth," I. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_697_1" id="Note_697_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_697_1"><span class="label">[697]</span></a>Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_698_1" id="Note_698_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_698_1"><span class="label">[698]</span></a>"Macbeth," II. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_699_1" id="Note_699_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_699_1"><span class="label">[699]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_700_1" id="Note_700_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_700_1"><span class="label">[700]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_701_1" id="Note_701_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_701_1"><span class="label">[701]</span></a>Ibid. II. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_702_1" id="Note_702_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_702_1"><span class="label">[702]</span></a>"Macbeth," II. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_703_1" id="Note_703_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_703_1"><span class="label">[703]</span></a>Ibid. III. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_704_1" id="Note_704_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_704_1"><span class="label">[704]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_705_1" id="Note_705_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_705_1"><span class="label">[705]</span></a>"Macbeth," III. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_706_1" id="Note_706_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_706_1"><span class="label">[706]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_707_1" id="Note_707_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_707_1"><span class="label">[707]</span></a>"Macbeth," V. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_708_708" id="Note_708_708"></a><a href="#NoteRef_708_708"><span class="label">[708]</span></a>Goethe, "Wilhelm Meister."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_709_1" id="Note_709_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_709_1"><span class="label">[709]</span></a>"Hamlet," I. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_710_1" id="Note_710_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_710_1"><span class="label">[710]</span></a>Ibid. I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_711_1" id="Note_711_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_711_1"><span class="label">[711]</span></a>"Hamlet," I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_712_1" id="Note_712_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_712_1"><span class="label">[712]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_713_1" id="Note_713_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_713_1"><span class="label">[713]</span></a>"Hamlet," II, 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_714_1" id="Note_714_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_714_1"><span class="label">[714]</span></a>Ibid. III, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_715_1" id="Note_715_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_715_1"><span class="label">[715]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_716_1" id="Note_716_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_716_1"><span class="label">[716]</span></a>"Hamlet," V. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_717_1" id="Note_717_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_717_1"><span class="label">[717]</span></a>A French physician (1772-1844), celebrated for his -endeavors to improve the treatment of the insane.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_718_1" id="Note_718_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_718_1"><span class="label">[718]</span></a>"Twelfth Night, As You Like it, Tempest, Winter's -Tale," etc., "Cymbeline, Merchant of Venice," etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_719_1" id="Note_719_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_719_1"><span class="label">[719]</span></a>"Merchant of Venice," V. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_720_1" id="Note_720_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_720_1"><span class="label">[720]</span></a>In English, a word is wanting to express the French -"fantaisie" used by M. Taine, in describing this scene: what in music -is called a capriccio. Tennyson calls the "Princess" a medley, but it -is ambiguous.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_721_1" id="Note_721_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_721_1"><span class="label">[721]</span></a>"As You Like It," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_722_1" id="Note_722_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_722_1"><span class="label">[722]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_723_1" id="Note_723_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_723_1"><span class="label">[723]</span></a>"As You Like It," V, 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_724_1" id="Note_724_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_724_1"><span class="label">[724]</span></a>"As You Like It," II. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_725_1" id="Note_725_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_725_1"><span class="label">[725]</span></a>Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_726_1" id="Note_726_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_726_1"><span class="label">[726]</span></a>Ibid. II. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_727_1" id="Note_727_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_727_1"><span class="label">[727]</span></a>Compare Jacques with the Alceste of Molière. It is -the contrast between a misanthrope through reasoning and one through -imagination.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_728_1" id="Note_728_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_728_1"><span class="label">[728]</span></a>"As You Like It," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_729_1" id="Note_729_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_729_1"><span class="label">[729]</span></a>Ibid. II. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_730_1" id="Note_730_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_730_1"><span class="label">[730]</span></a>"As You Like It," II. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_731_1" id="Note_731_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_731_1"><span class="label">[731]</span></a>"Midsummer Night's Dream," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_732_1" id="Note_732_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_732_1"><span class="label">[732]</span></a>"Midsummer Night's Dream," IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_733_1" id="Note_733_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_733_1"><span class="label">[733]</span></a>"Midsummer Night's Dream," III. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_734_1" id="Note_734_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_734_1"><span class="label">[734]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_735_1" id="Note_735_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_735_1"><span class="label">[735]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_736_1" id="Note_736_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_736_1"><span class="label">[736]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_737_1" id="Note_737_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_737_1"><span class="label">[737]</span></a>"Midsummer Night's Dream," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_738_1" id="Note_738_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_738_1"><span class="label">[738]</span></a>"Tempest," V. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_739_1" id="Note_739_1"></a><a href="#NoteRef_739_1"><span class="label">[739]</span></a>There is the same law in the organic and in the moral -world. It is what Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire calls unity of composition.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="INDEX">INDEX</a></h4> - - -<p class="center"><i>The Roman Numerals Refer to the Volumes.—The Arabic Figures to the Pages -of Each Volume.</i></p> - - -<p>Abelard, I. <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> -Addison, Joseph, II. 265, 292, 300, 311;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his life and writings, 327-359; III. 83,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">95, 259, 272, 280, 306</span><br /> -Adhelm, I. <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Note_89_89">note 89</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70,</a> <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br /> -Agriculture, improvement in, in sixteenth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">century, I. <a href="#Page_172">172</a>; in the nineteenth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 43, 168</span><br /> -Akenside, Mark, III. 36<br /> -Alcuin, I. <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br /> -Alexander VI, Pope, II. 5<br /> -Alexandrian philosophy, I. <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Note_5_5">note 5</a><br /> -Alfred the Great, I. <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br /> -Alison, Sir Archibald, III. 44<br /> -Amory, Thomas, II. 438<br /> -Angelo, Michel, I. <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, 366; III. 27<br /> -Anglo-Saxon poetry, I. <a href="#Page_53">53</a><br /> -Ann of Cleaves, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> -Anselm, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Anthology the, I. <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> -Arbuthnot, Dr. John, II. 381<br /> -Architecture, Norman, I. <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>; the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tudor style, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></span><br /> -Ariosto, I. <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Note_360_360">note 360</a>, <a href="#Note_366_366">note 366</a>; II. 236<br /> -Aristocracy British, in the nineteenth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">century, III. 169 seq.</span><br /> -Arkwright, Sir Richard, II. 320<br /> -Armada, the I. <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a><br /> -Arnold, Dr. Thomas, III. 100, 178<br /> -Arthur and Merlin, romance of, I. <a href="#Page_77">77</a><br /> -Ascham, Roger, I. <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Note_288_288">note 288</a>; II. 3<br /> -Athelstan, I. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br /> -Augier, Emile, III. 208<br /> -Austen, Jane, III. 85<br /> -<br /> -Bacon, Francis, Lord, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Note_384_384">note 384</a>; II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">34, 39; III. 268 seq. 284</span><br /> -Bacon, Roger, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -Bain, Alexander, III. 185<br /> -Bakewell, Robert, II. 320<br /> -Bale, John, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> -Balzac, Honoré de, I. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>; III. 215, 254<br /> -Barclay, Alexander, I. <a href="#Page_165">165</a><br /> -Barclay, John, II. 292<br /> -Barclay, Robert, I. <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /> -Barrow, Isaac, II. 292, 295 seq.<br /> -Baxter, Richard, I. <a href="#Note_268_268">268</a>; II. 56, 292<br /> -Bayly's (Lewis) Practice of Piety, II. 62<br /> -Beattie, Tames, II. 440; III. 36<br /> -Beauclerk, Henry, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Beaumont, Francis, I. <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Note_421_421">note 421</a>, <a href="#Note_423_423">note 423</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_459_459">note 459</a>, <a href="#Note_490_490">note 490</a>, <a href="#Note_494_494">note 494</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_495_495">note 495</a>, <a href="#Note_497_497">note 497</a>, <a href="#Note_506_506">note 506</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_509_509">note 509</a>, <a href="#Note_512_512">note 512</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 41, 45, 100</span><br /> -Becket, Thomas à, I. <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br /> -Beckford, W., III. 77<br /> -Bede, the Venerable, I. <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Note_18_18">note 18</a>, <a href="#Note_69_69">note 69</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_73_73">note 73</a>, <a href="#Note_88_88">note 88</a>, <a href="#Note_89_89">note 89</a></span><br /> -Bedford, Duke of (John Russell), II. 310<br /> -Beethovan, Lewis van, III. 87<br /> -Behn, Mrs. Aphra, II. 157, 254<br /> -Bell, Currer. See Brontë, Charlotte<br /> -Bénoit de Sainte-Maure, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Bentham, Jeremy, II. 320<br /> -Bently, Richard, II. 303<br /> -Beowolf, an Anglo-Saxon epic poem, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></span><br /> -Béranger, II. 11; III. 287<br /> -Berkeley, Bishop, II. 303<br /> -Berkley, Sir Charles, II. 141<br /> -Berners, Lord, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> -Best, Paul, II. 50<br /> -Bible, English. See Wiclif, Tyndale<br /> -Blackmore, Sir Richard, II. 224<br /> -Blount, Edward, I. <a href="#Page_192">192</a><br /> -Boccaccio, I. <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>; II. 266<br /> -Bodley, Sir Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Boethius, I. <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Note_90_90">note 90</a><br /> -Boileau, II. 144, 184, 224, 262, 284; III. 7,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">4, 345</span><br /> -Boleyn, Ann, I. <a href="#Page_276">276</a><br /> -Bolingbroke, Lord (Henry St. John), II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">275, 303; III. 8</span><br /> -Bonner, Edmund, II. 33<br /> -Borde, Andrew, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> -Borgia, Cæsar, II. 5, 6<br /> -Borgia, Lucretia, I. <a href="#Page_182">182</a>; II. 5<br /> -Bossu (or Lebossu), II. 224<br /> -Bossuet, I. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>; II. 233; III. 25, 306<br /> -Boswell, James, II. 444 seq.<br /> -Bourchier. See Berners<br /> -Boyle, the Hon. Robert, II. 303<br /> -Bridaine, Father, II. 298<br /> -Britons, ancient, I. <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> -Brontë, Charlotte (Currer Bell), III. 85,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">100, 185</span><br /> -Browne, Sir Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_382_382">note 382</a>, <a href="#Note_383_383">note 383</a>; II. 34, 39</span><br /> -Browning, Mrs., III. 100, 185<br /> -Brunanburh, Athelstan's victory at, celebrated<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Saxon song, I. <a href="#Page_54">54</a></span><br /> -Buckingham, Duke of (John Sheffield),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 153, 180, 184</span><br /> -Buckle, Henry Thomas, III. 154 seq., 176<br /> -Bulwer, Sir Henry Lytton, III. 85, 185<br /> -Bunyan, John, II. 58-70, 133<br /> -Burke, Edmund, II. 303, 317-326, 444; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">286, 306</span><br /> -Burleigh, Lord (William Cecil), I. <a href="#Note_407_407">note 407</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 286</span><br /> -Burnet, Bishop, II. 202<br /> -Burney, Francisca (Madame D'Arblay),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 283, 320, 444; III. 275</span><br /> -Burns, Robert, II. 251; Sketch of his life<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and works, III. 48-65</span><br /> -Burton, Robert, I. <a href="#Note_277_277">note 277</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>; II. 34, 100<br /> -Busby, Dr. Richard, II. 256<br /> -Bute, Lord, II. 273 seq., 310<br /> -Butler, Bishop, II. 320<br /> -Butler, Samuel, II. 137-140, 303<br /> -Byng, Admiral, II. 310<br /> -Byron, Lord, III. 11; his life and works,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">102-151</span><br /> -<br /> -Cædmon, hymns of, I. <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>; his metrical<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">paraphrase of parts of the Bible,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_83_83">note 83</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></span><br /> -Calamy, Edmund, II. 58<br /> -Calderon, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>; II. 155<br /> -Calvin, John, II. 11, 45, 301<br /> -Camden, William, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Campbell, Thomas, III. 76, 112<br /> -Carew, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br /> -Carlyle, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>; III. 100, 176; style<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and mind, 308 seq.; vocation, 327 seq.;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">philosophy, morality, and criticism,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">336 seq.; conception of history, 348</span><br /> -Carteret, John (Earl Granville), II. 311<br /> -Castlereagh, Lord, I. <a href="#Note_514_514">note 514</a><br /> -Catherine, St., play of, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Cellini, Benvenuto, I. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Note_169_169">note 169</a>, <a href="#Note_290_290">note 290</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_292_292">note 292</a>, <a href="#Note_293_293">note 293</a>, <a href="#Note_409_409">note 409</a></span><br /> -Cervantes, I. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Note_360_360">note 360</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>; II. 410<br /> -Chalmers, George, I. <a href="#Note_95_95">note 95</a>, <a href="#Note_345_345">note 345</a>, <a href="#Note_346_346">note 346</a><br /> -Chandos, Duke of (John Brydges), III. 8<br /> -Chapman, George, I. <a href="#Page_330">330</a><br /> -Charles of Orleans, I. <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a><br /> -Charles I of England, III. 276<br /> -Charles II and his court, II. 140 seq.<br /> -Chateaubriand, I. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>; II. 346<br /> -Chatham. See Pitt<br /> -Chaucer, I. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Note_153_153">note 153</a>; II. 265<br /> -Chesterfield, Lord, II. 278 seq., 444; III. 15<br /> -Chevy Chase, ballad of, I. <a href="#Page_125">125</a><br /> -Chillingworth, William, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>; II. 35, 38,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">300</span><br /> -Christianity, introduction of, into Britain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a> seq.</span><br /> -Chroniclers, French, I. <a href="#Page_83">83</a><br /> -Chroniclers, Saxon, I. <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br /> -Cibber, Colley, III. 8, 17<br /> -Cimbrians, the, I. <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br /> -Clarendon, Lord Chancellor (Edward<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hyde), I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>; II. 140</span><br /> -Clarke, Dr. John, II. 289, 301<br /> -Classic spirit in Europe, its origin and<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">nature, II. 170-173</span><br /> -Classical authors translated, I. <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> -Clive, Lord, III. 272<br /> -Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, III. 73<br /> -Collier, Jeremy, II. 225, 256<br /> -Collins, William, III. 37<br /> -Colman, George, II. 220<br /> -Comedy-writers, English, II. 188 seq.<br /> -Comines, Philippe de, I. <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> -Commerce in sixteenth century, I. <a href="#Page_172">172</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 165 seq.</span><br /> -Comte, Auguste, III. 362<br /> -Condillac, Stephen-Bonnot de, III. 333,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">363</span><br /> -Congreve, William, II. 188-210, 283<br /> -Conybeare, J. J., I. <a href="#Note_64_64">note 64</a>, <a href="#Note_66_66">note 66</a>, <a href="#Note_74_74">note 74</a><br /> -Corbet, Bishop, II. 35<br /> -Corneille, II. 224, 236<br /> -Cotton, Sir Robert, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Court pageantries in the sixteenth century,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></span><br /> -Coventry, Sir John, II. 142<br /> -Coverdale, Miles, II. 20<br /> -Cowley, Abraham, I. <a href="#Page_242">242</a>; II. 34, 71<br /> -Cowper, William, III. 67-73<br /> -Crabbe, George, III. 71, 112<br /> -Cranmer, Archbishop, II. 15, 23<br /> -Crashaw, Richard, II. 34<br /> -Criticism and History, III. 267 seq.<br /> -Cromwell, Oliver, I. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>; II. 35, 50; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">276, 319, 351</span><br /> -Crowne, John, II. 157<br /> -Curll, Edmund, III. 18<br /> -<br /> -Daniel, Samuel, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Dante, I. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>; II. 110; III. 335<br /> -Darwin, Charles, I. <a href="#Note_1_1">note 1</a><br /> -Davie, Adam, I. <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Davies, Sir John, II. 34<br /> -Daye, John, II. 47<br /> -Decker, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Note_454_454">note 454</a><br /> -De Foe, II. 307, 402-410; III. 169<br /> -Delille, James, III. 21<br /> -Denham, Sir John, II. 185-188<br /> -Denmark, I. <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Dennis, John, II. 331<br /> -Descartes, II. 149, 233; III. 333<br /> -Dickens, Charles, III. 85, 100; his novels,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">187-221</span><br /> -Domesday Book, I. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Note_149_149">note 149</a>, <a href="#Note_150_150">note 150</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_175_175">note 175</a></span><br /> -Donne, John, I. <a href="#Note_372_372">note 372</a>, <a href="#Note_373_373">note 373</a>, <a href="#Note_374_374">note 374</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>; II. 35<br /> -Dorat, C. J., III. 16, 140<br /> -Dorset, Earl of (Charles Sackville), II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">179, 180</span><br /> -Drake, Admiral, I. <a href="#Note_273_273">note 273</a><br /> -Drake, Dr. Nathan, I. <a href="#Note_274_274">note 274</a>, <a href="#Note_275_275">note 275</a>, <a href="#Note_278_278">note 278</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_284_284">note 284</a>, <a href="#Note_329_329">note 329</a>, <a href="#Note_404_404">note 404</a>, <a href="#Note_508_508">note 508</a></span><br /> -Drama, formation of the, I. <a href="#Page_291">291</a> seq.<br /> -Drayton, Michael, I. <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Note_330_330">note 330</a>, <a href="#Note_346_346">note 346</a>; II. 34<br /> -Drummond, William, II. 100<br /> -Dryden, John, I. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>; II. 100; his comedies,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">153-157, 184; his life and writings,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 222-272, 332; III. 5, 329</span><br /> -Dudevant, Madame (George Sand), III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">207</span><br /> -Dunstan, St., I. <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br /> -Durer, Albert, II. 9, 10<br /> -Dyer, Sir Edward, I. <a href="#Note_325_325">note 325</a><br /> -<br /> -Earle, John, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Eddas, the Scandinavian, I. <a href="#Page_42">42</a>; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">123, 124</span><br /> -Edgeworth, Maria, III. 253<br /> -Edward VI, II. 28<br /> -Edwy and Elgiva, story of, I. <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Note_32_32">note 32</a><br /> -Eliot, George. See Evans, Mary A.<br /> -England, climate of, I. <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -English Constitution, formation of the,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. <a href="#Page_105">105</a></span><br /> -Elizabeth, Queen, I. <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a><br /> -Elwin, Whitwell, III. 5 seq.<br /> -Erigena, John Scotus, I. <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Note_89_89">note 89</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br /> -Esménard, Joseph Alphonse, I. <a href="#Note_256_256">note 256</a><br /> -Essex, Robert, Earl of, I. <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a><br /> -Etheredge, Sir George, II. 137, 158<br /> -Evans, Mary A. (George Eliot), III. 85,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">179, 185</span><br /> -Eyck, Van, I. <a href="#Page_151">151</a><br /> -<br /> -Falkland, Lord, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> -Farnese, Pietro Luigi, II. 6<br /> -Farquhar, George, II. 188, 209<br /> -Faust, III. 47<br /> -Feltham, Owen, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Fenn, Sir John, I. <a href="#Note_267_267">note 267</a><br /> -Ferguson, Dr. Adam, II. 304; III. 271<br /> -Fermor, Mrs. Arabella, III. 15, 16<br /> -Feudalism, the protection and character<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of, I. <a href="#Page_73">73</a></span><br /> -Fichte, III. 335<br /> -Fielding, Henry, I. 319; II. 135, 434-433,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">450</span><br /> -Fitmore, Sir Robert, II. 305<br /> -Finsborough, Battle of, an Anglo-Saxon<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poem, I. <a href="#Page_54">54</a></span><br /> -Fisher, John, Bishop of Rochester, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_275">275</a>; II. 26</span><br /> -Flemish artists, I. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a><br /> -Fletcher, Giles, II. 34<br /> -Fletcher, John, I. <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>; II. 45, 100<br /> -Ford, John, I. <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>; II. 248<br /> -Fortescue, Sir John, I. <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Note_171_171">note 171</a><br /> -Fox, Charles James, II. 276, 311, 315 seq.<br /> -Fox, George, II. 52, 58, 133<br /> -Fox, John, II. 13 seq.<br /> -Francis of Assisi, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -Freeman, Edward A., I. <a href="#Note_98_98">note 98</a><br /> -Frisians, the, I. <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Froissart, I. <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Note_195_195">note 195</a>, <a href="#Note_255_255">note 255</a></span><br /> -Froude, J. A., I. <a href="#Note_149_149">note 149</a>, <a href="#Note_411_411">note 411</a>; II. 15 seq.<br /> -Fuller, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Note_513_513">note 513</a><br /> -<br /> -Gaimar, Geoffroy, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a><br /> -Gainsborough, Thomas, landscape painter,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 220</span><br /> -Garrick, David, II. 444, 448<br /> -Gaskell, Mrs. Elisabeth C., III. 85, 185<br /> -Gay, John, II. 211, 279; III. 4. 29-32<br /> -Geoffrey of Monmouth, I. <a href="#Note_130_130">note 130</a><br /> -German ideas, introduction of, in Europe<br /> -and England, III; 328 seq.<br /> -Germany, drinking habits in, II. 7<br /> -Gibbon, Edward, II. 444<br /> -Gladstone, William Ewart, III. 274<br /> -Glencoe, Massacre of, III. 302 seq.<br /> -Glover, Richard, III. 37<br /> -Godwin, William, II. 95<br /> -Goethe, I. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Note_441_441">note 441</a>, <a href="#Note_708_708">note 708</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 111, 118, 430; III. 48, 74, 125-131, 327 seq.</span><br /> -Goldsmith, Oliver, II. 211, 307, 440-443<br /> -Goltzius, I. <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> -Gower, John, I. <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Note_127_127">note 127</a><br /> -Grammont, Count de, II. 135, 169, 170<br /> -Gray, Thomas, III. 36<br /> -Greene, Robert, I. <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Note_301_301">note 301</a>, <a href="#Note_333_333">note 333</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>,<br /> -<a href="#Note_340_340">note 340</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> -Grenville, George, II. 310<br /> -Gresset, J. B. Lewis, III. 16<br /> -Grey, Lady Jane, I. <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a><br /> -Grostete, Robert, I. <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Grote, George, III. 185<br /> -Guicciardini, Ludovic, I. <a href="#Page_173">173</a><br /> -Guido, I. <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> -Guizot, I. <a href="#Note_155_155">note 155</a>; III. 276, 282, 305<br /> -Guy of Warwick, I. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Note_143_143">note 143</a><br /> -<br /> -Habington, William, I. <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> -Hakluyt, Richard, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Hale, Sir Matthew, II. 16<br /> -Hales, John, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>; II. 35, 37, 301<br /> -Halifax, Charles, Montague, Earl of, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">329, 334. 361, 366</span><br /> -Hall, Bishop, Joseph, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a>; II. 35<br /> -Hallam, Henry, I. <a href="#Page_118">118</a>; III. 276<br /> -Hamilton, Anthony, II. 136 seq.<br /> -Hamilton, Sir William, III. 185<br /> -Hampden, John, III. 276<br /> -Hampole, I. <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Hardyng, John, I. <a href="#Page_269">269</a><br /> -Harrington, Sir John, I. <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br /> -Harrison, William, I. <a href="#Page_173">173</a><br /> -Hastings, Warren, II. 317; III. 272, 285<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">seq., 291</span><br /> -Hawes, Stephen, I. <a href="#Page_165">165</a><br /> -Hegel, I. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Note_244_244">note 244</a>; II. 271, 331 seq.<br /> -Heine, I. <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Note_10_10">note 10</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>; III. 39, 48, 74, 87<br /> -Hemling, Hans, I. <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br /> -Henry Beauclerk, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Henry of Huntingdon, I. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Note_24_24">note 24</a>, <a href="#Note_34_34">note 34</a>, <a href="#Note_35_35">note 35</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Henry VIII and his Court, I. <a href="#Page_269">269</a>; II. 15<br /> -Herbert, George, I. <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> -Herbert, Lord, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Herder, John Godfrey von, I. <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -Herrick, Robert, I. <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Note_371_371">note 371</a><br /> -Hertford, Earl of, I. <a href="#Note_402_402">note 402</a><br /> -Hervey, Lord, III. 26<br /> -Heywood, Mrs. Eliza, III. 18<br /> -Heywood, John, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Note_425_425">note 425</a>, <a href="#Note_488_488">note 488</a><br /> -Hill, Aaron, III. 8<br /> -History, philosophy of. See the Introduction,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">passim.</span><br /> -Hobbes, Thomas, II. 147-152, 250<br /> -Hogarth, William, II. 450-453; III. 18<br /> -Holinslied's Chronicles, I. <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br /> -Holland, I. <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br /> -Homer and Spenser, I. <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> -Hooker, Richard, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>; II. 35 seq.<br /> -Horn, Ring, romance of, I. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -Hoveden, John, I. <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -Howard, John, II. 320<br /> -Howe, John, III. 299<br /> -Hugo, Victor, I. <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Note_263_263">note 263</a>, <a href="#Note_606_606">note 606</a>; II. 270; III. 74, 87<br /> -Hume, David, II. 304, 440; III. 294, 352<br /> -Hunter, William, martyrdom of, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">31, 32</span><br /> -Hutcheson, Francis, II. 304, 320; III. 271<br /> -<br /> -Iceland and its legends, I. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br /> -Independency in the sixteenth century,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 49 seq., 90</span><br /> -Industry, British, in the nineteenth century,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 165 seq.</span><br /> -Irish, the ancient, I. <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> -Italian writings and ideas, taste for, in<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sixteenth century, I. <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>; vices of</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the Italian Renaissance, II. 3-7</span><br /> -<br /> -James I and his Court, I. <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br /> -James II, III. 282<br /> -Jewell, Bishop, I. <a href="#Page_277">277</a><br /> -Johnson, Samuel, I. <a href="#Page_319">319</a>; II. 303, 321, 444-453;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 10, 38, 345</span><br /> -Joinville, Sire de, I. <a href="#Page_83">83</a><br /> -Jones, Inigo, I. <a href="#Note_276_276">note 276</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a><br /> -Jones, Sir William, II. 444<br /> -Jonson, Ben, I. <a href="#Note_282_282">note 282</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Note_394_394">note 394</a>, <a href="#Note_398_398">note 398</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Note_520_520">note 520</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 100; III. 155; sketch of his life, I. <a href="#Page_318">318</a>; his</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">learning, style, etc., <a href="#Page_321">321</a>; his</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dramas, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>; his comedies, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">compared with Molière, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>; fanciful</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comedies and smaller poems, <a href="#Page_345">345</a></span><br /> -Jordaens, Jacob, I. <a href="#Page_178">178</a><br /> -Jowett, Benjamin, III. 100, 334<br /> -Judith, poem of, I. <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a><br /> -Junius, Letters of, II. 311 seq.; III. 106<br /> -Jutes, the, and their country, I. <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br /> -<br /> -Keats, John, III. 130<br /> -Kemble, John M., I. <a href="#Note_26_26">note 26</a>, <a href="#Note_35_35">note 35</a>, <a href="#Note_39_39">note 39</a>, <a href="#Note_58_58">note 58</a>, <a href="#Note_59_59">note 59</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_63_63">note 63</a>, <a href="#Note_77_77">note 77</a></span><br /> -Knighton, Henry, I. <a href="#Note_186_186">note 186</a><br /> -Knolles, Richard, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Knox, John, II. 8, 28; III. 354<br /> -Kyd, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -<br /> -Lackland, John, I. <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> -LaHarpe, III. 345<br /> -Lamartine, I. 2; III. 74, 87<br /> -Lamb, Charles, III. 73, 76<br /> -Languet, Hubert, I. <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> -Latimer, Bishop, I. <a href="#Page_109">109</a>; II. 17, 27 seq.<br /> -Lanfranc, first Norman Archbishop of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canterbury, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a></span><br /> -Langtoft, Peter, I. <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -Laud, Archbishop, II. 38; III. 287<br /> -Lavergne, Léonce de, I. <a href="#Note_15_15">note 15</a><br /> -Law, William, II. 303<br /> -Layamon, I. <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Note_131_131">note 131</a><br /> -Lebrun, Ponce Denis Econchard, I. <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Note_256_256">note 256</a><br /> -Lee, Nathaniel, II. 241<br /> -Leibnitz, III. 23<br /> -Leighton, Dr. Alexander, II. 49, 88<br /> -Lely, Sir Peter, II. 320<br /> -Leo X, Pope, II. 4<br /> -Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, I. <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br /> -Lingard, Dr. John, I. <a href="#Note_18_18">note 18</a>, <a href="#Note_21_21">note 21</a>, <a href="#Note_30_30">note 30</a>, <a href="#Note_32_32">note 32</a>, <a href="#Note_148_148">note 148</a><br /> -Locke, John, II. 71, 300, 303 seq., 320<br /> -Lockhart, John Gibson, III. 78 seq.<br /> -Lodge, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -Lombard, Peter, I. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Note_245_245">note 245</a><br /> -Loménie de Brienne, Cardinal, III. 311<br /> -London in Henry VIII's time, I. <a href="#Page_173">173;</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in the present day, III. 164</span><br /> -Longchamps, William, I. <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br /> -Longus, Greek romance-writer, I. <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br /> -Lorris, Guillaume de, I. <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a><br /> -Loyola, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>; III. 273<br /> -Ludlow, Edmund, II. 51<br /> -Lulli, a renowned Italian composer, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">233</span><br /> -Lully, Raymond; I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -Luther, Martin, I. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>; II. 3-7; and the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reformation, <a href="#Page_7">7</a></span><br /> -Lydgate, John, I. <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Note_257_257">note 257</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Note_259_259">note 259</a><br /> -Lyly, John, I. <a href="#Note_287_287">note 287</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> -Lyly, William, I. <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br /> -<br /> -Macaulay, Thomas Babington (Lord),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 100; his works, 267-307</span><br /> -Machiavelli, I. <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br /> -Mackenzie, Henry, III. 35, 51<br /> -Mackintosh, Sir James, III. 276<br /> -Macpherson, James, III. 36<br /> -Malcolm, Sir John, III. 78<br /> -Malherbe, Francis de, III. 329<br /> -Malte-brun, Conrad, I. <a href="#Note_8_8">note 8</a><br /> -Mandeville, Bernard, II. 303<br /> -Manners of the people in the sixteenth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">century, I. <a href="#Page_178">178</a></span><br /> -Marguerite of Navarre, I. <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br /> -Marlborough, Duchess of, III. 26<br /> -Marlborough, Duke of, II. 275, 307; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">259</span><br /> -Marlowe, Christopher, I. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Note_344_344">note 344</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Note_429_429">note 429</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_433_433">note 433</a>, <a href="#Note_434_434">note 344</a>, <a href="#Note_442_442">note 442</a>, <a href="#Note_445_445">note 445</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_446_446">note 446</a>, <a href="#Note_447_447">note 447</a>, <a href="#Note_449_449">note 449</a>, <a href="#Note_452_452">note 452</a>; III. 73;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his dramas, I. <a href="#Page_282">282</a></span><br /> -Marston, John, I. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Martyr, Peter, II. 23<br /> -Martyrs in the reign of Mary, II. 30-34<br /> -Marvell, Andrew, II. 254<br /> -Masques, under James I, I. <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a><br /> -Massillon, II. 28<br /> -Massinger, Philip, I. <a href="#Note_400_400">note 400</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Note_424_424">note 424</a>, <a href="#Note_459_459">note 459</a>, <a href="#Note_460_460">note 460</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_462_462">note 462</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></span><br /> -Maundeville, Sir John, I. <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Note_128_128">note 128</a>, <a href="#Note_129_129">note 129</a>, <a href="#Note_130_130">note 130</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> -May, Thomas, II. 57<br /> -Medici, Lorenzo de, I. <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> -Melanchthon, Philip, II. 13, 23<br /> -Merlin, I. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Note_124_124">note 124</a><br /> -Meung, Jean de, I. <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a><br /> -Michelet, Jules, I. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Note_71_71">note 71</a>; III. 325<br /> -Middleton, Thomas, I. <a href="#Note_401_401">note 401</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Note_458_458">note 458</a><br /> -Mill, John Stuart, III. 100, 176, 360-408<br /> -Milton, John, I. <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Note_86_86">note 86</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>; II. 71-84; his<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">prose writings, 84-100; his poetry, 100-128,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">347, 348; III. 272</span><br /> -Molière, I. <a href="#Note_347_347">note 347</a>, <a href="#Note_348_348">note 348</a>, <a href="#Note_489_489">note 489</a>, <a href="#Note_563_563">note 563</a>, <a href="#Note_608_608">note 608</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>; II. 188 seq., 418;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 214</span><br /> -Mommsen, Theodor, I. <a href="#Note_3_3">note 3</a><br /> -Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, II. 424;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 8, 15</span><br /> -Montesquieu, Ch., I. <a href="#Note_4_4">note 4</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a><br /> -Moore, Thomas, II. 440; III. 75 seq., 138<br /> -More, Sir Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br /> -Müller, Max, III. 361<br /> -Muller, Ottfried, I. <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -Murray, John, III. 78, 138, 140<br /> -Musset, Alfred de, I. <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Note_426_426">note 426</a>, <a href="#Note_427_427">note 427</a>, <a href="#Note_459_459">note 459</a>, <a href="#Note_523_523">note 523</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 267; III. 39, 74, 87, 430 seq.</span><br /> -<br /> -Nash, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> -Nayler, James, II. 53, 57<br /> -Neal's History of the Puritans, II. 53, 88<br /> -Newcastle, Duchess of (Margaret Lucas),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 187</span><br /> -Newspaper, first daily, III. 44<br /> -Newton, Sir Isaac, II. 289, 301<br /> -Nicole, Peter, II. 283<br /> -Norman Conquest, the, I. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>; its<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">effects on the national language and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">literature, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>; III. 151</span><br /> -Normans, the character of, I. <a href="#Page_74">74</a>; how<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">they became French, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>; their taste</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and architecture, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>; their literature,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">chivalry, and success, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>; their position</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and tyranny in England, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>; III.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">152</span><br /> -Nott, Dr. John, I. <a href="#Page_191">191</a><br /> -Novel, the English—its characteristics,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 402 seq.; the modern school of novelists,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 185 seq.</span><br /> -Nut-brown Maid, the—an ancient ballad,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. <a href="#Note_192_192">note 192</a></span><br /> -<br /> -Oates, Titus, II. 257<br /> -Occam, William, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -Occleve, Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br /> -Ochin, Bernard, II. 23<br /> -Oliphant, Mrs., II. 424<br /> -Olivers, Thomas, II. 290<br /> -Orrery, Earl of, III. 8<br /> -Otway, Thomas, II. 241, 248<br /> -Ouseley, Sir William, III. 78<br /> -Overbury, Sir Thomas, I. <a href="#Note_192_192">note 192</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Owen, John, II. 58<br /> -<br /> -Paganism of poetry and painting in<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Italy in the sixteenth century, I. <a href="#Page_181">181</a></span><br /> -Paley, William, II. 300<br /> -Palgrave, Sir Francis, I. <a href="#Note_13_13">note 13</a>, <a href="#Note_344_344">note 344</a><br /> -Parnell, Dr. Thomas, III. 4<br /> -Pascal, III. 300, 400; III. 25, 306<br /> -Pastoral poetry, I. <a href="#Page_204">204</a><br /> -Peele, George, I. <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -Penn, William, II. 288; III. 299<br /> -Pepys, Samuel, II. 142, 143, 146<br /> -Percy, Thomas, III. 73<br /> -Petrarch, I. <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br /> -Philips, Ambrose, III. 4<br /> -Philosophy and history, III. 308 seq.<br /> -Philosophy and poetry, connection of,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. <a href="#Page_157">157</a></span><br /> -Picts, I. <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> -Pickering, Dr. Gilbert, II. 223<br /> -Piers Plowman's Crede, I. <a href="#Page_122">122</a><br /> -Piers Ploughman, Vision of, I. <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></span><br /> -Pitt, William, first Earl of Chatham, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">276, 310 seq.; III. 275</span><br /> -Pitt, William (second son of the preceding),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 311, 217 seq.; III. 65</span><br /> -Pleiad, the, I. <a href="#Page_18">18</a><br /> -Pluche, Abbé, II. 342<br /> -Poe, Edgar Allan, II. 405<br /> -Pope, Alexander, II. 252, 328, 332, 381;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 5-28, 112, 117, 28O</span><br /> -Prayer-book, English, II. 23-27<br /> -Preaching at the Reformation period,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 27</span><br /> -Presbyterians and Independents in the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sixteenth century, II. 49 seq., 90</span><br /> -Price, Dr. Richard, II. 304, 321; III. 271<br /> -Priestly, Dr., III. 66<br /> -Prior, Matthew, III. 4, 28<br /> -Proclus, I. <a href="#Note_5_5">note 5</a>, <a href="#Note_244_244">note 244</a><br /> -Prynne, William, II. 57<br /> -Pulci, an Italian painter, I. <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> -Pultock, Robert, II. 438<br /> -Purchas, Samuel, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Puritans, the, II. 45 seq., 132 seq.<br /> -Puttenham, George, I. <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Note_294_294">note 294</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Pym, John, III. 276<br /> -<br /> -Quarles, Francis, I. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Note_371_371">note 371</a><br /> -<br /> -Rabelais, I. <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Note_360_360">note 360</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>; II. 144, 388,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">438</span><br /> -Racine, I. <a href="#Page_371">371</a>; II. 224, 284; III. 218, 306<br /> -Raleigh, Sir Walter, I. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>; II, 34<br /> -Rapin, II. 224<br /> -Ray, John, II. 303<br /> -Reformation in England made way for<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">by the Saxon character and the situation</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of the Norman Church, I. <a href="#Page_122">122</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_165">165</a>; II. 7 seq.</span><br /> -Reid, Thomas, II. 304, 320, 440<br /> -Renaissance, the English; manners of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the time, I. <a href="#Page_169">169</a>; the theatre its</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">original product, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></span><br /> -Renan, Ernest, I. <a href="#Note_3_3">note 3</a>, <a href="#Note_194_194">note 194</a><br /> -Restoration, period of the, in England,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 131 seq., 209</span><br /> -Revolution, period of the, in England,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 273 seq.</span><br /> -Reynolds, Sir Joshua, II. 220, 320, 444<br /> -Richard Cœur de Lion, I. <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> -Richardson, Samuel, II. 135, 303, 412-424,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">444; III. 8, 35</span><br /> -Ridley, Nicholas, II. 30<br /> -Ritson, Joseph, I. <a href="#Note_157_157">note 157</a>, <a href="#Note_159_159">note 159</a>, <a href="#Note_162_162">note 162</a>, <a href="#Note_164_164">note 164</a><br /> -Robert of Brunne, I. <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Robert of Gloucester, I. <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Robertson, Dr. William, II. 440; III. 3,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">38, 352</span><br /> -Robespierre, II. 284<br /> -Robin Hood ballads, I. <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br /> -Rochester, Earl of (John Wilmot), II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">143 seq., 184, 337; III. 28, 140</span><br /> -Rogers, John, martyrdom of, II. 31<br /> -Rogers, Samuel, III. 112<br /> -Roland, Song of, I. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br /> -Rollo, a Norse leader, I. <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> -Ronsard, Peter de, I. <a href="#Page_18">18</a><br /> -Roscellinus, I. <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> -Roscommon, Earl of, II. 184<br /> -Roses, wars of the, I. <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> -Rotheland, Hugh de, I. <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -Rousseau, Jean-Baptiste, III. 22<br /> -Rousseau, Jean Jacques, II. 447; III. 16, 34<br /> -Royer-Collard, Pierre-Paul, III. 392<br /> -Rubens, I. <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>; III. 27<br /> -Rückert, III. 74<br /> -Russel, Lord William, II. 141<br /> -<br /> -Sacheverell, Dr., II. 273, 306<br /> -Sacy, Lemaistre de, II. 22<br /> -Sadeler, I. <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> -Sainte-Beuve, I. <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -St. John. See Bolingbroke, Lord<br /> -Saint-Simon, I. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>; III. 217<br /> -St. Theresa, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -Saintré, Jehan de, I. <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> -Sand, George. See Dudevant, Madame<br /> -Savage, Richard, III. 18<br /> -Sawtré, William, I. <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> -Saxons, the, I. <a href="#Page_31">31</a>; characteristics of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the race, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>; contrast with the Normans,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>; their endurance, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">their invasion of England, III. 151, 152</span><br /> -Scaliger, III. 345<br /> -Schelling, I. <a href="#Page_22">22</a><br /> -Schiller, III. 48, 74, 87<br /> -Scotland in the seventeenth century, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">134</span><br /> -Scott, Sir Walter, I. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>; II. 222, 361 seq.,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">440; III. 74, 105, 107, 260; his novels and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poems, 78-85</span><br /> -Scotus, Duns, I. <a href="#Page_159">159</a><br /> -Scudéry, Mademoiselle de, I. <a href="#Page_195">195</a><br /> -Sedley, Sir Charles, I. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>; II. 179<br /> -Selden, John, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Seres, William, II. 47<br /> -Settle, Elkanah, II. 225, 240<br /> -Sévigné, Madame de, III. 15, 306<br /> -Shadwell, Thomas, II. 157, 240, 261<br /> -Shaftesbury, Anthony Cooper, third<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Earl of, II. 304</span><br /> -Shakespeare, William, I. <a href="#Note_169_169">note 169</a>, <a href="#Note_274_274">note 274</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Note_301_301">note 301</a>, <a href="#Note_308_308">note 308</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Note_331_331">note 331</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_280">280</a>; II. 230, 238 seq.; III. 155; general</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">idea of, I. <a href="#Page_350">350</a>; his life and character,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_354">354</a>; his style, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>, and manners,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_372">372</a>; his dramatis personæ,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_377">377</a>; his men of wit, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>, and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">women, <a href="#Page_366">386</a>; his villains, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the principal characters in his plays,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_393">393</a>; fancy, imagination—ideas of</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">existence—love; harmony between the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">artist and his work, <a href="#Page_407">407</a></span><br /> -Shelley, Percy Bysshe, III. 74, 95-100, 130<br /> -Shenstone, William, III. 37<br /> -Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, II. 212 seq.,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">311, 440</span><br /> -Sherlock, Bishop, II. 292, 301, 412<br /> -Shirley, James, I. <a href="#Page_280">280</a>; II. 153<br /> -Sidney, Algernon, I. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>; II. 71, 141<br /> -Sidney, Sir Phillip, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_266">266</a>; II. 39; III. 155</span><br /> -Skelton, John, I. <a href="#Page_165">165</a><br /> -Smart, Christopher, III. 37<br /> -Smith, Adam, II. 304, 320<br /> -Smith, Sidney, II. 282; III. 100<br /> -Smollett, Tobias, II. 308, 433-437, 440<br /> -Society in Great Britain in the present<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">day, III. 169 seq.; in England and in</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">France, 430 seq.</span><br /> -South, Dr. Robert, II. 292, 295<br /> -Southern, Thomas, II. 241<br /> -Southey, Robert, II. 438; III. 72, 76, 134,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">287</span><br /> -Speed, John, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Spelman, Sir Henry, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Spencer, Herbert, III. 185<br /> -Spencer, Edmund, I. <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>,<a href="#Page_245">245</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 71, 110; his life, character and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poetry, I. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>; II. 236; III. 155, 424</span><br /> -Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, III. 100, 334<br /> -Steele, Sir Richard, II. 311, 327; III. 259<br /> -Stendhal, Count de, I. <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Note_214_214">note 214</a>, <a href="#Note_471_471">note 471</a>, <a href="#Note_487_487">note 487</a><br /> -Sterling, John, III. 309 seq.<br /> -Sterne, Laurence, II. 437-440; III. 35<br /> -Stewart, Dugald, II. 320, 440; III. 61<br /> -Stillingfleet, Bishop, II. 292, 301<br /> -Stowe, John, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 276 seq.</span><br /> -Strafford, William, I. <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br /> -Strype, John, I. <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> -Stubbes, John, I. <a href="#Note_277_277">note 277</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Note_285_285">note 285</a><br /> -Suckling, Sir John, I. <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Note_371_371">note 371</a>; II. 181<br /> -Sue, Eugène, III. 220<br /> -Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of, I. <a href="#Page_185">185</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. 16</span><br /> -Swift, Jonathan, II. 135. 224, 303, 311, 327<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">seq.; III. 259, 288; sketch of his life, II.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">360-368; his wit, 368-371; his pamphlets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">371-379; his poetry, 380-389; his philosophy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">etc., 389-401</span><br /> -<br /> -Taillefer, I. <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br /> -Tasso, I. <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Note_360_360">note 360</a>, <a href="#Note_366_366">note 366</a>, <a href="#Note_512_512">note 512</a><br /> -Taylor, Jeremy, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a>; II. 35, 38, 44<br /> -Temple, Sir William, II. 173, 365, 389;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 3, 272</span><br /> -Teniers, David, III. 83<br /> -Tennyson, Alfred, III. 100, 185, 410-438<br /> -Thackeray, William M. III. 85, 100; his<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">novels, 223-265</span><br /> -Theatre, the, in the sixteenth century, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_264">264</a>; after the Restoration, II. 153-155,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">188 seq., 226 seq.</span><br /> -Thibaut of Champagne, I. <a href="#Page_84">84</a><br /> -Thierry, Augustin, I. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Note_20_20">note 20</a>, <a href="#Note_69_69">note 69</a>, <a href="#Note_99_99">note 99</a>, <a href="#Note_118_118">note 118</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_119_119">note 119</a>, <a href="#Note_120_120">note 120</a>, <a href="#Note_157_157">note 157</a>, <a href="#Note_178_178">note 178</a>; III. 305</span><br /> -Thiers, Louis Adolphe, III. 282, 305<br /> -Thomson, James, III. 32-35<br /> -Thorpe, John, I. <a href="#Note_46_46">note 46</a>, <a href="#Note_48_48">note 48</a>, <a href="#Note_50_50">note 50</a>, <a href="#Note_66_66">note 66</a>, <a href="#Note_72_72">note 72</a>, <a href="#Note_83_83">note 83</a>, <a href="#Note_87_87">note 87</a><br /> -Tickell, Thomas, III. 4<br /> -Tillotson, Archbishop, II. 292 seq.<br /> -Tindal, Matthew, II. 303<br /> -Titian, I. <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Note_600_600">note 600</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a><br /> -Tocqueville, Alexis de, I. <a href="#Note_3_3">note 3</a><br /> -Toland, John, II. 303<br /> -Toleration Act, the, III. 298, 299, 300<br /> -Tomkins, Thomas, II. 32<br /> -Townley, James, II. 220<br /> -Turner, Sharon, I. <a href="#Note_9_9">note 9</a>, <a href="#Note_28_28">note 28</a>, <a href="#Note_32_32">note 32</a>, <a href="#Note_34_34">note 34</a>, <a href="#Note_35_35">note 35</a>, <a href="#Note_56_56">note 56</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_65_65">note 65</a>, <a href="#Note_66_66">note 66</a>, <a href="#Note_67_67">note 67</a>, <a href="#Note_68_68">note 28</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_79_79">note 79</a>, <a href="#Note_81_81">note 81</a>, <a href="#Note_95_95">note 95</a>,<a href="#Page_54">54</a></span><br /> -Tutchin, John, III. 18<br /> -Tyndale, William, II. 19 seq., 28, 47<br /> -<br /> -Urfé, Honoré d', I. <a href="#Note_311_311">note 311</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a><br /> -Usher, James, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -<br /> -Vanbrugh, Sir John, II. 187-209<br /> -Vane, Sir Harry, II. 143<br /> -Vega, Lope de, I. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>; II. 155<br /> -Village feasts of sixteenth century described,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. <a href="#Page_178">178</a></span><br /> -Villehardouin, a French chronicler, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></span><br /> -Vinci, Leonardo da, I. <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> -Voltaire, I. <a href="#Page_16">16</a>; II. 447; III. 22, 137, 346<br /> -Vos, Martin de, I. <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> -<br /> -Wace, Robert, I. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Note_106_106">note 106</a>, <a href="#Note_108_108">note 108</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Note_130_130">note 130</a>, <a href="#Note_131_131">note 131</a><br /> -Waller, Edmund, I. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>; II. 71, 153, 181-184;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 3</span><br /> -Walpole, Horace, III. 15<br /> -Walpole, Sir Robert, II. 274, 280<br /> -Walton, Isaac, I. <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -Warburton, Bishop, II. 303<br /> -Warner, William, I. <a href="#Page_212">212</a><br /> -Warton, Thomas, I. <a href="#Note_96_96">note 96</a>, <a href="#Note_122_122">note 122</a>, <a href="#Note_124_124">note 124</a>, <a href="#Note_126_126">note 126</a>, <a href="#Note_127_127">note 127</a>, <a href="#Note_135_135">note 135</a>, <a href="#Note_137_137">note 137</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_145_145">note 145</a>, <a href="#Note_146_146">note 146</a>, <a href="#Note_147_147">note 147</a>, <a href="#Note_252_252">note 252</a>, <a href="#Note_259_259">note 259</a>, <a href="#Note_287_287">note 287</a>; III. 73</span><br /> -Watt, James, II. 320<br /> -Watteau, Anthony, III. 14<br /> -Watts, Isaac, III. 37<br /> -Webster, John, I. <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>; II. 248<br /> -Wesley, John, II. 280-291<br /> -Wetherell, Elizabeth, III. 179<br /> -Wharton, Lord, III. 26<br /> -Whitfield, George, II. 289-230<br /> -Wiclif, John, I. <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>; II. 15<br /> -Wilkes, John, II. 310<br /> -William III, II. 173<br /> -Wither, George, II. 35<br /> -William of Malmesbury, I. <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -William the Conqueror, I. <a href="#Page_78">78</a><br /> -Windham, William, II. 311<br /> -Witenagemote, the, I. <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br /> -Wollastom William Hyde, III. 271<br /> -Wolsey, Cardinal, I. <a href="#Page_165">165</a>; II. 16<br /> -Wordsworth, William, III. 73, 88-95<br /> -Wortley, Lady Mary. See Montagu<br /> -Wyatt, Sir Thomas, I. <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br /> -Wycherley, William, I. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>; II. 157-167,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">178, 187, 188, 202, 250, 337</span><br /> -<br /> -Yonge, Charlotte Mary, III. 179<br /> -Young, Arthur, II. 320<br /> -Young, Edward, III. 37</p> - - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History of English Literature Volume 1 -(of 3), by Hippolyte Taine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 61308-h.htm or 61308-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/3/0/61308/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature in -memoriam of Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available -by The Internet Archive.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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