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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..18eedce --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61382 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61382) diff --git a/old/61382-0.txt b/old/61382-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 83844ab..0000000 --- a/old/61382-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,21635 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of History of English Literature Volume 2 (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 2 (of 3) - -Author: Hippolyte Taine - -Commentator: J. Scott Clark - -Translator: Henry Van Laun - -Release Date: February 11, 2020 [EBook #61382] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 2 *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by The Internet Archive.) - - - - - - - -#THE WORLD'S# -GREAT CLASSICS - -LIBRARY -COMMITTEE - -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: LONDON BRIDGE. - -_After an etching by Edwin Edwards._ - -The artist has chosen for his masterly work the moment when the sun, -long before toiling London is awake, rises amid vapors from the eastern -horizon. The river reflects the dawn, - -"All bright and glittering in the smokeless air." - -In the placid stream are mirrored the shadows of the bridge; to the west -of which appear the façades of Fishmonger's Hall, and Billingsgate -market, radiant with morning. To appreciate the full charm and fidelity -to nature of this etching one should read Wordsworth's sonnet written on -Westminster bridge, beginning "Earth has not anything to show more -fair," and ending with the words - - -"The river glideth at his own sweet will: -Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; -And all that mighty heart is lying still." - - -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 II - - - - -CONTENTS - - -BOOK II--THE RENAISSANCE -(_CONTINUED_) - -CHAPTER FIFTH -The Christian Renaissance - -SECTION I.--Decay of The Southern Civilizations -SECTION II.--Luther and the Reformation in Germany -SECTION III.--The Reformation in England -SECTION IV.--The Anglicans -SECTION V.--The Puritans -SECTION VI.--John Bunyan - -CHAPTER SIXTH -Milton - -SECTION I.--Milton's Family and Education -SECTION II.--Milton's Unhappy Domestic Life -SECTION III.--Milton's Combative Energy -SECTION IV.--Milton's Personal Appearance -SECTION V.--Milton as a Prose Writer -SECTION VI.--Milton as a Poet - - -BOOK III.--THE CLASSIC AGE - -CHAPTER FIRST -The Restoration - -_Part I.--The Roisterers_ - -SECTION I.--The Excesses of Puritanism -SECTION II.--A Frenchman's View of the Manners of the Time -SECTION III.--Butler's Hudibras -SECTION IV.--Morals of the Court -SECTION V.--Method and Style of Hobbes -SECTION VI.--The Theatre -SECTION VII.--Dryden and the Drama -SECTION VIII.--Wycherley - -_PART II.--The Worldlings_ - -SECTION I.--Court Life in Europe -SECTION II.--Dawn of the Classic Spirit -SECTION III.--Sir William Temple -SECTION IV.--Writers à la Mode -SECTION V.--Sir John Denham -SECTION VI.--Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar -SECTION VII.--Superficiality of English Comedy -SECTION VIII.--Natural Characters -SECTION IX.--Artificial Characters -SECTION X.--Sheridan.--Decadence of the Theatre - -CHAPTER SECOND -Dryden - -SECTION I.--Dryden's Début -SECTION II.--Dryden's Family and Education -SECTION III.--Dramatic Theories of Dryden -SECTION IV.--The Style of Dryden's Plays -SECTION V.--His Merit as a Dramatist -SECTION VI.--His Prose Style -SECTION VII.--How Literature in England is Occupied with Politics and -Religion -SECTION VIII.--Development of the Art of Writing -SECTION IX.--Dryden's Translations and Adaptations.--His Occasional -Soul--Stirring Verses -SECTION X.--Misfortunes of Dryden's Old Age - -CHAPTER THIRD -The Revolution - -SECTION I.--The Moral Revolution -SECTION II.--Brutality of The People.--Private Morals.--Chesterfield -and Gay -SECTION III.--Principles of Civilization in France and England -SECTION IV.--Religion -SECTION V.--The Pulpit -SECTION VI.--Theology -SECTION VII.--The Constitution.--Locke's Theory of Government -SECTION VIII.--Parliamentary Orators -SECTION IX.--Doctrines of the French Revolution Contrasted with the -Conservative Tendencies of the English People - -CHAPTER FOURTH -Addison - -SECTION I.--The Significance of the Writings of Addison and Swift -SECTION II.--Addison's Character and Education -SECTION III.--Addison's Seriousness.--His Nobility of Character -SECTION IV.--The Morality of Addison's Essays -SECTION V.--How Addison made Morality Fashionable.--Characteristics -of his Style -SECTION VI.--Addison's Gallantry.--His Humor.--Sir Roger de Coverley.--The -Vision of Mirza - -CHAPTER FIFTH -Swift - -SECTION I.--Concerning Swift's Life and Character -SECTION II.--Swift's Prosaic and Positive Mind -SECTION III.--Swift as a Political Pamphleteer -SECTION IV.--Swift as a Humorist.--As a Poet -SECTION V.--Swift as a Narrator and Philosopher - -CHAPTER SIXTH -The Novelists - -SECTION I.--The Anti-Romantic Novel -SECTION II.--Daniel De Foe -SECTION III.--The Evolution of the Eighteenth Century Novel -SECTION IV.--Samuel Richardson -SECTION V.--Henry Fielding -SECTION VI.--Tobias Smollett -SECTION VII.--Laurence Sterne -SECTION VIII.--Oliver Goldsmith -SECTION IX.--Samuel Johnson -SECTION X.--William Hogarth - -INDEX - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - -LONDON BRIDGE -Etching from an original by Edwin Edwards - -JOHN MILTON -Photogravure from an etching - -INITIAL LETTER FROM THE GIFFORD PSALTER -Fac-simile Book Illumination of the Thirteenth Century - -PRINTER'S MARK OF PHILIPPE LE NOIR -Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Fifteenth Century - -PAGE FROM THE CHRONICLES OF HUNGARY -Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Fifteenth Century - - - - -BOOK II.--THE RENAISSANCE - -(_Continued_) - - - -HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE - - - - -CHAPTER FIFTH - - -The Christian Renaissance - - -Section I.--Decay of the Southern Civilizations - - -"I would have my reader fully understand," says Luther in the preface to -his complete works, "that I have been a monk and a bigoted Papist, so -intoxicated, or rather so swallowed up in papistical doctrines, that I -was quite ready, if I had been able, to kill or procure the death of -those who should have rejected obedience to the Pope by so much as a -syllable. I was not all cold or all ice in the Pope's defence, like -Eckius and his like, who veritably seemed to me to constitute themselves -his defenders rather for their belly's sake than because they looked at -the matter seriously. More, to this day they seem to mock at him, like -Epicureans. I for my part proceeded frankly, like a man who has horribly -feared the day of judgment, and who yet hoped to be saved with a shaking -of all his bones." Again, when he saw Rome for the first time, he -prostrated himself, saying, "I salute thee, holy Rome... bathed in the -blood of so many martyrs." Imagine, if you may, the effect which the -shameless paganism of the Italian Renaissance had upon such a mind, so -loyal, so Christian. The beauty of art, the charm of a refined and -sensuous, existence, had taken no hold upon him; he judged morals, and -he judged them with his conscience only. He regarded this southern -civilization with the eyes of a man of the north, and understood its -vices only, like Ascham, who said he had seen in Venice "more libertie -to sinne in IX dayes than ever I heard tell of in our noble Citie of -London in IX yeare."[1] Like Arnold and Channing in the present day, -like all the men of Germanic[2] race and education, he was horrified at -this voluptuous life, now reckless and now licentious, but always void -of moral principles, given up to passion, enlivened by irony, caring -only for the present, destitute of belief in the infinite, with no other -worship than that of visible beauty, no other object than the search -after pleasure, no other religion than the terrors of imagination and -the idolatry of the eyes. - -"I would not," said Luther afterwards, "for a hundred thousand florins -have gone without seeing Rome; I should always have doubted whether I -was not doing injustice to the Pope. The crimes of Rome are incredible; -no one will credit so great a perversity who has not the witness of his -eyes, ears, personal knowledge.... There reigned all the villanies and -infamies, all the atrocious crimes, in particular blind greed, contempt -of God, perjuries, sodomy.... We Germans swill liquor enough to split -us, whilst the Italians are sober. But they are the most impious of men; -they make a mock of true religion, they scorn the rest of us Christians, -because we believe everything in Scripture.... There is a saying in -Italy which they make use of when they go to church: 'Come and let us -conform to the popular error. If we were obliged,' they say again, 'to -believe in every word of God, we should be the most wretched of men, and -we should never be able to have a moment's cheerfulness; we must put a -good face on it, and not believe everything.' This is what Leo X did, -who, hearing a discussion as to the immortality or mortality of the -soul, took the latter side. 'For,' said he, 'it would be terrible to -believe in a future state. Conscience is an evil beast, who arms man -against himself.'... The Italians are either epicureans or -superstitious. The people fear St. Anthony and St. Sebastian more than -Christ, because of the plagues they send. This is why, when they want to -prevent the Italians from committing a nuisance anywhere, they paint up -St. Anthony with his fiery lance. Thus do they live in extreme -superstition, ignorant of God's word, not believing the resurrection of -the flesh, nor life everlasting, and fearing only temporal evils. Their -blasphemy also is frightful,... and the cruelty of their revenge is -atrocious. When they cannot get rid of their enemies in any other way, -they lay ambush for them in the churches, so that one man cleft his -enemy's head before the altar.... There are often murders at funerals on -account of inheritances.... They celebrate the Carnival with extreme -impropriety and folly for several weeks, and they have made a custom of -various sins and extravagances at it, for they are men without -conscience, who live in open sin, and make light of the marriage tie.... -We Germans, and other simple nations, are like a bare clout; but the -Italians are painted and speckled with all sorts of false opinions, and -disposed still to embrace many worse.... Their fasts are more splendid -than our most sumptuous feasts. They dress extravagantly; where we spend -a florin on our clothes, they put down ten florins to have a silk -coat.... When they (the Italians) are chaste, it is sodomy with them. -There is no society amongst them. No one trusts another; they do not -come together freely, like us Germans; they do not allow strangers to -speak publicly with their wives: compared with the Germans, they are -altogether men of the cloister." These hard words are weak compared with -the facts.[3] Treasons, assassinations, tortures, open debauchery, the -practice of poisoning, the worst and most shameless outrages, are -unblushingly and publicly tolerated in the open light of heaven. In -1490, the Pope's vicar having forbidden clerics and laics to keep -concubines, the Pope revoked the decree, "saying that that was not -forbidden, because the life of priests and ecclesiastics was such that -hardly one was to be found who did not keep a concubine, or at least who -had not a courtesan." Cæsar Borgia at the capture of Capua "chose forty -of the most beautiful women, whom he kept for himself; and a pretty -large number of captives were sold at a low price at Rome." Under -Alexander VI, "all ecclesiastics, from the greatest to the least, have -concubines in the place of wives, and that publicly. If God hinder it -not," adds the historian, "this corruption will pass to the monks and -religious orders, although, to confess the truth, almost all the -monasteries of the town have become bawd-houses, without any one to -speak against it." With respect to Alexander VI, who loved his daughter -Lucretia, the reader may find in Burchard the description of the -marvellous orgies in which he joined with Lucretia and Cæsar, and the -enumeration of the prizes which he distributed. Let the reader also read -for himself the story of the bestiality of Pietro Luigi Farnese, the -Pope's son, how the young and upright Bishop of Fano died from his -outrage, and how the Pope, speaking of this crime as "a youthful -levity," gave him in this secret bull "the fullest absolution from all -the penalties which he might have incurred by human incontinence, in -whatever shape or with whatever cause." As to civil security, -Bentivoglio caused all the Marescotti to be put to death; Hippolyto -d'Este had his brother's eyes put out in his presence; Cæsar Borgia -killed his brother; murder is consonant with their public manners, and -excites no wonder. A fisherman was asked why he had not informed the -governor of the town that he had seen a body thrown into the water; "he -replied that he had seen about a hundred bodies thrown into the water -during his lifetime in the same place, and that no one had ever troubled -himself about it. In our town," says an old historian, "much murder -and pillage was done by day and night, and hardly a day passed but some -one was killed." Cæsar Borgia one day killed Peroso, the Pope's -favorite, between his arms and under his cloak, so that the blood -spurted up to the Pope's face. He caused his sister's husband to be -stabbed and then strangled in open day, on the steps of the palace; -count, if you can, his assassinations. Certainly he and his father, by -their character, morals, complete, open and systematic wickedness, have -presented to Europe the two most successful images of the devil. To sum -up in a word, it was on the model of this society, and for this society, -that Machiavelli wrote his "Prince." The complete development of all the -faculties and all the lusts of man, the complete destruction of all the -restraints and all the shame of man, are the two distinguishing marks of -this grand and perverse culture. To make man a strong being, endowed -with genius, audacity, presence of mind, astute policy, dissimulation, -patience, and to turn all this power to the acquisition of every kind of -pleasure, pleasures of the body, of luxury, arts, literature, authority; -that is, to form and to set free an admirable and formidable animal, -very lustful and well armed--such was his object; and the effect, after -a hundred years, is visible. They tore one another to pieces like -beautiful lions and superb panthers. In this society, which was turned -into an arena, amid so many hatreds, and when exhaustion was setting in, -the foreigner appeared: all bent beneath his lash; they were caged, and -thus they pine away, in dull pleasures, with low vices, bowing their -backs.[4] Despotism, the Inquisition, the Cicisbei, dense, ignorance, -and open knavery, the shamelessness and the smartness of harlequins and -rascals, misery and vermin--such is the issue of the Italian -Renaissance. Like the old civilizations of Greece and Rome,[5] like the -modern civilizations of Provence and Spain, like all southern -civilizations, it bears in its bosom an irremediable vice, a bad and -false conception of man. The Germans of the sixteenth century, like the -Germans of the fourth century, have rightly judged it; with their simple -common-sense, with their fundamental honesty, they have, put their -fingers on the secret plague-spot. A society cannot be founded only on -the pursuit of pleasure and power; a society can only be founded on the -respect for liberty and justice. In order that the great human -renovation which in the sixteenth century raised the whole of Europe -might be perfected and endure, it was necessary that, meeting with -another race, it should develop another culture, and that from a more -wholesome conception of existence it might educe a better form of -civilization. - - - - -Section II.--Luther and the Reformation in Germany - - -Thus, side by side with the Renaissance, was born the Reformation. It -also was in fact a new birth, one in harmony with the genius of the -Germanic peoples. The distinction between this genius and others is its -moral principles. Grosser and heavier, more given to gluttony and -drunkenness,[6] these nations are at the same time more under the -influence of conscience, firmer in the observance of their word, more -disposed to self-denial and sacrifice. Such their climate has made them; -and such they have continued, from Tacitus to Luther, from Knox to -Gustavus Adolphus and Kant. In the course of time, and beneath the -incessant action of the ages, the phlegmatic body, fed on coarse food -and strong drink, had become rusty, the nerves less excitable, the -muscles less strung, the desires less seconded by action, the life more -dull and slow, the soul more hardened and indifferent to the shocks of -the body: mud, rain, snow, a profusion of unpleasing and gloomy sights, -the want of lively and delicate excitements of the senses, keep man in a -militant attitude. Heroes in the barbarous ages, workers to-day, they -endure weariness now as they courted wounds then; now, as then, nobility -of soul appeals to them; thrown back upon the enjoyments of the soul, -they find in these a world, the world of moral beauty. For them the -ideal is displaced; it is no longer amidst forms, made up of force and -joy, but it is transferred to sentiments, made up of truth, uprightness, -attachment to duty, observance of order. What matters it if the storm -rages and if it snows, if the wind blusters in the black pine-forests or -on the wan sea-surges where the sea-gulls scream, if a man, stiff and -blue with cold, shutting himself up in his cottage, have but a dish of -sourcrout or a piece of salt beef, under his smoky light and beside his -fire of turf; another kingdom opens to reward him, the kingdom of inward -contentment: his wife loves him and is faithful; his children round his -hearth spell out the old family Bible; he is the master in his home, the -protector, the benefactor, honored by others, honored by himself; and if -so be that he needs assistance, he knows that at the first appeal he -will see his neighbors stand faithfully and bravely by his side. The -reader need only compare the portraits of the time, those of Italy and -Germany; he will comprehend at a glance the two races and the two -civilizations, the Renaissance and the Reformation: on one side a -half-naked condottiere in Roman costume, a cardinal in his robes, amply -draped, in a rich arm-chair, carved and adorned with heads of lions, -foliage, dancing fauns, he himself full of irony, and voluptuous, with -the shrewd and dangerous look of a politician and man of the world, -craftily poised and on his guard; on the other side, some honest doctor, -a theologian, a simple man, with badly combed locks, stiff as a post, in -his simple gown of coarse black serge, with big books of dogma -ponderously clasped, a conscientious worker, an exemplary father of a -family. See now the great artist of the age, a laborious and -conscientious workman, a follower of Luther's, a true Northman--Albert -Dürer.[7] He also, like Raphael and Titian, has his ideal of man, an -inexhaustible ideal, whence spring by hundreds living figures and the -representations of manners, but how national and original! He cares not -for expansive and happy beauty: to him nude bodies are but bodies -undressed: narrow shoulders, prominent stomachs, thin legs, feet weighed -down by shoes, his neighbor the carpenter's, or his gossip the -sausage-seller's. The heads stand out in his etchings, remorselessly -scraped and scooped away, savage or commonplace, often wrinkled by the -fatigues of trade, generally sad, anxious, and patient, harshly and -wretchedly transformed by the necessities of realistic life. Where is -the vista out of this minute copy of ugly truth? To what land will the -lofty and melancholy imagination betake itself? The land of dreams, -strange dreams swarming with deep thoughts, sad contemplation of human -destiny, a vague notion of the great enigma, groping reflection, which -in the dimness of the rough woodcuts, amidst obscure emblems and -fantastic figures, tries to seize upon truth and justice. There was no -need to search so far; Dürer had grasped them at the first effort. If -there is any decency in the world, it is in the Madonnas which are -constantly springing to life under his pencil. He did not begin, like -Raphael, by making them nude; the most licentious hand would not venture -to disturb one stiff fold of their robes; with an infant in their arms, -they think but of him, and will never think of anybody else but him; not -only are they innocent, but they are virtuous. The good German -housewife, forever shut up, voluntarily and naturally, within her -domestic duties and contentment, breathes out in all the fundamental -sincerity, the seriousness, the unassailable loyalty of their attitudes -and looks. He has done more; with this peaceful virtue he has painted a -militant virtue. There at last is the genuine Christ, the man crucified, -lean and fleshless through his agony, whose blood trickles minute by -minute, in rarer drops, as the feebler and feebler pulsations give -warning of the last throe of a dying life. We do not find here, as in -the Italian masters, a sight to charm the eyes, a mere flow of drapery, -a disposition of groups. The heart, the very heart is wounded by this -sight: it is the just man oppressed, who is dying because the world -hates justice. The mighty, the men of the age, are there, indifferent, -full of irony: a plumed knight, a big-bellied burgomaster, who, with -hands folded behind his back, looks on, kills an hour. But the rest -weep; above the fainting women, angels full of anguish catch in their -vessels the holy blood as it trickles down, and the stars of heaven veil -their face not to behold so tremendous an outrage. Other outrages will -also be represented; tortures manifold, and the true martyrs beside the -true Christ, resigned, silent, with the sweet expression of the earliest -believers. They are bound to an old tree, and the executioner tears them -with his iron-pointed lash. A bishop with clasped hands is praying, -lying down, whilst an auger is being screwed into his eye. Above, amid -the interlacing trees and gnarled roots, a band of men and women climb -under the lash the breast of a hill, and they are hurled from the crest -at the lance's point into the abyss; here and there roll heads, lifeless -bodies; and by the side of those who are being decapitated, the swollen -corpses, impaled, await the croaking ravens. All these sufferings must -be undergone for the confession of faith and the establishment of -justice. But above there is a guardian, an avenger, an all-powerful -Judge, whose day shall come. This day has come, and the piercing rays of -the last sun already flash, like a handful of darts, across the darkness -of the age. High up in the heavens appears the angel in his shining -robe, leading the ungovernable horsemen, the flashing swords, the -inevitable arrows of the avengers, who are to trample upon and punish -the earth; mankind falls down beneath their charge, and already the jaw -of the infernal monster grinds the head of the wicked prelates. This is -the popular poem of conscience, and from the days of the apostles man -has not had a more sublime and complete conception.[8] - -For conscience, like other things, has its poem; by a natural invasion -the all-powerful idea of justice overflows from the soul, covers heaven, -and enthrones there a new deity. A formidable deity, who is scarcely -like the calm intelligence which serves philosophers to explain the -order of things; nor to that tolerant deity, a kind of constitutional -king, whom Voltaire discovered at the end of a chain of argument, whom -Béranger sings of as of a comrade, and whom he salutes "_sans lui -demander rien._" It is the just Judge, sinless and stern, who demands of -man a strict account of his visible actions and of all his invisible -feelings, who tolerates no forgetfulness, no dejection, no failing, -before whom every approach to weakness or error is an outrage and a -treason. What is our justice before this strict justice? People lived in -peace in the times of ignorance; at most, when they felt themselves -guilty, they went for absolution to a priest; all was ended by their -buying a big indulgence; there was a tariff, as there still is; Tetzel -the Dominican declares that all sins are blotted out "as soon as the -money chinks in the box." Whatever be the crime, there is a quittance: -even "_si Dei matrem vi olavisset_," he might go home clean and sure of -heaven. Unfortunately the venders of pardons did not know that all was -changed, and that the intellect was become manly, no longer gabbling -words mechanically like a catechism, but probing them anxiously like a -truth. In the universal Renaissance, and in the mighty growth of all -human ideas, the German idea of duty blooms like the rest. Now, when we -speak of justice, it is no longer a lifeless phrase which we repeat, but -a living idea which we produce; man sees the object which it represents, -and feels the emotion which summons it up; he no longer receives, but he -creates it; it is his work and his tyrant; he makes it, and submits to -it. "These words _justus_ and _justitia Dei_," says Luther, "were a -thunder to my conscience. I shuddered to hear them; I told myself, if -God is just, He will punish me."[9] For as soon as the conscience -discovers again the idea of the perfect model,[10] the smallest failings -appeared to be crimes, and man, condemned by his own scruples, fell -prostrate, and, "as it were, swallowed up" with horror. "I, who lived -the life of a spotless monk" says Luther, "yet felt within me the -troubled conscience of a sinner, without managing to assure myself as to -the satisfaction which I owed to God.... Then I said to myself: Am I -then the only one who ought to be sad in my spirit?... Oh, what horrible -spectres and figures I used to see!" Thus alarmed, conscience believes -that the terrible day is at hand. "The end of the world is near.... Our -children will see it; perchance we ourselves." Once in this mood he had -terrible dreams for six months at a time. Like the Christians of the -Apocalypse, he fixes the moment when the world will be destroyed: it -will come at Easter, or at the conversion of Saint Paul. One theologian, -his friend, thought of giving all his goods to the poor; "but would they -receive it?" he said. "To-morrow night we shall be seated in heaven." -Under such anguish the body gives way. For fourteen days Luther was in -such a condition that he could neither drink, eat, nor sleep. "Day and -night," his eyes fixed on a text of Saint Paul, he saw the Judge, and -His inevitable hand. Such is the tragedy which is enacted in all -Protestant souls--the eternal tragedy of conscience; and its issue is a -new religion. - -For nature alone and unassisted cannot rise from this abyss. "By itself -it is so corrupted, that it does not feel the desire for heavenly -things.... There is in it before God nothing but lust." Good intentions -cannot spring from it. "For, terrified by the vision of his sin, man -could not resolve to do good, troubled and anxious as he is; on the -contrary, dejected and crushed by the weight of his sin, he falls into -despair and hatred of God, as it was with Cain, Saul, Judas;" so that, -abandoned to himself, he can find nothing within him but the rage and -the dejection of a despairing wretch or a devil. In vain he might try to -redeem himself by good works: our good deeds are not pure; even though -pure, they do not wipe out the stain of previous sins, and moreover they -do not take away the original corruption of the heart; they are only -boughs and blossoms, the inherited poison is in the sap. Man must -descend to the heart, underneath literal obedience and legal rule; from -the kingdom of law he must penetrate into that of grace; from forced -righteousness to spontaneous generosity; beneath his original nature, -which led him to selfishness and earthly things, a second nature must be -developed, leading him to sacrifice and heavenly things. Neither my -works, nor my justice, nor the works or justice of any creature or of -all creatures, could work in me this wonderful change. One alone can do -it, the pure God, the Just Victim, the Saviour, the Redeemer, Jesus, my -Christ, by imputing to me His justice, by pouring upon me His merits, by -drowning my sin under His sacrifice. The world is a "mass of -perdition,"[11] predestined to hell. Lord Jesus, draw me back, select me -from this mass. I have no claim to it; there is nothing in me that is -not abominable; this very prayer is inspired and formed within me by -Thee. But I weep, and my breast heaves, and my heart is broken. Lord, -let me feel myself redeemed, pardoned, Thy elect one. Thy faithful one; -give me grace, and give me faith! "Then," says Luther, "I felt myself -born anew, and it seemed that I was entering the open gates of heaven." - -What remains to be done after this renovation of the heart? Nothing: all -religion is in that: the rest must be reduced or suppressed; it is a -personal affair, an inward dialogue between God and man, where there are -only two things at work--the very word of God as it is transmitted by -Scripture, and the emotions of the heart of man, as the word of God -excites and maintains them.[12] Let us do away with the rites that -appeal to the senses, wherewith men wished to replace this intercourse -between the invisible soul and the visible judge--mortifications, fasts, -corporeal penance, Lent, vows of chastity and poverty, rosaries, -indulgences; rites serve only to smother living piety underneath -mechanical works. Away with the mediators by which men attempted to -impede the direct intercourse between God and man--namely, saints, the -Virgin, the Pope, the priests; whosoever adores or obeys them is an -idolater. Neither saints nor Virgin can convert or save us; God alone by -His Christ can convert and save. Neither Pope nor priest can fix our -faith or forgive our sins; God alone instructs us by His word, and -absolves us by His pardon. No more pilgrimages or relics; no more -traditions or auricular confessions. A new church appears, and therewith -a new worship; ministers of religion change their tone, the worship of -God its form; the authority of the clergy is diminished, and the pomp of -services is reduced: they are reduced and diminished the more, because -the primitive idea of the new theology is more absorbing; so much so, -that in certain sects they have disappeared altogether. The priest -descends from the lofty position in which the right of forgiving sins -and of regulating faith had raised him over the heads of the laity; he -returns to civil society, marries like the rest, aims to be once more an -equal, is merely a more learned and pious man than others, chosen by -themselves and their adviser. The church becomes a temple, void of -images, decorations, ceremonies, sometimes altogether bare; a simple -meeting-house, where, between whitewashed walls, from a plain pulpit, a -man in a black gown speaks without gesticulations, reads a passage from -the Bible, begins a hymn, which the congregation takes up. There is -another place of prayer, as little adorned and not less venerated, the -domestic hearth, where every night the father of the family, before his -servants and his children, prays aloud and reads the Scriptures. An -austere and free religion, purged from sensualism and obedience, inward -and personal, which, set on foot by the awakening of the conscience, -could only be established among races in which each man found within his -nature the conviction that he alone is responsible for his actions, and -always bound to the observance of his duty. - - - - -Section III.--The Reformation in England - - -It must be admitted that the Reformation entered England by a side door; -but it is enough that it came in, whatever the manner: for great -revolutions are not introduced by court intrigues and official -cleverness, but by social conditions and popular instincts. When five -millions of men are converted, it is because five millions of men wish -to be converted. Let us therefore leave on one side the intrigues in -high places, the scruples and passions of Henry VIII,[13] the pliability -and plausibility of Cranmer, the vacillations and basenesses of -Parliament, the oscillation and tardiness of the Reformation, begun, -then arrested, then pushed forward, then suddenly, violently pushed -back, then spread over the whole nation, and hedged in by a legal -establishment, built up from discordant materials, but yet solid and -durable. Every great change has its root in the soul, and we have only -to look close into this deep soil to discover the national inclinations -and the secular irritations from which Protestantism has issued. - -A hundred and fifty years before, it had been on the point of bursting -forth; Wyclif had appeared, the Lollards had sprung up, the Bible had -been translated; the Commons had proposed the confiscation of all -ecclesiastical property; then under the pressure of the Church, royalty -and aristocracy combined, the growing Reformation being crushed, -disappeared underground, only to reappear at distant intervals by the -sufferings of its martyrs. The bishops had received the right of -imprisoning without trial laymen suspected of heresy; they had burned -Lord Cobham alive; the kings chose their ministers from the episcopal -bench; settled in authority and pomp, they had made the nobility and -people bend under the secular sword which had been intrusted to them, -and in their hands the stern network of law, which from the Conquest had -compressed the nation in its iron meshes, had become still more -stringent and more offensive. Venial acts had been construed into -crimes, and the judicial repression, extended to sins as well as to -crimes, had changed the police into an inquisition. "'Offences against' -chastity, 'heresy,' or 'matter sounding thereunto, witchcraft, -drunkenness, scandal, defamation, impatient words, broken -promises, untruth, absence from church, speaking evil of saints, -non-payment of offerings, complaints against the constitutions of the -courts themselves';"[14] all these transgressions, imputed or suspected, -brought folk before the ecclesiastical tribunals, at enormous expense, -with long delays, from great distances, under a captious procedure, -resulting in heavy fines, strict imprisonments, humiliating abjurations, -public penances, and the menace, often fulfilled, of torture and the -stake. Judge from a single fact: the Earl of Surrey, a relative of the -king, was accused before one of these tribunals of having neglected a -fast. Imagine, if you can, the minute and incessant oppressiveness of -such a code; how far the whole of human life, visible actions and -invisible thoughts, was surrounded and held down by it; how by enforced -accusations it penetrated to every hearth and into every conscience; -with what shamelessness it was transformed into a vehicle for -extortions; what secret anger it excited in these townsfolk, these -peasants, obliged sometimes to travel sixty miles and back to leave in -one or other of the numberless talons of the law[15] a part of their -savings, sometimes their whole substance and that of their children. A -man begins to think when he is thus down-trodden; he asks himself -quietly if it is really by divine dispensation that mitred thieves thus -practise tyranny and pillage; he looks more closely into their lives; he -wants to know if they themselves practise the regularity which they -impose on others; and on a sudden he learns strange things. Cardinal -Wolsey writes to the Pope, that "both the secular and regular priests -were in the habit of committing atrocious crimes, for which, if not in -orders, they would have been promptly executed;[16] and the laity were -scandalized to see such persons not only not degraded, but escaping with -complete impunity." A priest convicted of incest with the prioress of -Kilbourn was simply condemned to carry a cross in a procession, and to -pay three shillings and fourpence; at which rate, I fancy, he would -renew the practice. In the preceding reign (Henry VII) the gentlemen and -farmers of Carnarvonshire had laid a complaint accusing the clergy of -systematically seducing their wives and daughters. There were brothels -in London for the especial use of priests. As to the abuse of the -confessional, read in the original the familiarities to which it opened -the door.[17] The bishops gave livings to their children whilst they -were still young. The holy father prior of Maiden Bradley hath but six -children, and but one daughter married yet of the goods of the -monastery; trusting shortly to marry the rest. In the convents the monks -used to drink after supper till ten or twelve next morning, and came to -matins drunk. They played cards or dice. Some came to service in the -afternoons, and only then for fear of corporal punishments. The royal -"visitors" found concubines in the secret apartments of the abbots. At -the nunnery of Sion, the confessors seduced the nuns and absolved them -at the same time. There were convents, Burnet tells us, where all the -recluses were found pregnant. About "two-thirds" of the English monks -lived in such sort, that "when their enormities were first read in the -Parliament House, there was nothing but 'down with them'!"[18] What a -spectacle for a nation in whom reason and conscience were awakening! -Long before the great outburst, public wrath muttered ominously, and was -accumulating for a revolt; priests were yelled at in the streets or -"thrown into the kennel"; women would not "receive the sacrament from -hands which they thought polluted."[19] When the apparitor of the -ecclesiastical courts came to serve a process, he was driven away with -insults. "Go thy way, thou stynkyng knave, ye are but knaves and -brybours everych one of you." A mercer broke an apparitor's head with -his yard. "A waiter at the sign of the Cock" said "that the sight of a -priest did make him sick, and that he would go sixty miles to indict a -priest." Bishop Fitz-James wrote to Wolsey, that the juries in London -were "so maliciously set _in favorem hœreticæ pravitatis_, that they -will cast and condemn any clerk, though he were as innocent as -Abel."[20] Wolsey himself spoke to the Pope of the "dangerous spirit" -which was spread abroad among the people, and planned a reformation. -When Henry VIII laid the axe to the tree, and slowly, with mistrust, -struck a blow, then a second lopping off the branches, there were a -thousand, nay, a hundred thousand hearts which approved of it, and would -themselves have struck the trunk. - -Consider the internal state of a diocese, that of Lincoln for -instance,[21] at this period, about 1521, and judge by this example of -the manner in which the ecclesiastical machinery works throughout the -whole of England, multiplying martyrs, hatreds, and conversions. Bishop -Longland summons the relatives of the accused, brothers, women and -children, and administers the oath; as they have already been prosecuted -and have abjured, they must make oath, or they are relapsed, and the -fagots await them. Then they denounce their kinsman and themselves. One -has taught the other in English the Epistle of Saint James. This man, -having forgotten several words of the Pater and Credo in Latin, can only -repeat them in English. A woman turned her face from the cross which was -carried about on Easter morning. Several at church, especially at the -moment of the elevation, would not say their prayers, and remained -seated "dumb as beasts." Three men, including a carpenter, passed a -night together reading a book of the Scriptures. A pregnant woman went -to mass not fasting. A brazier denied the Real Presence. A brickmaker -kept the Apocalypse in his possession. A thresher said, as he pointed to -his work, that he was going to make God come out of his straw. Others -spoke lightly of pilgrimage, or of the Pope, or of relics, or of -confession. And then fifty of them were condemned the same year to -abjure, to promise to denounce each other, and to do penance all their -lives, on pain of being burnt, as relapsed heretics. They were shut up -in different "monasteries"; there they were to be maintained by alms, -and to work for their support; they were to appear with a fagot on their -shoulders at market, and in the procession on Sunday. Then in a general -procession, then at the punishment of a heretic; "they were to fast on -bread and ale only every Friday during their life, and every even of -Corpus Christy on bread and water, and carry a visible mark on their -cheek." Beyond that, six were burnt alive, and the children of one, John -Scrivener, were obliged themselves to set fire to their father's -wood-pile. Do you think that a man, burnt or shut up, was altogether -done with? He is silenced, I admit, or he is hidden; but long memories -and bitter resentments endure under a forced silence. People saw[22] -their companion, relation, brother, bound by an iron chain, with clasped -hands, praying amid the smoke, whilst the flame blackened his skin and -destroyed his flesh. Such sights are not forgotten; the last words -uttered on the fagot, the last appeals to God and Christ, remain in -their hearts all-powerful and ineffaceable. They carry them about with -them, and silently ponder over them in the fields, at their labor, when -they think themselves alone; and then, darkly, passionately, their -brains work. For, beyond this universal sympathy which gathers mankind -about the oppressed, there is the working of the religious sentiment. -The crisis of conscience has begun which is natural to this race; they -meditate on their salvation, they are alarmed at their condition: -terrified at the judgments of God, they ask themselves whether, living -under imposed obedience and ceremonies, they do not become culpable, and -merit damnation. Can this terror be stifled by prisons and torture? Fear -against fear, the only question is, which is the strongest! They will -soon know it: for the peculiarity of these inward anxieties is that they -grow beneath constraint and oppression; as a welling spring which we -vainly try to stamp out under stones, they bubble and leap up and swell, -until their surplus overflows, disjointing or bursting asunder the -regular masonry under which men endeavored to bury them. In the solitude -of the fields, or during the long winter nights, men dream; soon they -fear, and become gloomy. On Sunday at church, obliged to cross -themselves, to kneel before the cross, to receive the host, they -shudder, and think it is a mortal sin. They cease to talk to their -friends, remain for hours with bowed heads, sorrowful; at night their -wives hear them sigh; unable to sleep they rise from their beds. Picture -such a wan face, full of anguish, nourishing under its sternness and -calmness a secret ardor: it is still to be found in England in the poor -shabby dissenter, who, Bible in hand, stands up suddenly to preach at a -street corner; in those long-faced men who, after the service, not -having had enough of prayers, sing a hymn in the street. The sombre -imagination has started like a woman in labor, and its conception swells -day by day, tearing him who contains it. Through the long muddy winter -the howling of the wind sighing among the ill-fitting rafters, the -melancholy of the sky, continually flooded with rain or covered with -clouds, add to the gloom of the lugubrious dream. Thenceforth man has -made up his mind; he will be saved at all costs. At the peril of his -life, he obtains one of the books which teach the way of salvation, -Wyclif's "Wicket Gate, The Obedience of a Christian," or sometimes -Luther's "Revelation of Antichrist," but above all some portion of the -word of God, which Tyndale had just translated. One man hid his books in -a hollow tree; another learned by heart an epistle or a gospel, so as to -be able to ponder it to himself even in the presence of his accusers. -When sure of his neighbor, he speaks with him in private; and peasant -talking to peasant, laborer to laborer--you know what the effect will -be. It was the yeomen's sons, as Latimer said, who more than all others -maintained the faith of Christ in England;[23] and it was with the -yeomen's sons that Cromwell afterwards reaped his Puritan victories. -When such words are whispered through a nation, all official voices -clamor in vain: the nation has found its poem, it stops its ears to the -troublesome would-be distractors, and presently sings it out with a full -voice and from a full heart. - -But the contagion had even reached the men in office, and Henry VIII at -last permitted the English Bible to be published.[24] England had her -book. Everyone, says Strype, who could buy this book either read it -assiduously, or had it read to him by others, and many well advanced in -years learned to read with the same object. On Sunday the poor folk -gathered at the bottom of the churches to hear it read. Maldon, a young -man, afterwards related that he had clubbed his savings with an -apprentice to buy a New Testament, and that for fear of his father they -had hidden it in their straw mattress. In vain the king in his -proclamation had ordered people not to rest too much upon their own -sense, ideas, or opinions; not to reason publicly about it in the public -taverns and alehouses, but to have recourse to learned and authorized -men; the seed sprouted, and they chose rather to take God's word in the -matter than men's. Maldon declared to his mother that he would not kneel -to the crucifix any longer, and his father in a rage beat him severely, -and was ready to hang him. The preface itself invited men to independent -study, saying that "the Bishop of Rome has studied long to keep the -Bible from the people, and specially from princes, lest they should find -out his tricks and his falsehoods;... knowing well enough, that if the -clear sun of God's word came over the heat of the day, it would drive -away the foul mist of his devilish doctrines."[25] Even on the -admission, then, of official voices, they had there the pure and the -whole truth, not merely speculative but moral truth, without which we -cannot live worthily or be saved. Tyndale, the translator, says: - - -"The right waye (yea and the onely waye) to understand the Scripture -unto salvation, is that we ernestlye and above all thynge serche for the -profession of our baptisme or covenauntes made betwene God and us. As -for an example. Christe sayth, Mat. V., Happy are the mercyfull, for -they shall obtayne mercye. Lo, here God hath made a covenaunt wyth us, -to be mercyfull unto us, yf we wyll be mercyfull one to another." - - -What an expression! and with what ardor men pricked by the ceaseless -reproaches of a scrupulous conscience, and the presentiment of the dark -future, will devote on these pages the whole attention of eyes and -heart! - -I have before me one of these great old folios,[26] in black letter, in -which the pages, worn by horny fingers, have been patched together, in -which an old engraving figures forth to the poor folk the deeds and -menaces of the God of Israel, in which the preface and table of contents -point out to simple people the moral which is to be drawn from each -tragic history, and the application which is to be made of each -venerable precept. Hence have sprung much of the English language, and -half of the English manners; to this day the country is biblical;[27] it -was these big books which had transformed Shakespeare's England. To -understand this great change, try to picture these yeomen, these -shopkeepers, who in the evening placed this Bible on their table, and -bareheaded, with veneration, heard or read one of its chapters. Think -that they have no other books, that theirs was a virgin mind, that every -impression would make a furrow, that the monotony of mechanical -existence rendered them entirely open to new emotions, that they opened -this book not for amusement, but to discover in it their doom of life -and death; in brief, that the sombre and impassioned imagination of the -race raised them to the level of the grandeurs and terrors which were to -pass before their eyes. Tyndale, the translator, wrote with such -sentiments, condemned, hunted, in concealment, his mind full of the idea -of a speedy death, and of the great God for whom at last he mounted the -funeral pyre; and the spectators who had seen the remorse of -Macbeth,[28] and the murders of Shakespeare can listen to the despair of -David, and the massacres accumulated in the books of Judges and Kings. -The short Hebrew verse-style took hold upon them by its uncultivated -austerity. They have no need, like the French, to have the ideas -developed, explained in fine clear language, to be modified or -connected.[29] The serious and pulsating tone shakes them at once; they -understand it with the imagination and the heart; they are not, like -Frenchmen, enslaved to logical regularity; and the old text, so free, so -lofty and terrible, can retain in their language its wildness and its -majesty. More than any people in Europe, by their inner concentration -and rigidity, they realize the Semitic conception of the solitary and -almighty God; a strange conception, which we, with all our critical -methods, have hardly reconstructed within ourselves at the present day. -For the Jew, for the powerful minds who wrote the Pentateuch,[30] for -the prophets and authors of the Psalms, life, as we conceive it, was -secluded from living things, plants, animals, firmament, sensible -objects, to be carried and concentrated entirely in the one Being of -whom they are the work and the puppets. Earth is the footstool of this -great God, heaven is His garment. He is in the world, amongst His -creatures, as an Oriental king in his tent, amidst his arms and his -carpets. If you enter this tent, all vanishes before the absorbing idea -of the master; you see but him; nothing has an individual and -independent existence: these arms are but made for his hands, these -carpets for his foot; you imagine them only as spread for him and -trodden by him. The awe-inspiring face and the menacing voice of the -irresistible lord appear behind his instruments. And in a similar -manner, for the Jew, nature and men are nothing of themselves; they are -for the service of God; they have no other reason for existence; no -other use; they vanish before the vast and solitary Being who, extended -and set high as a mountain before human thought, occupies and covers in -Himself the whole horizon. Vainly we attempt, we seed of the Aryan race, -to represent to ourselves this devouring God; we always leave some -beauty, some interest, some part of free existence to nature; we but -half attain to the Creator, with difficulty, after a chain of reasoning, -like Voltaire and Kant; more readily we make Him into an architect; we -naturally believe in natural laws; we know that the order of the world -is fixed; we do not crush things and their relations under the burden of -an arbitrary sovereignty; we do not grasp the sublime sentiment of Job, -who sees the world trembling and swallowed up at the touch of the strong -hand; we cannot endure the intense emotion or repeat the marvellous -accent of the Psalms, in which, amid the silence of beings reduced to -atoms, nothing remains but the heart of man speaking to the eternal -Lord. These Englishmen, in the anguish of a troubled conscience, and the -oblivion of sensible nature, renew it in part. If the strong and harsh -cheer of the Arab, which breaks forth like the blast of a trumpet at the -sight of the rising sun and of the bare solitudes,[31] if the mental -trances, the short visions of a luminous and grand landscape, if the -Semitic coloring are wanting, at least the seriousness and simplicity -have remained; and the Hebraic God brought into the modern conscience is -no less a sovereign in this narrow precinct than in the deserts and -mountains from which He sprang. His image is reduced, but His authority -is entire; if He is less poetical, He is more moral. Men read with awe -and trembling the history of His works, the tables of His law, the -archives of His vengeance, the proclamation of His promises and menaces; -they are filled with them. Never has a people been seen so deeply imbued -by a foreign book, has let it penetrate so far into its manners and -writings, its imagination and language. Thenceforth they have found -their King, and will follow Him; no word, lay or ecclesiastic, shall -prevail over His word; they have submitted their conduct to Him, they -will give body and life for Him; and if need be, a day will come when, -out of fidelity to Him, they will overthrow the State. - -It is not enough to hear this King, they must answer Him; and religion -is not complete until the prayer of the people is added to the -revelation of God. In 1548, at last, England received her -prayer-book[32] from the hands of Cranmer, Peter Martyr, Bernard Ochin, -Melanchthon; the chief and most ardent reformers of Europe were invited -to compose a body of doctrines conformable to Scripture, and to express -a body of sentiments conformable to the true Christian faith. This -prayer-book is an admirable book, in which the full spirit of the -Reformation breathes out, where, beside the moving tenderness of the -gospel, and the manly accents of the Bible, throb the profound emotion, -the grave eloquence, the noble-mindedness, the restrained enthusiasm of -the heroic and poetic souls who had rediscovered Christianity, and had -passed near the fire of martyrdom. - - -"Almighty and most merciful Father; We have erred, and strayed from Thy -ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires -of our own hearts. We have offended against Thy holy laws. We have left -undone those things which we ought to have done; And we have done those -things which we ought not to have done; And there is no health in us. -But Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders. Spare Thou -them, O God, which confess their faults. Restore Thou them that are -penitent; According to Thy promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesu -our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, for His sake; That we may -hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life." - -"Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that Thou hast made, -and dost forgive the sins of all them that are penitent; Create and make -in us new and contrite hearts, that we worthily lamenting our sins, and -acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of Thee, the God of all -mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness." - - -The same idea of sin, repentance, and moral renovation continually -recurs; the master-thought is always that of the heart humbled before -invisible justice, and only imploring His grace in order to obtain His -relief. Such a state of mind ennobles man, and introduces a sort of -impassioned gravity in all the important actions of his life. Listen to -the liturgy of the deathbed, of baptism, of marriage; the latter first: - - -"Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after -God's ordinance, in the holy state of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, -comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, -forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall -live?" - - -These are genuine, honest, and conscientious words. No mystic languor -here or elsewhere. This religion is not made for women who dream, yearn, -and sigh, but for men who examine themselves, act and have confidence, -confidence in someone more just than themselves. When a man is sick, and -his flesh is weak, the priest comes to him, and says: - - -"Dearly beloved, know this, that Almighty God is the Lord of life and -death, and of all things to them pertaining, as youth, strength, health, -age, weakness, and sickness. Wherefore, whatsoever your sickness is, -know you certainly, that it is God's visitation. And for what cause -soever this sickness is sent unto you; whether it be to try your -patience for the example of others,... or else it be sent unto you to -correct and amend in you whatsoever doth offend the eyes of your -heavenly Father; know you certainly, that if you truly repent you of -your sins, and bear your sickness patiently, trusting in God's mercy,... -submitting yourself wholly unto His will, it shall turn to your profit, -and help you forward in the right way that leadeth unto everlasting -life." - - -A great mysterious sentiment, a sort of sublime epic, void of images, -shows darkly amid these probings of the conscience; I mean a glimpse of -the divine government and of the invisible world, the only existences, -the only realities, in spite of bodily appearances and of the brute -chance, which seems to jumble all things together. Man sees this beyond -at distant intervals, and raises himself out of his mire, as though he -had suddenly breathed a pure and strengthening atmosphere. Such are the -effects of public prayer restored to the people; for this had been taken -from the Latin and rendered into the vulgar tongue: there is a -revolution in this very word. Doubtless routine, here as with the -ancient missal, will gradually do its sad work; by repeating the same -words, man will often do nothing but repeat words; his lips will move -whilst his heart remains inert. But in great anguish, in the confused -agitation of a restless and hollow mind, at the funeral of his -relatives, the strong words of the book will find in him a mood to feel; -for they are living,[33] and do not stay in the ears like those of a -dead language; they enter the soul, and as soon as the soul is stirred -and worked upon, they take root there. If you go and hear these words in -England itself, and if you listen to the deep and pulsating accent with -which they are pronounced, you will see that they constitute there a -national poem, always understood and always efficacious. On Sunday, when -all business and pleasure is suspended, between the bare walls of the -village church, where no image, no _ex-voto_, no accessory worship -distracts the eyes, the seats are full; the powerful Hebraic verses -knock like the strokes of a battering-ram at the door of every soul; -then the liturgy unfolds its imposing supplications; and at intervals -the song of the congregation, combined with the organ, sustains the -people's devotion. There is nothing graver and more simple than this -singing by the people; no scales, no elaborate melody; it is not -calculated for the gratification of the ear, and yet it is free from the -sickly sadness, from the gloomy monotony which the Middle Ages has left -in the chanting in Roman Catholic churches; neither monkish nor pagan, -it rolls like a manly yet sweet melody, neither contrasting with nor -obscuring the words which accompany it; these words are Psalms -translated into verse, yet lofty; diluted, but not embellished. -Everything harmonizes--place, music, text, ceremony--to place every man, -personally and without a mediator, in presence of a just God, and to -form a moral poetry which shall sustain and develop the moral sense.[34] - -One detail is still needed to complete this manly religion--human -reason. The minister ascends the pulpit and speaks: he speaks coldly, I -admit, with literary comments and over-long demonstrations; but solidly, -seriously, like a man who desires to convince, and that by honest means, -who addresses only the reason, and discourses only of justice. With -Latimer and his contemporaries, preaching, like religion, changes its -object and character; like religion, it becomes popular and moral, and -appropriate to those who hear it, to recall them to their duties. Few -men have deserved better of their fellows, in life and word, than he. He -was a genuine Englishman, conscientious, courageous, a man of -common-sense and practical, sprung from the laboring and independent -class, the very heart and sinews of the nation. His father, a brave -yeoman, had a farm of about four pounds a year, on which he employed -half a dozen men, with thirty cows which his wife milked, a good soldier -of the king, keeping equipment for himself and his horse so as to join -the army if need were, training his son to use the bow, making him -buckle on his breastplate, and finding a few nobles at the bottom of his -purse wherewith to send him to school, and thence to the university. -Little Latimer studied eagerly, took his degrees, and continued long a -good Catholic, or, as he says, "in darckense and in the shadow of -death." At about thirty, having often heard Bilney the martyr, and -having, moreover, studied the world and thought for himself, he, as he -tells us, "began from that time forward to smell the word of God, and to -forsooke the Schoole Doctours, and such fooleries"; presently to preach, -and forthwith to pass for a seditious man, very troublesome to those men -in authority who did not act with justice. For this was in the first -place the salient feature of his eloquence: he spoke to people of their -duties, in exact terms. One day, when he preached before the university, -the Bishop of Ely came, curious to hear him. Immediately he changed his -subject, and drew the portrait of a perfect prelate, a portrait which -did not tally well with the bishop's character; and he was denounced for -the act. When he was made chaplain of Henry VIII, awe-inspiring as the -king was, little as he was himself, he dared to write to him freely to -bid him stop the persecution which was set on foot, and to prevent the -interdiction of the Bible; verily he risked his life. He had done it -before, he did it again; like Tyndale, Knox, all the leaders of the -Reformation, he lived in almost ceaseless expectation of death, and in -contemplation of the stake. Sick, liable to racking headaches, stomach -aches, pleurisy, stone, he wrought a vast work, travelling, writing, -preaching, delivering at the age of sixty-seven two sermons every -Sunday, and generally rising at two in the morning, winter and summer, -to study. Nothing can be simpler or more effective than his eloquence; -and the reason is, that he never speaks for the sake of speaking, but of -doing work. His sermons, amongst others those which he preached before -the young king Edward VI, are not, like those of Massillon before the -youthful Louis XV, hung in the air, in the calm region of philosophical -amplifications: Latimer wishes to correct, and he attacks actual vices, -vices which he has seen, which everyone can point at with the finger; he -too points them out, calls things by their name, and people too, giving -facts and details, bravely; and sparing nobody, sets himself without -hesitation to denounce and reform iniquity. Universal as his morality -is, ancient as is his text, he applies it to his contemporaries, to his -audience, at times to the judges who are there "in velvet cotes," who -will not hear the poor, who give but a dog's hearing to such a woman in -a twelvemonth, and who leave another poor woman in the Fleet, refusing -to accept bail;[35] at times to the king's officer, whose thefts he -enumerates, whom he sets between hell and restitution, and of whom he -obtains, nay extorts, pound for pound, the stolen money.[36] From -abstract iniquity he proceeds always to special abuse; for it is abuse -which cries out and demands, not a discourser, but a champion. With him -theology holds but a secondary place; before all, practice: the true -offence against God in his eyes is a bad action, the true service, the -suppression of bad deeds. And see by what paths he reaches this. No -grand words, no show of style, no exhibition of dialectics. He relates -his life, the lives of others, giving dates, numbers, places; he abounds -in anecdotes, little obvious circumstances, fit to enter the imagination -and arouse the recollections of each hearer. He is familiar, at times -humorous, and always so precise, so impressed with real events and -particularities of English life, that we might glean from his sermons an -almost complete description of the manners of his age and country. To -reprove the great, who appropriate common lands by their enclosures, he -details the needs of the peasant, without the least care for -conventional proprieties; he is not working now for conventionalities, -but to produce convictions: - - -"A plough land must have sheep; yea, they must have sheep to dung their -ground for bearing of corn; for if they have no sheep to help to fat the -ground, they shall have but bare corn and thin. They must have swine for -their food, to make their veneries or bacon of: their bacon is their -venison, for they shall now have _hangum tuum_, if they get any other -venison; so that bacon is their necessary meat to feed on, which they -may not lack. They must have other cattle: as horses to draw their -plough, and for carriage of things to the markets; and kine for their -milk and cheese, which they must live upon and pay their rents. These -cattle must have pasture, which pasture if they lack, the rest must -needs fail them: and pasture they cannot have, if the land be taken in, -and enclosed from them."[37] - - -Another time, to put his hearers on their guard against hasty judgments, -he relates that, having entered the gaol at Cambridge to exhort the -prisoners, he found a woman accused of having killed her child, who -would make no confession: - - -"Which denying gave us occasion to search for the matter, and so we did. -And at length we found that her husband loved her not; and therefore he -sought means to make her out of the way. The matter was thus: 'A child -of hers had been sick by the space of a year, and so decayed as it were -in a consumption. At the length it died in harvest-time. She went to her -neighbors and other friends to desire their help, to prepare the child -to the burial: but there was nobody at home; every man was in the field. -The woman, in an heaviness and trouble of spirit, went, and being -herself alone, prepared the child to the burial. Her husband coming -home, not having great love towards her, accused her of the murder; and -so she was taken and brought to Cambridge. But as far forth as I could -learn through earnest inquisition, I thought in my conscience the woman -was not guilty, all the circumstances well considered. Immediately after -this I was called to preach before the king, which was my first sermon -that I made before his majesty, and it was done at Windsor; when his -majesty, after the sermon was done, did most familiarly talk with me in -the gallery. Now, when I saw my time, I kneeled down before his majesty, -opening the whole matter; and afterwards most humbly desired his majesty -to pardon that woman. For I thought in my conscience she was not guilty; -else I would not for all the world sue for a murderer. The king most -graciously heard my humble request, insomuch that I had a pardon ready -for her at my return homeward. In the mean season that same woman was -delivered of a child in the tower at Cambridge, whose godfather I was, -and Mistress Cheke was godmother. But all that time I hid my pardon, and -told her nothing of it, only exhorting her to confess the truth. At the -length the time came when she looked to suffer: I came, as I was wont to -do, to instruct her; she made great moan to me, and most earnestly -required me that I would find the means that she might be purified -before her suffering; for she thought she should have been damned, if -she should suffer without purification.... So we travailed with this -woman till we brought her to a good trade; and at the length shewed her -the king's pardon, and let her go.' - -"This tale I told you by this occasion, that though some women be very -unnatural, and forget their children, yet when we hear anybody so -report, we should not be too hasty in believing the tale, but rather -suspend our judgments till we know the truth."[38] - - -When a man preaches thus, he is believed; we are sure that he is not -reciting a lesson; we feel that he has seen, that he draws his moral not -from books, but from facts; that his counsels come from the solid basis -whence everything ought to come--I mean from manifold and personal -experience. Many a time have I listened to popular orators, who address -the pocket, and prove their talent by the money they have collected; it -is thus that they hold forth, with circumstantial, recent, proximate -examples, with conversational turns of speech, setting aside great -arguments and fine language. Imagine the ascendancy of the Scriptures -enlarged upon in such words; to what strata of the people it could -descend, what a hold it had upon sailors, workmen, servants! Consider, -again, how the authority of these words is doubled by the courage, -independence, integrity, unassailable and recognized virtue of him who -utters them. He spoke the truth to the king, unmasked robbers, incurred -all kind of hate, resigned his see rather than sign anything against his -conscience; and at eighty years, under Mary, refusing to recant, after -two years of prison and waiting--and what waiting! he was led to the -stake. His companion, Ridley, slept the night before as calmly, we are -told, as ever he did in his life; and when ready to be chained to the -post, said aloud, "O heavenly Father, I give Thee most hearty thanks, -for that Thou hast called me to be a professor of Thee, even unto -death." Latimer in his turn, when they brought the lighted fagots, -cried, "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man: we shall -this day light such a candle by God's grace, in England, as I trust -shall never be put out." He then bathed his hands in the flames, and -resigning his soul to God, he expired. - -He had judged rightly: it is by this supreme trial that a creed proves -its strength and gains its adherents; tortures are a sort of propaganda -as well as a testimony, and make converts whilst they make martyrs. All -the writings of the time, and all the commentaries which may be added to -them, are weak compared to the actions which, one after the other, shone -forth at that time from learned and unlearned, down to the most simple -and ignorant. In three years, under Mary, nearly three hundred persons, -men, women, old and young, some all but children, allowed themselves to -be burned alive rather than to abjure. The all-powerful idea of God, and -of the faith due to Him, made them resist all the protests of nature, -and all the trembling of the flesh. "No one will be crowned," said one -of them, "but they who fight like men; and he who endures to the end -shall be saved." Doctor Rogers was burned first, in presence of his wife -and ten children, one at the breast. He had not been told beforehand, -and was sleeping soundly. The wife of the keeper of Newgate woke him, -and told him that he must burn that day. "Then," said he, "I need not -truss my points." In the midst of the flames he did not seem to suffer. -"His children stood by consoling him, in such a way that he looked as if -they were conducting him to a merry marriage."[39] A young man of -nineteen, William Hunter, apprenticed to a silk-weaver, was exhorted by -his parents to persevere to the end: - - -"In the mean time William's father and mother came to him, and desired -heartily of God that he might continue to the end in that good way which -he had begun: and his mother said to him, that she was glad that ever -she was so happy to bear such a child, which could find in his heart to -lose his life for Christ's name's sake. - -"Then William said to his mother, 'For my little pain which I shall -suffer, which is but a short braid, Christ hath promised me, mother -(said he), a crown of joy: may you not be glad of that, mother?' With -that his mother kneeled down on her knees, saying, 'I pray God -strengthen thee, my son, to the end; yea, I think thee as well-bestowed -as any child that ever I bare.'... - -"Then William Hunter plucked up his gown, and stepped over the parlor -groundsel, and went forward cheerfully; the sheriff's servant taking him -by one arm, and I his brother by another. And thus going in the way, he -met with his father according to his dream, and he spake to his son -weeping, and saying, 'God be with thee, son William;' and William said, -'God be with you, good father, and be of good comfort; for I hope we -shall meet again, when we shall be merry.' His father said, 'I hope so, -William;' and so departed. So William went to the place where the stake -stood, even according to his dream, where all things were very unready. -Then William took a wet broom-faggot, and kneeled down thereon, and read -the fifty-first Psalm, till he came to these words, 'The sacrifice of -God is a contrite spirit; a contrite and a broken heart, O God, thou -wilt not despise.'... - -"Then said the sheriff, 'Here is a letter from the queen. If thou wilt -recant thou shalt live; if not, thou shalt be burned. No,' quoth -William, 'I will not recant, God willing.' Then William rose and went to -the stake, and stood upright to it. Then came one Richard Ponde, a -bailiff, and made fast the chain about William. - -"Then said master Brown, 'Here is not wood enough to burn a leg of him.' -Then said William, 'Good people! pray for me; and make speed and -despatch quickly: and pray for me while you see me alive, good people! -and I will pray for you likewise. Now?' quoth master Brown, 'pray for -thee! I will pray no more for thee, than I will pray for a dog.'... - -"Then was there a gentleman which said, 'I pray God have mercy upon his -soul.' The people said 'Amen, Amen.' - -"Immediately fire was made. When William cast his psalter right into his -brother's hand, who said, 'William! think on the holy passion of Christ, -and be not afraid of death.' And William answered, 'I am not afraid.' -Then lift he up his hands to heaven, and said, 'Lord, Lord, Lord, -receive my spirit;' and, casting down his head again into the -smothering smoke, he yielded up his life for the truth, sealing it with -his blood to the praise of God."[40] - - -When a passion is able thus to subdue the natural affections, it is able -also to subdue bodily pain; all the ferocity of the time labored in vain -against inward convictions. Thomas Tomkins, a weaver of Shoreditch, -being asked by Bonner is he could stand the fire well, bade him try it. -"Bonner took Tomkins by the fingers and held his hand directly over the -flame," to terrify him. But "he never shrank, till the veins shrank and -the sinews burst, and the water (blood) did spirt in Mr. Harpsfield's -face."[41] "In the Isle of Guernsey, a woman with child being ordered to -the fire, was delivered in the flames, and the infant being taken from -her, was ordered by the magistrates to be thrown back into the -fire."[42] Bishop Hooper was burned three times over in a small fire of -green wood. There was too little wood, and the wind turned aside the -smoke. He cried out, "For God's love, good people, let me have more -fire." His legs and thighs were roasted; one of his hands fell off -before he expired; he endured thus three-quarters of an hour; before him -in a box was his pardon, on condition that he would retract. Against -long sufferings in mephitic prisons, against everything which might -unnerve or seduce, these men were invincible: five died of hunger at -Canterbury; they were in irons night and day, with no covering but their -clothes, on rotten straw; yet there was an understanding amongst them, -that the "cross of persecution" was a blessing from God, "an inestimable -jewel, a sovereign antidote, well-approved, to cure love of self and -earthly affection." Before such examples the people were shaken. A woman -wrote to Bishop Bonner that there was not a child but called him Bonner -the hangman, and knew on his fingers, as well as he knew his Pater, the -exact number of those he had burned at the stake, or suffered to die of -hunger in prison these nine months. "You have lost the hearts of twenty -thousand persons who were inveterate Papists a year ago." The spectators -encouraged the martyrs, and cried out to them that their cause was just. -The Catholic envoy Renard wrote to Charles V that it was said that -several had desired to take their place at the stake, by the side of -those who were being burned. In vain the queen had forbidden, on pain of -death, all marks of approbation. "We know that they are men of God," -cried one of the spectators; "that is why we cannot help saying, God -strengthen them." And all the people answered, "Amen, Amen." What wonder -if, at the coming of Elizabeth, England cast in her lot with -Protestantism? The threats of the Armada urged her on still further; and -the Reformation became national under the pressure of foreign hostility, -at it had become popular through the triumph of its martyrs. - - - - -Section IV.--The Anglicans - - -Two distinct branches receive the common sap--one above, the other -beneath: one respected, flourishing, shooting forth in the open air; the -other despised, half buried in the ground, trodden under foot by those -who would crush it: both living, the Anglican as well as the Puritan, -the one in spite of the effort made to destroy it, the other in spite of -the care taken to develop it. - -The court has its religion, like the country--a sincere and winning -religion. Amid the pagan poetry which up to the Revolution always had -the ear of the world, we find gradually piercing through and rising -higher a grave and grand idea which sent its roots to the depth of the -public mind. Many poets, Drayton, Davies, Cowley, Giles Fletcher, -Quarles, Crashaw, wrote sacred histories, pious or moral verses, noble -stanzas on death and the immortality of the soul, on the frailty of -things human, and on the supreme providence in which alone man finds the -support of his weakness and the consolation of his sufferings. In the -greatest prose writers, Bacon, Burton, Sir Thomas Browne, Raleigh, we -see spring up the fruits of veneration, thoughts about the obscure -beyond; in short, faith and prayer. Several prayers written by Bacon are -amongst the finest known; and the courtier Raleigh, whilst writing of -the fall of empires, and how the barbarous nations had destroyed this -grand and magnificent Roman Empire, ended his book with the ideas and -tone of a Bossuet.[43] Picture Saint Paul's in London, and the -fashionable people who used to meet there; the gentlemen who noisily -made the rowels of their spurs resound on entering, looked around and -carried on conversation during service, who swore by God's eyes, God's -eyelids, who amongst the vaults and chapels showed off their beribboned -shoes, their chains, scarfs, satin doublets, velvet cloaks, their -braggadocio manners and stage attitudes. All this was very free, very -loose, very far from our modern decency. But pass over youthful bluster; -take man in his great moments, in prison, in danger, or indeed when old -age arrives, when he has come to judge of life; take him, above all, in -the country, on his estate, far from any town, in the church of the -village where he is lord; or again, when he is alone in the evening, at -his table, listening to the prayer offered up by his chaplain, having no -books but some big folio of dramas, well dog's-eared; and his -prayer-book and Bible; you may then understand how the new religion -tightens its hold on these imaginative and serious minds. It does not -shock them by a narrow rigor; it does not fetter the flight of their -mind; it does not attempt to extinguish the buoyant flame of their mind; -it does not proscribe the beautiful: it preserves more than any reformed -church the noble pomp of the ancient worship, and rolls under the domes -of its cathedrals the rich modulations, the majestic harmonies of its -grave, organ-led music. It is its characteristic not to be in opposition -to the world, but, on the contrary, to draw it nearer to itself, by -bringing itself nearer to it. By its secular condition as well as by its -external worship, it is embraced by and it embraces it: its head is the -Queen, it is a part of the Constitution, its sends its dignitaries to -the House of Lords; it suffers its priests to marry; its benefices are -in the nomination of the great families; its chief members are the -younger sons of these same families: by all these channels it imbibes -the spirit of the age. In its hands, therefore, reformation cannot -become hostile to science, to poetry, to the liberal ideas of the -Renaissance. Nay, in the nobles of Elizabeth and James I, as in the -cavaliers of Charles I, it tolerates artistic tastes, philosophical -curiosity, the ways of the world, and the sentiment of the beautiful. -The alliance is so strong, that, under Cromwell, the ecclesiastics in a -mass were dismissed for their king's sake, and the cavaliers died -wholesale for the Church. The two societies mutually touch and are -confounded together. If several poets are pious, several ecclesiastics -are poetical--Bishop Hall, Bishop Corbet, Wither a rector, and the -preacher Donne. If several laymen rise to religious contemplations, -several theologians, Hooker, John Hales, Taylor, Chillingworth, set -philosophy and reason by the side of dogma. Accordingly we find a new -literature arising lofty and original, eloquent and moderate, armed at -the same time against the Puritans, who sacrifice freedom of intellect -to the tyranny of the text, and against the Catholics, who sacrifice -independence of criticism to the tyranny of tradition; opposed equally -to the servility of literal interpretation, and the servility of a -prescribed interpretation. Opposed to the first appears the learned and -excellent Hooker, one of the gentlest and most conciliatory of men, the -most solid and persuasive of logicians, a comprehensive mind, who in -every question ascends to the principles,[44] introduces into -controversy general conceptions, and the knowledge of human nature;[45] -beyond this, a methodical writer, correct and always ample, worthy of -being regarded not only as one of the fathers of the English Church, but -as one of the founders of English prose. With a sustained gravity and -simplicity, he shows the Puritans that the laws of nature, reason, and -society, like the law of Scripture, are of divine institution, that all -are equally worthy of respect and obedience, that we must not sacrifice -the inner word, by which God reaches our intellect, to the outer word, -by which God reaches our senses; that thus the civil constitution of the -church, and the visible ordinance of ceremonies, may be conformable to -the will of God, even when they are not justified by a clear text of -Scripture; and that the authority of the magistrates, as well as the -reason of man, does not exceed its rights in establishing certain -uniformities and disciplines on which Scripture is silent, in order that -reason may decide: - - -"For if the natural strength of man's wit may by experience and study -attain unto such ripeness in the knowledge of things human, that men in -this respect may presume to build somewhat upon their judgment; what -reason have we to think but that even in matters divine, the like wits -furnished with necessary helps, exercised in Scripture with like -diligence, and assisted with the grace of Almighty God, may grow unto so -much perfection of knowledge, that men shall have just cause, when -anything pertinent unto faith and religion is doubted of, the more -willingly to incline their minds towards that which the sentence of so -grave, wise, and learned in that faculty shall judge most sound."[46] - - -This "natural light" therefore must not be despised, but rather used so -as to augment the other, as we put torch to torch; above all, employed -that we may live in harmony with each other.[47] - - -"Far more comfort it were for us (so small is the joy we take in these -strifes) to labor under the same yoke, as men that look for the same -eternal reward of their labors, to be conjoined with you in bands of -indissoluble love and amity, to live as if our persons being many, our -souls were but one, rather than in such dismembered sort to spend our -few and wretched days in a tedious prosecuting of wearisome -contentions." - - -In fact, the conclusions of the greatest theologians are for such -harmony: abandoning an oppressive practice they grasp a liberal spirit. -If by its political structure the English Church is persecuting, by its -doctrinal structure it is tolerant; it needs the reason of the laity too -much to refuse it liberty; it lives in a world too cultivated and -thoughtful to proscribe thought and culture. John Hales, its most -eminent doctor, declared several times that he would renounce the Church -of England to-morrow if she insisted on the doctrine that other -Christians would be damned; and that men believe other people to be -damned only when they desire them to be so.[48] It was he again, a -theologian, a prebendary, who advises men to trust to themselves alone -in religious matters; to leave nothing to authority, or antiquity, or -the majority; to use their own reason in believing, as they use "their -own legs in walking"; to act and be men in mind as well as in the rest; -and to regard as cowardly and impious the borrowing of doctrine and -sloth of thought. So Chillingworth, a notably militant and loyal mind, -the most exact, the most penetrating, and the most convincing of -controversialists, first Protestant, then Catholic, then Protestant -again and forever, has the courage to say that these great changes, -wrought in himself and by himself, through study and research, are, of -all his actions, those which satisfy him most. He maintains that reason -alone applied to Scripture ought to persuade men; that authority has no -claim in it; that nothing is more against religion than to force -religion; that the great principle of the Reformation is liberty of -conscience; and that if the doctrines of the different Protestant sects -are not absolutely true, at least they are free from all impiety and -from all error damnable in itself, or destructive of salvation. Thus is -developed a new school of polemics, a theology, a solid and rational -apologetics, rigorous in its arguments, capable of expansion, confirmed -by science, and which authorizing independence of personal judgment at -the same time with the intervention of the natural reason, leaves -religion within reach of the world and the establishments of the past -struggling with the future. - -A writer of genius appears amongst these, a prose-poet, gifted with an -imagination like Spenser and Shakespeare--Jeremy Taylor, who, from the -bent of his mind as well as from circumstances, was destined to present -the alliance of the Renaissance with the Reformation, and to carry into -the pulpit the ornate style of the court. A preacher at St. Paul's, -appreciated and admired by men of fashion for his youthful and fresh -beauty and his graceful bearing, as also for his splendid diction; -patronized and promoted by Archbishop Laud, he wrote for the king a -defence of episcopacy; became chaplain to the king's army; was taken, -ruined, twice imprisoned by the Parliamentarians; married a natural -daughter of Charles I; then, after the Restoration, was loaded with -honors; became a bishop, member of the Privy Council, and -vice-chancellor of the university of Dublin. In every passage of his -life, fortunate or otherwise, private or public, we see that he is an -Anglican, a royalist, imbued with the spirit of the cavaliers and -courtiers, not with their vices. On the contrary, there was never a -better or more upright man, more zealous in his duties, more tolerant by -principle; so that, preserving a Christian gravity and purity, he -received from the Renaissance only its rich imagination, its classical -erudition, and its liberal spirit. But he had these gifts entire, as -they existed in the most brilliant and original of the men of the world, -in Sir Philip Sidney, Lord Bacon, Sir Thomas Browne, with the graces, -splendors, refinements which are characteristic of these sensitive and -creative geniuses, and yet with the redundancies, singularities, -incongruities inevitable in an age when excess of spirit prevented the -soundness of taste. Like all these writers, like Montaigne, he was -imbued with classic antiquity; in the pulpit he quotes Greek and Latin -anecdotes, passages from Seneca, verses of Lucretius and Euripides, and -this side by side with texts from the Bible, from the Gospels, and the -Fathers. Cant was not yet in vogue; the two great sources of teaching, -Christian and pagan, ran side by side; they were collected in the same -vessel, without imagining that the wisdom of reason and nature could mar -the wisdom of faith and revelation. Fancy these strange sermons in which -the two eruditions, Hellenic and evangelic, flow together with their -texts, and each text in its own language; in which, to prove that -fathers are often unfortunate in their children, the author brings -forward one after the other, Chabrias, Germanicus, Marcus Aurelius, -Hortensius, Quintus Fabius Maximus, Scipio Africanus, Moses, and Samuel; -where in the form of comparisons and illustrations it heaped up the -spoil of histories, and authorities on botany, astronomy, zoology, which -the cyclopædias and scientific fancies at that time poured into the -brain. Taylor will relate to you the history of the bears of Pannonia, -which, when wounded, will press the iron deeper home; or of the apples -of Sodom, which are beautiful to the gaze, but full within of rottenness -and worms; and many others of the same kind. For it was a characteristic -of men of this age and school, not to possess a mind swept, levelled, -regulated, laid out in straight paths, like the seventeenth-century -writers in France, and like the gardens at Versailles, but full, and -crowded with circumstantial facts, complete dramatic scenes, little -colored pictures, pell-mell and badly dusted; so that, lost in confusion -and dust, the modern spectator cries out at their pedantry and -coarseness. Metaphors swarm one above the other, jumbled, blocking each -other's path, as in Shakespeare. We think to follow one, and a second -begins, then a third cutting into the second, and so on, flower after -flower, firework after firework, so that the brightness becomes misty -with sparks, and the sight ends in a haze. On the other hand, and just -by virtue of this same turn of mind, Taylor imagines objects, not -vaguely and feebly, by some indistinct general conception, but -precisely, entire, as they are, with their visible color, their proper -form, the multitude of true and particular details which distinguish -them in their species. He is not acquainted with them by hearsay; he has -seen them. Better, he sees them now and makes them so be seen. Read the -following extract, and say if it does not seem to have been copied from -a hospital, or from a field of battle: - - -"And what can we complain of the weakness of our strengths, or the -pressures of diseases, when we see a poor soldier stand in a breach -almost starved with cold and hunger, and his cold apt to be relieved -only by the heats of anger, a fever, or a fired musket, and his hunger -slacked by a greater pain and a huge fear? This man shall stand in his -arms and wounds, _patiens luminis atque solis_, pale and faint, weary -and watchful; and at night shall have a bullet pulled out of his flesh, -and shivers from his bones, and endure his mouth to be sewed up from a -violent rent to its own dimensions; and all this for a man whom he never -saw, or, if he did, was not noted by him; but one that shall condemn him -to the gallows if he runs away from all this misery."[49] - - -This is the advantage of a full imagination over ordinary reason. It -produces in a lump twenty or thirty ideas, and as many images, -exhausting the subject which the other only outlines and sketches. There -are a thousand circumstances and shades in every event, and they are all -grasped in living words like these: - - -"For so have I seen the little purls of a spring sweat through the -bottom of a bank, and intenerate the stubborn pavement, till it hath -made it fit for the impression of a child's foot; and it was despised, -like the descending pearls of a misty morning, till it had opened its -way and made a stream large enough to carry away the ruins of the -undermined strand, and to invade the neighboring gardens; but then the -despised drops were grown into an artificial river, and an intolerable -mischief. So are the first entrances of sin, stopped with the antidotes -of a hearty prayer, and checked into sobriety by the eye of a reverend -man, or the counsels of a single sermon; but when such beginnings are -neglected, and our religion hath not in it so much philosophy as to -think anything evil as long as we can endure it, they grow up to ulcers -and pestilential evils; they destroy the soul by their abode, who at -their first entry might have been killed with the pressure of a little -finger."[50] - - -All extremes meet in that imagination. The cavaliers who heard him, -found, as in Ford, Beaumont and Fletcher, the crude copy of the most -coarse and unclean truth, and the light music of the most graceful and -airy fancies; the smell and horrors of a dissecting-room,[51] and all on -a sudden the freshness and cheerfulness of smiling dawn; the hateful -detail of leprosy, its white spots, its inner rottenness; and then this -lovely picture of a lark, rising amid the early perfumes of the fields: - - -"For so have I seen a lark arising from his bed of grass, and soaring -upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb -above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud -sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and -inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it -could recover by the vibration and frequent weighing of his wings, till -the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the -storm was over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and -sing, as if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed -sometimes through the air, about his ministries here below. So is the -prayer of a good man."[52] - - -And he continues with the charm, sometimes with the very words, of -Shakespeare. In the preacher, as well as in the poet, as well as in all -the cavaliers and all the artists of the time, the imagination is so -full, that it reaches the real, even to its filth, and the ideal as far -as its heaven. - -How could true religious sentiment thus accommodate itself to such a -frank and worldly gait? This, however, is what is has done; and -more--the latter has generated the former. With Taylor, as well as with -the others, bold poetry leads to profound faith. If this alliance -astonishes us to-day, it is because in this respect people have grown -pedantic. We take a formal man for a religious man. We are content to -see him stiff in his black coat, choked in a white neckerchief, with a -prayer-book in his hand. We confound piety with decency, propriety, -permanent and perfect regularity. We proscribe to a man of faith all -candid speech, all bold gesture, all fire and dash in word or act; we -are shocked by Luther's rude words, the bursts of laughter which shook -his mighty paunch, his rages like a working-man, his plain free -speaking, the audacious familiarity with which he treats Christ and the -Deity.[53] We do not perceive that these freedoms and this recklessness -are precisely signs of entire belief, that warm and immoderate -conviction is too sure of itself to be tied down to an irreproachable -style, that impulsive religion consists not of punctilios but of -emotions. It is a poem, the greatest of all, a poem believed in; this is -why these men found it at the end of their poesy: the way of looking at -the world, adopted by Shakespeare and all the tragic poets, led to it; -another step, and Jacques, Hamlet, would be there. That vast obscurity, -that black unexplored ocean, "the unknown country," which they saw on -the verge of our sad life, who knows whether it is not bounded by -another shore? The troubled notion of the shadowy beyond is national, -and this is why the national renaissance at this time became Christian. -When Taylor speaks of death he only takes up and works out a thought -which Shakespeare had already sketched: - - -"All the succession of time, all the changes in nature, all the -varieties of light and darkness, the thousand thousands of accidents in -the world, and every contingency to every man, and to every creature, -doth preach our funeral sermon, and calls us to look and see how the old -sexton Time throws up the earth, and digs a grave where we must lay our -sins or our sorrows, and sow our bodies, till they rise again in a fair -or in an intolerable eternity." - - -For beside this final death, which swallows us whole, there are partial -deaths which devour us piecemeal: - - -"Every revolution which the sun makes about the world, divides between -life and death; and death possesses both those portions by the next -morrow; and we are dead to all those months which we have already lived, -and we shall never live them over again: and still God makes little -periods of our age. First we change our world, when we come from the -womb to feel the warmth of the sun. Then we sleep and enter into the -image of death, in which state we are unconcerned in all the changes of -the world: and if our mothers or our nurses die, or a wild boar destroy -our vineyards, or our king be sick, we regard it not, but during that -state are as disinterest as if our eyes were closed with the clay that -weeps in the bowels of the earth. At the end of seven years our teeth -fall and die before us, representing a formal prologue to the tragedy; -and still every seven years it is odds but we shall finish the last -scene: and when nature, or chance, or vice, takes our body in pieces, -weakening some parts and loosing others, we taste the grave and the -solemnities of our own funerals, first in those parts that ministered to -vice, and next in them that served for ornament, and in a short time -even they that served for necessity become useless, and entangled like -the wheels of a broken clock. Baldness is but a dressing to our -funerals, the proper ornament of mourning, and of a person entered very -far into the regions and possession of death: and we have many more of -the same signification; gray hairs, rotten teeth, dim eyes, trembling -joints, short breath, stiff limbs, wrinkled skin, short memory, decayed -appetite. Every day's necessity calls for a reparation of that portion -which death fed on all night, when we lay in his lap and slept in his -outer chambers. The very spirits of a man prey upon the daily portion of -bread and flesh, and every meal is a rescue from one death, and lays up -for another; and while we think a thought, we die; and the clock -strikes, and reckons on our portion of eternity: we form our words with -the breath of our nostrils, we have the less to live upon for every word -we speak."[54] - - -Beyond all these destructions other destructions are at work; chance -mows us down as well as nature, and we are the prey of accident as well -as of necessity: - - -"Thus nature calls us to meditate of death by those things which are the -instruments of acting it: and God by all the variety of His providence -makes us see death everywhere, in all variety of circumstances, and -dressed up for all the fancies, and the expectation of every single -person.[55]... And how many teeming mothers have rejoiced over their -swelling wombs, and pleased themselves in becoming the channels of -blessing to a family, and the midwife hath quickly bound their heads and -feet and carried them forth to burial?[56]... You can go no whither but -you tread upon a dead man's bones."[57] - - -Thus these powerful words roll on, sublime as an organ motet; this -universal crushing out of human vanities has the funeral grandeur of a -tragedy; piety in this instance proceeds from eloquence, and genius -leads to faith. All the powers and all the tenderness of the soul are -moved. It is not a cold rigorist who speaks; it is a man, a moved man, -with senses and a heart, who has become a Christian not by -mortification, but by the development of his whole being: - - -"Reckon but from the sprightfulness of youth, and the fair cheeks and -full eyes of childhood, from the vigorousness and strong flexture of the -joints of five and twenty, to the hollowness and dead paleness, to the -loathsomeness and horror of a three days' burial, and we shall perceive -the distance to be very great and very strange. But so have I seen a -rose newly springing from the clefts of its hood, and at first it was -fair as the morning, and full with the dew of heaven as a lamb's fleece; -but when a ruder breath had forced open its virgin modesty, and -dismantled its too youthful and unripe retirements, it began to put on -darkness, and to decline to softness and the symptoms of a sickly age; -it bowed the head, and broke its stalk, and at night having lost some of -its leaves and all its beauty, it fell into the portion of weeds and -outworn faces. The same is the portion of every man and every woman, the -heritage of worms and serpents, rottenness and cold dishonor, and our -beauty so changed, that our acquaintance quickly knew us not; and that -change mingled with so much horror, or else meets so with our fears and -weak discoursings, that they who six hours ago tended upon us either -with charitable or ambitious services, cannot without some regret stay -in the room alone where the body lies stripped of its life and honor. I -have read of a fair young German gentleman who living often refused to -be pictured, but put off the importunity of his friends' desire by -giving way that after a few days' burial they might send a painter to -his vault, and if they saw cause for it draw the image of his death unto -the life: they did so, and found his face half eaten, and his midriff -and backbone full of serpents; and so he stands pictured among his armed -ancestors. So does the fairest beauty change, and it will be as bad with -you as me; and then what servants shall we have to wait upon us in the -grave? what friends to visit us? what officious people to cleanse away -the moist and unwholesome cloud reflected upon our faces from the sides -of the weeping vaults, which are the longest weepers for our -funeral?"[58] - - -Brought hither, like Hamlet to the burying-ground, amid the skulls which -he recognizes, and under the oppression of the death which he touches, -man needs but a slight effort to see a new world arise in his heart. He -seeks the remedy of his sadness in the idea of eternal justice, and -implores it with a breadth of words which makes the prayer a hymn in -prose, as beautiful as a work of art: - - -"Eternal God, Almighty Father of men and angels, by whose care and -providence I am preserved and blessed, comforted and assisted, I humbly -beg of Thee to pardon the sins and follies of this day, the weakness of -my services, and the strengths of my passions, the rashness of my words, -and the vanity and evil of my actions. O just and dear God, how long -shall I confess my sins, and pray against them, and yet fall under them? -O let it be so no more; let me never return to the follies of which I am -ashamed, which bring sorrow and death, and Thy displeasure, worse than -death. Give me a command over my inclinations and a perfect hatred of -sin, and a love to Thee above all the desires of this world. Be pleased -to bless and preserve me this night from all sin and all violence of -chance, and the malice of the spirits of darkness: watch over me in my -sleep; and whether I sleep or wake, let me be Thy servant. Be Thou first -and last in all my thoughts, and the guide and continual assistance of -all my actions. Preserve my body, pardon the sin of my soul, and -sanctify my spirit. Let me always live holily and soberly; and when I -die receive my soul into Thy hands."[59] - - - - -Section V.--The Puritans - - -This was, however, but an imperfect Reformation, and the official -religion was too closely bound up with the world to undertake to cleanse -it thoroughly; if it repressed the excesses of vice, it did not attack -its source; and the paganism of the Renaissance, following its bent, -already under James I issued in the corruption, orgies, disgusting, and -drunken habits, provoking and gross sensuality,[60] which subsequently -under the Restoration stank like a sewer in the sun. But underneath the -established Protestantism was propagated the forbidden Protestantism: -the yeomen were settling their faith like the gentlemen, and already the -Puritans made headway under the Anglicans. - -No culture here, no philosophy, no sentiment of harmonious and pagan -beauty. Conscience alone spoke, and its restlessness had become a -terror. The sons of the shopkeeper, of the farmer, who read the Bible in -the barn or the counting-house, amid the barrels or the wool-bags, did -not take matters as a handsome cavalier bred up in the old mythology, -and refined by an elegant Italian education. They took them tragically, -sternly examined themselves, pricked their hearts with their scruples, -filled their imaginations with the vengeance of God and the terrors of -the Bible. A gloomy epic, terrible and grand as the Edda, was fermenting -in their melancholy imaginations. They steeped themselves in texts of -St. Paul, in the thundering menaces of the prophets; they burdened their -minds with the pitiless doctrines of Calvin; they admitted that the -majority of men were predestined to eternal damnation:[61] many believed -that this multitude were criminal before their birth; that God willed, -foresaw, provided for their ruin; that He designed their punishment from -all eternity; that He created them simply to give them up to it.[62] -Nothing but grace can save the wretched creature, free grace, God's -sheer favor, which He only grants to a few, and which He distributes not -according to the struggles and works of men, but according to the -arbitrary choice of His single and absolute will. We are "children of -wrath," plague-stricken, and condemned from our birth; and wherever we -look in all the expanse of heaven, we find but thunderbolts flashing to -destroy us. Fancy, if you can, the effects of such an idea on solitary -and morose minds, such as this race and climate generate. Several -persons thought themselves damned, and went groaning about the streets; -others hardly ever slept. They were beside themselves, always imagining -that they felt the hand of God or the claw of the devil upon them. An -extraordinary power, immense means of action, were suddenly opened up in -the soul, and there was no barrier in the moral life, and no -establishment in civil society which their efforts could not upset. - -Forthwith private life was transformed. How could ordinary sentiments, -natural and everyday notions of happiness and pleasure, subsist before -such a conception? Suppose men condemned to death, not ordinary death, -but the rack, torture, an infinitely horrible and infinitely extended -torment, waiting for their sentence, and yet knowing that they had one -chance in a thousand, in a hundred thousand, of pardon; could they still -go on amusing themselves, taking an interest in the business or pleasure -of the time? The azure heaven shines not for them, the sun warms them -not, the beauty and sweetness of things have no attraction for them; -they have lost the wont of laughter; they fasten inwardly, pale and -silent, on their anguish and their expectation; they have but one -thought: "Will the Judge pardon me?" They anxiously probe the -involuntary motions of their heart, which alone can reply, and the inner -revelation, which alone can render them certain of pardon or ruin. They -think that any other condition of mind is unholy, that recklessness and -joy are monstrous, that every worldly recreation or preoccupation is an -act of paganism, and that the true mark of a Christian is trepidation at -the very idea of salvation. Thenceforth rigor and rigidity mark their -manners. The Puritan condemns the stage, the assemblies, the world's -pomps and gatherings, the court's gallantry and elegance, the poetical -and symbolical festivals of the country, the May-pole days, the merry -feasts, bell-ringings, all the outlets by which sensuous or instinctive -nature endeavored to relieve itself. He gives them up, abandons -recreations and ornaments, crops his hair closely, wears a simple -sombre-hued coat, speaks through his nose, walks stiffly, with his eyes -turned upwards, absorbed, indifferent to visible things. The external -and natural man is abolished; only the inner and spiritual man survives; -there remains of the soul only the ideas of God and conscience--a -conscience alarmed and diseased, but strict in every duty, attentive to -the least requirements, disdaining the caution of worldly morality, -inexhaustible in patience, courage, sacrifice, enthroning chastity on -the domestic hearth, truth before the tribunals, honesty in the -counting-house, labor in the workshop, everywhere a fixed determination -to bear all and do all rather than fail in the least injunction of moral -justice and Bible-law. The stoical energy, the fundamental honesty of -the race, were aroused at the appeal of an enthusiastic imagination; and -these unbending characteristics were displayed in their entirety in -conjunction with abnegation and virtue. - -Another step, and this great movement passed from within to without, -from individual manners to public institutions. Observe these people in -their reading of the Bible: they apply to themselves the commands -imposed on the Jews, and the prologues urge them to it. At the beginning -of their Bibles the translator[63] places a table of the principal words -in the Scripture, each with its definition and text to support it. They -read and weigh these words: "_Abomination_ before God are Idoles, -Images. Before whom the people do bow them selfes." Is this precept -observed? No doubt the images are taken away, but the queen has still a -crucifix in her chapel, and is it not a remnant of idolatry to kneel -down when taking the sacrament? "_Abrogacion_, that is to abolyshe, or -to make of none effecte: And so the lawe of the commandementes whiche -was in the decrees and ceremonies, is abolished. The sacrifices, festes, -meates, and al outwarde ceremonies are abrogated, and all the order of -priesthode is abrogated." Is this so, and how does it happen that the -bishops still take upon themselves the right of prescribing faith, -worship, and of tyrannizing over Christian consciences? And have they -not preserved in the organ-music, in the surplice of the priests, in the -sign of the cross, in a hundred other practices, all these visible rites -which God has declared profane? "_Abuses._ The abuses that be in the -church ought to be corrected by the prynces. The ministers ought to -preache against abuses. Any maner of mere tradicions of man are abuses." -What, meanwhile, is their prince doing, and why does he leave abuses in -the church? The Christian must rise and protest; we must purge the -church from the pagan crust with which tradition has covered it.[64] - -Such are the ideas conceived by these uncultivated minds. Fancy the -simple folk, more capable by their simplicity of a sturdy faith, these -freeholders, these big traders, who have sat on juries, voted at -elections, deliberated, discussed in common private and public business, -used to examine the law, the comparing of precedents, all the details of -juridical and legal procedure; bringing their lawyer's and pleader's -training to bear upon the interpretation of Scripture, who, having once -formed a conviction, employ for it the cold passion, the intractable -obstinacy, the heroic sternness of the English character. Their precise -and combative minds take the business in hand. Everyone holds himself -bound to be ready, strong, and well prepared to answer all such as shall -demand a reason of his faith. Each one has his difficulty and -conscientious scruple[65] about some portion of the liturgy or the -official hierarchy; about the dignities of canons and archdeacons, or -certain passages of the funeral service; about the sacramental bread or -the reading of the apocryphal books in church; about plurality of -benefices or the ecclesiastical square cap. They each oppose some point, -all together the episcopacy and the retention of Romish ceremonies.[66] -Then they are imprisoned, fined, put in the pillory; they have their -ears cut off; their ministers are dismissed, hunted out, prosecuted.[67] -The law declares that anyone above the age of sixteen who for the space -of a month shall refuse to attend the established worship, shall be -imprisoned until such time as he shall submit; and if he does not submit -at the end of three months, he shall be banished the kingdom; and if he -returns, put to death. They allow this to go on, and show as much -firmness in suffering as scruple in belief; for a tittle about receiving -of the communion, sitting rather than kneeling, or standing rather than -sitting, they give up their livings, their property, their liberty, -their country. One Dr. Leighton was imprisoned fifteen weeks in a dog's -kennel, without fire, roof, bed, and in irons: his hair and skin fell -off; he was set in the pillory during the November frosts, then whipped, -and branded on the forehead; his ears were cut off, his nose slit; he -was shut up eight years in the Fleet, and thence cast into the common -prison. Many went cheerfully to the stake. Religion with them was a -covenant, that is, a treaty made with God, which must be kept in spite -of everything, as a written engagement, to the letter, to the last -syllable. An admirable and deplorable stiffness of an over-scrupulous -conscience, which made cavillers at the same time with believers, which -was to make tyrants after it had made martyrs. - -Between the two, it made fighting men. These men had become wonderfully -wealthy and had increased in numbers in the course of eighty years, as -is always the case with men who labor, live honestly, and pass their -lives uprightly, sustained by a powerful source of action from within. -Thenceforth they are able to resist, and they do resist when driven to -extremities; they choose to have recourse to arms rather than be driven -back to idolatry and sin. The Long Parliament assembles, defeats the -king, purges religion; the dam is broken, the Independents are hurled -above the Presbyterians, the fanatics above the mere zealots; -irresistible and overwhelming faith, enthusiasm, grow into a torrent, -swallow up, or at least disturb the strongest minds, politicians, -lawyers, captains. The Commons occupy a day in every week in -deliberating on the progress of religion. As soon as they touch upon -doctrines they became furious. A poor man, Paul Best, being accused of -denying the Trinity, they demand the passing of a decree to punish him -with death; James Nayler having imagined that he was God, the Commons -devote themselves to a trial of eleven days, with a Hebraic animosity -and ferocity: "I think him worse than possessed with the devil. Our God -is here supplanted. My ears trembled, my heart shuddered, on hearing the -report. I will speak no more. Let us all stop our ears and stone -him."[68] Before the House of Commons, publicly, the men in authority -had ecstasies. After the expulsion of the Presbyterians, the preacher -Hugh Peters started up in the middle of a sermon, and cried out: "Now I -have it by Revelation, now I shall tell you. This army must root up -Monarchy, not only here, but in France and other kingdoms round about; -this is to bring you out of Egypt: this Army is that corner-stone cut -out of the Mountaine, which must dash the powers of the earth to pieces. -But it is objected, the way we walk in is without president (_sic_); -what think you of the Virgin Mary? was there ever any president before, -that a Woman should conceive a Child without the company of a Man? This -is an Age to make examples and presidents in."[69] Cromwell found -prophecies, counsels in the Bible for the present time, positive -justifications of his policy. "He looked upon the Design of the Lord in -this day to be the freeing of His People from every Burden, and that was -now accomplishing what was prophesied in the 110th Psalm; from the -Consideration of which he was often encouraged to attend the effecting -those ends, spending at least an hour in the Exposition of that -psalm."[70] Granted that he was a schemer, above all ambitious, yet he -was truly fanatical and sincere. His doctor related that he had been -very melancholy for years at a time, with strange hallucinations, and -the frequent fancy that he was at death's door. Two years before the -Revolution he wrote to his cousin: "Truly no poor creature hath more -cause to put himself forth in the cause of his God than I.... The Lord -accept me in His Son, and give me to walk in the light--and give us to -walk in the light, as He is the light!... blessed be His Name for -shining upon so dark a heart as mine!"[71] Certainly he must have -dreamed of becoming a saint as well as a king, and aspired to salvation -as well as to a throne. At the moment when he was proceeding to Ireland, -and was about to massacre the Catholics there, he wrote to his -daughter-in-law a letter of advice which Baxter or Taylor might -willingly have subscribed. In the midst of pressing affairs, in 1651, he -thus exhorted his wife: "My dearest, I could not satisfy myself to omit -this post, although I have not much to write.... It joys me to hear thy -soul prospereth: the Lord increase His favors to thee more and more. The -great good thy soul can wish is, That the Lord lift upon thee the light -of His countenance, which is better than life. The Lord bless all thy -good counsel and example to all those about thee, and hear all thy -prayers, and accept thee always."[72] Dying, he asked whether grace once -received could be lost, and was reassured to learn that it could not, -being, as he said, certain that he had once been in a state of grace. He -died with this prayer: "Lord, though I am a miserable and wretched -creature, I am in Covenant with Thee through grace. And I may, I will, -come to Thee, for Thy People. Thou hast made me, though very unworthy, a -mean instrument to do them some good, and Thee service.... Lord, however -Thou do dispose of me, continue and go on to do good for them... and go -on... with the work of reformation; and make the Name of Christ glorious -in the world."[73] Underneath this practical, prudent, worldly spirit, -there was an English element of anxious and powerful imagination, -capable of engendering an impassioned Calvinism and mystic fears.[74] -The same contrasts were jumbled together and reconciled in the other -Independents. In 1648, after unsuccessful tactics, they were in danger -between the king and the Parliament; then they assembled for several -days together at Windsor to confess themselves to God, and seek His -assistance; and they discovered that all their evils came from the -conferences they had had the weakness to propose to the king. "And in -this path the Lord led us," said Adjutant Allen, "not only to see our -sin, but also our duty; and this so unanimously set with weight upon -each heart that none was able hardly to speak a word to each other for -bitter weeping, partly in the sense and shame of our iniquities; of our -unbelief, base fear of men, and carnal consultations (as the fruit -thereof) with our own wisdoms, and not with the Word of the Lord."[75] -Thereupon they resolved to bring the king to judgment and death, and did -as they had resolved. - -Around them, fanaticism and folly gained ground. Independents, -Millenarians, Antinomians, Anabaptists, Libertines, Familists, Quakers, -Enthusiasts, Seekers, Perfectionists, Socinians, Arians, -anti-Trinitarians, anti-Scripturalists, Sceptics; the list of sects is -interminable. Women, soldiers, suddenly got up into the pulpit and -preached. The strangest ceremonies took place in public. In 1644, says -Dr. Featly, the Anabaptists rebaptized a hundred men and women together -at twilight, in streams, in branches of the Thames, and elsewhere, -plunging them in the water over head and ears. One Oates, in the county -of Essex, was brought before a jury for the murder of Anne Martin, who -died a few days after her baptism of a cold which had seized her. George -Fox the Quaker spoke with God, and witnessed with a loud voice, in the -streets and market-places, against the sins of the age. William Simpson, -one of his disciples, "was moved of the Lord to go, at several times, -for three years, naked and barefooted before them, as a sign unto them, -in the markets, courts, towns, cities, to priests' houses, and to great -men's houses, telling them, so shall they all be stripped naked, as he -was stripped naked. And sometimes he was moved to put on hair sackcloth -and to besmear his face, and to tell them, so would the Lord besmear all -their religion as he was besmeared.[76] - -"A female came into Whitehall Chapel stark naked, in the midst of public -worship, the Lord Protector himself being present. A Quaker came to the -door of the Parliament House with a drawn sword, and wounded several who -were present, saying that he was inspired by the Holy Spirit to kill -every man that sat in the house." The Fifth Monarchy men believed that -Christ was about to descend to reign in person upon earth for a thousand -years, with the saints for His ministers. The Ranters looked upon -furious vociferations and contortions as the principal signs of faith. -The Seekers thought that religious truth could only be seized in a sort -of mystical fog, with doubt and fear. The Muggletonians decided that -"John Reeve and Ludovick Muggleton were the two last prophets and -messengers of God"; they declared the Quakers possessed of the devil, -exorcised him, and prophesied that William Penn would be damned. I have -before mentioned James Nayler, an old quartermaster of General Lambert, -adored as a god by his followers. Several women led his horse, others -cast before him their kerchiefs and scarfs, singing, Holy, holy, Lord -God. They called him "lovely among ten thousand, the only Son of God, -the prophet of the Most High, King of Israel, the eternal Son of -Justice, the Prince of Peace, Jesus, him in whom the hope of Israel -rests." One of them, Dorcas Erbury, declared that she had lain dead for -two whole days in her prison in Exeter Gaol, and that Nayler had -restored her to life by laying his hands upon her. Sarah Blackbury -finding him a prisoner, took him by the hand and said, "Rise up, my -love, my dove, my fairest one: why stayest thou among the pots?" Then -she kissed his hand and fell down before him. When he was put in the -pillory, some of his disciples began to sing, weep, smite their breasts; -others kissed his hands, rested on his bosom, and kissed his wounds.[77] -Bedlam broken loose could not have surpassed them. - -Underneath the surface and these disorderly bubbles the wise and deep -strata of the nation had settled, and the new faith was doing its work -with them--a practical and positive, a political and moral work. Whilst -the German Reformation, after the German wont, resulted in great volumes -and a scholastic system, the English Reformation, after the English -wont, resulted in action and establishment. "How the Church of Christ -shall be governed"; that was the great question which was discussed -among the sects. The House of Commons asked the Assembly of Divines: If -the classical, provincial, and local assemblies were _jure divino_, and -instituted by the will and appointment of Jesus Christ? If they were all -so? If only some were so, and which? If appeals carried by the elders of -a congregation to provincial, departmental, and national assemblies were -_jure divino_, and according to the will and appointment of Jesus -Christ? If some only were _jure divino?_ And which? If the power of the -assemblies in such appeals was _jure divino_, and by the will and -appointment of Jesus Christ? and a hundred other questions of the same -kind. Parliament declared that, according to Scripture, the dignities of -priest and bishop were equal; it regulated ordinations, convocations, -excommunications, jurisdictions, elections; spent half its time and -exerted all its power in establishing the Presbyterian Church.[78] So, -with the Independents, fervor engendered courage and discipline. -"Cromwell's regiment of horse were most of them freeholders' sons, who -engaged in the war upon principles of conscience; and that being well -armed within, by the satisfaction of their consciences, and without with -good iron arms, they would as one man stand firmly and charge -desperately."[79] This army, in which inspired corporals preached to -lukewarm colonels, acted with the solidity and precision of a Russian -regiment: it was a duty, a duty towards God, to fire straight and march -in good order; and a perfect Christian made a perfect soldier. There was -no separation here between theory and practice, between private and -public life, between the spiritual and the temporal. They wished to -apply Scripture to "establish the kingdom of heaven upon earth," to -institute not only a Christian Church, but a Christian society, to -change the law into a guardian of morals, to compel men to piety and -virtue; and, for a while they succeeded in it. "Though the discipline of -the church was at an end, there was nevertheless an uncommon spirit of -devotion among people in the parliament quarters; the Lord's day was -observed with remarkable strictness, the churches being crowded with -numerous and attentive hearers three or four times in the day; the -officers of the peace patrolled the streets, and shut up all public -houses; there was no travelling on the road, or walking in the fields, -except in cases of absolute necessity. Religious exercises were set up -in private families, as reading the Scriptures, family prayer, repeating -sermons, and singing of psalms, which was so universal, that you might -walk through the city of London on the evening of the Lord's day, -without seeing an idle person, or hearing anything but the voice of -prayer or praise from churches and private houses."[80] People would -rise before daybreak, and walk a great distance to be able to hear the -word of God. "There were no gaming houses, or houses of pleasure; no -profane swearing, drunkenness, or any kind of debauchery."[81] The -Parliamentary soldiers came in great numbers to listen to sermons, spoke -of religion, prayed and sang psalms together, when on duty. In 1644 -Parliament forbade the sale of commodities on Sunday, and ordained "that -no person shall travel, or carry a burden, or do any worldly labour, -upon penalty of 10s. for the traveller, and 5s. for every burden. That -no person shall on the Lord's day use, or be present at, any wrestling, -shooting, fowling, ringing of bells for pleasure, markets, wakes, -church-ales, dancing, games or sports whatsoever, upon penalty of 5s. to -everyone above fourteen years of age. And if children are found -offending in the premises, their parents or guardians to forfeit 12d. -for every offence. If the several fines above mentioned cannot be -levied, the offending party shall be set in the stocks for the space of -three hours." When the Independents were in power, severity became still -greater. The officers in the army, having convicted one of their -quartermasters of blasphemy, condemned him to have his tongue bored with -a red-hot iron, his sword broken over his head, and himself to be -dismissed from the army. During Cromwell's expedition in Ireland, we -read that no blasphemy was heard in the camp; the soldiers spent their -leisure hours in reading the Bible, singing psalms, and holding -religious controversies. In 1650 the punishments inflicted on -Sabbath-breakers were doubled. Stern laws were passed against betting, -gallantry was reckoned a crime; the theatres were destroyed, the -spectators fined, the actors whipped at the cart's tail; adultery -punished with death: in order to reach crime more surely, they -persecuted pleasure. But if they were austere against others, they were -so against themselves, and practised the virtues they exacted. After the -Restoration, two thousand ministers, rather than conform to the new -liturgy, resigned their cures, though they and their families had to die -of hunger. Many of them, says Baxter, thinking that they were not -justified in quitting their ministry after being set apart for it by -ordination, preached to such as would hear them in the fields and in -certain houses, until they were seized and thrown into prisons, where a -great number of them perished. Cromwell's fifty thousand veterans, -suddenly disbanded and without resources, did not bring a single recruit -to the vagabonds and bandits. "The Royalists themselves confessed that, -in every department of honest industry, the discarded warriors prospered -beyond other men, that none was charged with any theft or robbery, that -none was heard to ask an alms, and that, if a baker, a mason, or a -waggoner, attracted notice by his diligence and sobriety, he was in all -probability one of Oliver's old soldiers."[82] Purified by persecution -and ennobled by patience, they ended by winning the tolerance of the law -and the respect of the public, and raised national morality, as they had -saved national liberty. But others, exiles in America, pushed to the -extreme this great religious and stoical spirit, with its weaknesses and -its power, with its vices and its virtues. Their determination, -intensified by a fervent faith, employed in political and practical -pursuits, invented the science of emigration, made exile tolerable, -drove back the Indians, fertilized the desert, raised a rigid morality -into a civil law, founded and armed a church, and on the Bible as a -basis built up a new state.[83] - -That was not a conception of life from which a genuine literature might -be expected to issue. The idea of the beautiful is wanting, and what is -a literature without that? The natural expression of the heart's -emotions is proscribed, and what is a literature without that? They -abolished as impious the free stage and the rich poesy which the -Renaissance had brought them. They rejected as profane the ornate style -and copious eloquence which had been established around them by the -imitation of antiquity and of Italy. They, mistrusted reason, and were -incapable of philosophy. They ignored the divine languor of the -"Imitatio Christi" and the touching tenderness of the Gospel. Their -character exhibits only manliness, their conduct austerity, their mind -preciseness. We find amongst them only excited theologians, minute -controversialists, energetic men of action, narrow and patient minds, -engrossed in positive proofs and practical labors, void of general ideas -and refined tastes, dulled by texts, dry and obstinate reasoners, who -twisted the Scripture in order to extract from it a form of government -or a table of dogma. What could be narrower or more repulsive than these -pursuits and wrangles? A pamphlet of the time petitions for liberty of -conscience, and draws its arguments (1) from the parable of the wheat -and the tares which grow together till the harvest; (2) from this maxim -of the Apostles, Let every man be thoroughly persuaded in his own mind; -(3) from this text, Whatsoever is not of faith is sin; (4) from this -divine rule of our Saviour, Do to others what you would they should do -unto you. Later, when the angry Commons desired to pass judgment on -James Nayler, the trial became entangled in an endless juridical and -theological discussion, some declaring that the crime committed was -idolatry, others seduction, all emptying out before the House their -armory of commentaries and texts.[84] Seldom has a generation been found -more mutilated in all the faculties which produce contemplation and -ornament, more reduced to the faculties which nourish discussion and -morality. Like a beautiful insect which has become transformed and has -lost its wings, so we see the poetic generation of Elizabeth disappear, -leaving in its place but a sluggish caterpillar, a stubborn and useful -spinner, armed with industrious feet and formidable jaws, spending its -existence in eating into old leaves and devouring its enemies. They are -without style; they speak like business men; at most, here and there, a -pamphlet of Prynne possesses a little vigor. Their histories, like May's -for instance, are flat and heavy. Their memoirs, even those of Ludlow -and Mrs. Hutchinson, are long, wearisome, mere statements, destitute of -personal feelings, void of enthusiasm or entertaining matter; "they seem -to ignore themselves, and are engrossed by the general prospects of -their cause."[85] Good works of piety, solid and convincing sermons; -sincere, edifying, exact, methodical books, like those of Baxter, -Barclay, Calamy, John Owen; personal narratives, like that of Baxter, -like Fox's journal, Bunyan's life, a large collection of documents and -arguments, conscientiously arranged--this is all they offer; the Puritan -destroys the artist, stiffens the man, fetters the writer; and leaves of -artist, man, writer, only a sort of abstract being, the slave of a -watchword. If a Milton springs up amongst them, it is because by his -great curiosity, his travels, his comprehensive education, above all by -his youth saturated in the grand poetry of the preceding age, and by his -independence of spirit, haughtily defended even against the sectarians, -Milton passes beyond sectarianism. Strictly speaking, the Puritans could -but have one poet, an involuntary poet, a madman, a martyr, a hero, and -a victim of grace; a genuine preacher, who attains the beautiful by -chance, whilst pursuing the useful on principle; a poor tinker, who, -employing images so as to be understood by mechanics, sailors, -servant-girls, attained, without pretending to it, eloquence and high -art. - - - - -Section VI.--John Bunyan - - -Next to the Bible, the book most widely read in England is the -"Pilgrim's Progress," by John Bunyan. The reason is, that the basis of -Protestantism is the doctrine of salvation by grace, and that no writer -has equalled Bunyan in making this doctrine understood. - -To treat well of supernatural impressions, a man must have been subject -to them. Bunyan had that kind of imagination which produces them. -Powerful as that of an artist, but more vehement, this imagination -worked in the man without his cooperation, and besieged him with visions -which he had neither willed nor foreseen. From that moment there was in -him as it were a second self, ruling the first, grand and terrible, -whose apparitions were sudden, its motions unknown, which redoubled or -crushed his faculties, prostrated or transported him, bathed him in the -sweat of agony, ravished him with trances of joy, and which by its -force, strangeness, independence, impressed upon him the presence and -the action of a foreign and superior master. Bunyan, like Saint Theresa, -was from infancy "greatly troubled with the thoughts of the fearful -torments of hell-fire," sad in the midst of pleasures, believing himself -damned, and so despairing, that he wished he was a devil, "supposing -they were only tormentors; that if it must needs be that I went thither, -I might be rather a tormentor, than be tormented myself."[86] There -already was the assault of exact and bodily images. Under their -influence reflection ceased, and the man was suddenly spurred into -action. The first movement carried him with closed eyes, as down a steep -slope, into mad resolutions. One day, "being in the field, with my -companions, it chanced that an adder passed over the highway; so I, -having a stick, struck her over the back; and having stunned her, I -forced open her mouth with my stick, and plucked her sting out with my -fingers, by which act, had not God been merciful to me, I might, by my -desperateness, have brought myself to my end."[87] In his first -approaches to conversion he was extreme in his emotions, and penetrated -to the heart by the sight of physical objects, "adoring" priests, -service, altar, vestment. "This conceit grew so strong upon my spirit, -that had I but seen a priest (though never so sordid and debauched in -his life), I should find my spirit fall under him, reverence him, and -knit unto him; yea, I thought, for the love I did bear unto them -(supposing they were the ministers of God), I could have laid down at -their feet, and have been trampled upon by them; their name, their garb, -and work did so intoxicate and bewitch me."[88] Already his ideas clung -to him with that irresistible hold which constitutes monomania; no -matter how absurd they were, they ruled him, not by their truth, but by -their presence. The thought of an impossible danger terrified him just -as much as the sight of an imminent peril. As a man hung over an abyss -by a sound rope, he forgot that the rope was sound, and he became giddy. -After the fashion of English villagers, he loved bell-ringing; when he -became a Puritan, he considered the amusement profane, and gave it up; -yet, impelled by his desire, he would go into the belfry and watch the -ringers. "But quickly after, I began to think, 'How if one of the bells -should fall?' Then I chose to stand under a main beam, that lay -overthwart the steeple, from side to side, thinking here I might stand -sure; but then I thought again, should the bell fall with a swing, it -might first hit the wall, and then rebounding upon me, might kill me for -all this beam. This made me stand in the steeple-door; and now, thought -I, I am safe enough, for if a bell should then fall, I can slip out -behind these thick walls, and so be preserved notwithstanding. So after -this I would yet go to see them ring, but would not go any farther than -the steeple-door; but then it came into my head, 'How if the steeple -itself should fall? And this thought (it may, for aught I know, when I -stood and looked on) did continually so shake my mind, that I durst not -stand at the steeple-door any longer, but was forced to flee, for fear -the steeple should fall upon my head.'"[89] Frequently the mere -conception of a sin became for him a temptation so involuntary and so -strong, that he felt upon him the sharp claw of the devil. The fixed -idea swelled in his head like a painful abscess, full of all -sensitiveness and of all his life's blood. "Now no sin would serve but -that; if it were to be committed by speaking of such a word, then I have -been as if my mouth would have spoken that word whether I would or no; -and in so strong a measure was the temptation upon me, that often I have -been ready to clap my hands under my chin, to hold my mouth from -opening; at other times, to leap with my head downward into some -muckhill hole, to keep my mouth from speaking."[90] Later, in the middle -of a sermon which he was preaching, he was assailed by blasphemous -thoughts; the word came to his lips, and all his power of resistance was -barely able to restrain the muscle excited by the tyrannous brain. - -Once the minister of the parish was preaching against the sin of -dancing, oaths, and games, when he was struck with the idea that the -sermon was for him, and returned home full of trouble. But he ate; his -stomach being charged, discharged his brain, and his remorse was -dispersed. Like a true child, entirely absorbed by the emotion of the -moment, he was transported, jumped out, and ran to the sports. He had -thrown his ball, and was about to begin again, when a voice from heaven -suddenly pierced his soul. "'Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, -or have thy sins and go to hell?' At this I was put to an exceeding -maze; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, -and was as if I had with the eyes of my understanding, seen the Lord -Jesus look down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as -if He did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these -and other ungodly practices."[91] Suddenly reflecting that his sins were -very great, and that he would certainly be damned whatever he did, he -resolved to enjoy himself in the mean time, and to sin as much as he -could in this life. He took up his ball again, recommenced the game with -ardor, and swore louder and oftener than ever. A month afterwards, being -reproved by a woman, "I was silenced, and put to secret shame, and that -too, as I thought, before the God of heaven: wherefore, while I stood -there, hanging down my head, I wished that I might be a little child -again, and that my father might learn me to speak without this wicked -way of swearing; for, thought I, I am so accustomed to it, that it is in -vain to think of a reformation, for that could never be. But how it came -to pass I know not, I did from this time forward so leave my swearing, -that it was a great wonder to myself to observe it; and whereas before I -knew not how to speak unless I put an oath before, and another behind, -to make my words have authority, now I could without it speak better, -and with more pleasantness, than ever I could before."[92] These sudden -alternations, these vehement resolutions, this unlooked-for renewal of -heart, are the products of an involuntary and impassioned imagination, -which by its hallucinations, its mastery, its fixed ideas, its mad -ideas, prepares the way for a poet, and announces an inspired man. - -In him circumstances develop character; his kind of life develops his -kind of mind. He was born in the lowest and most despised rank, a -tinker's son, himself a wandering tinker, with a wife as poor as -himself, so that they had not a spoon or a dish between them. He had -been taught in childhood to read and write, but he had since "almost -wholly lost what he had learned." Education diverts and disciplines a -man; fills him with varied and rational ideas; prevents him from sinking -into monomania or being excited by transport; gives him determinate -thoughts instead of eccentric fancies, pliable opinions for fixed -convictions; replaces impetuous images by calm reasonings, sudden -resolves by carefully weighed decisions; furnishes us with the wisdom -and ideas of others; gives us conscience and self-command. Suppress this -reason and this discipline, and consider the poor ignorant working-man -at his toil; his head works while his hands work, not ably, with methods -acquired from any logic he might have mustered, but with dark emotions, -beneath a disorderly flow of confused images. Morning and evening, the -hammer which he uses in his trade, drives in with its deafening sounds -the same thought perpetually returning and self-communing. A troubled, -obstinate vision floats before him in the brightness of the hammered and -quivering metal. In the red furnace where the iron is glowing, in the -clang of the hammered brass, in the black corners where the damp shadow -creeps, he sees the flame and darkness of hell, and the rattling of -eternal chains. Next day he sees the same image, the day after, the -whole week, month, year. His brow wrinkles, his eyes grow sad, and his -wife hears him groan in the night-time. She remembers that she has two -volumes in an old bag. "The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven" and "The -Practice of Piety"; he spells them out to console himself; and the -printed thoughts, already sublime in themselves, made more so by the -slowness with which they are read, sink like an oracle into his subdued -faith. The braziers of the devils--the golden harps of heaven--the -bleeding Christ on the cross--each of these deep-rooted ideas sprouts -poisonously or wholesomely in his diseased brain, spreads, pushes out -and springs higher with a ramification of fresh visions, so crowded, -that in his encumbered mind he has no further place nor air for more -conceptions. Will he rest when he sets forth in the winter on his tramp? -During his long solitary wanderings, over wild heaths, in cursed and -haunted bogs, always abandoned to his own thoughts, the inevitable idea -pursues him. These neglected roads where he sticks in the mud, these -sluggish dirty rivers which he crosses on the cranky ferry-boat, these -threatening whispers of the woods at night, when in perilous places the -livid moon shadows out ambushed forms--all that he sees and hears falls -into an involuntary poem around the one absorbing idea; thus it changes -into a vast body of visible legends, and multiplies its power as it -multiplies its details. Having become a dissenter, Bunyan is shut up for -twelve years, having no other amusement but the "Book of Martyrs" and -the Bible, in one of those pestiferous prisons where the Puritans rotted -under the Restoration. There he is, still alone, thrown back upon -himself by the monotony of his dungeon, besieged by the terrors of the -Old Testament, by the vengeful out-pourings of the prophets, by the -thunder-striking words of Paul, by the spectacle of trances and of -martyrs, face to face with God, now in despair, now consoled, troubled -with involuntary images and unlooked-for emotions, seeing alternately -devil and angels, the actor and the witness of an internal drama whose -vicissitudes he is able to relate. He writes them: it is his book. You -see now the condition of this inflamed brain. Poor in ideas, full of -images, given up to a fixed and single thought, plunged into this -thought by his mechanical pursuit, by his prison and his readings, by -his knowledge and his ignorance, circumstances, like nature, make him a -visionary and an artist, furnish him with supernatural impressions and -visible images, teaching him the history of grace and the means of -expressing it. - -The "Pilgrim's Progress" is a manual of devotion for the use of simple -folk, whilst it is an allegorical poem of grace. In it we hear a man of -the people speaking to the people, who would render intelligible to all -the terrible doctrine of damnation and salvation.[93] According to -Bunyan, we are "children of wrath," condemned from our birth, guilty by -nature, justly predestined to destruction. Beneath this formidable -thought the heart gives way. The unhappy man relates how he trembled in -all his limbs, and in his fits it seemed to him as though the bones of -his chest would break. "One day," he tells us, "I walked to a -neighboring town, and sat down upon a settle in the street, and fell -into a very deep pause about the most fearful state my sin had brought -me to; and after long musing, I lifted up my head, but methought I saw, -as if the sun that shineth in the heavens did grudge to give light; and -as if the very stones in the street, and tiles upon the houses, did band -themselves against me. O how happy now was every creature over I was! -For they stood fast, and kept their station, but I was gone and -lost."[94] The devils gathered together against the repentant sinner; -they choked his sight, besieged him with phantoms, yelled at his side to -drag him down their precipices; and the black valley into which the -pilgrim plunges, almost matches by the horror of its symbols the agony -of the terrors by which he is assailed: - - -"I saw then in my Dream, so far as this Valley reached, there was on the -right hand a very deep Ditch; that Ditch is it into which the blind have -led the blind in all ages, and have both there miserably perished. -Again, behold on the left hand, there was a very dangerous Quag, into -which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot to -stand on.... - -"The path-way was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore good -Christian was the more put to it; for when he sought in the dark to shun -the ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the -other; also when he sought to escape the mire, without great carefulness -he would be ready to fall into the ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard -him here sigh bitterly; for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the -pathway was here so dark, that ofttimes, when he lift up his foot to set -forward he knew not where, or upon what he should set it next. - -"About the midst of this Valley, I perceived the mouth of Hell to be, -and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, thought Christian, what -shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such -abundance, with sparks and hideous noises,... that he was forced to put -up his Sword, and betake himself to another weapon, called All-prayer. -So he cried in my hearing: 'O Lord, I beseech thee deliver my soul.' -Thus he went on a great while, yet still the flames would be reaching -toward him: Also he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro, so -that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down -like mire in the Streets."[95] - - -Against this agony, neither his good deeds, nor his prayers, nor his -justice, nor all the justice and all the prayers of all other men, could -defend him. Grace alone justifies. God must impute to him the purity of -Christ, and save him by a free choice. What can be more full of passion -than the scene in which, under the name of his poor pilgrim, he relates -his own doubts, his conversion, his joy, and the sudden change of his -heart? - - -"Then the water stood in mine eyes, and I asked further, But, Lord, may -such a great sinner as I am be indeed accepted of thee, and be saved by -thee? And I heard him say, And him that cometh to me I will in no wise -cast out.... And now was my heart full of joy, mine eyes full of tears, -and mine affections running over with love to the Name, People, and Ways -of Jesus Christ.... - -"It made me see that all the World, notwithstanding all the -righteousness thereof, is in a state of condemnation. It made me see -that God the Father, though he be just, can justly justify the coming -sinner. It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of my former life, -and confounded me with the sense of mine own ignorance; for there never -came thought into my heart before now, that shewed me so the beauty of -Jesus Christ. It made me love a holy life, and long to do something for -the Honour and Glory of the Name of the Lord Jesus; yea, I thought that -had I now a thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it all -for the sake of the Lord Jesus."[96] - - -Such an emotion does not weigh literary calculations. Allegory, the most -artificial kind, is natural to Bunyan. If he employs it here, it is -because he does so throughout; if he employs it throughout, it is from -necessity, not choice. As children, countrymen, and all uncultivated -minds, he transforms arguments into parables; he only grasps truth when -it is clothed in images; abstract terms elude him; he must touch forms -and contemplate colors. Dry general truths are a sort of algebra, -acquired by the mind slowly and after much trouble, against our -primitive inclination, which is to observe detailed events and visible -objects; man being incapable of contemplating pure formulas until he is -transformed by ten years' reading and reflection. We understand at once -the term purification of heart; Bunyan understands it fully only, after -translating it by this fable: - - -"Then the Interpreter took Christian by the hand, and led him into a -very large Parlour that was full of dust, because never swept; the which -after he had reviewed a little while, the Interpreter called for a man -to sweep. Now when he began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to -fly about, that Christian had almost therewith been choaked. Then said -the Interpreter to a Damsel that stood by, Bring hither the Water, and -sprinkle the Room; the which when she had done, it was swept and -cleansed with pleasure. - -"Then said Christian, What means this? - -"The Interpreter answered, This Parlour is the heart of a man that was -never sanctified by the sweet Grace of the Gospel: the dust is his -Original Sin, and inward Corruptions, that have defiled the whole man. -He that began to sweep at first, is the Law; but she that brought water, -and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel. Now, whereas thou sawest that so -soon as the first began to sweep, the dust did so fly about that the -Room by him could not be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choaked -there with; this to shew thee, that the Law, instead of cleansing the -heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive, put strength into and -increase it in the soul, even as it doth discover and forbid it for it -doth not give power to subdue. - -"Again, as thou sawest the Damsel sprinkle the room with Water, upon -which it was cleansed with pleasure; this is to shew thee that when the -Gospel comes in the sweet and precious influences thereof to the heart, -then I say, even as thou sawest the Damsel lay the dust by sprinkling -the floor with Water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the soul -made clean, through the faith of it, and consequently fit for the King -of Glory to inhabit."[97] - - -These repetitions, embarrassed phrases, familiar comparisons, this -artless style, whose awkwardness recalls the childish periods of -Herodotus, and whose simplicity recalls tales for children, prove that -if his work is allegorical, it is so in order that it may be -intelligible, and that Bunyan is a poet because he is a child.[98] - -If you study him well, however, you will find power under his -simplicity, and in his puerility the vision. These allegories are -hallucinations as clear, complete, and sound as ordinary perceptions. No -one but Spenser is so lucid. Imaginary objects rise of themselves before -him. He has no trouble in calling them up or forming them. They agree in -all their details with all the details of the precept which they -represent, as a pliant veil fits the body which it covers. He -distinguishes and arranges all the parts of the landscape--here the -river, on the right the castle, a flag on its left turret, the setting -sun three feet lower, an oval cloud in the front part of the sky--with -the preciseness of a land-surveyor. We fancy in reading him that we are -looking at the old maps of the time, in which the striking features of -the angular cities are marked on a copperplate by a tool as certain as a -pair of compasses.[99] Dialogues flow from his pen as in a dream. He -does not seem to be thinking; we should even say that he was not himself -there. Events and speeches seem to grow and dispose themselves with him, -independently of his will. Nothing, as a rule, is colder than the -characters in an allegory; his are living. Looking upon these details, -so small and familiar, illusion gains upon us. Giant Despair, a simple -abstraction, becomes as real in his hands as an English jailer or -farmer. He is heard talking by night in bed with his wife Diffidence, -who gives him good advice, because here, as in other households, the -strong and brutal animal is the least cunning of the two: - - -"Then she counselled him that when he arose in the morning he should -(take the two prisoners and) beat them without mercy. So when he arose, -he getteth him a grievous Crab-tree Cudgel, and goes down into the -Dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of them as if they were -dogs, although they gave him never a word of distaste. Then he falls -upon them, and beats them fearfully, in such sort, that they were not -able to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor." [100] - - -This stick, chosen with a forester's experience, this instinct of rating -first and storming to get one's self into trim for knocking down, are -traits which attest the sincerity of the narrator, and succeed in -persuading the reader. Bunyan has the copiousness, the tone, the ease, -and the clearness of Homer; he is as close to Homer as an Anabaptist -tinker could be to a heroic singer, a creator of gods. - -I err; he is nearer. Before the sentiment of the sublime, inequalities -are levelled. The depth of emotion raises peasant and poet to the same -eminence; and here, also, allegory stands the peasant in stead. It -alone, in the absence of ecstasy, can paint heaven; for it does not -pretend to paint it: expressing it by a figure, it declares it -invisible, as a glowing sun at which we cannot look straight, and whose -image we observe in a mirror or a stream. The ineffable world thus -retains all its mystery; warned by the allegory, we imagine splendors -beyond all which it presents to us; we feel behind the beauties which -are opened to us, the infinite which is concealed; and the ideal city, -vanishing as soon as it appears, ceases to resemble the material -Whitehall imagined for Jehovah by Milton. Read the arrival of the -pilgrims in the celestial land. Saint Theresa has nothing more -beautiful: - - -"Yea, here they heard continually the singing of Birds, and saw every -day the Flowers appear in the earth, and heard the voice of the Turtle -in the land. In this Country the Sun shineth night and day. ... Here -they were within sight of the City they were going to, also here met -them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the Shining Ones -commonly walked, because it was upon the borders of Heaven.... Here they -heard voices from out of the City, loud voices, saying, 'Say ye to the -daughter of Zion, Behold thy salvation cometh, behold his reward is with -him!' Here all the inhabitants of the Country called them 'The holy -People, The redeemed of the Lord, Sought out, etc.' - -"Now as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than in parts -more remote from the Kingdom to which they were bound; and drawing near -to the City, they had yet a more perfect view thereof. It was builded of -Pearls and Precious Stones, also the Street, thereof was paved with -gold; so that by reason of the natural glory of the City, and the -reflection of the Sun-beams upon it, Christian with desire fell sick; -Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease. Wherefore here they -lay by it awhile, crying out because of their pangs, 'If you see my -Beloved, tell him that I am sick of love.'[101]... - -"They therefore went up here with much agility and speed, though the -foundation upon which the City was framed was higher than the Clouds. -They therefore went up through the Regions of the Air, sweetly talking -as they went, being comforted, because they safely got over the River, -and had such glorious companions to attend them. - -"The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was about the glory of the -place, who told them that the beauty and glory of it was inexpressible. -There, said they, is the Mount Sion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the -innumerable company of Angels, and the Spirits of just men made perfect. -You are going now, said they, to the Paradise of God, wherein you shall -see the Tree of Life, and eat of the never-fading fruits thereof; and -when you come there, you shall have white Robes given you, and your walk -and talk shall be every day with the King, even all the days of -Eternity."[102] - -"There came out also at this time to meet them, several of the King's -Trumpeters, cloathed in white and shining Raiment, who with melodious -noises and loud, made even the Heavens to echo with their sound. These -Trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes -from the World, and this they did with shouting and sound of Trumpet. - -"This done, they compassed them round on every side; some went before, -some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the left (as 't were to -guard them through the upper Regions), continually sounding as they went -with melodious noise, in notes on high; so that the very sight was to -them that could behold it, as if Heaven itself was come down to meet -them.... - -"And now were these two men as 't were in Heaven before they came at it, -being swallowed up with the sight of Angels, and with hearing of their -melodious notes. Here also they had the City itself in view, and they -thought they heard all the Bells therein ring to welcome them thereto. -But above all the warm and joyful thoughts that they had about their own -dwelling there, with such company, and that for ever and ever. Oh, by -what tongue or pen can their glorious joy be expressed!..."[103] - -"Now I saw in my Dream that these two men went in at the Gate; and lo, -as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had Raiment put on -that shone like Gold. There was also that met them with Harps and -Crowns, and gave them to them, the Harps to praise withal, and the -Crowns in token of honour. Then I heard in my Dream that all the Bells -in the City rang again for joy, and that it was said unto them, 'Enter -ye into the joy of your Lord.' I also heard the men themselves, that -they sang with a loud voice, saying, 'Blessing, Honour, Glory, and -Power, be to him that sitteth upon the Throne, and to the Lamb for ever -and ever.' - -"Now, just as the Gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after -them, and behold, the City shone like the Sun; the Streets also were -paved with Gold, and in them walked many men, with Crowns on their -heads, Palms in their hands, and golden Harps to sing praises withal. - -"There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another -without intermission, saying, 'Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord.' And after -that they shut up the Gates. Which when I had seen, I wished myself -among them."[104] - - -He was imprisoned for twelve years and a half; in his dungeon he made -wire-snares to support himself and his family; he died at the age of -sixty in 1688. At the same time Milton lingered obscure and blind. The -last two poets of the Reformation thus survived, amid the classical -coldness which then dried up English literature, and the social excess -which then corrupted English morals. "Shorn hypocrites, psalm-singers, -gloomy bigots," such were the names by which men who reformed the -manners and renewed the constitution of England were insulted. But -oppressed and insulted as they were, their work continued of itself and -without noise underground; for the ideal which they had raised was, -after all, that which the clime suggested and the race demanded. -Gradually Puritanism began to approach the world, and the world to -approach Puritanism. The Restoration was to fall into evil odor, the -Revolution was to come, and beneath the gradual progress of national -sympathy, as well as under the incessant effort of public reflection, -parties and doctrines were to rally around a free and moral -Protestantism. - - - - -[Footnote 1: Roger Ascham, "The Scholemaster" (1570), ed. Arber, 1870, -book I., p. 83.] - -[Footnote 2: See, in "Corinne," Lord Nevil's judgment on the Italians.] - -[Footnote 3: See "Corpus historicorum medii ævi," G. Eccard, vol. II; -Joh. Burchardi, high chamberlain to Alexander VI, "Diarium," p. 2134. -Guicciardini, "Dell'istoria d'Italia," p. 211, ed. Panthéon Littéraire.] - -[Footnote 4: See, in Casanova's "Mémoires," the picture of this -degradation. See also the "Mémoires" of Scipione Rossi, on the convents of -Tuscany at the close of the eighteenth century.] - -[Footnote 5: From Homer to Constantine, the ancient city was an association -of freemen, whose aim was the conquest and destruction of other freemen.] - -[Footnote 6: "Mémoires de la Margrave de Baireuth." See also Misson, -"Voyage en Italie," 1700. Compare the manners of the students at the -present day. "The Germans are, as you know, wonderful drinkers: no people -in the world are more flattering, more civil, more officious; but yet they -have terrible customs in the matter of drinking. With them everything is -done drinking; they drink in doing everything. There was not time during -a visit to say three words before you were astonished to see the collation -arrive, or at least a few jugs of wine, accompanied by a plate of crusts -of bread, dished up with pepper and salt, a fatal preparation for bad -drinkers. Then you must become acquainted with the laws which are -afterwards observed, sacred and inviolable laws. You must never drink -without drinking to some one's health; also, after drinking, you must -offer the wine to him whose health you have drunk. You must never refuse -the glass which is offered to you, and you must naturally drain it to its -last drop. Reflect a little, I beseech you, on these customs, and see -how it is possible to cease drinking; accordingly, they never cease. In -Germany it is a perpetual drinking-bout; to drink in Germany is to drink -forever."] - -[Footnote 7: See his letters, and the sympathy expressed for Luther.] - -[Footnote 8: See a collection of Albert Durer's wood-carvings. Remark -the resemblance of his "Apocalypse" to Luther's "Table Talk."] - -[Footnote 9: Calvin, the logician of the Reformation, well explains the -dependence of all the Protestant ideas in his "Institutes of the Christian -Religion," I. (1) The idea of the perfect God, the stern Judge. (2) The -alarm of conscience (3) The impotence and corruption of nature. (4) The -advent of free grace. (5) The rejection of rites and ceremonies.] - -[Footnote 10: "In the measure in which pride is rooted within us, it -always appears to us as though we were just and whole, good and holy, -unless we are convinced by manifest arguments of out injustice, -uncleanness, folly, and impurity. For we are not convinced of it if we -turn our eyes to our own persons merely, and if we do not think also of -God, who is the only rule by which we must shape and regulate this -judgment.... And then that which had a fair appearance of virtue will be -found to be nothing but weakness. - -"This is the source of that horror and wonder by which the Scriptures -tell us the saints were afflicted and cast down, when and as often as they -felt the presence of God. For we see those who were as it might be far -from God, and who were confident and went about with head erect, as soon -as He displayed His glory to them, they were shaken and terrified, so much -so that they were overwhelmed, nay swallowed up in the horror of death, -and that they fainted away."--Calvin's "Institutes," I.] - -[Footnote 11: Saint Augustine.] - -[Footnote 12: Melanchthon, preface to Luther's works: "It is clear that -the works of Thomas, Scotus, and the like, are utterly silent about the -element of justification by faith, and contain many errors concerning the -most important questions relating to the church. It is clear that, the -discourses of the monks in their churches almost throughout the world were -either fables about purgatory and the saints or else some kind of dogma of -law or discipline, without a word of the gospel concerning Christ, or else -were vain trifles about distinctions in the matter of food, about feasts, -and other human traditions.... The gospel is pure, incorruptible, and not -diluted with Gentile opinions." See also Fox, "Acts and Monuments," 8 vols. -ed. Townsend, 1843, II. 42.] - -[Footnote 13: See Froude, "History of England," I. VI. The conduct of -Henry VIII is there presented in a new light.] - -[Footnote 14: Froude, I. 191. "Petition of Commons." This public and -authentic protest shows up all the details of clerical organization and -oppression.] - -[Footnote 15: Froude, I. 26; II. 192.] - -[Footnote 16: In May, 1528. Froude, I. 194.] - -[Footnote 17: Hale, "Criminal Causes. Suppression of the Monasteries," -Camden Society Publications. Froude, I. 194-201.] - -[Footnote 18: Latimer's Sermons.] - -[Footnote 19: They called them "horsyn prestes, horson," or "whorson -knaves." Hale, p. 99, quoted by Froude, I. 199.] - -[Footnote 20: Froude, I. 101 (1514).] - -[Footnote 21: Fox, "Acts and Monuments," IV. 221.] - -[Footnote 22: See, passim, the prints of Fox. All the details which -follow are from biographies. See those of Cromwell, by Carlyle, of Fox -the Quaker, of Bunyan, and the trials reported at length by Fox.] - -[Footnote 23: Froude, II. 33: "The bishops said in 1529, 'In the crime of -heresy, thanked be God there hath no notable person fallen in our time.'"] - -[Footnote 24: In 1536. Strype's "Memorials," appendix. Froude, III. ch. -12.] - -[Footnote 25: Coverdale. Froude, III. 81.] - -[Footnote 26: 1549. Tyndale's translation.] - -[Footnote 27: An expression of Stendhal's; it was his general impression.] - -[Footnote 28: The time of which M. Taine speaks and the translation of -Tyndale precede by at least fifty years the appearance of "Macbeth" (1606). -Shakespeare's audience read the present authorized translation.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 29: See Lemaistre de Sacy's French translation of the Bible, so -slightly biblical.] - -[Footnote 30: See Ewald, "Geschichte des Volks Israel," his apostrophe to -the third writer of the Pentateuch, "Erhabener Geist," etc.] - -[Footnote 31: See Psalm CIV. in Luther's admirable translation and in the -English translation.] - -[Footnote 32: The first Primer of note was in 1545; Froude, V. 141. The -Prayer-book underwent several changes in 1552, others under Elizabeth, -and a few, lastly, at the Restoration.] - -[Footnote 33: "To make use of words in a foreign language, merely with a -sentiment of devotion, the mind taking no fruit, could be neither pleasing -to God, nor beneficial to man. The party that understood not the pith or -effectualness of the talk that he made with God, might be as a harp or -pipe, having a sound, but not understanding the noise that itself had -made; a Christian man was more than an instrument; and he had therefore -provided a determinate form of supplication in the English tongue, that -his subjects might be able to pray like reasonable beings in their own -language."--"Letter of Henry VIII to Cranmer," Froude, IV. 486.] - -[Footnote 34: Bishop John Fisher's "Funeral Oration of the Countess of -Richmond" (ed. 1711) shows to what practices this religion succeeded. -The Countess was the mother of Henry VII, and translated the "Myrroure of -Golde," and "The Forthe Boke of the Followinge Jesus Chryst": - -"As for fastynge, for age, and feebleness, albeit she were not bound yet -those days that by the Church were appointed, she kept them diligently and -seriously, and in especial the holy Lent, throughout that she restrained -her appetite till one meal of fish on the day; besides her other peculiar -fasts of devotion, as St. Anthony, St. Mary Magdalene, St. Catherine, with -other; and throughout all the year the Friday and Saturday she full truly -observed. As to hard clothes wearing, she had her shirts and girdles of -hair, which, when she was in health, every week she failed not certain -days to wear, sometime the one, sometime the other, that full often her -skin, as I heard say, was pierced therewith. - -"In prayer, every day at her uprising, which commonly was not long after -five of the clock, she began certain devotions, and so after them, with -one of her gentlewomen, the matins of our Lady; which kept her to then, -she came into her closet, where then with her chaplain she said also -matins of the day; and after that, daily heard four or five masses upon -her knees; so continuing in her prayers and devotions unto the hour of -dinner which of the eating day was ten of the clocks, and upon the fasting -day eleven. After dinner full truly she would go her stations to three -altars daily; daily her dirges and commendations she would say, and her -even songs before supper, both of the day and of our Lady, beside many -other prayers and psalters of David throughout the year; and at night -before she went to bed, she failed not to resort unto her chapel, and -there a large quarter of an hour to occupy her devotions. No marvel, -though all this long time her kneeling was to her painful, and so painful -that many times it caused in her back pain and disease. And yet, -nevertheless, daily, when she was in health, she failed not to say the -crown of our lady, which, after the manner of Rome, containeth sixty and -three aves, and at every ave, to make a kneeling. As for meditation, she -had divers books in French, wherewith she would occupy herself when she -was weary of prayer. Wherefore divers she did translate out of the French -into English. Her marvellous weeping they can bear witness of, which here -before have heard her confession, which be divers and many, and at many -seasons in the year, lightly every third day. Can also record the same -those that were present at any time when she was houshylde, which was -full nigh a dozen times every year, what floods of tears there issued -forth of her eyes!"] - -[Footnote 35: Latimer's "Seven Sermons before Edward VI," ed. Edward -Arber, 1869. Second sermon, pp. 73 and 74.] - -[Footnote 36: Latimer's Sermons. Fifth sermon, ed. Arber, p. 147.] - -[Footnote 37: Latimer's Sermons, ed. Corrie, 1844, 2 vols., "Last Sermon -preached before Edward VI," I. 249.] - -[Footnote 38: Latimer's Sermons, ed. Corrie, "First Sermon on the Lord's -Prayer."] - -[Footnote 39: Noailles, the French (and Catholic) Ambassador. Piet. Hist. -II. 523. John Fox, "History of the Acts and Monuments of the Church," ed. -Townsend, 1843, 8 vols. VI. 612, says: "His wife and children, being -eleven in number, and ten able to go, and one sucking on her breast, met -him by the way, as he went towards Smithfield."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 40: Fox, "History of the Acts," etc., VI. 727.] - -[Footnote 41: Fox, "History of the Acts," etc., VI. 719.] - -[Footnote 42: Neal, "History of the Puritans," ed. Toulmin, 5 vols. -1793, I. 96.] - -[Footnote 43: "O eloquent, just and mightie Death! whom none could -advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; -and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out -of the world and despised; thou hast drawne together all the farre -stretched greatnesse, all the pride, crueltie, and ambition of man, -and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet."] - -[Footnote 44: Hooker's Works, ed. Keble, 1836, 3 -vols., "The Ecclesiastical Polity."] - -[Footnote 45: Ibid. I. book I. 249, 258, 312: -"That which doth assign unto each thing the kind, that which doth moderate -the force and power, that which doth appoint the form and measure of -working, the same we term a Law.... - -"Now if nature should intermit her course, and leave altogether, though it -were but for a while, the observation of her own laws; if those principal -and mother elements of the world, whereof all things in this lower world -are made, should lose the qualities which now they have; if the frame of -that heavenly arch erected over our heads should loosen and dissolve -itself; if celestial spheres should forget their wonted motions,... if -the prince of the lights of heaven, which now as a giant doth run his -unwearied course, should as it were through a languishing faintness, -begin to stand and to rest himself:... what would become of man himself, -whom these things now do all serve? See we not plainly that obedience of -creatures unto the law of nature is the stay of the whole world?... - -"Between men and beasts there is no possibility of sociable communion -because the well-spring of that communion is a natural delight which man -hath to transfuse from himself into others, and to receive from others -into himself, especially those things wherein the excellency of his kind -doth most consist. The chiefest instrument of human communion therefore -is speech, because thereby we impart mutually one to another the conceits -of our reasonable understanding. And for that cause, seeing beasts are not -hereof capable, forasmuch as with them we can use no such conference, they -being in degree, although above other creatures on earth to whom nature -hath denied sense, yet lower than to be sociable companions of man to -whom nature hath given reason; it is of Adam said, that amongst the beasts -'he found not for himself any meet companion.' Civil society doth more -content the nature of man than any private kind of solitary living, -because in society this good of mutual participation is so much larger -than otherwise. Herewith notwithstanding we are not satisfied, but we -covet (if it might be) to have a kind of society and fellowship even -with all mankind."] - -[Footnote 46: "Ecclesiastical Polity," I. book II. ch. VII. 4, p. 405.] - -[Footnote 47: See the "Dialogues of Galileo." The same idea which is -persecuted by the church at Rome is at the same time defended by the -church in England. See also "Ecclesiastical Polity," I. book III. -461-481.] - -[Footnote 48: Clarendon. See the same doctrines in Jeremy Taylor, "Liberty -of Prophesying," 1647.] - -[Footnote 49: Jeremy Taylor's Works, ed. Eden, 1840, 10 vols., "Holy -Dying," ch. III. sec. 4, § 3, p. 315.] - -[Footnote 50: "Sermon XVI, Of Growth in Sin."] - -[Footnote 51: "We have already opened up this dunghill covered with snow, -which was indeed on the outside white as the spots of leprosy."] - -[Footnote 52: "Golden Grove Sermons:" V. "The Return of Prayers."] - -[Footnote 53: Luther's "Table Talk," ed. Hazlitt, No. 187, p. 30: "When -Jesus Christ was born, he doubtless cried and wept like other children, -and his mother tended him as other mothers tend their children. As he grew -up he was submissive to his parents, and waited on them, and carried his -supposed father's dinner to him; and when he came back, Mary no doubt often -said, 'My dear little Jesus, where hast thou been?'"] - -[Footnote 54: "Holy Dying," ed. Eden, ch. I. sec. 1. p. 267.] - -[Footnote 55: Ibid. 267.] - -[Footnote 56: Ibid. 268.] - -[Footnote 57: Ibid. 269.] - -[Footnote 58: "Holy Dying," ch. I. sec. II. p. 270.] - -[Footnote 59: "The Golden Grove."] - -[Footnote 60: See in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Thierry and Theodoret" the -characters of Bawder, Protalyce, and Brunhalt. In "The Custom of the -Country," by the same authors, several scenes represent the inside of an -infamous house--a frequent thing, by the way, in the dramas of that time; -but here the boarders in the house are men. See also their "Rule a Wife -and Have a Wife."] - -[Footnote 61: Calvin, quoted by Haag, II. 216, "Histoire des Dogmes -Chrétiens."] - -[Footnote 62: These were the Supralapsarians.] - -[Footnote 63: "The Byble, nowe lately with greate industry and Diligece -recognised" (by Edm. Becke), London, by John Daye and William Seres, 1549, -with Tyndale's "Prologues."] - -[Footnote 64: Examination of Mr. Axton: "I can't consent to wear the -surplice, it is against my conscience; I trust, by the help of God, I shall -never put on that sleeve, which is a mark of the beast."--Examination of -Mr. White, "a substantial citizen of London" (1572), accused of not going -to the parish church: "The whole Scriptures are for destroying idolatry, -and everything that belongs to it."--"Where is the place where these are -forbidden?--In Deuteronomy and other places;... and God by Isaiah -commandeth not to pollute ourselves with the garments of the image."] - -[Footnote 65: These expressions continually occur: "Tenderness of -conscience"--"a squeamish stomach"--"our weaker brethren."] - -[Footnote 66: The separation of the Anglicans and dissenters may be -dated from 1564.] - -[Footnote 67: 1592.] - -[Footnote 68: Burton's "Parliamentary Diary," ed. by Rutt, 1828, 4 vols. -I. 54.] - -[Footnote 69: Walker's "History of Independency," 1648, part II. p. 49.] - -[Footnote 70: This passage may serve as an example of the difficulties -and perplexities to which a translator of a history of literature must -always be exposed, and this without any fault of the original author. Ab -uno disce omnes. M. taine says that cromwell found justification for his -policy in Psalm CXIII., which, on looking out, I found to be "an -exhortation to praise god for his excellency and for his mercy"--a psalm -by which Cromwell's conduct could nowise be justified. I opened then -Carlyle's "Cromwell's letters," etc., and saw, in vol. II. part VI. p. -157, the same fact stated, but Psalm CX. mentioned and given--a far more -likely psalm to have influenced Cromwell. Carlyle refers to "Ludlow," I. -319, Taine to Guizot, "Portraits Politiques," p. 63, and to Carlyle. In -looking in Guizot's volume, 5th ed., 1862, I find that this writer also -mentions Psalm CXIII; but on referring finally to the "Memoirs of -Edmund Ludlow," printed at Vivay (_sic_) in the canton of Bern, 1698, I -read, in Vol. I. p. 319, the sentence, as given above; therefore Carlyle -was right.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 71: "Cromwell's Letters and Speeches," ed. Carlyle, 1866, -3 vols. I. 79.] - -[Footnote 72: Idem. II. 273.] - -[Footnote 73: Ibid. III. 373.] - -[Footnote 74: See his speeches. The style is disjointed, obscure, -impassioned, out of the common, like that of a man who is not master of -his wits, and who yet sees straight by a sort of intuition.] - -[Footnote 75: "Cromwell's Letters," I. 265.] - -[Footnote 76: "A Journal of the Life, etc., of that Ancient, Eminent, and -Faithful Servant of Jesus Christ, George Fox," 6th edition, 1836.] - -[Footnote 77: Burton's "Parliamentary Diary," I. 46-173. Neal, "History of -the Puritans," III.] - -[Footnote 78: See Neal, "History of the Puritans," II. 418-450.] - -[Footnote 79: Whitelock's "Memorials," I. 68.] - -[Footnote 80: Neal, II. 553. Compare with the French Revolution. When -the Bastille was demolished, they wrote on the ruins these words: "Ici -l'on danse." From this contrast we see the difference between the two -systems and the two nations.] - -[Footnote 81: Neal, "History of the Puritans," II, 555.] - -[Footnote 82: Macaulay, "History of England," ed. Lady Trevelyan, I. 121.] - -[Footnote 83: A certain John Denis was publicly whipped for having sung -a profane song. Mathias, a little girl, having given some roasted -chestnuts to Jeremiah Boosy, and told him ironically that he might give -them back to her in Paradise, was ordered to ask pardon three times in -church, and to be three days on bread and water in prison. 1660-1670; -records of Massachusetts.] - -[Footnote 84: "Upon the common sense of Scripture," said Major-General -Disbrowe, "there are few but do commit blasphemy, as our Saviour puts it -in Mark: 'sins, blasphemies; it so, then none without blasphemy.' It was -charged upon David and Eli's son, 'thou hast blasphemed, or caused others -to blaspheme.'"--Burton's Diary, I. 54.] - -[Footnote 85: Guizot, "Portraits Politiques," 5th ed. 1862.] - -[Footnote 86: "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners."] - -[Footnote 87: Ibid. sec. 12.] - -[Footnote 88: Ibid. sec. 17.] - -[Footnote 89: "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," secs. 33, 34.] - -[Footnote 90: Ibid. sec. 103.] - -[Footnote 91: "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," sec. 22.] - -[Footnote 92: Ibid. secs. 27 and 28.] - -[Footnote 93: This is an abstract of the events: from highest heaven a -voice has proclaimed vengeance against the city of destruction, where -lives a sinner of the name of christian. Terrified, he rises up amid the -jeers of his neighbors, and departs, for fear of being devoured by the -fire which is to consume the criminals. A helpful man, evangelist, shows -him the right road. A treacherous man, worldlywise, tries to turn him -aside. His companion, pliable, who had followed him at first, gets stuck -in the slough of despond, and leaves him. He advances bravely across the -dirty water and the slippery mud, and reaches the strait gate, where a -wise interpreter instructs him by visible shows, and points out the way -to the heavenly city. He passes before a cross, and the heavy burden of -sins, which he carried on his back, is loosened and falls off. He -painfully climbs the steep hill of difficulty, and reaches a great -castle, where watchful, the guardian, gives him in charge to his good -daughters piety and prudence, who warn him and arm him against the -monsters of hell. He finds his road barred by one of these demons, -apollyon, who bids him abjure obedience to the heavenly king. After a -long fight he conquers him. Yet the way grows narrow, the shades fall -thicker, sulphurous flames rise along the road: it is the valley of the -shadow of death. He passes it and arrives at the town of vanity, a vast -fair of business, deceits, and shows, which he walks by with lowered -eyes, not wishing to take part in its festivities or falsehoods. The -people of the place beat him, throw him into prison, condemn him as a -traitor and rebel, burn his companion, faithful. Escaped from their -hands, he falls into those of giant despair, who beats him, leaves him -in a poisonous dungeon without food, and giving him daggers and cords, -advises him to rid himself from so many misfortunes. At last he reaches -the delectable mountains, whence he sees the holy city. To enter it he -has only to cross a deep river, where there is no foothold, where the -water dims the sight, and which is called the river of death.] - -[Footnote 94: Bunyan's "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," sec. -187.] - -[Footnote 95: "Pilgrim's Progress," Cambridge, 1862, First Part, p. 64.] - -[Footnote 96: "Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 160.] - -[Footnote 97: "Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 26.] - -[Footnote 98: Here is another of his allegories, almost witty, so just -and simple it is. See "Pilgrim's Progress," first part, p. 68: "now I -saw in my dream, that at the end of this valley lay blood, bones, ashes, -and mangled bodies of men, even of pilgrims that had gone this way -formerly; and while I was musing what should be the reason, I espied a -little before me a cave, where two giants, pope and pagan, dwelt in old -time; by whose power and tyranny the men whose bones, blood, ashes, -etc., lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this place christian -went without much danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learnt -since, that pagan has been dead many a day; and as for the other, though -he be yet alive, he is by reason of age, and also of the many shrewd -brushes that he met with in his younger days, grown so crazy, and stiff -in his joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his cave's -mouth, grinning at pilgrims as they go by, and biting his nails, because -he cannot come at them."] - -[Footnote 99: For instance, Hollar's work, "Cities of Germany."] - -[Footnote 100: "Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 126.] - -[Footnote 101: "Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 174.] - -[Footnote 102: "Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 179.] - -[Footnote 103: Ibid. p. 182.] - -[Footnote 104: Ibid. p. 183, etc.] - - - - -CHAPTER SIXTH - - -Milton - - -On the borders of the licentious Renaissance which was drawing to a -close, and of the exact school of poetry which was springing up, between -the monotonous conceits of Cowley and the correct gallantries of Waller, -appeared a mighty and superb mind, prepared by logic and enthusiasm for -eloquence and the epic style; liberal, Protestant, a moralist and a -poet, adorning the cause of Algernon Sidney and Locke with the -inspiration of Spenser and Shakespeare; the heir of a poetical age, the -precursor of an austere age, holding his place between the epoch of -unselfish dreaming and the epoch of practical action; like his own Adam, -who, taking his way to an unfriendly land, heard behind him, in the -closed Eden, the dying strains of heaven. - -John Milton was not one of those fevered souls void of self-command, -whose rapture takes them by fits, whom a sickly sensibility drives -forever to the extreme of sorrow or joy, whose pliability prepares them -to produce a variety of characters, whose inquietude condemns them to -paint the madness and contradictions of passion. Vast knowledge, close -logic, and grand passion; these were his marks. His mind was lucid, his -imagination limited. He was incapable of "bating one jot of heart or -hope," or of being transformed. He conceived the loftiest of ideal -beauties, but he conceived only one. He was not born for the drama, but -for the ode. He does not create souls, but constructs arguments, and -experiences emotions. Emotions and arguments, all the forces and actions -of his soul, assemble and are arranged beneath a unique sentiment, that -of the sublime; and the broad river of lyric poetry streams from him -impetuous, with even flow, splendid as a cloth of gold. - - - - -Section I.--Milton's Family and Education - - -This dominant sense constituted the greatness and the firmness of his -character. Against external fluctuations he found a refuge in himself; -and the ideal city which he had built in his soul, endured impregnable -to all assaults. It is too beautiful, this inner city, for him to wish -to leave it; it was too solid to be destroyed. He believed in the -sublime with the whole force of his nature, and the whole authority of -his logic; and with him, cultivated reason strengthened by its tests the -suggestions of primitive instinct. With this double armor, man can -advance firmly through life. He who is always feeding himself with -demonstrations is capable of believing, willing, persevering in belief -and will; he does not change with every event and every passion, as that -fickle and pliable being whom we call a poet; he remains at rest in -fixed principles. He is capable of embracing a cause, and of continuing -attached to it, whatever may happen, spite of all, to the end. No -seduction, no emotion, no accident, no change alters the stability of -his conviction or the lucidity of his knowledge. On the first day, on -the last day, during the whole time, he preserves intact the entire -system of his clear ideas, and the logical vigor of his brain sustains -the manly vigor of his heart. When at length, as here, this close logic -is employed in the service of noble ideas, enthusiasm is added to -constancy. The man holds his opinions not only as true, but as sacred. -He fights for them, not only as a soldier, but as a priest. He is -impassioned, devoted, religious, heroic. Rarely is such a mixture seen; -but it was fully seen in Milton. - -He was of a family in which courage, moral nobility, the love of art, -were present to whisper the most beautiful and eloquent words around his -cradle. His mother was a most exemplary woman, well known through all -the neighborhood for her benevolence.[105] His father, a student of -Christ Church, and disinherited as a Protestant, had made his fortune by -his own energies, and, amidst his occupations as a scrivener or writer, -had preserved the taste for letters, being unwilling to give up "his -liberal and intelligent tastes to the extent of becoming altogether a -slave to the world"; he wrote verses, was an excellent musician, one of -the best composers of his time; he chose Cornelius Jansen to paint his -son's portrait when in his tenth year, and gave his child the widest and -fullest literary education.[106] Let the reader try to picture this -child, in the street (Bread Street) inhabited by merchants, in this -citizen-like and scholarly, religious and poetical family, whose manners -were regular and their aspirations lofty, where they set the Psalms to -music, and wrote madrigals in honor of Oriana the queen,[107] where -vocal music, letters, painting, all the adornments of the beautiful -Renaissance, decked the sustained gravity, the hardworking honesty, the -deep Christianity of the Reformation. All Milton's genius springs from -this; he carried the splendor of the Renaissance into the earnestness of -the Reformation, the magnificence of Spenser into the severity of -Calvin, and, with his family, found himself at the confluence of the two -civilizations which he combined. Before he was ten years old he had a -learned tutor, "a Puritan, who cut his hair short"; after that he went -to Saint Paul's school, then to the University of Cambridge, that he -might be instructed in "polite literature"; and at the age of twelve he -worked, in spite of his weak eyes and headaches, until midnight and even -later. His John the Baptist, a character resembling himself, says: - - -"When I was yet a child, no childish play -To me was pleasing; all my mind was set -Serious to learn and know, and thence to do, -What might be public good; myself I thought -Born to that end, born to promote all truth, -All righteous things."[108] - - -At school, afterwards at Cambridge, then with his father, he was -strengthening and preparing himself with all his power, free from all -blame, and loved by all good men; traversing the vast fields of Greek -and Latin literature, not only the great writers, but all the writers, -down to the half of the Middle Ages; and studying simultaneously ancient -Hebrew, Syriac, and rabbinical Hebrew, French and Spanish, old English -literature, all the Italian literature, with such zeal and profit that -he wrote Italian and Latin verse and prose like an Italian or a Roman; -in addition to this, music, mathematics, theology, and much besides. A -serious thought regulated this great toil. "The church, to whose -service, by the intentions of my parents and friends, I was destined of -a child, and in mine own resolutions: till coming to some maturity of -years, and perceiving what tyranny had invaded the church, that he who -would take orders must subscribe slave and take an oath withal, which -unless he took with a conscience that would retch, he must either -straight perjure, or split his faith; I thought it better to prefer a -blameless silence before the sacred office of speaking bought, and begun -with servitude and forswearing."[109] - -He refused to be a clergyman from the same feelings that he had wished -it; the desire and the renunciation all sprang from the same source--a -fixed resolve to act nobly. Falling back into the life of a layman, he -continued to cultivate and perfect himself, studying passionately and -with method, but without pedantry or rigor: nay, rather, after his -master Spenser, in "L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, Cornus," he set forth in -sparkling and variegated dress the wealth of mythology, nature, and -fancy; then, sailing for the land of science and beauty, he visited -Italy, made the acquaintance of Grotius and Galileo, sought the society -of the learned, the men of letters, the men of the world, listened to -the musicians, steeped himself in all the beauties stored up by the -Renaissance at Florence and Rome. Everywhere his learning, his fine -Italian and Latin style, secured him the friendship and attentions of -scholars, so that, on his return to Florence, he "was as well received -as if he had returned to his native country." He collected books and -music, which he sent to England, and thought of traversing Sicily and -Greece, those two Hornes of ancient letters and arts. Of all the flowers -that opened to the Southern sun under the influence of the two great -paganisms, he gathered freely the balmiest and the most exquisite, but -without staining himself with the mud which surrounded them. "I call the -Deity to witness," he wrote later, "that in all those places in which -vice meets with so little discouragement, and is practised with so -little shame, I never once deviated from the paths of integrity and -virtue, and perpetually reflected that, though my conduct might escape -the notice of men, it could not elude the inspection of God."[110] - -Amid the licentious gallantries and inane sonnets like those which the -Cicisbei and Academicians lavished forth, he retained his sublime idea -of poetry: he thought to choose a heroic subject from ancient English -history; and as he says, "I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who -would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable -things, ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition and -pattern of the best and honorablest things; not presuming to sing high -praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the -experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy."[111] -Above all, he loved Dante and Petrarch for their purity, telling himself -that "if unchastity in a woman, whom St. Paul terms the glory of man, be -such a scandal and dishonor, then certainly in a man, who is both the -image and glory of God, it must, though commonly not so thought, be much -more deflouring and dishonorable."[112] He thought "that every free and -gentle spirit, without that oath, ought to be born a knight," for the -practice and defence of chastity, and he kept himself virgin till his -marriage. Whatever the temptation might be, whatever the attraction or -fear, it found him equally opposed and equally firm. From a sense of -gravity and propriety he avoided all religious disputes; but if his own -creed were attacked, he defended it "without any reserve or fear," even -in Rome, before the Jesuits who plotted against him, within a few paces -of the Inquisition and the Vatican. Perilous duty, instead of driving -him away, attracted him. When the Revolution began to threaten, he -returned, drawn by conscience, as a soldier who hastens to danger when -he hears the clash of arms, convinced, as he himself tells us, that it -was a shame to him leisurely to spend his life abroad, and for his own -pleasure, whilst his fellow-countrymen were striving for their liberty. -In battle he appeared in the front ranks as a volunteer, courting danger -everywhere. Throughout his education and throughout his youth, in his -profane readings and his sacred studies, in his acts and his maxims, -already a ruling and permanent thought grew manifest--the resolution to -develop and unfold within him the ideal man. - - - - -Section II.--Milton's Unhappy Domestic Life - - -Two powers chiefly lead mankind--impulse and idea: the one influencing -sensitive, unfettered, poetical souls, capable of transformations, like -Shakespeare; the other governing active, combative, heroic souls, -capable of immutability, like Milton. The first are sympathetic and -effusive; the second are concentrative and reserved.[113] The first give -themselves up, the others withhold themselves. These, by reliance and -sociability, with an artistic instinct and a sudden imitative -comprehension, involuntarily take the tone and disposition of the men -and things which surround them, and an immediate counterpoise is -effected between the inner and the outer man. Those, by mistrust and -rigidity, with a combative instinct and a quick reference to rule, -become naturally thrown back upon themselves, and in their narrow limits -no longer feel the solicitations and contradictions of their -surroundings. They have formed a model, and thenceforth this model like -a watchword restrains or urges them on. Like all powers destined to have -sway, the inner idea grows and absorbs to its use the rest of their -being. They bury it in themselves by meditation, they nourish it with -reasoning, they put it in communication with the chain of all their -doctrines and all their experiences; so that when a temptation assails -them, it is not an isolated principle which it attacks, but it -encounters the whole combination of their belief, an infinitely ramified -combination, too strong for a sensuous seduction to tear asunder. At the -same time a man by habit is upon his guard; the combative attitude is -natural to him, and he stands erect, firm in the pride of his courage -and the inveteracy of his determination. - -A soul thus fortified is like a diver in his bell;[114] it passes -through life as he passes through the sea, unstained but isolated. On -his return to England, Milton fell back among his books, and received a -few pupils, upon whom he imposed, as upon himself, continuous toil, -serious reading, a frugal diet, a strict behavior; the life of a -recluse, almost of a monk. Suddenly in a month, after a country visit, -he married.[115] A few weeks afterwards, his wife returned to her -father's house, would not come back to him, took no notice of his -letters, and sent back his messenger with scorn. The two characters had -come into collision. Nothing displeases women more than an austere and -self-contained character. They see that they have no hold upon it; its -dignity awes them, its pride repels, its preoccupations keep them aloof; -they feel themselves of less value, neglected for general interests or -speculative curiosities; judged, moreover, and that after an inflexible -rule; at most regarded with condescension, as a sort of less reasonable -and inferior beings, debarred from the equality which they demand, and -the love which alone can reward them for the loss of equality. The -"priest" character is made for solitude; the tact, ease, charm, -pleasantness, and gentleness necessary to all companionship, are wanting -to it; we admire him, but we go no further, especially if, like Milton's -wife, we are somewhat dull and common-place,[116] adding mediocrity of -intellect to the repugnance of our hearts. He had, so his biographers -say, a certain gravity of nature, or severity of mind which would not -condescend to petty things, but kept him in the clouds, in a region -which is not that of the household. He was accused of being harsh, -choleric; and certainly he stood upon his manly dignity, his authority -as a husband, and was not so greatly esteemed, respected, studied, as he -thought he deserved to be. In short, he passed the day amongst his -books, and the rest of the time his heart lived in an abstracted and -sublime world of which few wives catch a glimpse, his wife least of all. -He had, in fact, chosen like a student, so much the more at random -because his former life had been of "a well-governed and wise appetite." -Equally like a man of the closet, he resented her flight, being the more -irritated because the world's ways were unknown to him. Without dread of -ridicule, and with the sternness of a speculative man suddenly brought -into collision with actual life, he wrote treatises on divorce, signed -them with his name, dedicated them to Parliament, held himself divorced -_de facto_ because his wife refused to return, _de jure_ because he had -four texts of Scripture for it; whereupon he paid court to another young -lady, and suddenly, seeing his wife on her knees and weeping, forgave -her, took her back, renewed the dry and sad marriage-tie, not profiting -by experience, but on the other hand fated to contract two other unions, -the last with a wife thirty years younger than himself. Other parts of -his domestic life were neither better managed nor happier. He had taken -his daughters for secretaries, and made them read languages which they -did not understand--a repelling task, of which they bitterly complained. -In return, he accused them of being "undutiful and unkind," of -neglecting him, not caring whether they left him alone, of conspiring -with the servants to rob him in their purchases, of stealing his books, -so that they would have disposed of the whole of them. Mary, the second, -hearing one day that he was going to be married, said that his marriage -was no news; the best news would be his death. An incredible speech, and -one which throws a strange light on the miseries of this family. Neither -circumstances nor nature had created him for happiness. - - - - -Section III.--Milton's Combative Energy - - -They had created him for strife, and after his return to England he had -thrown himself heartily into it, armed with logic, anger, and learning, -protected by conviction and conscience. When "the liberty of speech was -no longer subject to control, all mouths began to be opened against the -bishops.... I saw that a way was opening for the establishment of real -liberty; that the foundation was laying for the deliverance of man from -the yoke of slavery and superstition;... and as I had from my youth -studied the distinction between religious and civil rights,... I -determined to relinquish the other pursuits in which I was engaged, and -to transfer the whole force of my talents and my industry to this one -important object."[117] And thereupon he wrote his "Reformation in -England," jeering at and attacking with haughtiness and scorn the -prelacy of its defenders. Refuted and attacked in turn, he became still -more bitter, and crushed those whom he had beaten.[118] Transported to -the limits of his creed, and like a knight making a rush, and who -pierces with a dash the whole line of battle, he hurled himself upon the -prince, wrote that the abolition of royalty as well as the overthrow of -Episcopacy were necessary; and one month after the death of Charles I, -justified his execution, replied to the "Eikon Basilike," then to -Salmasius's "Defence of the King," with incomparable breadth of style -and scorn, like a soldier, like an apostle, like a man who everywhere -feels the superiority of his science and logic, who wishes to make it -felt, who proudly tramples upon and crushes his adversaries as -ignoramuses, inferior minds, base hearts.[119] "Kings most commonly," he -says, at the beginning of the "Eikonoklastes, though strong in -legions, are but weak at arguments; as they who ever have accustomed -from their cradle to use their will only as their right hand, their -reason always as their left. Whence unexpectedly constrained to that -kind of combat, they prove but weak and puny adversaries."[120] Yet, for -love of those who suffer themselves to be overcome by this dazzling name -of royalty, he consents to "take up King Charles's gauntlet"; and bangs -him with it in a style calculated to make the imprudent men who had -thrown it down repent. Far from recoiling at the accusation of murder, -he accepts and boasts of it. He vaunts the regicide, sets it on a -triumphal car, decks it in all the light of heaven. He relates with the -tone of a judge, "how a most potent king, after he had trampled upon the -laws of the nation, and given a shock to its religion, and began to rule -at his own will and pleasure, was at last subdued in the field by his -own subjects, who had undergone a long slavery under him; how afterwards -he was cast into prison, and when he gave no ground, either by words or -actions, to hope better things of him, was finally by the supreme -council of the kingdom condemned to die, and beheaded before the very -gates of the royal palace.... For what king's majesty sitting upon an -exalted throne, ever shone so brightly, as that of the people of England -then did, when, shaking off that old superstition, which had prevailed a -long time, they gave judgment upon the king himself, or rather upon an -enemy who had been their king, caught as it were in a net by his own -laws (who alone of all mortals challenged to himself impunity by a -divine right), and scrupled not to inflict the same punishment upon him, -being guilty, which he would have inflicted upon any other?"[121] After -having justified the execution, he sanctified it; consecrated it by -decrees of heaven after he had authorized it by the laws of the world; -from the support of Law he transferred it to the support of God. This is -the God who "uses to throw down proud and unruly kings,... and utterly -to extirpate them and all their family. By his manifest impulse being -set on work to recover our almost lost liberty, following him as our -guide, and adoring the impresses of his divine power manifested upon all -occasions, we went on in no obscure but an illustrious passage, pointed -out and made plain to us by God himself."[122] Here the reasoning ends -with a song of triumph, and enthusiasm breaks out through the mail of -the warrior. Such he displayed himself in all his actions and in all his -doctrines. The solid files of bristling and well-ordered arguments which -he disposed in battle-array were changed in his heart in the moment of -triumph into glorious processions of crowned and resplendent hymns. He -was transported by them, he deluded himself, and lived thus alone with -the sublime, like a warrior-pontiff, who in his stiff armor, or his -glittering stole, stands face to face with truth. Thus absorbed in -strife and in his priesthood, he lived out of the world, as blind to -palpable facts as he was protected against the seductions of the senses, -placed above the stains and the lessons of experience, as incapable of -leading men as of yielding to them. There was nothing in him akin to the -devices and delays of the statesman, the crafty schemer, who pauses on -his way, experimentalizes, with eyes fixed on what may turn up, who -gauges what is possible, and employs logic for practical purposes. -Milton was speculative and chimerical. Locked up in his own ideas, he -sees but them, is attracted but by them. Is he pleading against the -bishops? He would extirpate them at once, without hesitation; he demands -that the Presbyterian worship shall be at once established, without -forethought, contrivance, hesitation. It is the command of God, it is -the duty of the faithful; beware how you trifle with God or temporize -with faith. Concord, gentleness, liberty, piety, he sees a whole swarm -of virtues issue from this new worship. Let the king fear nothing from -it, his power will be all the stronger. Twenty thousand democratic -assemblies will take care that his rights be not infringed. These ideas -make us smile. We recognize the party-man, who, on the verge of the -Restoration, when "the whole multitude was mad with desire for a king," -published "A Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth," and -described his method at length. We recognize the theorist who, to obtain -a law of divorce, only appealed to Scripture, and aimed at transforming -the civil constitution of a people by changing the accepted sense of a -verse. With closed eyes, sacred text in hand, he advances from -consequence to consequence, trampling upon the prejudices inclinations, -habits, wants of men, as if a reasoning or religious spirit were the -whole man, as if evidence always created belief, as if belief always -resulted in practice, as if, in the struggle of doctrines, truth or -justice gave doctrines the victory and sovereignty. To cap all, he -sketched out a treatise on education, in which he proposed to teach each -pupil every science, every art, and, what is more, every virtue. "He who -had the art and proper eloquence... might in a short space gain them to -an incredible diligence and courage,... infusing into their young -breasts such an ingenuous and noble ardour as would not fail to make -many of them renowned and matchless men."[123] Milton had taught for -many years and at various times. A man must be insensible to experience -or doomed to illusions who retains such deceptions after such -experiences. - -But his obstinacy constituted his power, and the inner constitution, -which closed his mind to instruction, armed his heart against -weaknesses. With men generally, the source of devotion dries up when in -contact with life. Gradually, by dint of frequenting the world, we -acquire its tone. We do not choose to be dupes, and to abstain from the -license which others allow themselves; we relax our youthful strictness; -we even smile, attributing it to our heated blood; we know our own -motives, and cease to find ourselves sublime. We end by taking it -calmly, and we see the world wag, only trying to avoid shocks, picking -up here and there a few little comfortable pleasures. Not so Milton. He -lived complete and pure to the end, without loss of heart or weakness; -experience could not instruct nor misfortune depress him; he endured -all, and repented of nothing. He lost his sight, by his own fault, by -writing, though ill, and against the prohibition of his doctors, to -justify the English people against the invectives of Salmasius. He saw -the funeral of the Republic, the proscription of his doctrines, the -defamation of his honor. Around him ran riot, a distaste for liberty, an -enthusiasm for slavery. A whole people threw itself at the feet of a -young, incapable, and treacherous libertine. The glorious leaders of the -Puritan faith were condemned, executed, cut down alive from the gallows, -quartered amidst insults; others, whom death had saved from the hangman, -were dug up and exposed on the gibbet; others, exiles in foreign lands, -lived, threatened and attacked by royalist bullies; others again, more -unfortunate, had sold their cause for money and titles, and sat amid the -executioners of their former friends. The most pious and austere -citizens of England filled the prisons, or wandered about in poverty and -shame; and gross vice, impudently seated on the throne, rallied around -it a herd of unbridled lusts and sensualities. Milton himself had been -constrained to hide; his books had been burned by the hand of the -hangman; even after the general act of indemnity he was imprisoned; when -set at liberty, he lived in the expectation of being assassinated, for -private fanaticism might seize the weapon relinquished by public -revenge. Other smaller misfortunes came to aggravate by their stings the -great wounds which afflicted him. Confiscations, a bankruptcy, finally, -the great fire of London, had robbed him of three-fourths of his -fortune;[124] his daughters neither esteemed nor respected him; he sold -his books, knowing that his family could not profit by them after his -death; and amidst so many private and public miseries, he continued -calm. Instead of repudiating what he had done, he gloried in it: instead -of being cast down, he increased in firmness. He says, in his -twenty-second sonnet: - - -"Cyriack, this three years day these eyes, though clear, -To outward view, of blemish or of spot, -Bereft of sight, their seeing have forgot; -Nor to their idle orbs doth day appear -Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, -Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not -Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate one jot -Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer -Right onward. What supports me, doth thou ask? -The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied -In liberty's defence, my noble task; -Of which all Europe rings from side to side. -This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask -Content though blind, had I no other guide."[125] - - -That thought was indeed his guide; he was "armed in himself," and that -"breastplate of diamond"[126] which had protected him in his prime -against the wounds in battle, protected him in his old age against the -temptations and doubts of defeat and adversity. - - - - -Section IV.--Milton's Personal Appearance - - -Milton lived in a small house in London, or in the country, at Horton, -in Buckinghamshire, published his "History of Britain," his "Logic," a -"Treatise on True Religion and Heresy," meditated his great "Treatise on -Christian Doctrine." Of all consolations, work is the most fortifying -and the most healthy, because it solaces a man not by bringing him ease, -but by requiring him to exert himself. Every morning he had a chapter of -the Bible read to him in Hebrew, and remained for some time in silence, -grave, in order to meditate on what he had heard. He never went to a -place of worship. Independent in religion as in all else, he was -sufficient to himself; finding in no sect the marks of the true church, -he prayed to God alone, without needing others' help. He studied till -mid-day; then, after an hour's exercise, he played the organ or the -bass-violin. Then he resumed his studies till six, and in the evening -enjoyed the society of his friends. When anyone came to visit him, he -was usually found in a room hung with old green hangings, seated in an -arm-chair, and dressed neatly in black; his complexion was pale, says -one of his visitors, but not sallow; his hands and feet were gouty; his -hair, of a light brown, was parted in the midst and fell in long curls; -his eyes, gray and clear, showed no sign of blindness. He had been very -beautiful in his youth, and his English cheeks, once delicate as a young -girl's, retained their color almost to the end. His face, we are told, -was pleasing; his straight and manly gait bore witness to intrepidity -and courage. Something great and proud breathes out yet from all his -portraits; and certainly few men have done so much honor to their kind. -Thus went out this noble life, like a setting sun, bright and calm. Amid -so many trials, a pure and lofty joy, altogether worthy of him, had been -granted to him: the poet, buried under the Puritan, had reappeared, more -sublime than ever, to give to Christianity its second Homer. The -dazzling dreams of his youth and the reminiscences of his ripe age were -found in him, side by side with Calvinistic dogmas and the visions of -St. John, to create the Protestant epic of damnation and grace; and the -vastness of primitive horizons, the flames of the infernal dungeon, the -splendors of the celestial court, opened to the inner eye of the soul -unknown regions beyond the sights which the eyes of the flesh had lost. - - - - -Section V.--Milton as a Prose Writer - - - - -[Illustration: _JOHN MILTON._ - -_Photogravure from an etching._ - -This picture of Milton, representing the great poet in the prime of his -intellect, is one of the finest of him extant. Traces are still visible -of that earlier beauty which at Oxford had caused him to be nicknamed -the "Maiden," but the impress of serious thought has given to his face a -dignity which is greater than the mere physical charm of youth. The -contour of the head is noble, and the expressive, finely shaped eyes -show poetic sensibility and imagination. His flowing chestnut curls are -the only reminder of the gay cavalier period in which he lived, for his -dress, in conformity with his sympathies, is strictly Puritan.] - - - - -I have before me the formidable volume in which, some time after -Milton's death, his prose works were collected.[127] What a book! The -chairs creak when you place it upon them, and a man who had turned its -leaves over for an hour, would have less pain in his head than in his -arm. As the book, so were the men; from the mere outsides we might -gather some notion of the controversialists and theologians whose -doctrines they contain. Yet we must conclude that the author was -eminently learned, elegant, travelled, philosophic, and a man of the -world for his age. We think involuntarily of the portraits of the -theologians of those days, severe faces engraved on metal by the hard -artist's tool, whose square brows and steady eyes stand out in startling -prominence against a dark, oak panel. We compare them to modern -countenances, in which the delicate and complex features seem to quiver -at the varied contact of hardly begun sensations and innumerable ideas. -We try to imagine the heavy classical education, the physical exercises, -the rude treatment, the rare ideas, the imposed dogmas, which formerly -occupied, oppressed, fortified, and hardened the young; and we might -fancy ourselves looking at an anatomy of megatheria and mastodons, -reconstructed by Cuvier. - -The race of living men is changed. Our mind fails us nowadays at the -idea of this greatness and this barbarism; but we discover that the -barbarism was then the cause of the greatness. As in other times we -might have seen, in the primitive slime and among the colossal ferns, -ponderous monsters slowly wind their scaly backs, and tear the flesh -from one another's sides with their misshapen talons; so now, at a -distance, from the height of our calm civilization, we see the battles -of the theologians, who, armed with syllogisms, bristling with text, -covered one another with filth, and labored to devour each others. - -Milton fought in the front rank, preordained to barbarism and greatness -by his individual nature and the manners of the time, capable of -displaying in high prominence the logic, style, and spirit of his age. -It is drawing-room life which trims men into shape: the society of -ladies, the lack of serious interests, idleness, vanity, security, are -needed to bring men to elegance, urbanity, fine and light humor, to -teach the desire to please, the fear to become wearisome, a perfect -clearness, a finished precision, the art of gradual transitions and -delicate tact, a taste for suitable images, continual ease, and choice -diversity. Seek nothing like this in Milton. The old scholastic system -was not far off; it still weighed on those who were destroying it. Under -this secular armor discussion proceeded pedantically, with measured -steps. The first thing was to propound a thesis; and Milton writes, in -large characters, at the head of his "Treatise on Divorce, that -indisposition, unfitness, or contrariety of mind, arising from a cause -in nature unchangeable, hindering, and ever likely to hinder the main -benefits of conjugal society, which are solace and peace, is a greater -reason of divorce than natural frigidity, especially if there be no -children, and that there be mutual consent." And then follow, legion -after legion, the disciplined army of the arguments. Battalion after -battalion they pass by, numbered very distinctly. There is a dozen of -them together, each with its title in clear characters, and the little -brigade of subdivisions which it commands. Sacred texts hold the post of -honor. Every word of them is discussed, the substantive after the -adjective, the verb after the substantive, the preposition after the -verb; interpretations, authorities, illustrations, are summoned up, and -ranged between palisades of new divisions. And yet there is a lack of -order, the question is not reduced to a single idea; we cannot see our -way; proofs succeed proofs without logical sequence; we are rather tired -out than convinced. We remember that the author speaks to Oxford men, -lay or cleric, trained in pretended discussions, capable of obstinate -attention, accustomed to digest indigestible books. They are at home in -this thorny thicket of scholastic brambles; they beat a path through, -somewhat at hazard, hardened against the hurts which repulse us, and not -having the smallest idea of the daylight which we require everywhere -now. - -With such ponderous reasoners, you must not look for wit. Wit is the -nimbleness of victorious reason; here, because everything it powerful, -all is heavy. When Milton wishes to joke, he looks like one of -Cromwell's pikemen, who, entering a room to dance, should fall upon the -floor, and that with the extra weight of his armor. Few things could be -more stupid than his "Animadversions upon the Remonstrants' Defence." At -the end of an argument his adversary concludes with this specimen of -theological wit: "In the meanwhile see, brethren, how you have with -Simon fished all night, and caught nothing." And Milton boastfully -replies: "If, we, fishing with Simon the apostle, can catch nothing; see -what you can catch with Simon Magus; for all his hooks and fishing -implements he bequeathed among you." Here a great savage laugh would -break out. The spectators saw a charm in this way of insinuating that -his adversary was simoniacal. A little before, the latter says: "Tell -me, is this liturgy good or evil?" Answer: "It is evil: repair the -acheloian horn of your dilemma, how you can, against the next push." The -doctors wondered at the fine mythological simile and rejoiced to see the -adversary so neatly compared to an ox, a beaten ox, a pagan ox. On the -next page the Remonstrant said, by way of a spiritual and mocking -reproach: "Truly, brethren, you have not well taken the height of the -pole." Answer: "No marvel; there be many more that do not take well the -height of your pole, but will take better the declination of your -altitude." Three quips of the same savor follow one upon the other; all -this looked pretty. Elsewhere, Salmasius exclaiming "that the sun itself -never beheld a more outrageous action" than the murder of the king, -Milton cleverly answers, "The sun has beheld many things that blind -Bernard never saw. But we are content you should mention the sun over -and over. And it will be a piece of prudence in you so to do. For though -our wickedness does not require it, the coldness of the defence that you -are making does."[128] The marvellous heaviness of these conceits -betrays minds yet entangled in the swaddling-clothes of learning. The -Reformation was the inauguration of free thought, but only the -inauguration. Criticism was yet unborn; authority still presses with a -full half of its weight upon the freest and boldest minds. Milton, to -prove that it was lawful to put a king to death, quotes Orestes, the -laws of Publicola, and the death of Nero. His "History of Britain" is a -farrago of all the traditions and fables. Under every circumstance he -adduces a text of Scripture for proof; his boldness consists in showing -himself a bold grammarian, a valorous commentator. He is blindly -Protestant as others were blindly Catholic. He leaves in its bondage the -higher reason, the mother of principles; he has but emancipated a -subordinate reason, an interpreter of texts. Like the vast half -shapeless creatures, the birth of early times, he is yet but half man -and half mud. - -Can we expect urbanity here? Urbanity is the elegant dignity which -answers insult by calm irony, and respects man whilst piercing a dogma. -Milton coarsely knocks his adversary down. A bristling pedant, born from -a Greek lexicon and a Syriac grammar, Salmasius had disgorged upon the -English people a vocabulary of insults and a folio of quotations. Milton -replies to him in the same style; calling him a buffoon, a mountebank -"_professor triobolaris_," a hired pedant, a nobody, a rogue, a -heartless being, a wretch, an idiot, sacrilegious, a slave worthy of -rods and a pitchfork. A dictionary of big Latin words passed between -them. "You, who know so many tongues, who read so many books, who write -so much about them, you are yet but an ass." Finding the epithet good, -he repeats and sanctifies it. "Oh, most drivelling of asses, you come -ridden by a woman, with the cured heads of bishops whom you had wounded, -a little image of the great beast of the Apocalypse!" He ends by calling -him savage beast, apostate, and devil. "Doubt not that you are reserved -for the same end as Judas, and that, driven by despair rather than -repentance, self-disgusted, you must one day hang yourself, and like -your rival, burst asunder in your belly."[129] We fancy we are listening -to the bellowing of two bulls. - -They had all a bull's ferocity. Milton was a good hater. He fought with -his pen, as the Ironsides with the sword, inch by inch, with a -concentrated rancor and a fierce obstinacy. The bishops and the king -then suffered for eleven years of despotism. Each man recalled the -banishments, confiscations, punishments, the law violated systematically -and relentlessly, the liberty of the subject attacked by a well-laid -plot, Episcopal idolatry imposed on Christian consciences, the faithful -preachers driven into the wilds of America, or given up to the -executioner and the stocks.[130] Such reminiscences arising in powerful -minds, stamped them with inexpiable hatred, and the writings of Milton -bear witness to a rancor which is now unknown. The impression left by -his "Eikonoklastes"[131] is oppressive. Phrase by phrase, harshly, -bitterly, the king is refuted and accused to the last, without a -minute's respite of accusation, the accused being credited with not the -slightest good intention, the slightest excuse, the least show of -justice, the accuser never for an instant digressing to or resting upon -a general idea. It is a hand-to-hand fight, where every word takes -effect, prolonged, obstinate, without dash and without weakness, full of -a harsh and fixed hostility, where the only thought is how to wound most -severely and to kill surely. Against the bishops, who were alive and -powerful, his hatred flowed more violently still, and the fierceness of -his envenomed metaphors hardly suffices to express it. Milton points to -them "basking in the sunny warmth of wealth and promotion," like a brood -of foul reptiles. "The sour leaven of human traditions, mixed in one -putrified mass with the poisonous dregs of hypocrisie in the hearts of -Prelates,... is the serpent's egg that will hatch an Anti-christ -wheresoever, and ingender the same monster as big or little as the lump -is which breeds him."[132] - -So much coarseness and dulness was an outer breastplate, the mark and -the protection of the superabundant force and life which coursed in -those athletic limbs and chests. Nowadays, the mind, being more refined, -has become feebler; convictions, being less stern, have become less -strong. Attention, freed from the heavy scholastic logic and scriptural -tyranny, has become more inert. Belief and the will, dissolved by -universal tolerance and by the thousand opposing shocks of multiplied -ideas, have engendered an exact and refined style, an instrument of -conversation and pleasure, and have expelled the poetic and rude style, -a weapon of war and enthusiasm. If we have effaced ferocity and dulness, -we have diminished force and greatness. - -Force and greatness are manifested in Milton, displayed in his opinions -and his style, the sources of his belief and his talent. This proud -reason aspired to unfold itself without shackles; it demanded that -reason might unfold itself without shackles. It claimed for humanity -what is coveted for itself, and championed every liberty in his every -word. From the first he attacked the corpulent bishops, scholastic -upstarts, persecutors of free discussion, pensioned tyrants of Christian -conscience.[133] Above the clamor of the Protestant Revolution, his -voice was heard thundering against tradition and obedience. He sourly -railed at the pedantic theologians, devoted worshippers of old texts, -who mistook a mouldy martyrology for a solid argument, and answered a -demonstration with a quotation. He declared that most of the fathers -were turbulent and babbling intriguers, that they were not worth more -collectively than individually, that their councils were but a pack of -underhand intrigues and vain disputes; he rejected their authority and -their example, and set up logic as the only interpreter of -Scripture.[134] A Puritan as against bishops, an Independent as against -Presbyterians, he was always master of his thought and the inventor of -his own faith. No one better loved, practised, and praised the free and -bold use of reason. He exercised it even rashly and scandalously. He -revolted against custom, the illegitimate queen of human belief, the -born and relentless enemy of truth, raised his hand against marriage, -and demanded divorce in the case of incompatibility of temper. He -declared that "error supports custom, custom countenances error; and -these two between them,... with the numerous and vulgar train of their -followers,... envy and cry down the industry of free reasoning, under -the terms of humour and innovation."[135] He showed that truth "never -comes into the world, but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that -brought her forth; till Time, the mid-wife rather than the mother of -truth, have washed and salted the infant, declared her legitimate."[136] -He stood out in three or four writings against the flood of insults and -anathemas, and dared even more; he attacked the censorship before -Parliament, though its own work; he spoke as a man who is wounded and -oppressed, for whom a public prohibition is a personal outrage, who is -himself fettered by the fetters of the nation. He does not want the pen -of a paid "licenser" to insult by its approval the first page of his -book. He hates this ignorant and imperious hand, and claims liberty of -writing on the same grounds as he claims liberty of thought: - - -"What advantage is it to be a man, over it is to be a boy at school, if -we have only escaped the ferula, to come under the fescue of an -imprimatur? If serious and elaborate writings, as if they were no more -than the theme of a grammar-lad under his pedagogue, must not be uttered -without the cursory eyes of a temporizing and extemporizing licenser? He -who is not trusted with his own actions, his drift not being known to be -evil, and standing to the hazard of law and penalty, has no great -argument to think himself reputed in the commonwealth wherein he was -born for other than a fool or a foreigner. When a man writes to the -world, he summons up all his reason and deliberation to assist him; he -searches, meditates, is industrious, and likely consults and confers -with his judicious friends; after all which done, he takes himself to be -informed in what he writes, as well as any that wrote before him; if in -this, the most consummate act of his fidelity and ripeness, no years, no -industry, no former proof of his abilities, can bring him to that state -of maturity, as not to be still mistrusted and suspected, unless he -carry all his considerate diligence, all his midnight watchings, and -expense of Palladian oil, to the hasty view of an unleisured licenser, -perhaps much his younger, perhaps far his inferior in judgment, perhaps -one who never knew the labour of book writing; and if he be not -repulsed, or slighted, must appear in print like a puny with his -guardian, and his censor's hand on the back of his title to be his bail -and surety, that he is no idiot or seducer; it cannot be but a dishonour -and derogation to the author, to the book, to the privilege and dignity -of learning."[137] - - -Throw open, then, all the doors; let there be light; let every man -think, and bring his thoughts to the light. Dread not any diversities of -opinion, rejoice in this great work; why insult the laborers by the name -of schismatics and sectaries? - - -"Yet these are the men cried out against for schismatics and sectaries, -as if, while the temple of the Lord was building, some cutting, some -squaring the marble, others hewing the cedars, there should be a sort of -irrational men, who could not consider there must be many schisms and -many dissections made in the quarry and in the timber ere the house of -God can be built. And when every stone is laid artfully together, it -cannot be united into a continuity, it cannot but be contiguous in this -world: neither can every piece of the building be of one form; nay, -rather the perfection consists in this, that out of many moderate -varieties and brotherly dissimilitudes that are not vastly -disproportional, arises the goodly and the graceful symmetry that -commends the whole pile and structure."[138] - - -Milton triumphs here through sympathy; he breaks forth into magnificent -images, he displays in his style the force which he perceives around him -and in himself. He lauds the revolution, and his praises seem like the -blast of a trumpet, to come from a brazen throat: - - -"Behold now this vast city, a city of refuge, the mansion-house of -liberty, encompassed and surrounded with his protection; the shop of war -has not there more anvils and hammers working, to fashion out the plates -and instruments of armed justice in defence of beleagured truth, than -there be pens and heads there, sitting by their studious lamps, musing, -searching, revolving new notions and ideas wherewith to present, as with -their homage and their feality, the approaching reformation.... What -could a man require more from a nation so pliant, and so prone to seek -after knowledge? What wants there to such a towardly and pregnant soil, -but wise and faithful labourers, to make a knowing people, a nation of -prophets, of sages, and of worthies?[139]... Methinks I see in my mind a -noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, -and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle mewing -her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday -beam; purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the fountain itself -of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking -birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at -what she means, and in their envious gabble would prognosticate a year -of sects and schisms."[140] - - -It is Milton who speaks, and it is Milton whom he unwittingly describes. - -With a sincere writer, doctrines foretell the style. The sentiments and -needs which form and govern his beliefs, construct and color his -phrases. The same genius leaves once and again the same impress, in the -thought and in the form. The power of logic and enthusiasm which -explains the opinions of Milton, explains his genius. The sectary and -the writer are one man, and we shall find the faculties of the sectary -in the talent of the writer. - -When an idea is planted in a logical mind, it grows and fructifies there -in a multitude of accessory and explanatory ideas which surround it, -entangled among themselves, and form a thicket and a forest. The -sentences in Milton are immense; page-long periods are necessary to -enclose the train of so many linked arguments, and so many metaphors -accumulated around the governing thought. In this great travail, heart -and imagination are shaken; Milton exults while he reasons, and the -words come as from a catapult, doubling the force of their flight by -their heavy weight. I dare not place before a modern reader the gigantic -periods which commence the treatise "Of Reformation in England." We no -longer possess the power of breath; we only understand little short -phrases; we cannot fix our attention on the same point for a page at a -time. We require manageable ideas; we have given up the big two-handed -sword of our fathers, and we only carry a light foil. I doubt, however, -if the piercing phraseology of Voltaire be more mortal than the cleaving -of this iron mace: - - -"If in less noble and almost mechanick arts he is not esteemed to -deserve the name of a compleat architect, an excellent painter, or the -like, that bears not a generous mind above the peasantly regard of wages -and hire; much more must we think him a most imperfect and incompleat -Divine, who is so far from being a contemner of filthy lucre; that his -whole divinity is moulded and bred up in the beggarly and brutish hopes -of a fat prebendary, deanery, or bishoprick."[141] - - -If Michael Angelo's prophets could speak, it would be in this style; and -twenty times while reading it, we may discern the sculptor. - -The powerful logic which lengthens the periods sustains the images. If -Shakespeare and the nervous poets embrace a picture in the compass of a -fleeting expression, break upon their metaphors with new ones, and -exhibit successively in the same phrase the same idea in five or six -different forms, the abrupt motion of their winged imagination -authorizes or explains these varied colors and these mingling flashes. -More connected and more master of himself, Milton develops to the end -the threads which these poets break. All his images display themselves -in little poems, a sort of solid allegory, of which all the -interdependent parts concentrate their light on the single idea which -they are intended to embellish or demonstrate: - - -"In this manner the prelates,... coming from a mean and plebeian life on -a sudden to be lords of stately palaces, rich furniture, delicious fare, -and princely attendance, thought the plain and homespun verity of -Christ's gospel unfit any longer to hold their lordships' acquaintance, -unless the poor threadbare matron were put into better clothes: her -chaste and modest veil surrounded with celestial beams, they overlaid -with wanton tresses, and in a flaring tire bespeckled her with all the -gaudy allurements of a whore."[142] - - -Politicians reply that this gaudy church supports royalty. - - -"What greater debasement can there be to royal dignity, whose towering -and steadfast height rests upon the unmovable foundations of justice, -and heroic virtue, than to chain it in a dependence of subsisting, or -ruining, to the painted battlements and gaudy rottenness of prelatry, -which want but one puff of the king's to blow them down like a pasteboard -house built of court-cards?"[143] - - -Metaphors thus sustained receive a singular breadth, pomp, and majesty. -They are spread forth without clashing together, like the wide folds of -a scarlet cloak, bathed in light and fringed with gold. - -Do not take these metaphors for an accident. Milton lavishes them, like -a priest who in his worship exhibits splendors and wins the eye, to gain -the heart. He has been nourished by the reading of Spenser, Drayton, -Shakespeare, Beaumont, all the most sparkling poets and the golden flow -of the preceding age, though impoverished all around him and slackened -within himself, has become enlarged like a lake through being dammed up -in his heart. Like Shakespeare, he imagines at every turn, and even out -of turn, and scandalizes the classical and French taste. - - -"... As if they could make God earthly and fleshly, because they could -not make themselves heavenly and spiritual; they began to draw down all -the divine intercourse betwixt God and the soul, yea, the very shape of -God himself, into an exterior and bodily form;.... they hallowed it, -they fumed up, they sprinkled it, they bedecked it, not in robes of pure -innocency, but of pure linen, with other deformed and fantastic dresses, -in palls and mitres, and gewgaws fetched from Aaron's old wardrobe, or -the flaming vestry: then was the priest set to con his motions and his -postures, his liturgies and his lurries, till the soul by this means, of -overbodying herself, given up justly to fleshly delights, bated her wing -apace downward; and finding the ease she had from her visible and -sensuous colleague the body, in performance of religious duties, her -pinions now broken, and flagging, shifted off from herself the labour of -high soaring any more, forgot her heavenly flight, and left the dull and -droiling carcase to plod on in the old road, and drudging trade of -outward conformity."[144] - - -If we did not discern here the traces of theological coarseness, we -might fancy we were reading an imitator of the "Phædo" and under the -fanatical anger recognize the images of Plato. There is one phrase which -for manly beauty and enthusiasm recalls the tone of the "Republic": "I -cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue unexercised and -unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks -out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not -without dust and heat."[145] But Milton is only Platonic by his richness -and exaltation. For the rest, he is a man of the Renaissance, pedantic -and harsh; he insults the Pope, who, after the gift of Pepin le Bref, -"never ceased baiting and goring the successors of his best Lord -Constantine, what by his barking curses and excommunications";[146] he -is mythological in his defence of the press, showing that formerly "no -envious Juno sat cross-legged over the nativity of any man's -intellectual offspring."[147] It matters little: these learned, -familiar, grand images, whatever they be, are powerful and natural. -Superabundance, like crudity, here only manifests the vigor and lyric -dash which Milton's character had foretold. - -Passion follows naturally; exaltation brings it with the images. Bold -expressions, exaggeration of style, cause us to hear the vibrating voice -of the suffering man, indignant and determined. - - -"For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of -life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; -nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of -that living intellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as -vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragon's teeth: and being sown -up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet, on the other -hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good -book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he -who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, -as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a -good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and -treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age can -restore a life, whereof, perhaps, there is no great loss; and -revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for -the want of which whole nations fare the worse. We should be wary, -therefore, what persecution we raise against the living labours of -public men, how we spill that seasoned life of man, preserved and stored -up in books; since we see a kind of homicide may be thus committed, -sometimes a martyrdom; and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind -of massacre, whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an -elemental life, but strikes at the ethereal and fifth essence, the -breath of reason itself; slays an immortality rather than a life."[148] - - -This energy is sublime; the man is equal to the cause, and never did a -loftier eloquence match a loftier truth. Terrible expressions overwhelm -the book-tyrants, the profaners of thought, the assassins of liberty. -"The council of Trent and the Spanish inquisition, engendering together, -brought forth or perfected those catalogues and expurging indexes, that -rake through the entrails of many an old good author, with a violation -worse than any that could be offered to his tomb."[149] Similar -expressions lash the carnal minds which believe without thinking, and -make their servility into a religion. There is a passage which, by its -bitter familiarity recalls Swift, and surpasses him in all loftiness of -imagination and genius: - - -"A man may be an heretic in the truth, and if he believes things only -because his pastor says so,... the very truth he holds becomes his -heresy.... A wealthy man, addicted to his pleasure and to his profits, -finds religion to be a traffic so entangled, and of so many piddling -accounts, that of all mysteries he cannot skill to keep a stock going -upon that trade.... What does he therefore, but resolves to give over -toiling, and to find himself out some factor, to whose care and credit -he may commit the whole managing of his religious affairs; some divine -of note and estimation that must be. To him he adheres, resigns the -whole warehouse of his religion, with all the locks and keys, into his -custody; and indeed makes the very person of that man his religion.... -So that a man may say his religion is now no more within himself, but is -become a dividual movable, and goes and comes near him, according as -that good man frequents the house. He entertains him, gives him gifts, -feasts him, lodges him; his religion comes home at night, prays, is -liberally supped, and sumptuously laid to sleep; rises, is saluted, and -after the malmsey, or some well-spiced bruage,... his religion walks -abroad at eight, and leaves his kind entertainer in the shop trading all -day without his religion."[150] - - -He condescended to mock for an instant, with what piercing irony we have -seen. But irony, piercing as it may be, seems to him weak.[151] Hear him -when he comes to himself, when he returns to open and serious invective, -when after the carnal believer he overwhelms the carnal prelate: - - -"The table of communion, now become a table of separation, stands like -an exalted platform upon the brow of the quire, fortified with bulwark -and barricado, to keep off the profane touch of the laics, whilst the -obscene and surfeited priest scruples not to paw and mammoc the -sacramental bread, as familiarly as his tavern biscuit."[152] - - -He triumphs in believing that all these profanations are to be avenged. -The horrible doctrine of Calvin has once more fixed men's gaze on the -dogma of reprobation and everlasting damnation. Hell in hand, Milton -menaces; he is drunk with justice and vengeance amid the abysses which -he opens, and the brands which he wields: - - -"They shall be thrown downe eternally into the _darkest_ and _deepest -Gulfe_ of Hell, where, under the _despightfull controule_, the trample -and spurne of all the other _Damned_, that in the anguish of their -_Torture_ shall have no other ease than to exercise a _Raving_ and -_Bestiall Tyranny_ over them as their Slaves and Negro's, they shall -remaine in that plight for ever, the _basest_, the _lowermost_, the -_most dejected_, most _underfoot_, and _downetrodden Vassals of -Perdition._"[153] - - -Fury here mounts to the sublime, and Michael Angelo's Christ is not more -inexorable and vengeful. - -Let us fill the measure; let us add, as he does, the prospects of heaven -to the visions of darkness; the pamphlet becomes a hymn: - - -"When I recall to mind at last, after so many dark ages, wherein the -huge overshadowing train of error had almost swept all the stars out of -the firmament of the church; how the bright and blissful Reformation (by -divine power) struck through the black and settled night of ignorance -and anti-christian tyranny, methinks a sovereign and reviving joy must -needs rush into the bosom of him that reads or hears; and the sweet -odour of the returning gospel imbathe his soul with the fragrancy of -heaven."[154] - - -Overloaded with ornaments, infinitely prolonged, these periods are -triumphant choruses of angelic alleluias sung by deep voices to the -accompaniment of ten thousand harps of gold. In the midst of his -syllogisms, Milton prays, sustained by the accent of the prophets, -surrounded by memories of the Bible, ravished with the splendors of the -Apocalypse, but checked on the brink of hallucination by science and -logic, on the summit of the calm clear atmosphere, without rising to the -burning tracts where ecstasy dissolves reason, with a majesty of -eloquence and a solemn grandeur never surpassed, whose perfection proves -that he has entered his domain, and gives promise of the poet beyond the -prose-writer: - - -"Thou, therefore, that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, parent -of angels and men! next, thee I implore, omnipotent King, Redeemer of -that lost remnant whose nature thou didst assume, ineffable and -everlasting Love! and thou, the third subsistence of divine infinitude, -illumining Spirit, the joy and solace of created things! one -Tri-personal Godhead! look upon this thy poor and almost spent and -expiring church.... O let them not bring about their damned designs,... -to reinvolve us in that pitchy cloud of infernal darkness, where we -shall never more see the sun of thy truth again, never hope for the -cheerful dawn, never more hear the bird of morning sing."[155] - -"O Thou the ever-begotten Light and perfect Image of the Father. ... Who -is there that cannot trace thee now in thy beamy walk through the midst -of thy sanctuary, amidst those golden candlesticks, which have long -suffered a dimness amongst us through the violence of those that had -seized them, and were more taken with the mention of their gold than of -their starry light?... Come therefore, O thou that hast the seven stars -in thy right hand, appoint thy chosen priests according to their orders -and courses of old, to minister before thee, and duly to press and pour -out the consecrated oil into thy holy and ever-burning lamps. Thou hast -sent out the spirit of prayer upon thy servants over all the land to -this effect, and stirred up their vows as the sound of many waters about -thy throne.... O perfect and accomplish thy glorious acts!... Come forth -out of thy royal chambers, O Prince of all kings of the earth! put on -the visible robes of thy imperial majesty, take up that unlimited -sceptre which thy Almighty Father hath bequeathed thee; for now the -voice of thy bride calls thee, and all creatures sigh to be -renewed."[156] - - -This song of supplication and joy is an outpouring of splendors; and if -we search all literature, we will hardly find a poet equal to this -writer of prose. - -Is he truly a prose-writer? Entangled dialectics, a heavy and awkward -mind, fanatical and ferocious rusticity, an epic grandeur of sustained -and superabundant images, the blast and the recklessness of implacable -and all-powerful passion, the sublimity of religious and lyric -exaltation; we do not recognize in these features a man born to explain, -persuade, and prove. The scholasticism and coarseness of the time have -blunted or rusted his logic. Imagination and enthusiasm carried him away -and enchained him in metaphor. Thus dazzled or marred, he could not -produce a perfect work; he did but write useful tracts, called forth by -practical interests and actual hate, and fine isolated morsels, inspired -by collision with a grand idea, and by the sudden burst of genius. Yet, -in all these abandoned fragments, the man shows in his entirety. The -systematic and lyric spirit is manifested in the pamphlet as well as in -the poem; the faculty of embracing general effects, and of being shaken -by them, remains the same in Milton's two careers, and we will see in -the "Paradise" and "Cornus" what we have met with in the treatise "Of -Reformation," and in the "Animadversions on the Remonstrant." - - - - -Section VI.--Milton as a Poet - - -"Milton has acknowledged to me," writes Dryden, "that Spenser was his -original." In fact, by the purity and elevation of their morals, by the -fulness and connection of their style, by the noble chivalric -sentiments, and their fine classical arrangement, they are brothers. But -Milton had yet other masters--Beaumont, Fletcher, Burton, Drummond, Ben -Jonson, Shakespeare, the whole splendid English Renaissance, and behind -it the Italian poesy, Latin antiquity, the fine Greek literature, and -all the sources whence the English Renaissance sprang. He continued the -great current, but in a manner of his own. He took their mythology, -their allegories, sometimes their conceits,[157] and discovered anew -their rich coloring, their magnificent sentiment of living nature, their -inexhaustible admiration of forms and colors. But, at the same time, he -transformed their diction, and employed poetry in a new service. He -wrote, not by impulse, and at the mere contact with things, but like a -man of letters, a classic, in a scholarlike manner, with the assistance -of books, seeing objects as much through previous writings as in -themselves, adding to his images the images of others, borrowing and -recasting their inventions, as an artist who unites and multiplies the -bosses and driven gold, already entwined on a diadem by twenty workmen. -He made thus for himself a composite and brilliant style, less natural -than that of his precursors, less fit for effusions, less akin to the -lively first glow of sensation, but more solid, more regular, more -capable of concentrating in one large patch of light all their sparkle -and splendor. He brings together like Æschylus, words of "six cubits," -plumed and decked in purple, and makes them pass like a royal train -before his idea to exalt and announce it. He introduces to us - - -"The breathing roses of the wood, -Fair silver-buskin'd nymphs;"[158] - - -And tells how - - -"The gray-hooded Even, -Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed. -Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain;"[159] - - -And speaks of - - -"All the sea-girt isles, -That, like to rich and various gems, inlay -The unadorned bosom of the deep;"[160] - - -And - - -"That undisturbed song of pure concent, -Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne, -To Him that sits thereon, -With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee; -Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row, -Their loud-uplifted angel-trumpets blow."[161] - - -He gathered into full nosegays the flowers scattered through the other -poets: - - -"Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use -Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, -On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks; -Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes, -That on the green turf suck the honied showers, -And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. -Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, -The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, -The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, -The glowing violet, -The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, -With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, -And every flower that sad embroidery wears; -Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, -And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, -To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies."[162] - - -When still quite young, on his quitting Cambridge, he inclined to the -magnificent and grand; he wanted a great flowing verse, an ample and -sounding strophe, vast periods of fourteen and four-and-twenty lines. He -did not face objects on a level, as a mortal, but from on high, like -those archangels of Goethe,[163] who embrace at a glance the whole ocean -lashing its coasts and the earth rolling on, wrapped in the harmony of -the fraternal stars. It was not life that he felt, like the masters of -the Renaissance, but grandeur, like Æschylus, and the Hebrew -seers,[164] manly and lyric spirits like his own, who, nourished like -him in religious emotions and continuous enthusiasm, like him displayed -sacerdotal pomp and majesty. To express such a sentiment, images, and -poetry addressed only to the eyes, were not enough; sounds also were -requisite, and that more introspective poetry which, purged from -corporeal shows, could reach the soul. Milton was a musician; his hymns -rolled with the slowness of a measured song and the gravity of a -declamation; and he seems himself to be describing his art in these -incomparable verses, which are evolved like the solemn harmony of an -anthem: - - -"But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness -Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I -To the celestial sirens' harmony, -That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, -And sing to those that hold the vital shears, -And turn the adamantine spindle round, -On which the fate of Gods and men is wound. -Such sweet compulsion doth in musick lie, -To lull the daughters of Necessity, -And keep unsteady Nature to her law, -And the low world in measured motion draw -After the heavenly tune, which none can hear -Of human mould, with gross unpurged ear."[165] - - -With his style, his subjects differed; he compacted and ennobled the -poet's domain as well as his language, and consecrated his thoughts as -well as his words. He who knows the true nature of poetry soon finds, as -Milton said a little later, what despicable creatures "libidinous and -ignorant poetasters" are, and to what religious, glorious, splendid use -poetry can be put in things divine and human. "These abilities, -wheresoever they be found, are the inspired gift of God, rarely -bestowed, but yet to some (though most abuse) in every nation; and are -of power, beside the office of a pulpit, to imbreed and cherish in a -great people the seeds of virtue and public civility, to allay the -perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right tune; to -celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of God's -almightiness, and what he works, and what he suffers to be wrought with -high providence in his church; to sing the victorious agonies of martyrs -and saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and pious nations, doing -valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ."[166] - -In fact, from the first, at St. Paul's School and at Cambridge, he had -written paraphrases of the Psalms, then composed odes on the Nativity, -Circumcision, and the Passion. Presently appeared sad poems on the -"Death of a Fair Infant, An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester"; -then grave and noble verses "On Time, At a solemn Musick"; a sonnet "On -his being arrived to the Age of Twenty-three, his late spring which no -bud or blossom shew'th." At last we have him in the country with his -father, and the hopes, dreams, first enchantments of youth, rise from -his heart like the morning breath of a summer's day. But what a distance -between these calm and bright contemplations and the warm youth, the -voluptuous "Adonis" of Shakespeare! He walked, used his eyes, listened; -there his joys ended; they are but the poetic joys of the soul: - - -"To hear the lark begin his flight, -And singing, startle the dull night, -From his watch-tower in the skies, -Till the dapple dawn doth rise;... -While the plowman, near at hand, -Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, -And the milk-maid singeth blithe, -And the mower whets his sithe, -And every shepherd tells his tale -Under the hawthorn in the dale."[167] - - -To see the village dances and gayety; to look upon the "high triumphs" -and the "busy hum of men" in the "tower'd cities" above all, to abandon -himself to melody, to the divine roll of sweet verse, and the charming -dreams which they spread before us in a golden light; this is all; and -presently, as if he had gone too far, to counterbalance this eulogy of -visible joys, he summons Melancholy: - - -"Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, -Sober, stedfast, and demure, -All in a robe of darkest grain, -Flowing with majestick train, -And sable stole of Cypress lawn -Over thy decent shoulders drawn. -Come, but keep thy wonted state, -With even step, and musing gait; -And looks commercing with the skies, -Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes."[168] - - -With her he wanders amidst grave thoughts and grave sights, which recall -a man to his condition, and prepare him for his duties, now amongst the -lofty colonnades of primeval trees, whose "high-embowed roof" retains -the silence and the twilight under their shade; now in - - -"The studious cloysters pale,... -With antick pillars massy proof, -And storied windows richly dight, -Casting a dim religious light;"[169] - - -Now again in the retirement of the study, where the cricket chirps, -where the lamp of labor shines, where the mind, alone with the noble -minds of the past, may - - -"Unsphere -The spirit of Plato, to unfold -What worlds or what vast regions hold -The immortal mind, that hath forsook -Her mansion in this fleshly nook."[170] - - -He was filled with this lofty philosophy. Whatever the language he used, -English, Italian, or Latin, whatever the kind of verse, sonnets, hymns, -stanzas, tragedy or epic, he always returned to it. He praised -everywhere chaste love, piety, generosity, heroic force. It was not from -scruple, but it was innate in him; his chief need and faculty led him to -noble conceptions. He took a delight in admiring, as Shakespeare in -creating, as Swift in destroying, as Byron in combating, as Spenser in -dreaming. Even on ornamental poems, which were only employed to exhibit -costumes and introduce fairy-tales, in Masques, like those of Ben -Jonson, he impressed his own character. They were amusements for the -castle; he made out of them lectures on magnanimity and constancy: one -of them, "Cornus," well worked out, with a complete originality and -extraordinary elevation of style, is perhaps his masterpiece, and is -simply the eulogy of virtue. - -Here at the beginning we are in the heavens. A spirit, descended in the -midst of wild woods, repeats this ode: - - -"Before the starry threshold of Jove's court -My mansion is, where those immortal shapes -Of bright aerial spirits live insphered -In regions mild of calm and serene air, -Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, -Which men call earth; and, with low-thoughted care -Confined, and pester'd in this pinfold here, -Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, -Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives, -After this mortal change, to her true servants, -Amongst the enthron'd Gods on sainted seats."[171] - - -Such characters cannot speak: they sing. The drama is an antique opera, -composed like the "Prometheus," of solemn hymns. The spectator is -transported beyond the real world. He does not listen to men, but to -sentiments. He hears a concert, as in Shakespeare; the "Cornus" -continues the "Midsummer Night's Dream," as a choir of deep men's voices -continues the glowing and sad symphony of the instruments: - - -"Through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood, -The nodding horror of whose shady brows -Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger,"[172] - - -strays a noble lady, separated from her two brothers, troubled by the -"sound of riot and ill-managed merriment" which she hears from afar. The -son of Circe the enchantress, sensual Cornus enters with a charming rod -in one hand, his glass in the other, amid the clamor of men and women, -with torches in their hands, "headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts"; -it is the hour when - - -"The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, -Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; -And, on the tawny sands and shelves -Trip the pert faeries and the dapper elves."[173] - - -The lady is terrified, and sinks on her knees; and in the misty forms -which float above in the pale light, perceives the mysterious and -heavenly guardians who watch over her life and honor: - - -"O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith; white-handed Hope, -Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings; -And thou, unblemish'd form of Chastity, -I see ye visibly, and now believe -That He, the Supreme good, t' whom all things ill -Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, -Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, -To keep my life and honour unassail'd. -Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud -Turn forth her silver lining on the night? -I did not err; there does a sable cloud -Turn forth her silver lining on the night, -And casts a gleam over this tufted grove."[174] - - -She calls her brothers in "a soft and solemn-breathing sound," which -"rose like a stream of rich distill'd perfumes, and stole upon the -air,"[175] across the "violet-embroider'd vale," to the dissolute god -whom she enchants. He comes disguised as a "gentle shepherd," and says: - - -"Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould -Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment? -Sure something holy lodges in that breast, -And with these raptures moves the vocal air -To testify his hidden residence. -How sweetly did they float upon the wings -Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, -At every fall smoothing the raven down -Of darkness, till it smiled! I have oft heard -My mother Circe with the syrens three, -Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, -Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs; -Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, -And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept, -And chid her barking waves into attention.... -But such a sacred and home-felt delight, -Such sober certainty of waking bliss, -I never heard till now."[176] - - -They were heavenly songs which Cornus heard; Milton describes, and at -the same time imitates them; he makes us understand the saying of his -master Plato, that virtuous melodies teach virtue. - -Circe's son has by deceit carried off the noble lady, and seats her, -with "nerves all chained up," in a sumptuous palace before a table -spread with all dainties. She accuses him, resists, insults him, and the -style assumes an air of heroical indignation, to scorn the offer of the -tempter. - - -"When lust, -By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, -But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, -Lets in defilement to the inward parts; -The soul grows clotted by contagion, -Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose -The divine property of her first being. -Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, -Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres -Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave, -As loth to leave the body that it loved."[177] - - -"A cold shuddering dew dips all o'er" Cornus; he presents a cup of wine; -at the same instant the brothers, led by the attendant Spirit, rush upon -him with swords drawn. He flees, carrying off his magic wand. To free -the exchanted lady, they summon Sabrina, the benevolent naiad, who sits - - -"Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, -In twisted braids of lilies knitting -The loose train of thy (her) amber-dropping hair."[178] - - -The "goddess of the silver lake" rises lightly from her "coral-paven -bed," and her chariot "of turkis blue and emerald-green" sets her down - - -"By the rushy-fringed bank, -Where grows the willow, and the osier dank."[179] - - -Sprinkled by this cool and chaste hand, the lady leaves the "venom'd -seat" which held her spell-bound; the brothers, with their sister, reign -peacefully in their father's palace; and the Spirit, who has conducted -all, pronounces this ode, in which poetry leads up to philosophy; the -voluptuous light of an Oriental legend beams on the Elysium of the good, -and all the splendors of nature assemble to render virtue more -seductive. - - -"To the ocean now I fly, -And those happy climes that lie -Where day never shuts his eye -Up in the broad fields of the sky: -There I suck the liquid air -All amidst the gardens fair -Of Hesperus, and his daughters three -That sing about the golden tree: -Along the crisped shades and bowers -Revels the spruce and jocund spring; -The Graces, and the rosy-bosom'd Hours, -Thither all their bounties bring; -There eternal Summer dwells, -And west winds, with musky wing, -About the cedar'n alleys fling -Nard and cassia's balmy smells. -Iris there with humid bow -Waters the odorous banks, that blow -Flowers of more mingled hew -Than her purfled scarf can shew; -And drenches with Elysian dew -(List, mortals, if your ears be true) -Beds of hyacinth and roses, -Where young Adonis oft reposes, -Waxing well of his deep wound -In slumber soft; and on the ground -Sadly sits the Assyrian queen: -But far above in spangled sheen -Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced -Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced -After her wandering labours long, -Till free consent the gods among -Make her his eternal bride. -And from her fair unspotted side -Two blissful twins are to be born, -Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. -But now my task is smoothly done, -I can fly, or I can run -Quickly to the green earth's end, -Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend: -And from thence can soar as soon -To the corners of the moon. -Mortals, that would follow me, -Love Virtue, she alone is free: -She can teach ye how to climb -Higher than the sphery chime; -Or, if Virtue feeble were, -Heaven itself would stoop to her."[180] - - -Ought I to have pointed Out the awkwardnesses, strangenesses, -exaggerated expressions, the inheritance of the Renaissance, a -philosophical quarrel, the work of a reasoner and a Platonist? I did not -perceive these faults. All was effaced before the spectacle of the -bright Renaissance, transformed by austere philosophy, and of sublimity -worshipped upon an altar of flowers. - -That, I think, was his last profane poem. Already, in the one which -followed, "Lycidas," celebrating in the style of Vergil the death of a -beloved friend,[181] he suffers Puritan wrath and pre-possessions to -shine through, inveighs against the bad teaching and tyranny of the -bishops, and speaks of "that two-handed engine at the door, ready to -smite (but) once, and smite no more." On his return from Italy, -controversy and action carried him away; prose begins, poetry is -arrested. From time to time a patriotic or religious sonnet breaks the -long silence; now to praise the chief Puritans, Cromwell, Vane, Fairfax; -now to celebrate the death of a pious lady, or the life of a "virtuous -young lady"; once to pray God "to avenge his slaughter'd saints," the -unhappy Protestants of Piedmont, "whose bones lie scatter'd on the -Alpine mountains cold"; again, on his second wife, dead a year after -their marriage, his well-beloved "saint"--"brought to me like Alcestis, -from the grave,... came, vested all in white, pure as her mind"; loyal -friendships, sorrows bowed to or subdued, aspirations generous or -stoical, which reverses did but purify. Old age came; cut off from -power, action, even hope, he returned to the grand dreams of his youth. -As of old, he went out of this lower world in search of the sublime; for -the actual is petty, and the familiar seems dull. He selects his new -characters on the verge of sacred antiquity, as he selected his old ones -on the verge of fabulous antiquity, because distance adds to their -stature; and habit, ceasing to measure, ceases also to depreciate them. -Just now we had creatures of fancy: Joy, daughter of Zephyr and Aurora; -Melancholy, daughter of Vesta and Saturn; Cornus, son of Circe, -ivy-crowned, god of echoing woods and turbulent excess. Now we have -Samson, the despiser of giants, the elect of Israel's God, the destroyer -of idolaters, Satan and his peers, Christ and his angels; they come and -rise before our eyes like superhuman statues; and their far removal, -rendering vain our curious hands, preserves our admiration and their -majesty. We rise further and higher, to the origin of things, amongst -eternal beings, to the commencement of thought and life, to the battles -of God, in this unknown world where sentiments and existences, raised -above the ken of man, elude his judgment and criticism to command his -veneration and awe; the sustained song of solemn verse unfolds the -actions of these shadowy figures; and then we experience the same -emotion as in a cathedral, while the music of the organ rolls along -among the arches, and amidst the brilliant light of the taper clouds of -incense hide from our view the colossal columns. - -But if the heart remains unchanged, the genius has become transformed. -Manliness has supplanted youth. The richness has decreased, the severity -has increased. Seventeen years of fighting and misfortune have steeped -his soul in religious ideas. Mythology has yielded to theology; the -habit of discussion has ended by subduing the lyric flight; accumulated -learning by choking the original genius. The poet no more sings sublime -verse, he relates or harangues, in grave verse. He no longer invents a -personal style; he imitates antique tragedy or epic. In "Samson -Agonistes" he hits upon a cold and lofty tragedy, in "Paradise Regained" -on a cold and noble epic; he composes an imperfect and sublime poem in -"Paradise Lost." - -Would to Heaven he could have written it as he tried, in the shape of a -drama, or better, as the "Prometheus" of Æschylus, as a lyric opera! A -peculiar kind of subject demands a peculiar kind of style; if you -resist, you destroy your work, too happy if, in the deformed medley, -chance produces and preserves a few beautiful fragments. To bring the -supernatural upon the scene, you must not continue in your every-day -mood; if you do, you look as if you did not believe in it. Vision -reveals it, and the style of vision must express it. When Spenser -writes, he dreams. We listen to the happy concerts of his aërial music, -and the varying train of his fanciful apparitions unfolds like a vapor -before our accommodating and dazzled gaze. When Dante writes, he is -rapt; and his cries of anguish, his transports, the incoherent -succession of his infernal or mystical phantoms, carry us with him into -the invisible world which he describes. Ecstasy alone renders visible -and credible the objects of ecstasy. If you tell us of the exploits of -the Deity as you tell us of Cromwell's, in a grave and lofty tone, we do -not see God; and as He constitutes the whole of your poem, we do not see -anything. We conclude that you have accepted a tradition, that you adorn -it with the fictions of your mind, that you are a preacher, not a -prophet, a decorator, not a poet. We find that you sing of God as the -vulgar pray to him, after a formula learnt, not from spontaneous -emotion. Change your style, or, rather if you can, change your emotion. -Try and discover in yourself the ancient fervor of psalmists and -apostles, to recreate the divine legend, to experience the sublime -agitations by which the inspired and disturbed mind perceives God; then -the grand lyric verse will roll on, laden with splendors. Thus roused, -we shall not have to examine whether it be Adam or Messiah who speaks; -we shall not have to demand that they shall be real, and constructed by -the hand of a psychologist; we shall not trouble ourselves with their -puerile or unlooked-for actions; we shall be carried away, we shall -share in your creative madness; we shall be drawn onward by the flow of -bold images, or raised by the combination of gigantic metaphors; we -shall be moved like Æschylus, when his thunder-stricken Prometheus -hears the universal concert of rivers, seas, forests, and created -beings, lament with him,[182] as David before Jehovah, for whom a -thousand years are but as yesterday, who "carriest them away as with a -flood; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up."[183] - -But the age of metaphysical inspiration, long gone by, had not yet -reappeared. Far in the past Dante was fading away; far in the future -Goethe lay unrevealed. People saw not yet the pantheistic Faust, and -that incomprehensible nature which absorbs all varying existence in her -deep bosom; they saw no longer the mystic paradise and immortal Love, -whose ideal light envelops souls redeemed. Protestantism had neither -altered nor renewed the divine nature; the guardian of an accepted creed -and ancient tradition, it had only transformed ecclesiastical discipline -and the doctrine of grace. It had only called the Christian to personal -salvation and freedom from priestly rule. It had only remodelled man, it -had not recreated the Deity. It could not produce a divine epic, but a -human epic. It could not sing the battles and works of God, but the -temptations and salvation of the soul. At the time of Christ came the -poems of cosmogony; at the time of Milton, the confessions of -psychology. At the time of Christ each imagination produced a hierarchy -of supernatural beings, and a history of the world; at the time of -Milton, every heart recorded the series of its upliftings, and the -history of grace. Learning and reflection led Milton to a metaphysical -poem which was not the natural offspring of the age, whilst inspiration -and ignorance revealed to Bunyan the psychological narrative which -suited the age, and the great man's genius was feebler than the tinker's -simplicity. - -And why? Because Milton's poem, whilst it suppresses lyrical illusion, -admits critical inquiry. Free from enthusiasm we judge his characters; -we demand that they shall be living, real, complete, harmonious, like -those of a novel or a drama. No longer hearing odes, we would see -objects and souls: we ask that Adam and Eve should act in conformity -with their primitive nature; that God, Satan, and Messiah should act and -feel in conformity with their superhuman nature. Shakespeare would -scarcely have been equal to the task; Milton, the logician and reasoner, -failed in it. He gives us correct solemn discourse, and gives us nothing -more; his characters are speeches, and in their sentiments we find only -heaps of puerilities and contradictions. - -Adam and Eve, the first pair! I approach, and it seems as though! -discovered the Adam and Eve of Raphael Sanzio, imitated by Milton, so -his biographers tell us, glorious, strong, voluptuous children, naked in -the light of heaven, motionless and absorbed before grand landscapes, -with bright vacant eyes, with no more thought than the bull or the horse -on the grass beside them. I listen, and I hear an English household, two -reasoners of the period--Colonel Hutchinson and his wife. Good -Heavens! dress them at once. People with so much culture should have -invented before all a pair of trousers and modesty. What dialogues! -Dissertations capped by politeness, mutual sermons concluded by bows. -What bows! Philosophical compliments and moral smiles. I yielded, says -Eve, - - -"And from that time see -How beauty is excell'd by manly grace -And wisdom, which alone is truly fair."[184] - - -Dear learned poet, you would have been better pleased if one of your -three wives, as an apt pupil, had uttered to you by way of conclusion -the above solid theoretical maxim. They did utter it to you; this is a -scene from your own household: - - -"So spake our general mother; and, with eyes -Of conjugal attraction unreproved -And meek surrender, half-embracing lean'd -On our first father; half her swelling breast -Naked met his, under the flowing gold -Of her loose tresses hid; he, in delight -Both of her beauty and submissive charms, -Smiled with superiour love,... and press'd her matron lip -With kisses pure."[185] - - -This Adam entered Paradise _via_ England. In that country he learned -respectability, and studied moral speechifying. Let us hear this man -before he has tasted of the tree of knowledge. A bachelor of arts, in -his inaugural address, could not utter more fitly and nobly a greater -number of pithless sentences: - - -"Fair consort, the hour -Of night, and all things now retired to rest, -Mind us like repose; since God hath set -Labour and rest, as day and night, to men -Successive; and the timely dew of sleep, -Now falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines -Our eyelids; other creatures all day long -Rove idle, unemploy'd, and less need rest: -Man hath his daily work of body or mind -Appointed, which declares his dignity, -And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; -While other animals unactive range, -And of their doings God takes no account."[186] - - -A very useful and excellent Puritanical exhortation! This is English -virtue and morality; and at evening, in every family, it can be read to -the children like the Bible. Adam is your true paterfamilias, with a -vote, an M.P., an old Oxford man, consulted at need by his wife, dealing -out to her with prudent measure the scientific explanations which she -requires. This night, for instance, the poor lady had a bad dream, and -Adam, in his trencher-cap, administers this learned psychological -draught:[187] - - -"Know, that in the soul -Are many lesser faculties that serve -Reason as chief; among these Fancy next -Her office holds; of all external things, -Which the five watchful senses represent, -She forms imaginations, aery shapes -Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames -All what we affirm or what deny, and call -Our knowledge on opinion.... -Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes -To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes, -Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams; -Ill matching words and deeds long past or late."[188] - - -Here was something to send Eve off to sleep again. Her husband noting -the effect, adds like an accredited casuist: - - -"Yet be not sad: -Evil into the mind of God or man -May come and go, so unapproved; and leave -No spot or blame behind."[189] - - -We recognize the Protestant husband, his wife's confessor. Next day -comes an angel on a visit. Adam tells Eve: - - -"Go with speed, -And, what thy stores contain, bring forth, and pour -Abundance, fit to honour and receive -Our heavenly stranger."[190] - - -She, like a good housewife, talks about the _menu_, and rather proud of -her kitchen garden, says: - - -"He -Beholding shall confess, that here on earth -God hath dispensed his bounties as in heaven."[191] - - -Mark this becoming zeal of a hospitable lady. She goes "with dispatchful -looks, in haste": - - -"What choice to choose for delicacy best; -What order, so contrived as not to mix -Tastes, not well join'd, inelegant; but bring -Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change."[192] - - -She makes sweet wine, perry, creams; scatters flowers and leaves under -the table. What an excellent housewife! What a great many votes she will -gain among the country squires, when Adam stands for Parliament. Adam -belongs to the Opposition, is a Whig, a Puritan. - - -He "walks forth; without more train -Accompanied than with his own complete -Perfections: in himself was all his state, -More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits -On princes, when their rich retinue long -Of horses led, and grooms besmeared with gold, -Dazzles the crowd."[193] - - -The epic is changed into a political poem, and we have just heard an -epigram against power. The preliminary ceremonies are somewhat long; -fortunately, the dishes being uncooked, "no fear lest dinner cool." The -angel, though ethereal, eats like a Lincolnshire farmer: - - -"Nor seemingly -The angel, nor in mist, the common gloss -Of theologians; but with keen dispatch -Of real hunger, and concoctive heat -To transubstantiate: what redounds, transpires -Through spirits with ease."[194] - - -At table. Eve listens to the angel's stories, then discreetly rises at -dessert, when they are getting into politics. English ladies may learn -by her example to perceive from their lord's faces when they are -"entering on studious thoughts abstruse." The sex does not mount so -high. A wise lady prefers her husband's talk to that of strangers. "Her -husband the relater she prefered." Now Adam hears a little treatise on -astronomy. He concludes, like a practical Englishman: - - -"But to know -That which before us lies in daily life, -Is the prime wisdom: what is more, is fume, -Or emptiness, or fond impertinence; -And renders us, in things that most concern, -Unpracticed, unprepared, and still to seek."[195] - - -The angel gone, Eve, dissatisfied with her garden, wishes to have it -improved, and proposes to her husband to work in it, she on one side, he -on the other. He says, with an approving smile: - - -"Nothing lovelier can be found -In woman, than to study household good, -And good works in her husband to promote."[196] - - -But he fears for her, and would keep her at his side. She rebels with a -little prick of proud vanity, like a young lady who mayn't go out by -herself. She has her way, goes alone and eats the apple. Here -interminable speeches come down on the reader, as numerous and cold as -winter showers. The speeches of Parliament after Pride's Purge were -hardly heavier. The serpent seduces Eve by a collection of arguments -worthy of the punctilious Chillingworth, and then the syllogistic mist -enters her poor brain: - - -"His forbidding -Commends thee more, while it infers the good -By thee communicated, and our want: -For good unknown sure is not had; or, had -And yet unknown, is as not had at all.... -Such prohibitions bind not."[197] - - -Eve is from Oxford too, has also learned law in the inns about the -Temple, and wears, like her husband, the doctor's trencher-cap. - -The flow of dissertations never ceases, from Paradise it gets into -heaven: neither heaven nor earth, nor hell itself, would swamp it. - -Of all characters which man could bring upon the scene, God is the -finest. The cosmogonies of peoples are sublime poems, and the artist's -genius does not attain perfection until it is sustained by such -conceptions. The Hindoo sacred poems, the Biblical prophecies, the Edda, -the Olympus of Hesiod and Homer, the visions of Dante, are glowing -flowers from which a whole civilization blooms, and every emotion -vanishes before the terrible feeling through which they have leaped from -the bottom of our heart. Nothing then can be more depressing than the -degradation of these noble ideas, settling into the regularity of -formulas, and under the discipline of a popular worship. What is smaller -than a god sunk to the level of a king and a man, what more repulsive -than the Hebrew Jehovah, defined by theological pedantry, governed in -his actions by the last manual of doctrine, petrified by literal -interpretation? - -Milton's Jehovah is a grave king, who maintains a suitable state, -something like Charles I. When we meet him for the first time, in Book -III., he is holding council, and setting forth a matter of business. -From the style we see his grand furred cloak, his pointed Vandyke beard, -his velvet-covered throne and golden dais. The business concerns a law -which does not act well, and respecting which he desires to justify his -rule. Adam is about to eat the apple: why have exposed Adam to the -temptation? The royal orator discusses the question, and shows the -reason: - - -"I made him just and right, -Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. -Such I created all the ethereal powers -And spirits, both them who stood and them who fail'd.... -Not free, what proof could they have given sincere -Of true allegiance, constant faith, or love? -Where only, what they needs must do, appear'd, -Not what they would: what praise could they receive? -What pleasure I from such obedience paid? -When will and reason (reason also is choice), -Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd, -Made passive both, had served necessity, -Not me. They therefore, as to right belong'd, -So were created, nor can justly accuse -Their Maker, or their making, or their fate; -As if predestination over-ruled -Their will, disposed by absolute decree -Or high foreknowledge: they themselves decreed -Their own revolt, not I: if I foreknew, -Foreknowledge had ho influence on their fault, -Which had no less proved certain unforeknown. -So without least impulse or shadow of fate, -Or aught by me immutably foreseen, -They trespass, authors to themselves in all, -Both what they judge and what they choose."[198] - - -The modern reader is not so patient as the Thrones, Seraphim, and -Dominations; this is why I stop half-way in the royal speech. We -perceive that Milton's Jehovah is connected with the theologian James I, -versed in the arguments of Arminians and Gomarists, very clever at the -_distinguo_, and, before all, incomparably tedious. He must pay his -councillors of state very well if he wishes them to listen to such -tirades. His son answers him respectfully in the same style. Goethe's -God, half abstraction, half legend, source of calm oracles, a vision -just beheld after a pyramid of ecstatic strophes,[199] greatly excels -this Miltonic God, a business man, a schoolmaster, an ostentatious man! -I honor him too much in giving him these titles. He deserves a worse -name, when he sends Raphael to warn Adam that Satan intends him some -mischief: - - -"This let him know, -Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend -Surprisal, unadmonish'd, unforewarn'd."[200] - - -This Miltonic Deity is only a schoolmaster, who, foreseeing the fault of -his pupil, tells him beforehand the grammar rule, so as to have the -pleasure of scolding him without discussion. Moreover, like a good -politician, he had a second motive, just as with his angels, "For state, -as Sovran King; and to inure our prompt obedience." The word is out; we -see what Milton's heaven is: a Whitehall filled with bedizened footmen. -The angels are the choristers, whose business is to sing cantatas about -the king and before the king, keeping their places as long as they obey, -alternating all night long to sing "melodious hymns about the sovran -throne." What a life for this poor king! and what a cruel condition, to -hear eternally his own praises![201] To amuse himself, Milton's Deity -decides to crown his son king--partner-king, if you prefer it. Read the -passage, and say if it be not a ceremony of his time that the poet -describes: - - -"Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanced, -Standards and gonfalons 'twixt van and rear -Stream in the air, and for distinction serve -Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees: -Or in their glittering tissues bear imblazed -Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love -Recorded eminent;"[202] - - -doubtless the capture of a Dutch vessel, the defeat of the Spaniards in -the Downs. The king brings forward his son, "anoints" him, declares him -"his great vicegerent": - - -"To him shall bow -All knees in heaven.... Him who disobeys, -Me disobeys;"[203] - - -and such were, in fact, expelled from heaven the same day. "All seem'd -well pleased; all seem'd, but were not all." Yet - - -"That day, as other solemn days, they spent -In song and dance about the sacred hill.... -Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn -Desirous."[204] - - -Milton describes the tables, the dishes, the wine, the vessels. It is a -popular festival; I miss the fireworks, the bell-ringing, as in London, -and I can fancy that all would drink to the health of the new king. Then -Satan revolts; he takes his troops to the other end of the country, like -Lambert or Monk, toward "the quarters of the north," Scotland perhaps, -passing through well-governed districts, "empires," with their sheriffs -and lord lieutenants. Heaven is partitioned off like a good map. Satan -holds forth before his officers against royalty, opposes in a -word-combat the god royalist Abdiel, who refutes his "blasphemous, -false, and proud" arguments, and quits him to rejoin his prince at -Oxford. Well armed, the rebel marches with his pikemen and artillery to -attack the fortress.[205] The two parties slash each other with the -sword, mow each other down with cannon, knock each other down with -political arguments. These sorry angels have their mind as well -disciplined as their limbs; they have passed their youth in a class of -logic and in a drill school. Satan holds forth like a preacher: - - -"What heaven's Lord had powerfulest to send -Against us from about his throne, and judged, -Sufficient to subdue us to his will, -But proves not so: then fallible, it seems. -Of future we may deem him, though till now -Omniscient thought."[206] - - -He also talks like a drill sergeant. "Vanguard, to right and left the -front unfold." He makes quips as clumsy as those of Harrison, the former -butcher turned officer. What a heaven! It is enough to disgust a man -with Paradise; anyone would rather enter Charles I's troop of lackeys, -or Cromwell's Ironsides. We have orders of the day, a hierarchy, exact -submission, extra-duties, disputes, regulated ceremonials, prostrations, -etiquette, furbished arms, arsenals, depots of chariots and ammunition. -Was it worth while leaving earth to find in heaven carriage-works, -buildings, artillery, a manual of tactics, the art of salutations, and -the Almanach de Gotha? Are these the things which "eye hath not seen, -nor ear heard, nor hath entered into the heart to conceive"? What a gap -between this monarchical frippery[207] and the visions of Dante, the -souls floating like stars amid the harmonies, the mingled splendors, the -mystic roses radiating and vanishing in the azure, the impalpable world -in which all the laws of earthly life are dissolved, the unfathomable -abyss traversed by fleeting visions, like golden bees gliding in the -rays of the deep central sun! Is it not a sign of extinguished -imagination, of the inroad of prose, of the birth of practical genius, -replacing metaphysics by morality? What a fall! To measure it, read a -true Christian poem, the Apocalypse. I copy half a dozen verses; think -what it has become in the hands of the imitator: - - -"And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being -turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks; - -"And in the midst of the seven candlesticks, one like unto the Son -of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the -paps with a golden girdle. - -"His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and -his eyes were as a flame of fire; - -"And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and -his voice as the sound of many waters. - -"And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth -went a sharp two-edged sword: and his countenance was as the sun -shineth in his strength. - -"And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead."[208] - - -When Milton was arranging his celestial show, he did not fall as dead. - -But if the innate and inveterate habits of logical argument, joined with -the literal theology of the time, prevented him from attaining to -lyrical illusion or from creating living souls, the splendor of his -grand imagination, combined with the passions of Puritanism, furnished -him with a heroic character, several sublime hymns; and scenery which no -one has surpassed. The finest thing in connection with this Paradise is -hell; and in this history of God, the chief part is taken by the devil. -The ridiculous devil of the Middle Ages, a horned enchanter, a dirty -jester, a petty and mischievous ape, band-leader to a rabble of old -women, has become a giant and a hero. Like a conquered and banished -Cromwell, he remains admired and obeyed by those whom he has drawn into -the abyss. If he continues master, it is because he deserves it; firmer, -more enterprising, more scheming than the rest, it is always from him -that deep counsels, unlooked-for resources, courageous deeds, proceed. -It was he who invented "deep-throated engines... disgorging,... chained -thunderbolts, and hail of iron globes," and won the second day's -victory; he who in hell roused his dejected troops, and planned the ruin -of man; he who, passing the guarded gates and the boundless chaos, amid -so many dangers, and across so many obstacles, made man revolt against -God, and gained for hell the whole posterity of the new-born. Though -defeated, he prevails, since he has won from the monarch on high the -third part of his angels, and almost all the sons of his Adam. Though -wounded, he triumphs, for the thunder which smote his head left his -heart invincible. Though feebler in force, he remains superior in -nobility, since he prefers suffering independence to happy servility, -and welcomes his defeat and his torments as a glory, a liberty, and a -joy. These are the proud and sombre political passions of the constant -though oppressed Puritans; Milton had felt them in the vicissitudes of -war, and the emigrants who had taken refuge amongst the wild beasts and -savages of America, found them strong and energetic in the depths of -their hearts. - - -"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, -Said then the lost Archangel, this the seat -That we must change for heaven? this mournful gloom -For that celestial light? Be it so, since he, -Who now is Sovran, can dispose and bid -What shall be right: farthest from him is best, -Whom reason has equall'd, force hath made supreme -Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, -Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors; hail, -Infernal world! and thou, profoundest hell, -Receive thy new possessor; one who brings -A mind not to be changed by place or time. -The mind is its own place, and in itself -Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. -What matter where, if I be still the same, -And what I should be; all but less than he -Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least -We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built -Here for his envy; will not drive us hence: -Here we may reign secure; and in my choice -To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: -Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven."[209] - - -This sombre heroism, this harsh obstinacy, this biting irony, these -proud stiff arms which clasp grief as a mistress, this concentration of -invincible courage which, cast on its own resources, finds everything in -itself, this power of passion and sway over passion, - - -"The unconquerable will, -And study of revenge, immortal hate, -And courage never to submit or yield, -And what is else not to be overcome,"[210] - - -are features proper to the English character and to English literature, -and you will find them later on in Byron's Lara and Conrad. - -Around the fallen angel, as within him, all is great. Dante's hell is -but a hall of tortures, whose cells, one below another, descend to the -deepest wells. Milton's hell is vast and vague. - - -"A dungeon horrible on all sides round -As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames -No light, but rather darkness visible -Served only to discover sights of woe. -Regions of sorrow, doleful shades...[211] - -"Beyond this flood a frozen continent -Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms -Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land -Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems -Of ancient pile."[212] - - -The angels gather, innumerable legions: - - -"As when heaven's fire -Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines, -With singed top their stately growth, though bare, -Stands on the blasted heath."[213] - - -Milton needs the grand and infinite; he lavishes them. His eyes are only -content in limitless space, and he produces colossal figures to fill it. -Such is Satan wallowing on the surges of the livid sea: - - -"In bulk as huge... as... that sea-beast -Leviathan, which God of all his works -Created hugest that swim the ocean stream: -Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway foam, -The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff, -Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, -With fixed anchor in his scaly rind -Moors by his side under the lee, while night -Invests the sea, and wished morn delays."[214] - - -Spenser has discovered images just as fine, but he has not the tragic -gravity which the idea of hell impresses on a Protestant. No poetic -creation equals in horror and grandeur the spectacle that greeted Satan -on leaving his dungeon: - - -"At last appear -Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, -And thrice threefold the gates; three folds were brass; -Three iron, three of adamantine rock, -Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, -Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat -On either side a formidable shape; -The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair, -But ended foul in many a scaly fold -Voluminous and vast, a serpent arm'd -With mortal sting: about her middle round -A cry of hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd -With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung -A hideous peal: yet, when they list, would creep, -If aught disturb'd their noise, into her womb, -And kennel there; yet there still bark'd and howl'd -Within unseen.... The other shape, -If shape it might be call'd, that shape had none -Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb, -Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, -For each seem'd either: black it stood as night, -Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, -And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head -The likeness of a kingly crown had on. -Satan was now at hand, and from his seat -The monster moving onward came as fast, -With horrid strides; hell trembled as he strode. -The undaunted fiend what this might be admired, -Admired, not fear'd."[215] - - -The heroic glow of the old soldier of the Civil Wars animates the -infernal battle; and if anyone were to ask why Milton creates things -greater than other men, I should answer, because he has a greater heart. - -Hence the sublimity of his scenery. If I did not fear the paradox, I -should say that this scenery was a school of virtue. Spenser is a smooth -glass, which fills us with calm images. Shakespeare is a burning mirror, -which overpowers us, repeatedly, with multiplied and dazzling visions. -The one distracts, the other disturbs us. Milton raises our mind. The -force of the objects which he describes passes into us; we become great -by sympathy with their greatness. Such is the effect of his description -of the Creation. The calm and creative command of the Messiah leaves its -trace in the heart which listens to it, and we feel more vigor and moral -health at the sight of this great work of wisdom and will: - - -"On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore -They view'd the vast immeasurable abyss -Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, -Up from the bottom turn'd by furious winds -And surging waves, as mountains, to assault -Heaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole. -'Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace,' -Said then the omnific Word: 'Your discord end!'... -Let there be light, said God; and forthwith light -Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure, -Sprung from the deep; and from her native east -To journey through the aery gloom began, -Sphered in a radiant cloud.... -The earth was form'd; but in the womb as yet -Of waters, embryon immature involved, -Appear'd not: over all the face of earth -Main ocean flow'd, not idle, but, with warm -Prolific humour softening all her globe, -Fermented the great mother to conceive, -Satiate with genial moisture, when God said, -'Be gather'd now, ye waters under heaven, -Into one place, and let dry land appear.' -Immediately the mountains huge appear -Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave -Into the clouds, their tops ascend the sky: -So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low -Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, -Capacious bed of waters: thither they -Hasted with glad precipitance, uproll'd, -As drops on dust conglobing from the dry."[216] - - -This is primitive scenery; immense bare seas and mountains, as Raphael -Sanzio outlines them in the background of his biblical paintings. Milton -embraces the general effects, and handles the whole as easily as his -Jehovah. - -Let us quit superhuman and fanciful spectacles. A simple sunset equals -them. Milton peoples it with solemn allegories and regal figures, and -the sublime is born in the poet, as just before it was born from the -subject: - - -"The sun, now fallen... -Arraying with reflected purple and gold -The clouds that on his western throne attend: -Now came still evening on, and twilight gray -Had in her sober livery all things clad; -Silence accompanied, for beast and bird, -They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, -Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; -She all night long her amorous descant sung; -Silence was pleased: now glowed the firmament -With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led -The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, -Rising in clouded majesty, at length, -Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, -And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw."[217] - - -The changes of the light become here a religious procession of vague -beings who fill the soul with veneration. So sanctified, the poet prays. -Standing by the "inmost bower" of Adam and Eve, he says: - - -"Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source -Of human offspring, sole propriety -In Paradise of all things common else! -By thee adulterous lust was driven from men -Among the bestial herds to range by thee, -Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, -Relations dear, and all the charities -Of father, son, and brother, first were known."[218] - - -He justifies it by the example of saints and patriarchs. He immolates -before it "the bought smile" and "court-armours, mix'd dance, or wanton -mask, or midnight ball, or serenate." We are a thousand miles from -Shakespeare; and in this Protestant eulogy of the family tie, of lawful -love, of "domestic sweets," of orderly piety and of home, we perceive a -new literature and an altered time. - -A strange great man, and a strange spectacle! He was born with the -instinct of noble things; and this instinct, strengthened in him by -solitary meditation, by accumulated knowledge, by stern logic, becomes -changed into a body of maxims and beliefs which no temptation could -dissolve, and no reverse shake. Thus fortified, he passes life as a -combatant, as a poet, with courageous deeds and splendid dreams, heroic -and rude, chimerical and impassioned, generous and calm, like every -self-contained reasoner, like every enthusiast, insensible to experience -and enamored of the beautiful. Thrown by the chance of a revolution into -politics and theology, he demands for others the liberty which his -powerful reason requires, and Strikes at the public fetters which impede -his personal energy. By the force of his intellect, he is more capable -than anyone of accumulating science; by the force of his enthusiasm, he -is more capable than any of experiencing hatred. Thus armed, he throws -himself into controversy with all the clumsiness and barbarism of the -time; but this proud logic displays its arguments with a marvellous -breadth, and sustains its images with an unwonted majesty: this lofty -imagination, after having spread over his prose an array of magnificent -figures, carries him into a torrent of passion even to the height of the -sublime or excited ode--a sort of archangel's song of adoration or -vengeance. The chance of a throne preserved, then re-established, led -him, before the revolution took place, into pagan and moral poetry, -after the revolution into Christian and moral verse. In both he aims at -the sublime, and inspires admiration; because the sublime is the work of -enthusiastic reason, and admiration is the enthusiasm of reason. In -both, he arrives at his point by the accumulation of splendors, by the -sustained fulness of poetic song, by the greatness of his allegories, -the loftiness of his sentiments, the description of infinite objects and -heroic emotions. In the first, a lyrist and a philosopher, with a wider -poetic freedom, and the creator of a stronger poetic illusion, he -produces almost perfect odes and choruses. In the second, an epic writer -and a Protestant, enslaved by a strict theology, robbed of the style -which makes the supernatural visible, deprived of the dramatic -sensibility which creates varied and living souls, he accumulates cold -dissertations, transforms man and God into orthodox and vulgar machines, -and only regains his genius in endowing Satan with his republican soul, -in multiplying grand landscapes and colossal apparitions, in -consecrating his poetry to the praise of religion and duty. - -Placed, as it happened, between two ages, he participates in their two -characters, as a stream which, flowing between two different soils, is -tinged by both their hues. A poet and a Protestant, he receives from the -closing age the free poetic afflatus, and from the opening age the -severe political religion. He employed the one in the service of the -other, and displayed the old inspiration in new subjects. In his works -we recognize two Englands: one, impassioned for the beautiful, devoted -to the emotions of an unshackled sensibility and the fancies of pure -imagination, with no law but the natural feelings, and no religion but -natural belief; willingly pagan, often immoral; such as it is exhibited -by Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Shakespeare, Spenser, and the superb -harvest of poets which covered the ground for a space of fifty years; -the other fortified by a practical religion, void of metaphysical -invention, altogether political, worshipping rule, attached to measured, -sensible, useful, narrow opinions, praising the virtues of the family, -armed and stiffened by a rigid morality, driven into prose, raised to -the highest degree of power, wealth, and liberty. In this sense, this -style and these ideas are monuments of history; they concentrate, -recall, or anticipate the past and the future; and in the limits of a -single work are found the events and the feelings of several centuries -and of a whole nation. - - - - -[Footnote 105: Matre probatissimâ et eleemosynis per viciniam -potissimum nota.--"Defensio Secunda, Life of Milton," by Keightley.] - -[Footnote 106: "My father destined me while yet a little child for the -study of humane letters."--Life by Masson, 1859, I. 51.] - -[Footnote 107: Queen Elizabeth.] - -[Footnote 108: The Poetical Works of John Milton, ed. Mitford, "Paradise -Regained," Book I. pp. 201-206.] - -[Footnote 109: Milton's Prose Works, ed. Mitford, 8 vols., "The Reason of -Church Government," I. 150.] - -[Footnote 110: Milton's Prose Works (Bohn's edition, 1848), "Second -Defence of the People of England," p. 257. See also his Italian Sonnets, -with their religious sentiment.] - -[Footnote 111: Milton's Prose Works, Mitford, "Apology for Smectymnuus," -I. 270.] - -[Footnote 112: Ibid. 273. See also his "Treatise on Divorce," which shows -clearly Milton's meaning.] - -[Footnote 113: "Though Christianity had been but slightly taught me, -yet a certain reservedness of natural disposition and moral discipline, -learnt out of the noblest philosophy, was enough to keep me in disdain of -far less incontinences than this of the bordello."--"Apology for -Smectymnuus," Mitford, I. 272.] - -[Footnote 114: An expression of Jean Paul Richter. See an excellent -article on Milton in the "National Review," July, 1859.] - -[Footnote 115: 1643, at the age of 35.] - -[Footnote 116: "Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce", Mitford, II. 27, 29, -32. "Mute and spiritless mate. The bashful muteness of the virgin may -oftentimes hide all the unliveliness and natural sloth which is really -unfit for conversation. A man shall find himself bound fast to an image -of earth and phlegm, with whom he looked to be the copartner of a sweet -and gladsome society." A pretty woman will say in reply: I cannot love a -man who carries his head like the sacrament.] - -[Footnote 117: "Second Defence of the People of England," Prose Works -(Bohn), I. 257.] - -[Footnote 118: "Of Reformation touching Church Discipline in England, -and the Causes that hitherto have hindered it. Of Prelatical Episcopacy. -The Reason of Church Government urged against Prelaty:" 1641. "Apology -for Smectymnuus:" 1642.] - -[Footnote 119: "The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates. Eikonoklastes:" -1648-9. "Defensio Populi Anglicani:" 1651. "Defensio Secunda:" 1654. -"Authoris pro se defensio. Responsio:" 1655.] - -[Footnote 120: Milton's Prose Works, Mitford, vol. I. 329.] - -[Footnote 121: Milton's Prose Works, Preface to the "Defence of the -People of England," VI. pp. 1, 2.] - -[Footnote 122: Mitford, VI. pp. 2-3. This "Defence" was in Latin. Milton -ends it thus: - -"He (god) has gloriously delivered you, the first of nations, from the -two greatest mischiefs of this life, and most pernicious to virtue, -tyranny and superstition; he has endued you with greatness of mind to be -the first of mankind, who after having conquered their own king, and -having had him delivered into their hands, have not scrupled to condemn -him judicially, and, pursuant to that sentence of condemnation, to put -him to death. After the performing so glorious an action as this, you -ought to do nothing that is mean and little, not so much as to think of, -much less to do, anything but what is great and sublime. Which to attain -to, this is your only way; as you have subdued your enemies in the -field, so to make appear, that unarmed, and in the highest outward peace -and tranquillity, you of all mankind are best able to subdue ambition, -avarice, the love of riches, and can best avoid the corruptions that -prosperity is apt to introduce (which generally subdue and triumph over -other nations), to show as great justice, temperance, and moderation in -the maintaining your liberty, as you have shown courage in freeing -yourselves from slavery."--Ibid. Vol. VI. 251-2.] - -[Footnote 123: "Of Education," Mitford, II. 385.] - -[Footnote 124: A scrivener caused him to lose £2,000. At the Restoration -he was refused payment of £2,000 which he had put into the Excise Office, -and derived of an estate of £50 a year, bought by him from the property of -the Chapter of Westminster. His house in Bread Street was burnt in the -great fire. When he died he is said to have left about £1,500 in money -(equivalent to about £5,000 now), besides household goods. (I am indebted -to the kindness of Professor Masson for the collation of this note.--Tr.)] - -[Footnote 125: Milton's Poetical Works, Mitford, I. Sonnet XXII.] - -[Footnote 126: "Italian Sonnets."] - -[Footnote 127: Three vols, folio, 1697-8. The titles of Milton's chief -writings in prose are these: "Of Reformation in England; The Reason of -Church Government urged against Prelaty; Animadversions upon the -Remonstrants' Defence; Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce; Tetrachordon; -Tractate on Education; Areopagitica; Tenure of Kings and Magistrates; -Eikonoklastes; History of Britain; Defence of the People of England."] - -[Footnote 128: "A Defence of the People of England," Mitford, VI. 21.] - -[Footnote 129: Mitford, VI. 250. Salmasius said of the death of the -king: "Horribilis nuntius aures nostras atroci vulnere, sed magis mentes -perculit." Milton replied: "Profecto nuntius iste horribilis aut gladium -multo longiorem eo quem strinxit Petrus habuerit oportet, aut aures -istæ auritissimæ fuerint, quas tam longinquo vulnere perculerit." - -"Oratorem tam insipidum et insulsum ut ne ex lacrymis quidem ejus mica -salis exiguissi ma possit exprimi." - -"Salmasius nova quadam metamorphosi salmacis factus est."] - -[Footnote 130: I copy from Neal's "History of the Puritans," II. ch. VII. -367, one of these sorrows and complaints. By the greatness of the outrage -the reader can judge of the intensity of the hatred: -"The humble petition of (Dr.) Alexander Leighton, Prisoner in the Fleet, -Humbly Sheweth. - -"That on Feb. 17, 1630, he was apprehended coming from sermon by a high -commission warrant, and dragged along the street with bills and staves -to London-house. That the gaoler of Newgate being sent for, clapt him in -irons, and carried him with a strong power into a loathsome and ruinous -dog-hole, full of rats and mice, that had no light but a little grate, -and the roof being uncovered, the snow and rain beat in upon him, having -no bedding, nor place to make a fire, but the ruins of an old smoky -chimney. In this woeful place he was shut up for fifteen weeks, nobody -being suffered to come near him, till at length his wife only was -admitted. That the fourth day after his commitment the pursuivant, with -a mighty multitude, came to his house to search for jesuit's books, and -used his wife in such a barbarous and inhuman manner as he is ashamed to -express; that they rifled every person and place, holding a pistol to -the breast of a child of five years old, threatening to kill him if he -did not discover the books; that they broke open chests, presses, boxes, -and carried away everything, even household stuff, apparel, arms, and -other things; that at the end of fifteen weeks he was served with a -subpoena, on an information laid against him by Sir Robert Heath, -attorney-general, whose dealing with him was full of cruelty and deceit; -but he was then sick, and, in the opinion of four physicians, thought to -be poisoned, because all his hair and skin came off; that in the height -of this sickness the cruel sentence was passed upon him mentioned in the -year 1630, and executed Nov. 26 following, when he received thirty-six -stripes upon his naked back with a threefold cord, his hands being tied -to a stake, and then stood almost two hours in the pillory in the frost -and snow, before he was branded in the face, his nose slit, and his ears -cut off; that after this he was carried by water to the Fleet, and shut -up in such a room that he was never well, and after eight years was -turned into the common gaol."] - -[Footnote 131: An answer to the "Eikon Basilike," a work on the king's -side, and attributed to the king.] - -[Footnote 132: "Of Reformation in England," 4 to, 1641, p. 62.] - -[Footnote 133: "Of Reformation in England."] - -[Footnote 134: The loss of Cicero's works alone, or those of Livy, could -not be repaired by all the Fathers of the church.] - -[Footnote 135: "Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce," Mitford, II. 4.] - -[Footnote 136: Ibid. II. 5.] - -[Footnote 137: "Areopagitica," Mitford, II. 423.] - -[Footnote 138: "Areopagitica," Mitford, II. 439.] - -[Footnote 139: Ibid. 437-8.] - -[Footnote 140: Ibid. 441.] - -[Footnote 141: "Animadversions upon Remonstrants' Defence," Mitford, I. -234-5.] - -[Footnote 142: "Of Reformation in England," first book, Mitford, I. 23.] - -[Footnote 143: Ibid., second book, Mitford, I. 42.] - -[Footnote 144: "Of Reformation in England," book first, Mitford, I. 3.] - -[Footnote 145: "Areopagitica," II. 411-12.] - -[Footnote 146: "Of Reformation in England," book second, 40.] - -[Footnote 147: "Areopagitica," II. 406. "Whatsoever time, or the heedless -hand of blind chance, hath drawn down from of old to this present, in her -huge drag-net, whether fish or sea-weed, shells or shrubs, unpicked, -unchosen, those are the fathers." ("Of Prelatical Episcopacy," Mitford.)] - -[Footnote 148: "Areopagitica," Mitford, II. 400.] - -[Footnote 149: Ibid. II. 404.] - -[Footnote 150: "Areopagitica," II. 431-2.] - -[Footnote 151: When he is simply comic, he becomes, like Hogarth and -Swift, eccentric, rude and farcical. "A bishop's foot that has all his -toes, maugre the gout, and a linen sock over it, is the aptest emblem of -the prelate himself; who, being a pluralist, may, under one surplice, -which is also linen, hide four benefices, beside the great metropolitan -toe."--"An Apology," etc. I. 275.] - -[Footnote 152: "Of Reformation in England," Mitford, I. 17.] - -[Footnote 153: Ibid. I. 71. (The old spelling has been retained in this -passage.--Tr.)] - -[Footnote 154: "Of Reformation in England," Mitford.] - -[Footnote 155: Ibid. I. 68-69.] - -[Footnote 156: "Animadversions," etc., ibid. 220-2.] - -[Footnote 157: See the "Hymn on the Nativity"; amongst others, the first -few strophes. See also "Lycidas."] - -[Footnote 158: "Arcades," line 32.] - -[Footnote 159: "Cornus," lines 188-190.] - -[Footnote 160: "Cornus," lines 21-23.] - -[Footnote 161: "Ode at a Solemn Musick," lines 6-11.] - -[Footnote 162: "Lycidas," lines 136-151.] - -[Footnote 163: "Faust," Prolog im Himmel.] - -[Footnote 164: See the prophecy against Archbishop Laud in "Lycidas," -line 130: - -"But that two-handed engine at the -door -Stands ready to smite once, and smite -no more."] - -[Footnote 165: "Arcades," lines 61-73.] - -[Footnote 166: "The Reason of Church Government," book II. Mitford, I. -147.] - -[Footnote 167: "L'Allegro," lines 41-68.] - -[Footnote 168: "Il Penseroso," lines 31-40.] - -[Footnote 169: Ibid, lines 156-160.] - -[Footnote 170: Ibid, lines 88-92.] - -[Footnote 171: "Comus," lines 1-11.] - -[Footnote 172: Ibid, lines 37-39.] - -[Footnote 173: Ibid, lines 115-118.] - -[Footnote 174: "Comus," lines 213-225.] - -[Footnote 175: Ibid, lines 555-557.] - -[Footnote 176: Ibid, lines 244-264.] - -[Footnote 177: "Comus," lines 463-473. It is the elder brother who -utters these lines when speaking of his sister.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 178: Ibid, lines 861-863.] - -[Footnote 179: Ibid, line 890.] - -[Footnote 180: "Comus," lines 976-1023.] - -[Footnote 181: Edward King, died in 1637.] - -[Footnote 182: ω δῖος αιθὴρ και ταχύπτεροι πνοαί -ποταμῶν τε πηγαί, ποντίων τe κυμάτων -άνήριθμον γέλασμα, παμμῆτόρ τε γῆ, -καὶ τὸν πανόπτην κύκλον ήλίου καλῶ, -ϊδεσθέ μ, οϊα πρὸς θεῶν πάσχω θεός. ---"Prometheus Vinctus," ed. Hermann, p. 487, line 88.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 183: Psalm XC. 5.] - -[Footnote 184: "Paradise Lost," book IV. line 489.] - -[Footnote 185: "Paradise Lost," lines 492-502.] - -[Footnote 186: Ibid, lines 610-622.] - -[Footnote 187: It would be impossible that a man so learned, so -argumentative, should spend his whole time in gardening and -making up nosegays.] - -[Footnote 188: "Paradise Lost," book V. lines 100-113.] - -[Footnote 189: Ibid, lines 116-119.] - -[Footnote 190: Ibid, lines 313-316.] - -[Footnote 191: Ibid, lines 328-330.] - -[Footnote 192: "Paradise Lost," book V. lines 333-336.] - -[Footnote 193: Ibid, lines 351-357.] - -[Footnote 194: Ibid, lines 434-439.] - -[Footnote 195: "Paradise Lost," book VIII. lines 102-107.] - -[Footnote 196: Ibid, book IX. line 232.] - -[Footnote 197: Ibid, book IX. lines 753-760.] - -[Footnote 198: "Paradise Lost," book III. lines 98-123.] - -[Footnote 199: End of the continuation of "Faust." -Prologue in Heaven.] - -[Footnote 200: "Paradise Lost," book V. line 243.] - -[Footnote 201: We are reminded of the history of Ira in Voltaire, -condemned to hear without intermission or end the praises of four -chamberlains, and the following hymn: -"Que son mérite est extreme! -Que de grâces, que de grandeur. -Ah! combien monseigneur -Doit être content de lui-même!"] - -[Footnote 202: "Paradise Lost," book V. lines 588-594.] - -[Footnote 203: Ibid, lines 607-612.] - -[Footnote 204: Ibid, lines 617-631.] - -[Footnote 205: The Miltonic Deity is so much on the level of a king and -man, that he uses (with irony certainly) words like these: -"Lest unawares we lose -This our high place, our Sanctuary, our -Hill." -His son, about to flesh his maiden -sword, replies: -"If I be found the worst in heaven," -etc. -Book V. lines 731-742.] - -[Footnote 206: "Paradise Lost," book VI. lines 425-430.] - -[Footnote 207: When Raphael comes on earth, the angels who are "under -watch, in honour rise." The disagreeable and characteristic feature of -this heaven is, that the universal motive is obedience, while in Dante's -it is love. "Lowly reverent they bow.... Our happy state we hold, like -yours, while our obedience holds."] - -[Footnote 208: Revelation, I. 12.] - -[Footnote 209: "Paradise Lost," book I. lines 242-263.] - -[Footnote 210: Ibid, lines 106-109.] - -[Footnote 211: "Paradise Lost," book I. lines 61-65.] - -[Footnote 212: Ibid, book II. lines 587-591.] - -[Footnote 213: Ibid, book I. lines 612-615.] - -[Footnote 214: Ibid, lines 100-109.] - -[Footnote 215: "Paradise Lost," book II. lines 643-678.] - -[Footnote 216: "Paradise Lost," book VII. lines 210-292.] - -[Footnote 217: "Paradise Lost," book IV. lines 591-609.] - -[Footnote 218: Ibid, lines 750-757.] - - - - -BOOK III.--THE CLASSIC AGE - - - - -CHAPTER FIRST - - -The Restoration - - -_Part I.--The Roisterers_ - - -When we alternately look at the works of the court painters of Charles I -and Charles II, and pass from the noble portraits of Vandyke to the -figures of Lely, the fall is sudden and great; we have left a palace, -and we light on a bagnio. - -Instead of the proud and dignified lords, at once cavaliers and -courtiers, instead of those high-born yet simple ladies who look at the -same time princesses and modest maidens, instead of that generous and -heroic company, elegant and resplendent, in whom the spirit of the -Renaissance yet survived, but who already displayed the refinement of -the modern age, we are confronted by perilous and importunate -courtesans, with an expression either vile or harsh, incapable of shame -or of remorse.[219] Their plump, smooth hands toy fondlingly with -dimpled fingers; ringlets of heavy hair fall on their bare shoulders; -their swimming eyes languish voluptuously; an insipid smile hovers on -their sensual lips. One is lifting a mass of dishevelled hair which -streams over the curves of her rosy flesh; another falls down with -languor, and uncloses a sleeve whose soft folds display the full -whiteness of her arms. Nearly all are half draped; many of them seem to -be just rising from their beds; the rumpled dressing-gown clings to the -neck, and looks as though it were soiled by a night's debauch; the -tumbled under-garment slips down to the hips: their feet tread the -bright and glossy silk. With bosoms uncovered, they are decked out in -all the luxurious extravagance of prostitutes; diamond girdles, puffs of -lace, the vulgar splendor of gilding, a superfluity of embroidered and -rustling fabrics, enormous head-dresses, the curls and fringes of which, -rolled up and sticking out, compel notice by the very height of their -shameless magnificence. Folding curtains hang round them in the shape of -an alcove, and the eyes penetrate through a vista into the recesses of a -wide park, whose solitude will not ill serve the purpose of their -pleasures. - - - - -Section I.--The Excesses of Puritanism - - -All this came by way of contrast; Puritanism had brought on an orgie, -and fanatics had talked down virtue. For many years the gloomy English -imagination, possessed by religious terrors, had desolated the life of -men. Conscience had become disturbed at the thought of death and dark -eternity; half-expressed doubts stealthily swarmed within like a bed of -thorns, and the sick heart, starting at every motion, had ended by -taking a disgust at all its pleasures, and abhorred all its natural -instincts. Thus poisoned at its very beginning, the divine sentiment of -justice became a mournful madness. Man, confessedly perverse and -condemned, believed himself pent in a prison-house of perdition and -vice, into which no effort and no chance could dart a ray of light, -except a hand from above should come by free grace, to rend the sealed -stone of this tomb. Men lived the life of the condemned, amid torments -and anguish, oppressed by a gloomy despair, haunted by spectres. People -would frequently imagine themselves at the point of death; Cromwell -himself, according to Dr. Simcott, physician in Huntingdon, "had fancies -about the Town Cross";[220] some would feel within them the motions of -an evil spirit; one and all passed the night with their eyes glued to -the tales of blood and the impassioned appeals of the Old Testament, -listening to the threats and thunders of a terrible God, and renewing in -their own hearts the ferocity of murderers and the exaltation of seers. -Under such a strain reason gradually left them. They continually were -seeking after the Lord, and found but a dream. After long hours of -exhaustion, they labored under a warped and over-wrought imagination. -Dazzling forms, unwonted ideas, sprang up on a sudden in their heated -brain; these men were raised and penetrated by extraordinary emotions. -So transformed, they knew themselves no longer; they did not ascribe to -themselves these violent and sudden inspirations which were forced upon -them, which compelled them to leave the beaten tracks, which had no -connection one with another, which shook and enlightened them when least -expected, without being able either to check or to govern them; they saw -in them the agency of a supernatural power, and gave themselves up to it -with the enthusiasm of madness and the stubbornness of faith. - -To crown all, fanaticism had become an institution; the secretary had -laid down all the steps of mental transfiguration, and reduced the -encroachment of his dream to a theory: he set about methodically to -drive out reason and enthrone ecstasy. George Fox wrote its history, -Bunyan gave it its laws, Parliament presented an example of it, all the -pulpits lauded its practice. Artisans, soldiers, women discussed it, -mastered it, excited one another by the details of their experience and -the publicity of their exaltations. A new life was inaugurated which had -blighted and excluded the old. All secular tastes were suppressed, all -sensual joys forbidden; the spiritual man alone remained standing upon -the ruins of the past, and the heart, debarred from all its natural -safety-valves, could only direct its views or aspirations towards a -sinister Deity. The typical Puritan walked slowly along the streets, his -eyes raised towards heaven, with elongated features, yellow and haggard, -with closely cropped hair, clad in brown or black, unadorned, clothed -only to cover his nakedness. If a man had round cheeks, he passed for -lukewarm.[221] The whole body, the exterior, the very tone of voice, all -must wear the sign of penitence and divine grace. A Puritan spoke -slowly, with a solemn and somewhat nasal tone of voice, as if to destroy -the vivacity of conversation and the melody of the natural voice. His -speech stuffed with scriptural quotations, his style borrowed from the -prophets, his name and the names of his children drawn from the Bible, -bore witness that his thoughts were confined to the terrible world of -the seers and ministers of divine vengeance. From within, the contagion -spread outwards. The fears of conscience were converted into laws of the -state. Personal asceticism grew into public tyranny. The Puritan -proscribed pleasure as an enemy, for others as well as for himself. -Parliament closed the gambling-houses and theatres, and had the actors -whipped at the cart's tail; oaths were fined; the May-trees were cut -down; the bears, whose fights amused the people, were put to death; the -plaster of Puritan masons reduced nude statues to decency; the beautiful -poetic festivals were forbidden. Fines and corporeal punishments shut -out, even from children, games, dancing, bell-ringing, rejoicings, -junketings, wrestling, the chase, all exercises and amusements which -might profane the Sabbath. The ornaments, pictures, and statues in the -churches were pulled down or mutilated. The only pleasure which they -retained and permitted was the singing of psalms through the nose, the -edification of long sermons, the excitement of acrimonious -controversies, the harsh and sombre joy of a victory gained over the -enemy of mankind, and of the tyranny exercised against the demon's -supposed abettors. In Scotland, a colder and sterner land, intolerance -reached the utmost limits of ferocity and pettiness, instituting a -surveillance over the private life and home devotions of every member of -a family, depriving Catholics of their children, imposing the abjuration -of Popery under pain of perpetual imprisonment or death, dragging crowds -of witches[222] to the stake.[223] It seemed as though a black cloud had -weighed down the life of man, drowning all light, wiping out all beauty, -extinguishing all joy, pierced here and there by the glitter of the -sword and by the dickering of torches, beneath which one might perceive -the indistinct forms of gloomy despots, of bilious sectarians, of silent -victims. - - - - -Section II.--A Frenchman's View of the Manners of the Time - - -After the Restoration a deliverance ensued. Like a checked and choked-up -stream, public opinion dashed with all its natural force and all its -acquired momentum, into the bed from which it had been debarred. The -outburst carried away the dams. The violent return to the senses drowned -morality. Virtue had the semblance of Puritanism. Duty and fanaticism -became mingled in common disrepute. In this great reaction, devotion and -honesty, swept away together, left to mankind but the wreck and the -mire. The more excellent parts of human nature disappeared; there -remained but the animal, without bridle or guide, urged by his desires -beyond justice and shame. - -When we see these manners through the medium of a Hamilton or a -Saint-Évremond, we can tolerate them. Their French varnish deceives us. -Debauchery in a Frenchman is only half disgusting; with him, if the -animal breaks loose, it is without abandoning itself to excess. The -foundation is not, as with the Englishman, coarse and powerful. You may -break the glittering ice which covers him, without bringing down upon -yourself the swollen and muddy torrent that roars beneath his -neighbor;[224] the stream which will issue from it will only have its -petty dribblings, and will return quickly and of itself to its -accustomed channel. The Frenchman is mild, naturally refined, little -inclined for great or gross sensuality, liking a sober style of talk, -easily armed against filthy manners by his delicacy and good taste. The -Count de Grammont has too much wit to love an orgie. After all an orgie -is not pleasant; the breaking of glasses, brawling, lewd talk, excess in -eating and drinking--there is nothing in this very tempting to a rather -delicate taste; the Frenchman, after Grammont's type, is born an -epicurean, not a glutton or a drunkard. What he seeks is amusement, not -unrestrained joy or bestial pleasure. I know full well that he is not -without reproach. I would not trust him with my purse; he forgets too -readily the distinction between _meum_ and _tuum_; above all, I would -not trust him with my wife: he is not over-delicate; his escapades at -the gambling-table and with women smack too much of the sharper and the -briber. But I am wrong to use these big words in connection with him; -they are too weighty; they crush so delicate and so pretty a specimen of -humanity. These heavy habits of honor or shame can only be worn by -serious-minded men, and Grammont takes nothing seriously, neither his -fellow-men, nor himself, nor vice, nor virtue. To pass his time -agreeably is his sole endeavor. "They had said good-by to dulness in the -army," observed Hamilton, "as soon as he was there." That is his pride -and his aim; he troubles himself, and cares for nothing beside. His -valet robs him; another would have brought the rogue to the gallows; but -the theft was clever, and he keeps his rascal. He left England -forgetting to marry the girl he was betrothed to; he is caught at Dover; -he returns and marries her: this was an amusing _contretemps_; he asks -for nothing better. One day, being penniless, he fleeces the Count de -Caméran at play. "Could Grammont, after the figure he had once cut, -pack off like any common fellow? By no means; he is a man of feeling; he -will maintain the honor of France." He covers his cheating at play with -a joke; in reality, his notions of property are not over-clear. He -regales Caméran with Caméran's own money; would Caméran have acted -better or otherwise? What matter if his money be in Grammont's purse or -his own? The main point is gained, since there is pleasure in getting -the money, and there is pleasure in spending it. The hateful and the -ignoble vanish from such a life. If he pays his court to princes, you -may be sure it is not on his knees; so lively a soul is not weighed down -by respect; his wit places him on a level with the greatest; under -pretext of amusing the king, he tells him plain truths.[225] If he finds -himself in London, surrounded by open debauchery, he does not plunge -into it; he passes through on tiptoe, and so daintily that the mire does -not stick to him. We do not recognize any longer in his anecdotes the -anguish and the brutality which were really felt at that time; the -narrative flows on quickly, raising a smile, then another, and another -yet, so that the whole mind is brought by an adroit and easy progress to -something like good humor. At table, Grammont will never stuff himself; -at play, he will never grow violent; with his mistress, he will never -give vent to coarse talk; in a duel, he will not hate his adversary. The -wit of a Frenchman is like French wine; it makes men neither brutal, nor -wicked, nor gloomy. Such is the spring of these pleasures: a supper will -destroy neither delicacy, nor good nature, nor enjoyment. The libertine -remains sociable, polite, obliging; his gayety culminates only in the -gayety of others;[226] he is attentive to them as naturally as to -himself; and in addition, he is ever on the alert and intelligent: -repartees, flashes of brilliancy, witticisms, sparkle on his lips; he -can think at table and in company, sometimes better than if alone or -fasting. It is clear that with him debauchery does not extinguish the -man; Grammont would say that it perfects him; that wit, the heart, the -senses, only arrive at excellence and true enjoyment, amid the elegance -and animation of a choice supper. - - - - -Section III.--Butler's Hudibras - - -It is quite the contrary in England. When we scratch the covering of an -Englishman's morality, the brute appears in its violence and its -deformity. One of the English statesmen said that with the French an -unchained mob could be led by words of humanity and honor,[227] but that -in England it was necessary, in order to appease them, to throw to them -raw flesh. Insults, blood, orgie, that is the food on which the mob of -noblemen, under Charles II, precipitated itself. All that excuses a -carnival was absent; and, in particular, wit. Three years after the -return of the king, Butler published his "Hudibras"; and with what -_éclat_ his contemporaries only could tell, while the echo of applause -is kept up even to our own days. How low is the wit, with what -awkwardness and dulness he dilutes his revengeful satire. Here and there -lurks a happy picture, the remnant of a poetry which has just perished; -but the whole work reminds one of a Scarron, as unworthy as the other, -and more malignant. It is written, people say, on the model of Don -Quixote; Hudibras is a Puritan knight, who goes about, like his -antitype, redressing wrongs, and pocketing beatings. It would be truer -to say that it resembles the wretched imitation of Avellaneda.[228] The -short metre, well suited to buffoonery, hobbles along without rest and -limpingly, floundering in the mud which it delights in, as foul and as -dull as that of the "Enéide Travestie."[229] The description of -Hudibras and his horse occupies the best part of a canto; forty lines -are taken up by describing his beard, forty more by describing his -breeches. Endless scholastic discussions, arguments as long as those of -the Puritans, spread their wastes and briers over half the poem. No -action, no simplicity, all is would-be satire and gross caricature; -there is neither art, nor harmony nor good taste to be found in it; the -Puritan style is converted into an absurd gibberish; and the engalled -rancor, missing its aim by its mere excess, spoils the portrait it -wishes to draw. Would you believe that such a writer gives himself airs, -wishes to enliven us, pretends to be funny? What delicate raillery is -there in this picture of Hudibras's beard! - - -"His tawny beard was th' equal grace -Both of his wisdom and his face; -In cut and die so like a tile, -A sudden view it would beguile: -The upper part whereof was whey, -The nether orange, mix'd with grey. -This hairy meteor did denounce -The fall of sceptres and of crowns: -With grisly type did represent -Declining age of Government, -And tell with hieroglyphic spade -Its own grave and the state's were made."[230] - - -Butler is so well satisfied with his insipid fun, that he prolongs it -for a good many lines: - - -"Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grew -In time to make a nation rue; -Tho' it contributed its own fall, -To wait upon the public downfall.... -'Twas bound to suffer persecution -And martyrdom with resolution; -T' oppose itself against the hate -And vengeance of the incens'd state, -In whose defiance it was worn, -Still ready to be pull'd and torn, -With red-hot irons to be tortur'd, -Revil'd, and spit upon, and martyr'd. -Maugre all which, 'twas to stand fast -As long as monarchy should last; -But when the state should hap to reel, -'Twas to submit to fatal steel, -And fall, as it was consecrate, -A sacrifice to fall of state, -Whose thread of life the fatal sisters -Did twist together with its whiskers, -And twine so close, that time should never, -In life or death, their fortunes sever; -But with his rusty sickle mow -Both down together at a blow."[231] - - -The nonsense increases as we go on. Could anyone have taken pleasure in -humor such as this? - - -"This sword a dagger had, his page, -That was but little for his age; -And therefore waited on him so -As dwarfs upon knights-errant do.... -When it had stabb'd, or broke a head, -It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread.... -'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth -Set leeks and onions, and so forth."[232] - - -Everything becomes trivial; if any beauty presents itself, it is spoiled -by burlesque. To read those long details of the kitchen, those servile -and crude jokes, people might fancy themselves in the company of a -common buffoon in the market-place; it is the talk of the quacks on the -bridges, adapting their imagination and language to the manners of the -beer-shop and the hovel. There is filth to be met with there; indeed, -the rabble will laugh when the mountebank alludes to the disgusting acts -of private life.[233] Such is the grotesque stuff in which the courtiers -of the Restoration delighted; their spite and their coarseness took a -pleasure in the spectacle of these bawling puppets; even now, after two -centuries, we hear the ribald laughter of this audience of lackeys. - - - - -Section IV.--Morals of the Court - - -Charles II, when at his meals, ostentatiously drew Grammont's attention -to the fact that his officers served him on their knees. They were in -the right; it was their fit attitude. Lord Chancellor Clarendon, one of -the most honored and honest men of the Court, learns suddenly and in -full council that his daughter Anne is enceinte by the Duke of York, and -that the Duke, the king's brother, has promised her marriage. Listen to -the words of this tender father; he has himself taken care to hand them -down: - - -"The Chancellor broke out into a very immoderate passion against the -wickedness of his daughter, and said with all imaginable earnestness, -'that as soon as he came home, he would turn her (his daughter) out of -his house as a strumpet to shift for herself, and would never see her -again.'"[234] - - -Observe that this great man had received the news from the king -unprepared, and that he made use of these fatherly expressions on the -spur of the moment. He added, "that he had much rather his daughter -should be the duke's whore than his wife." Is that not heroical? But let -Clarendon speak for himself. Only such a true monarchical heart can -surpass itself: - - -"He was ready to give a positive judgment, in which he hoped their -lordships would concur with him; that the king should immediately cause -the woman to be sent to the Tower, and to be cast into a dungeon under -so strict a guard, that no person living should be admitted to come to -her; and that an act of Parliament should be immediately passed for the -cutting off her head, to which he would not only give his consent, but -would very willingly be the first man that should propose it."[235] - - -What Roman virtue! Afraid of not being believed, he insists whoever knew -the man, will believe that all this came from the very bottom of his -heart. He is not yet satisfied; he repeats his advice; he addresses to -the king different conclusive reasonings, in order that they might cut -off the head of his daughter: - - -"I had rather submit and bear it (this disgrace) with all humility, than -that it should be repaired by making her his wife, the thought whereof I -do so much abominate, that I had much rather see her dead, with all the -infamy that is due to her presumption."[236] - - -In this manner, a man, who is in difficulty, can keep his salary and his -Chancellor's robes. Sir Charles Berkley, captain of the Duke of York's -guards, did better still; he solemnly swore "that he had lain with the -young lady," and declared himself ready to marry her "for the sake of -the duke, though he knew well the familiarity the duke had with her." -Then, shortly afterwards, he confessed that he had lied, but with a good -intention, in all honor, in order to save the royal family from such a -mésalliance. This admirable self-sacrifice was rewarded; he soon had a -pension from the privy purse, and was created Earl of Falmouth. From the -first, the baseness of the public corporations rivalled that of -individuals. The House of Commons, but recently master of the country, -still full of Presbyterians, rebels, and conquerors, voted "that neither -themselves nor the people of England could be freed from the horrid -guilt of the late unnatural rebellion, or from the punishment which that -guilt merited, unless they formally availed themselves of his Majesty's -grace and pardon, as set forth in the declaration of Breda." Then all -these heroes went in a body and threw themselves with contrition at the -sacred feet of their monarch. In this universal prostration it seemed -that no one had any courage left. The king became the hireling of Louis -XIV, and sold his country for a large pension. Ministers, members of -Parliament, ambassadors, all received French money. The contagion -spread even to patriots, to men noted for their purity, to martyrs. Lord -William Russell intrigued with Versailles; Algernon Sidney accepted 500 -guineas. They had not discrimination enough to retain a show of spirit; -they had not spirit enough to retain a show of honor.[237] - -In men thus laid bare, the first thing that strikes you is the -bloodthirsty instinct of brute beasts. Sir John Coventry, a member of -Parliament, let some word escape him, which was construed into a -reproach of the royal amours. His friend, the Duke of Monmouth, -contrived that he should be treacherously assaulted under the king's -command, by respectable men devoted to his service, who slit his nose to -the bone. A vile wretch of the name of Blood tried to assassinate the -Duke of Ormond, and to stab the keeper of the Tower, in order to steal -the crown jewels. Charles II, considering that this was an interesting -and distinguished man of his kind, pardoned him, gave him an estate in -Ireland, and admitted him to his presence, side by side with the Duke of -Ormond, so that Blood became a sort of hero, and was received in good -society. After such splendid examples, men dared everything. The Duke of -Buckingham, a lover of the Countess of Shrewsbury, slew the Earl in a -duel; the Countess, disguised as a page, held Buckingham's horse, while -she embraced him, covered as he was with her husband's blood; and the -murderer and adulteress returned publicly, and as triumphantly, to the -house of the dead man. We can no longer wonder at hearing Count -Königsmark describe as a "peccadillo" an assassination which he had -committed by waylaying his victim. I transcribe a duel out of Pepys, to -give a notion of the manners of these bloodthirsty cut-throats. Sir H. -Bellassis and Tom Porter, the greatest friends in the world, were -talking together: - - -"and Sir H. Bellassis talked a little louder than ordinary to Tom -Porter, giving him some advice. Some of the company standing by said, -'What! are they quarrelling, that they talk so high?' Sir H. Bellassis, -hearing it, said, 'No!' says he: 'I would have you know I never quarrel, -but I strike: and take that as a rule of mine!' 'How?' says Tom Porter, -'strike! I would I could see the man in England that durst give me a -blow!' with that Sir H. Bellassis did give him a box of the eare; and so -they were going to fight there, but were hindered.... Tom Porter, being -informed that Sir H. Bellassis's coach was coming, went down out of the -coffee-house where he staid for the tidings, and stopped the coach, and -bade Sir H. Bellassis come out. 'Why,' says H. Bellassis, 'you will not -hurt me coming out, will you?' 'No,' says Tom Porter. So out he went, -and both drew.... They wounded one another, and Sir H. Bellassis so much -that it is feared he will die"--[238] - - -which he did ten days after. - -Bull-dogs like these took no pity on their enemies. The Restoration -opened with a butchery. The Lords conducted the trials of the -republicans with a shamelessness of cruelty and an excess of rancor that -were extraordinary. A sheriff struggled with Sir Harry Vane on the -scaffold, rummaging his pockets, and taking from him a paper which he -attempted to read. During the trial of Major-General Harrison, the -hangman was placed by his side, in a black dress, with a rope in his -hand; they sought to give him a full enjoyment of the foretaste of -death. He was cut down alive from the gibbet, and disembowelled; he saw -his entrails cast into the fire; he was then quartered, and his still -beating heart was torn out and shown to the people. The cavaliers -gathered round for amusement. Here and there one of them would do worse -even than this. Colonel Turner, seeing them quarter John Coke, the -lawyer, told the sheriff's men to bring Hugh Peters, another of the -condemned, nearer; the executioner came up, and rubbing his bloody -hands, asked the unfortunate man if the work pleased him. The rotting -bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw were dug up in the night, and -their heads fixed on poles over Westminster Hall. Ladies went to see -these disgusting sights; the good Evelyn applauded them; the courtiers -made songs on them. These people were fallen so low, that they did not -even turn sick at it. Sight and smell no longer aided humanity by -producing repugnance; their senses were as dead as their hearts. - -From carnage they threw themselves into debauchery. You should read the -life of the Earl of Rochester, a courtier and a poet, who was the hero -of the time. His manners were those of a lawless and wretched -mountebank; his delight was to haunt the stews, to debauch women, to -write filthy songs and lewd pamphlets; he spent his time between -gossiping with the maids of honor, broils with men of letters, the -receiving of insults, the giving of blows. By way of playing the -gallant, he eloped with his wife before he married her. Out of a spirit -of bravado, he declined fighting a duel, and gained the name of a -coward. For five years together he was said to be drunk. The spirit -within him failing of a worthy outlet, plunged him into adventures more -befitting a clown. Once with the Duke of Buckingham he rented an inn on -the Newmarket road, and turned innkeeper, supplying the husbands with -drink and defiling their wives. He introduced himself, disguised as an -old woman, into the house of a miser, robbed him of his wife, and passed -her on to Buckingham. The husband hanged himself; they made very merry -over the affair. At another time he disguised himself as a chairman, -then as a beggar, and paid court to the gutter-girls. He ended by -turning a quack astrologer, and vender of drugs for procuring abortion, -in the suburbs. It was the licentiousness of a fervid imagination, which -fouled itself as another would have adorned it, which forced its way -into lewdness and folly as another would have done into sense and -beauty. What can come of love in hands like these? We cannot copy even -the titles of his poems; they were written only for the haunts of vice. -Stendhal said that love is like a dried up bough cast into a mine; the -crystals cover it, spread out into filagree work, and end by converting -the worthless stick into a sparkling tuft of the purest diamonds. -Rochester begins by depriving love of all its adornment, and to make -sure of grasping it, converts it into a stick. Every refined sentiment, -every fancy; the enchantment, the serene, sublime glow which transforms -in a moment this wretched world of ours; the illusion which, uniting all -the powers of our being, shows us perfection in a finite creature, and -eternal bliss in a transient emotion--all has vanished; there remain but -satiated appetites and palled senses. The worst of it is, that he writes -without spirit, and methodically enough. He has no natural ardor, no -picturesque sensuality; his satires prove him a disciple of Boileau. -Nothing is more disgusting than obscenity in cold blood. We can endure -the obscene works of Giulio Romano and his Venetian voluptuousness, -because in them genius sets off sensuality, and the loveliness of the -splendid colored draperies transforms an orgie into a work of art. We -pardon Rabelais, when we have entered into the deep current of manly joy -and vigor, with which his feasts abound. We can hold our nose and have -done with it, while we follow with admiration, and even sympathy, the -torrent of ideas and fancies which flows through his mire. But to see a -man trying to be elegant and remaining obscene, endeavoring to paint the -sentiments of a navvy in the language of a man of the world, who tries -to find a suitable metaphor for every kind of filth, who plays the -blackguard studiously and deliberately, who, excused neither by genuine -feeling, nor the glow of fancy, nor knowledge, nor genius, degrades a -good style of writing to such work--it is like a rascal who sets himself -to sully a set of gems in a gutter. The end of all is but disgust and -illness. While La Fontaine continues to the last day capable of -tenderness and happiness, this man at the age of thirty insults the -weaker sex with spiteful malignity: - - -"When she is young, she whores herself for sport; -And when she's old, she bawds for her support.... -She is a snare, a shamble, and a stews; -Her meat and sauce she does for lechery chuse, -And does in laziness delight the more, -Because by that she is provoked to whore. -Ungrateful, treacherous, enviously inclined, -Wild beasts are tamed, floods easier far confined, -Than is her stubborn and rebellious mind.... -Her temper so extravagant we find, -She hates, or is impertinently kind. -Would she be grave, she then looks like a devil, -And like a fool or whore, when she be civil.... -Contentious, wicked, and not fit to trust, -And covetous to spend it on her lust."[239] - - -What a confession is such a judgment! what an abstract of life. You see -the roisterer stupefied at the end of his career, dried up like a mummy, -eaten away by ulcers. Amid the choruses, the crude satires, the -remembrance of plans miscarried, the sullied enjoyments which are heaped -up in his wearied brain as in a sink, the fear of damnation is -fermenting; he dies a devotee at the age of thirty-three. - -At the head of all, the king sets the example. This "old goat," as the -courtiers call him, imagines himself a man of gayety and elegance. What -gayety! what elegance! French manners do not suit men beyond the -Channel. When they are Catholics, they fall into narrow superstition; -when epicureans, into gross debauchery; when courtiers, into base -servility; when sceptics, into vulgar atheism. The court of England -could only imitate French furniture and dress. The regular and decent -exterior which public taste maintained as Versailles was here dispensed -with as troublesome. Charles and his brother, in their state dress, -would set off running as in a carnival. On the day when the Dutch fleet -burned the English ships in the Thames, the king supped with the Duchess -of Monmouth, and amused himself by chasing a moth. In council, while -business was being transacted, he would be playing with his dog. -Rochester and Buckingham insulted him by insolent repartees or dissolute -epigrams; he would fly into a passion and suffer them to go on. He -quarrelled with his mistress in public; she called him an idiot, and he -called her a jade. He would leave her in the morning, "so that the very -sentrys speak of it."[240] He suffered her to play him false before the -eyes of all; at one time she received a couple of actors, one of whom -was a mountebank. If need were, she would use abusive language to him. -"The King hath declared that he did not get the child of which she is -conceived at this time." But she told him, "...!but you shall own -it."[241] Whereupon he did acknowledge the child, and took to himself a -couple of actresses for consolation. When his new wife, Catherine of -Braganza, arrived, he drove away her attendants, used coarse language to -her, that he might force on her the familiarities of his mistress, and -finished by degrading her to a friendship such as this. The good Pepys, -notwithstanding his loyal feelings, ends by saying, having heard the -king and the duke talk, and seeing and observing their manner of -discourse. "God forgive me! though I admire them with all the duty -possible, yet the more a man considers and observes them, the less he -finds of difference between them and other men, though, blessed be God! -they are both princes of great nobleness and spirits."[242] He heard -that, on a certain day, the king was so besotted with Mrs. Stewart that -he gets "into corners, and will be with her half an hour together -kissing her to the observation of all the world."[243] Another day, -Captain Ferrers told him "how, at a ball at Court, a child was dropped -by one of the ladies in dancing." They took it off on a handkerchief, -"and the King had it in his closet a week after, and did dissect it, -making great sport if it."[244] These ghastly freaks and these lewd -events make us shudder. The courtiers went with the stream. Miss -Jennings, who became Duchess of Tyrconnel, disguised herself one day as -an orange girl, and cried her wares in the street.[245] Pepys recounts -festivities in which lords and ladies smeared one another's faces with -candle-grease and soot, "till most of us were like devils." It was the -fashion to swear, to relate scandalous adventures, to get drunk, to -prate against the preachers and Scripture, to gamble. Lady Castlemaine -in one night lost £25,000. The Duke of St. Albans, a blind man, eighty -years old, went to the gambling-house with an attendant at his side to -tell him the cards. Sedley and Buckhurst stripped nearly naked, and ran -through the streets after midnight. Another, in the open day, stood -naked at the window to address the people. I let Grammont keep to -himself his accounts of the maids of honor brought to bed, and of -unnatural lusts. We must either exhibit or conceal them, and I have not -the courage lightly to insinuate them, after his fashion. I end by a -quotation from Pepys, which will serve for example: "Here I first -understood by their talk the meaning of company that lately were called -Bailers; Harris telling how it was by a meeting of some young blades, -where he was among them, and my Lady Bennet and her ladies; and their -dancing naked, and all the roguish things in the world."[246] The -marvellous thing is, that this fair is not even gay; these people were -misanthropic, and became morose; they quote the gloomy Hobbes, and he is -their master. In fact, the philosophy of Hobbes shall give us the last -word and the last characteristics of this society. - - - - -Section V.--Method and Style of Hobbes - - -Hobbes was one of those powerful, limited, and, as they are called, -positive minds, so common in England, of the school of Swift and -Bentham, efficacious and remorseless as an iron machine. Hence we find -in him a method and style of surprising dryness and vigor, most adapted -to build up and pull down; hence a philosophy which, by the audacity of -its teaching, has placed in an undying light one of the indestructible -phases of the human mind. In every object, every event, there is some -primitive and constant fact, which forms, as it were, the nucleus around -which group themselves the various developments which complete it. The -positive mind swoops down immediately upon this nucleus, crushes the -brilliant growth which covers it; disperses, annihilates it; then, -concentrating upon it the full force of its violent grasp, loosens it, -raises it up, shapes it, and lifts it into a conspicuous position, from -whence it may henceforth shine out to all men and for all time like a -crystal. All ornament, all emotions, are excluded from the style of -Hobbes; it is a mere aggregate of arguments and concise facts in a small -space, united together by deduction, as by iron bands. There are no -tints, no fine or unusual word. He makes use only of words most familiar -to common and lasting usage; there are not a dozen employed by him -which, during two hundred years, have grown obsolete; he pierces to the -root of all sensation, removes the transient and brilliant externals, -narrows the solid portion which is the permanent subject-matter of all -thought, and the proper object of common intelligence. He curtails -throughout in order to strengthen; he attains solidity, by suppression. -Of all the bonds which connect ideas, he retains but one, and that the -most stable; his style is only a continuous chain of reasoning of the -most stubborn description, wholly made up of additions and subtractions, -reduced to a combination of certain simple ideas, which added on to or -diminishing from one another, make up, under various names, the totals -or differences, of which we are forever either studying the formation or -unravelling the elements. He pursued beforehand the method of Condillac, -beginning with tracing to the original fact, palpably and clearly, so as -to pursue step by step the filiation and parentage of the ideas of which -this primary fact is the stock, in such a manner that the reader -conducted from total to total, may at any moment test the exactness of -his operation, and verify the truth of his results. Such a logical -system cuts across the grain of prejudice with a mechanical stiffness -and boldness. Hobbes clears science of scholastic words and theories. He -laughs down quiddities, he does away with rational and intelligible -classifications, he rejects the authority of references.[247] He cuts, -as with a surgeon's knife, at the heart of the most living creeds. He -denies the authenticity of the books of Moses, Joshua, and the like. He -declares that no argument proves the divinity of Scripture, and that, in -order to believe it, every man requires a supernatural and personal -revelation. He upsets in half a dozen words the authority of this and -every other revelation.[248] He reduces man to a mere body, the soul to -a function, God, to an unknown existence. His phrases read like -equations or mathematical results. In fact, it is from mathematics[249] -that he derives the idea of all science. He would reconstitute moral -science on the same basis. He assigns to it this foundation when he lays -down that sensation is an internal movement caused by an external shock; -desire, an internal movement toward an external object; and he builds -upon these two notions the whole system of morals. Again, he assigns to -morals a mathematical method, when he distinguishes, like the -geometrician, between two simple ideas, which he transforms by degrees -into two more complex; and when on the basis of sensation and desire he -constructs the passions, the rights, and institutions of man, just as -the geometrician out of straight lines and curves constructs all the -varieties of figure. To morals he gives a mathematical aspect, by -mapping out the incomplete and rigid construction of human life, like -the network of imaginary forms which geometricians have conceived. For -the first time there was discernible in him, as in Descartes, but -exaggerated and standing out more conspicuously, that species of -intellect which produced the classic age in Europe: not the independence -of inspiration and genius which marked the Renaissance; not the mature -experimental methods and conceptions of aggregates which distinguish the -present age, but the independence of argumentative reasoning, which, -dispensing with the imagination, liberating itself from tradition, badly -practising experience, acknowledges its queen in logic, its model in -mathematics, its instrument in ratiocination, its audience in polished -society, its employment in average truth, its subject-matter in abstract -humanity, its formula in ideology, and in the French Revolution at once -its glory and its condemnation, its triumph and its close. - -But whereas Descartes, in the midst of a purified society and religion, -noble and calm, enthroned intelligence and elevated man, Hobbes, in the -midst of an overthrown society and a religion run mad, degraded man and -enthroned matter. Through disgust of Puritanism, the courtiers reduced -human existence to an animal licentiousness; through disgust of -Puritanism, Hobbes reduced human nature to its merely animal aspect. The -courtiers were practically atheists and brutish, as he was atheistic and -brutish in the province of speculation. They had established the fashion -of instinct and egotism; he wrote the philosophy of egotism and -instinct. They had wiped out from their hearts all refined and noble -sentiments; he wiped out from the heart all noble and refined -sentiments. He arranged their manners into a theory, gave them the -manual of their conduct, wrote down beforehand the maxims which they -were to reduce to practice.[250] With him, as with them, "the greatest -good is the preservation of life and limb; the greatest evil is death, -especially with pain." Other goods and other evils are only the means of -these. None seek or wish for anything but that which is pleasurable. "No -man gives except for a personal advantage." Why are friendships good -things? "Because they are useful; friends serve for defence and -otherwise." Why do we pity one another? "Because we imagine that a -similar misfortune may befall ourselves." Why is it noble to pardon him -who asks it? "Because thus one proves confidence in self." Such is the -background of the human heart. Consider now what becomes of the most -precious flowers in these blighting hands. "Music, painting, poetry, are -agreeable as imitations which recall the past, because if the past was -good, it is agreeable in its imitation as a good thing; but if it was -bad, it is agreeable in its imitation as being past." To this gross -mechanism he reduces the fine arts; it was perceptible in his attempt to -translate the Iliad. In his sight, philosophy is a thing of like kind. -"Wisdom is serviceable, because it has in it some kind of protection; if -it is desirable in itself, it is because it is pleasant." Thus there is -no dignity in knowledge. It is a pastime or an assistance; good, as a -servant or a puppet is a good thing. Money being more serviceable, is -worth more. "Not he who is wise is rich, as the Stoics say; but, on the -contrary, he who is rich is wise."[251] As to religion, it is but "the -fear of an invisible power, whether this be a figment, or adopted from -history by general consent."[252] Indeed, this was true for a Rochester -or a Charles II; cowards or bullies, superstitious or blasphemers, they -conceived of nothing beyond. Neither is there any natural right. "Before -men were bound by contract one with another, each had the right to do -what he would against whom he would." Nor any natural friendship. "All -association is for the cause of advantage or of glory; that is, for love -of one's self, not of one's associates. The origin of great and durable -associations is not mutual well-wishing but mutual fear. The desire of -injuring is innate in all. Man is to man a wolf.... Warfare was the -natural condition of men before societies were formed; and this not -incidentally, but of all against all: and this war is of its own nature -eternal."[253] Sectarian violence let loose, the conflict of ambitions, -the fall of governments, the overflow of soured imaginations and -malevolent passions, had raised up this idea of society and of mankind. -One and all, philosophers and people, yearned for monarchy and repose. -Hobbes, an inexorable logician, would have it absolute; repression would -thus be more stern, peace more lasting. The sovereign should be -unopposed. Whatsoever he might do against a subject, under whatever -pretext, would not be injustice. He ought to decide upon the canonical -books. He was pope, and more than pope. Were he to command it, his -subjects should renounce Christ, at least with their mouth; the original -contract has given up to him, without any reservation, all -responsibility of external actions; at least, according to this view, -the sectarian will no longer have the pretext of his conscience in -harassing the state. To such extremities had the intense weariness and -horror of civil war driven a narrow but logical intellect. Upon the -secure den in which he had with every effort imprisoned and confined the -evil beast of prey, he laid as a final weight, in order that he might -perpetuate the captivity of humanity, the whole philosophy and theory -not simply of man, but of the remainder of the universe. He reduced -judgment to the "combination of two terms," ideas to conditions of the -brain, sensations to motions of the body, general laws to simple words, -all substance to corporeality, all science to the knowledge of sensible -bodies, the human being to a body capable of motion given or received; -so that man, recognizing himself and nature only under this despised -form, and degraded in his conception of himself and of the world, might -bow beneath the burden of a necessary authority, and submit in the end -to the yoke which his rebellious nature rejects, yet is forced to -tolerate.[254] Such, in brief, is the aim which this spectacle of the -English Restoration suggests. Men deserved then this treatment, because -they gave birth to this philosophy; they were represented on the stage -as they had proved themselves to be in theory and in manners. - - - - -[Illustration: CHOICE EXAMPLES OF BOOK ILLUMINATION. - -Fac-similes from Illuminated Manuscripts and Illustrated Books -of Early Date. - -_INITIAL LETTER FROM THE GIFFORD PSALTER._ - -This is a richly illuminated initial from a psalter written at Clare -Priory about the year 1250. In the margin may be seen the arms of -Gilbert de Clare and Joan of Arc.] - - - - -Section VI.--The Theatre - - -When the theatres, which Parliament had closed, were reopened, the -change of public taste was soon manifested. Shirley, the last of the -grand old school, wrote and lived no longer. Waller, Buckingham, and -Dryden were compelled to dish up the plays of Shakespeare and Beaumont -and Fletcher, and to adapt them to the modern style. Pepys, who went to -see "Midsummer Night's Dream," declared that he would never go there -again; "for it is the most insipid, ridiculous play that ever I saw in -my life."[255] Comedy was transformed; the fact was, that the public was -transformed. - -What an audience was that of Shakespeare and Beaumont and Fletcher! What -youthful and delightful souls! In this evil-smelling room in which it -was necessary to burn juniper, before that miserable half-lighted stage, -before decorations worthy of an alehouse, with men playing the women's -parts, illusion enchained them. They scarcely troubled themselves about -probabilities; they could be carried in an instant over forest and -ocean, from clime to clime, across twenty years of time, through ten -battles and all the hurry of adventure. They did not care to be always -laughing; comedy, after a burst of buffoonery, resumed its serious or -tender tone. They came less to be amused than to muse. In these fresh -minds, amidst a woof of passions and dreams, there were hidden passions -and brilliant dreams whose imprisoned swarm buzzed indistinctly, waiting -for the poet to come and lay bare to them the novelty and the splendor -of heaven. Landscapes revealed by a lightning flash, the gray mane of a -long and overhanging billow, a wet forest nook where the deer raise -their startled heads, the sudden smile and purpling cheek of a young -girl in love, the sublime and various flight of all delicate sentiments, -a cloak of ecstatic and romantic passion over all--these were the -sights and feelings which they came to seek. They raised themselves -without any assistance to the summit of the world of ideas; they desired -to contemplate extreme generosity, absolute love; they were not -astonished at the sight of fairy-land; they entered without an effort -into the region of poetical transformation, whose light was necessary to -their eyes. They took in at a glance its excesses and its caprices; they -needed no preparation; they followed its digressions, its -whimsicalities, the crowding of its abundant creations, the sudden -prodigality of its high coloring, as a musician follows a symphony. They -were in that transient and strained condition in which the imagination, -adult and pure, laden with desire, curiosity, force develops man all at -once, and in that man the most exalted and exquisite feelings. - -The roisterers took the place of these. They were rich, they had tried -to deck themselves with the polish of Frenchmen; they added to the stage -movable decorations, music, lights, probability, comfort, every external -aid; but they wanted heart. Imagine those foppish and half-intoxicated -men, who saw in love nothing beyond desire, and in man nothing beyond -sensuality; Rochester in the place of Mercutio. What part of his soul -could comprehend poesy and fancy? The comedy of romance was altogether -beyond his reach; he could only seize the actual world, and of this -world but the palpable and gross externals. Give him an exact picture of -ordinary life, commonplace and probable occurrences, literal imitations -of what he himself was and did; lay the scene in London, in the current -year; copy his coarse words, his brutal jokes, his conversation with the -orange girls, his rendezvous in the park, his attempts at French -dissertation. Let him recognize himself, let him find again the people -and the manners he had just left behind him in the tavern or the -antechamber; let the theatre and the street reproduce one another. -Comedy will give him the same entertainment as real life; he will wallow -equally well there in vulgarity and lewdness; to be present there will -demand neither imagination nor wit; eyes and memory are the only -requisites. This exact imitation will amuse him and instruct him at the -same time. Filthy words will make him laugh through sympathy; shameless -imagery will divert him by appealing to his recollections. The author, -too, will take care to arouse him by his plot, which generally has the -deceiving of a father or a husband for its subject. The fine gentlemen -agree with the author in siding with the gallant; they follow his -fortunes with interest, and fancy that they themselves have the same -success with the fair. Add to this women debauched, and willing to be -debauched; and it is manifest how these provocations, these manners of -prostitutes, that interchange of exchanges and surprises, that carnival -of rendezvous and suppers, the impudence of the scenes only stopping -short of physical demonstration, those songs with their double meaning, -that coarse slang shouted loudly and replied to amidst the tableaux -vivants, all that stage-imitation of orgie, must have stirred up the -innermost feelings of the habitual practisers of intrigue. And what is -more, the theatre gave its sanction to their manners. By representing -nothing but vice, it authorized their vices. Authors laid it down as a -rule, that all women were impudent hussies, and that all men were -brutes. Debauchery in their hands became a matter of course, nay more, a -matter of good taste; they profess it. Rochester and Charles II could -quit the theatre highly edified; more convinced than they were before -that virtue was only a pretence, the pretence of clever rascals who -wanted' to sell themselves dear. - - - - -Section VII.--Dryden and the Drama - - -Dryden, who was amongst the first[256] to adopt this view of the matter, -did not adopt it heartily. A kind of hazy mist, the relic of the former -age, still floated over his plays. His wealthy imagination half bound -him to the comedy of romance. At one time he adapted Milton's -"Paradise," Shakespeare's "Tempest," and "Troilus and Cressida." Another -time he imitated, in "Love in a Nunnery," in "Marriage à la Mode," in -"The Mock Astrologer," the imbroglios and surprises of the Spanish -stage. Sometimes he displays the sparkling images and lofty metaphors of -the older national poets, sometimes the affected figures of speech and -cavilling wit of Calderon and Lope de Vega. He mingles the tragic and -the humorous, the overthrow of thrones and the ordinary description of -manners. But in this awkward compromise the poetic spirit of ancient -comedy disappears; only the dress and the gilding remain. The new -characters are gross and immoral, with the instincts of a lackey beneath -the dress of a lord, which is the more shocking, because by it Dryden -contradicts his own talents, being at bottom grave and a poet; he -follows the fashion, and not his own mind; he plays the libertine with -deliberate forethought, to adapt himself to the taste of the day.[257] -He plays the blackguard awkwardly and dogmatically; he is impious -without enthusiasm, and in measured periods. One of his gallants cries: - - -"Is not love love without a priest and altars? -The temples are inanimate, and know not -What vows are made in them; the priest stands ready -For his hire, and cares not what hearts he couples; -Love alone is marriage."[258] - - -Hippolita says, "I wished the ball might be kept perpetually in our -cloister, and that half the handsome nuns in it might be turned to men, -for the sake of the other."[259] Dryden has no tact or contrivance. In -his "Spanish Friar," the queen, a good enough woman, tells Torrismond -that she is going to have the old dethroned king put to death, in order -to marry him, Torrismond, more at her ease. Presently she is informed -that the murder is completed. "What hinders now," says she, "but that -the holy priest, in secret joins our mutual vows? and then this night, -this happy night, is yours and mine."[260] Side by side with this -sensual tragedy, a comic intrigue, pushed to the most indecent -familiarity, exhibits the love of a cavalier for a married woman, who in -the end turns out to be his sister. Dryden discovers nothing in this -situation to shock him. He has lost the commonest repugnances of natural -modesty. Translating any pretty broad play, "Amphitryon" for instance, -he finds it too pure; he strips off all its small delicacies, and -enlarges its very improprieties.[261] Thus Jupiter says: - - -"For kings and priests are in a manner bound, -For reverence' sake, to be close hypocrites."[262] - - -And he proceeds thereupon boldly to lay bare his own despotism. In -reality, his sophisms and his shamelessness serve Dryden as a means of -decrying by rebound the arbitrary Divinity of the theologians. He lets -Jupiter say: - - -"Fate is what I, -By virtue of omnipotence, have made it; -And power omnipotent can do no wrong! -Not to myself, because I will it so; -Nor yet to men, for what they are is mine.-- -This night I will enjoy Amphitryon's wife; -For when I made her, I decreed her such -As I should please to love."[263] - - -This open pedantry is changed into open lust as soon as Jupiter sees -Alemena. No detail is omitted: Jupiter speaks his whole mind to her, and -before the maids; and next morning, when he is going away, she outdoes -him: she hangs on to him, and indulges in the most familiar details. All -the noble externals of high gallantry are torn off like a troublesome -garment; it is a cynical recklessness in place of aristocratic decency; -the scene is written after the example of Charles II and Castlemaine, -not of Louis XIV and Mme de Montespan.[264] - - - - -Section VIII.--Wycherley - - -I pass over several writers: Crowne, author of "Sir Courtly Nice"; -Shadwell, an imitator of Ben Jonson; Mrs. Aphra Behn, who calls herself -Astræa, a spy and a courtesan, paid by government and the public. -Etherege is the first to set the example of imitative comedy in his "Man -of Fashion" and to depict only the manners of his age; for the rest he -is an open roisterer, and frankly describes his habits: - - -"From hunting whores, and haunting play, -And minding nothing all the day, -And all the night too, you will say...." - - -Such were his pursuits in London; and further on, in a letter from -Ratisbon to Lord Middleton, - - -"He makes grave legs in formal fetters, -Converses with fools and writes dull letters;" - - -and gets small consolation out of the German ladies. In this grave mood -Etherege undertook the duties of an ambassador. One day, having dined -too freely, he fell from the top of a staircase, and broke his neck; a -death of no great importance. But the hero of this society was William -Wycherley, the coarsest writer who ever polluted the stage. Being sent -to France during the Revolution, he there became a Roman Catholic; then -on his return abjured; then in the end, as Pope tells us, abjured again. -Robbed of their Protestant ballast, these shallow brains ran from dogma -to dogma, from superstition to incredulity or indifference, to end in a -state of fear. He had learned at M. de Montausier's[265] residence the -art of wearing gloves and a peruke, which sufficed in those days to make -a gentleman. This merit, and the success of a filthy piece, "Love in a -Wood," drew upon him the eyes of the Duchess of Cleveland, mistress of -the king and of anybody. This woman, who used to have amours with a -rope-dancer, picked him up one day in the very midst of the Ring. She -put her head out of her carriage-window, and cried to him before all, -"Sir, you are a rascal, a villain, the son of a----." Touched by this -compliment, he accepted her favors, and in consequence obtained those of -the king. He lost them, married the Countess of Drogheda, a woman of bad -temper, ruined himself, remained seven years in prison, passed the -remainder of his life in pecuniary difficulties, regretting his youth, -losing his memory, scribbling bad verses, which he got Pope to correct, -amidst many twitches of wounded self-esteem, stringing together dull -obscenities, dragging his worn-out body and enervated brain through the -stages of misanthropy and libertinage, playing the miserable part of a -toothless roisterer and a white-haired blackguard. Eleven days before -his death he married a young girl, who turned out to be a strumpet. He -ended as he had begun, by stupidity and misconduct, having succeeded -neither in becoming happy nor honest, having used his vigorous -intelligence and real talent only to his own injury and the injury of -others. - -The reason was, that Wycherley was not an epicurean born. His nature, -genuinely English, that is to say, energetic and sombre, rebelled -against the easy and amiable carelessness which enables one to take life -as a pleasure-party. His style is labored, and troublesome to read. His -tone is virulent and bitter. He frequently forces his comedy in order to -get at spiteful satire. Effort and animosity mark all that he says or -puts into the mouths of others. It is Hobbes, not meditative and calm, -but active and angry, who sees in man nothing but vice, yet feels -himself man to the very core. The only fault he rejects is hypocrisy; -the only virtue he preaches is frankness. He wants others to confess -their vice, and he begins by confessing his own. "Though I cannot lie -like them (the poets), I am as vain as they; I cannot but publicly give -your Grace my humble acknowledgments.... This is the poet's gratitude, -which in plain English is only pride and ambition."[266] We find in him -no poetry of expression, no glimpse of the ideal, no settled morality -which could console, raise, or purify men. He shuts them up in their -perversity and uncleanness, and installs himself among them. He shows -them the filth of the lowest depths in which he confines them; he -expects them to breathe this atmosphere; he plunges them into it, not to -disgust them with it as by an accidental fall, but to accustom them to -it as if it were their natural element. He tears down the partitions and -decorations by which they endeavor to conceal their state, or regulate -their disorder. He takes pleasure in making them fight, he delights in -the hubbub of their unfettered instincts; he loves the violent changes -of the human mass, the confusion of their wicked deeds, the rawness of -their bruises. He strips their lusts, sets them forth at full length, -and of course feels them himself; and whilst he condemns them as -nauseous, he enjoys them. People take what pleasure they can get: the -drunkards in the suburbs, if asked how they can relish their miserable -liquor, will tell you it makes them drunk as soon as better stuff, and -that is the only pleasure they have. - -I can understand that an author may dare much in a novel. It is a -psychological study, akin to criticism or history, having almost equal -license, because it contributes almost equally to explain the anatomy of -the heart. It is quite necessary to expose moral diseases, especially -when this is done to add to science, coldly, accurately, and in the -fashion of a dissection. Such a book is by its nature abstruse; it must -be read in the study, by lamp-light. But transport it to the stage, -exaggerate the bedroom liberties, give them additional life by a few -disreputable scenes, bestow bodily vigor upon them by the energetic -action and words of the actresses; let the eyes and the senses be filled -with them, not the eyes of an individual spectator, but of a thousand -men and women mingled together in the pit, excited by the interest of -the story, by the correctness of the literal imitation, by the glitter -of the lights, by the noise of applause, by the contagion of impressions -which run like a shudder through fiery and longing minds. That was the -spectacle which Wycherley furnished, and which the court appreciated. Is -it possible that a public, and a select public, could come and listen to -such scenes? In "Love in a Wood," amidst the complications of nocturnal -rendezvous, and violations effected or begun, we meet with a witling, -named Dapperwit, who desires to sell his mistress Lucy to a fine -gentleman of that age, Ranger. With what minuteness he bepraises her! He -knocks at her door; the intended purchaser meantime, growing impatient, -is treating him like a slave. The mother comes in, but wishing to sell -Lucy herself and for her own advantage, scolds them and packs them off. -Next appears an old puritanical usurer and hypocrite, named Gripe, who -at first will not bargain: - - -"_Mrs. Joyner._ You must send for something to entertain her with. -... Upon my life a groat! What will this purchase? -_Gripe._ Two black pots of ale and a cake, at the cellar--Come, the wine -has arsenic in't.... -_Mrs. J._ A treat of a groat! I will not wag. -_G._ Why don't you go? Here, take more money, and fetch what you -will; take here, half-a-crown. -_Mrs. J._ What will half-a-crown do? -_G._ Take a crown then, an angel, a piece;--begone! -_Mrs. J._ A treat only will not serve my turn; I must buy the poor -wretch there some toys. -_G._ What toys? what? speak quickly. -_Mrs. J._ Pendants, necklaces, fans, ribbons, points, laces, stockings, -gloves.... -_G._ But here, take half a piece for the other things. -_Mrs. J._ Half a piece!-- -_G._ Prithee, begone!--take t'other piece then--two pieces--three -pieces--five! -here; 'tis all I have. -_Mrs. J._ I must have the broad-seal ring too, or I stir not."[267] - - -She goes away at last, having extorted all, and Lucy plays the innocent, -seems to think that Gripe is à dancing-master, and asks for a lesson. -What scenes, what double meanings! At last she calls out, her mother, -Mrs. Crossbite, breaks open the door, and enters with men placed there -beforehand; Gripe is caught in the trap; they threaten to call in the -constable, they swindle him out of five hundred pounds. - -Need I recount the plot of the "Country Wife"? It is useless to wish to -skim the subject only; we sink deeper and deeper. Horner, a gentleman -returned from France, spreads the report that he is no longer able to -trouble the peace of husbands. You may imagine what becomes of such a -subject in Wycherley's hands, and he draws from it all that it contains. -Women converse about Horner's condition, even before him; they suffer -themselves to be undeceived, and boast of it. Three of them come to him -and feast, drink, sing such songs! The excess of orgie triumphs, -adjudges itself the crown, displays itself in maxims. "Our virtue," says -one of them, "is like the statesman's religion, the Quaker's word, the -gamester's oath, and the great man's honor; but to cheat those that -trust us."[268] In the last scene, the suspicions which had been -aroused, are set at rest by a new declaration of Horner. All the -marriages are polluted, and the carnival ends by a dance of deceived -husbands. To crown all, Horner recommends his example to the public, and -the actress who comes on to recite the epilogue, completes the -shamefulness of the piece, by warning gallants that they must look what -they are doing; for that if they can deceive men, "we women--there's no -cozening us."[269] - -But the special and most extraordinary sign of the times is, that amid -all these provocatives, no repellent circumstance is omitted, and that -the narrator seems to aim as much at disgusting as at depraving us.[270] -Every moment the fine gentlemen, even the ladies, introduce into their -conversation the ways and means by which, since the sixteenth century, -love has endeavored to adorn itself. Dapperwit, when making an offer of -Lucy, says, in order to account for the delay: "Pish! give her but leave -to ... put on... the long patch under the left eye; awaken the roses on -her cheeks with some Spanish wool, and warrant her breath with some -lemon-peel."[271] Lady Flippant, alone in the park, cries out: -"Unfortunate lady that I am! I have left the herd on purpose to be -chased, and have wandered this hour here; but the park affords not so -much as a satyr for me; and no Burgundy man or drunken scourer will reel -my way. The rag-women and cinder-women have better luck than I."[272] - -Judge by these quotations, which are the best, of the remainder! -Wycherley makes it his business to revolt even the senses; the nose, the -eyes, everything suffers in his plays; the audience must have had the -stomach of a sailor. And from this abyss English literature has ascended -to the strict morality, the excessive decency which it now possesses! -This stage is a declared war against beauty and delicacy of every kind. -If Wycherley borrows a character anywhere, it is only to do violence, or -degrade it to the level of his own characters. If he imitates the Agnes -of Molière,[273] as he does in the "Country Wife," he marries her in -order to profane marriage, deprives her of honor, still more of modesty, -still more of grace, and changes her artless tenderness into shameless -instincts and scandalous confessions. If he takes Shakespeare's Viola, -as in the "Plain Dealer," it is to drag her through the vileness of -infamy, amidst brutalities and surprises. If he translates the part of -Molière's Célimène, he wipes out at one stroke the manners of a great -lady, the woman's delicacy, the tact of the lady of the house, the -politeness, the refined air, the superiority of wit and knowledge of the -world, in order to substitute for them the impudence and deceit of a -foul-mouthed courtesan. If he invents an almost innocent girl, -Hippolita,[274] he begins by putting into her mouth words that will not -bear transcribing. Whatever he does or says, whether he copies or -originates, blames or praises, his stage is a defamation of mankind, -which repels even when it attracts, and which sickens a man while it -corrupts. - -A certain gift hovers over all--namely, vigor--which is never absent in -England, and gives a peculiar character to their virtues as well as to -their vices. When we have removed the oratorical and heavily constructed -phrases imitated from the French, we get at the genuine English -talent--a deep sympathy with nature and life. Wycherley possessed that -lucid and vigorous perspicacity which in any particular situation seizes -upon gesture, physical expression, evident detail, which pierces to the -depths of the crude and base, which hits off, not men in general, and -passion as it ought to be, but an individual man, and passion as it is. -He is a realist, not of set purpose, as the realists of our day, but -naturally. In a violent manner he lays on his plaster over the grinning -and pimpled faces of his rascals, in order to bring before our very eyes -the stern mask to which the living imprint of their ugliness has stuck -on the way. He crams his plays with incident, he multiples action, he -pushes comedy to the verge of dramatic effect; he hustles his characters -amidst surprises and violence, and all but stultifies them in order to -exaggerate his satire. Observe in Olivia, a copy of Célimène, the fury -of the passions which he depicts. She describes her friends, as does -Célimène, but with what insults! Novel, a coxcomb, says: - - -"Madam, I have been treated to-day with all the ceremony and kindness -imaginable at my lady Autumn's. But the nauseous old woman at the upper -end of her table..." - -"_Olivia._ Revives the old Grecian custom, of serving in a death's head -with their banquets.... I detest her hollow cherry cheeks: she looks -like an old coach new painted.... She is still most splendidly, -gallantly ugly, and looks like an ill piece of daubing in a rich -frame."[275] - - -The scene is borrowed from Molière's "Misanthrope" and the "Critique de -l'École des Femmes"; but how transformed! Our modern nerves would not -endure the portrait Olivia draws of Manly, her lover: he hears her -unawares; she forthwith stands before him, laughs at him to his face, -declares herself to be married; tells him she means to keep the diamonds -which he has given her, and defies him. Fidelia says to her: - - -"But, madam, what could make you dissemble love to him, when 'twas so -hard a thing for you; and flatter his love to you?" - -"_Olivia._ That which makes all the world flatter and dissemble, 'twas -his money: I had a real passion for that... As soon as I had his money, -I hastened his departure, like a wife, who when she has made the most of -a dying husband's breath, pulls away his pillow."[276] - - -The last phrase is rather that of a morose satirist than of an accurate -observer. The woman's impudence is like a professed courtesan's. In love -at first sight with Fidelia, whom she takes for a young man, she hangs -upon her neck, "stuffs her with kisses," gropes about in the dark, -crying, "Where are thy lips?" There is a kind of animal ferocity in her -love. She sends her husband off by an Improvised comedy; then skipping -about like a dancing-girl cries out: "Go, husband, and come up, friend; -just the buckets in the well; the absence of one brings the other. But -I hope, like them, too, they will not meet in the Way, jostle, and clash -together."[277] Surprised in _flagrante delicto_, and having confessed -all to her cousin, as soon as she sees a chance of safety, she swallows -her avowal with the effrontery of an actress: - - -"_Eliza._ Well, cousin, this, I confess, was reasonable hypocrisy; you -were the better for 't. -_Olivia._ What hypocrisy? -_E._ Why, this last deceit of your husband was lawful, since in your -own defence. -_O._ What deceit? I'd have you know I never deceived my husband. -_E._ You do not understand me, sure; I say, this was an honest come-off, -and a good one. But 'twas a sign your gallant had had enough of -your conversation, since he could so dexterously cheat your husband in -passing for a Woman. -_O._ What d'ye mean, once more, With my gallant, and passing for a -woman? -_E._ What do you mean? you see your husband took him for a woman! -_O._ Whom? -_E._ Heyday! why the man he found with.... -_O_. Lord, you rave sure! -_E._ Why, did you not tell me last night.... Fy, this fooling is -so insipid, 'tis offensive. -_O._ And fooling with my honour will be more offensive.... -_E._ O admirable confidence!... -_O._ Confidence, to me! to me such language! nay, then I'll never see -your face again.... Lettice, where are you? Let us begone from -this censorious ill woman.... -_E._ One word first, pray, madam; can you swear that whom your -husband found you with... -_O._ Swear! ay, that whosoever 'twas that stole up, unknown, into my -room, when 'twas dark, I know not, whether man or woman, by heavens, -by all that's good; or, may I never more have joys here, or in the -other world! Nay, may I eternally-- -_E._ Be damned. So, so, you are damned enough already by your -oaths. . . . Yet take this advice with you, in this plain-dealing age, -to leave off forswearing yourself.... -_O._ O hideous, hideous advice! let us go out of the hearing of it. She -will spoil us, Lettice."[278] - - -Here is animation; and if I dared to relate the boldness and the -asseveration in the night scene, it would easily appear that Mme -Marneffe had a sister, and Balzac a predecessor. - -There is a character who shows in a concise manner Wycherley's talent -and his morality, wholly formed of energy and indelicacy--Manly, the -"plain dealer," so manifestly the author's favorite, that his -contemporaries gave him the name of his hero for a surname. Manly is -copied after Alceste, and the great difference between the two heroes -shows the difference between the two societies and the two -countries.[279] Manly is not a courtier, but a ship-captain, with the -bearing of a sailor of the time, his cloak stained with tar, and -smelling of brandy,[280] ready with blows or foul oaths, calling those -he came across dogs and slaves, and when they displeased him, kicking -them downstairs. And he speaks in this fashion to a lord with a voice -like a mastiff. Then, when the poor nobleman tries to whisper something -in his ear, "My lord, all that you have made me know by your whispering -which I knew not before, is that you have a stinking breath; there's a -secret for your secret." When he is in Olivia's drawing-room, with -"these fluttering parrots of the town, these apes, these echoes of men," -he bawls out as if he were on his quarter-deck, "Peace, you Bartholomew -fair buffoons!" He seizes them by the collar, and says: "Why, you -impudent, pitiful wretches,... you are in all things so like women, that -you may think it in me a kind of cowardice to beat you. Begone, I -say.... No chattering, baboons; instantly begone, or..." Then he turns -them out of the room. These are the manners of a plain-dealing man. He -has been ruined by Olivia, whom he loves, and who dismisses him. Poor -Fidelia, disguised as a man, and whom he takes for a timid youth, comes -and finds him while he is fretting with anger: - - -"_Fidelia._ I warrant you, sir; for, at worst, I could beg or steal for -you. -_Manly._ Nay, more bragging!... You said you'd beg for me. -_F._ I did, sir. -_M._ Then you shall beg for me. -_F._ With all my heart, sir. -_M._ That is, pimp for me. -_F._ How, sir? -_M._ D'ye start?... No more dissembling: here (I say,) you -must go use it for me to Olivia.... Go, flatter, lie, kneel, promise, -anything to get her for me: I cannot live unless I have her."[281] - - -And when Fidelia returns to him, saying that Olivia has embraced her, by -force, in a fit of love, he exclaims: "Her love!--a whore's, a witch's -love!--But what, did she not kiss well, sir? I'm sure, I thought her -lips--but I must not think of 'em more--but yet they are such I could -still kiss--grow to--and then tear off with my teeth, grind 'em into -mammocks, and spit 'em into her cuckold's face."[282] These savage words -indicate savage actions. He goes by night to enter Olivia's house with -Fidelia, and under her name; and Fidelia tries to prevent him, through -jealousy. Then his blood boils, a storm of fury mounts to his face, and -he speaks to her in a whispering, hissing voice: "What, you are my -rival, then! and therefore you shall stay, and keep the door for me, -whilst I go in for you; but when I'm gone, if you dare to stir off from -this very board, or breathe the least murmuring accent, I'll cut her -throat first; and if you love her, you will not venture her life. Nay, -then I'll cut your throat too, and I know you love your own life at -least.... Not a word more, lest I begin my revenge on her by killing -you."[283] He knocks over Olivia's husband, another traitor seizes from -her the casket of jewels he had given her, casts her one or two of them, -saying, "Here, madam, I never yet left my wench unpaid," and gives this -same casket to Fidelia, whom he marries. All these actions then appeared -natural. Wycherley took to himself in his dedication the title of his -hero, "Plain Dealer"; he fancied he had drawn the portrait of a frank, -honest man, and praised himself for having set the public a fine -example; he had only given them the model of an unreserved and energetic -brute. That was all the manliness that was left in this pitiable world. -Wycherley deprived man of his ill-fitting French cloak, and displayed -him with his framework of muscles, and in his naked shamelessness. - -And in the midst of all these, a great poet, blind, and sunk into -obscurity, his soul saddened by the misery of the times, thus depicted -the madness of the infernal rout: - - -"Belial came last, than whom a spirit more lewd -Fell not from heaven, or more gross to love -Vice for itself... who more oft than he -In temples and at altars, when the priest -Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who fill'd -With lust and violence the house of God? -In courts and palaces he also reigns, -And in luxurious cities, where the noise -Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, -And injury, and outrage: and when night -Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons -Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."[284] - - - - -_Part II--The Worldlings_ - - - - -Section I.--Court Life in Europe - - -In the seventeenth century a new mode of life was inaugurated in Europe, -the worldly, which soon took the lead of and shaped every other. In -France especially, and in England, it appeared and gained ground, from -the same causes and at the same time. - -In order to people the drawing-rooms, a certain political condition is -necessary; and this condition, which is the supremacy of the king in -combination with a regular system of police, was established at the same -period on both sides of the Channel. A regular police brings about peace -among men, draws them out of their feudal independence and provincial -isolation, increases and facilitates intercommunication, confidence, -union, comfort, and pleasures. The kingly supremacy calls into existence -a court, the centre of intercourse, from which all favors flow, and -which calls for a display of pleasure and splendor. The aristocracy thus -attracted to one another, and attracted to the throne by security, -curiosity, amusement, and interest, meet together, and become at once -men of the world and men of the court. They are no longer, like the -barons of a preceding age, standing in their lofty halls, armed and -stern, possessed by the idea that they might perhaps, when they quit -their palace, cut each other to pieces, and that if they fall to blows -in the precincts of the court, the executioner is ready to cut off their -hand and stop the bleeding with a red-hot iron; knowing, moreover, that -the king may probably have them beheaded to-morrow, and ready -accordingly to cast themselves on their knees and break out into -protestations of submissive fidelity, but counting under their breath -the number of swords that will be mustered on their side, and the trusty -men who keep sentinel behind the drawbridge of their castles.[285] The -rights, privileges, constraints, and attractions of feudal life have -disappeared. There is no more need that the manor should be a fortress. -These men can no longer experience the joy of reigning there as in a -petty state. It has palled on them, and they quit it. Having no further -cause to quarrel with the king, they go to him. His court is a -drawing-room, most agreeable to the sight, and most serviceable to those -who frequent it. Here are festivities, splendid furniture, a decked and -select company, news and tittle-tattle; here they find pensions, titles, -places for themselves and their friends; they receive amusement and -profit; it is all gain and all pleasure. Here they attend the levée, -are present at dinners, return to the ball, sit down to play, are there -when the king goes to bed. Here they cut a dash with their half-French -dress, their wigs, their hats loaded with feathers, their trunk-hose, -their cannions, the large rosettes on their shoes. The ladies paint and -patch their faces, display robes of magnificent satin and velvet, laced -up with silver and very long, and above you may see their white busts, -whose brilliant nakedness is extended to their shoulders and arms. They -are gazed upon, saluted, approached. The king rides on horseback in Hyde -Park; by his side canters the queen, and with her the two mistresses, -Lady Castlemaine and Mrs. Stewart: "the queen in a white-laced waistcoat -and a crimson short pettycoat, and her hair dressed _à la -négligence_;... Mrs. Stewart with her hat cocked and a red plume, with -her sweet eye, little Roman nose, and excellent taille."[286] Then they -returned to Whitehall "where all the ladies walked, talking and fiddling -with their hats and feathers, and changing and trying one another's by -one another's heads, and laughing,"[287] In such fine company there was -no lack of gallantry. Perfumed gloves, pocket mirrors, work-cases fitted -up, apricot paste, essences, and other little love-tokens, came over -every week from Paris. London furnished more substantial gifts, -ear-rings, diamonds, brilliants, and golden guineas; the fair ones put -up with these, as if they had come from a greater distance.[288] There -were plenty of intrigues--Heaven knows how many or of what kind. -Naturally, also, conversation does not stop. They did not mince the -adventures of Miss Warmestré the haughty, who, "deceived apparently by -a bad reckoning, took the liberty of lying-in in the midst of the -court,"[289] They spoke in whispers about the attempts of Miss Hobart, -or the happy misfortune of Miss Churchill, who, being very plain, but -having the wit to fall from her horse, touched the eyes and heart of the -Duke of York. The Chevalier de Grammont relates to the king the history -of Termes, or of Poussatin the almoner; everyone leaves the dance to -hear it; and when it is over, they all burst out laughing. We perceive -that this is not the world of Louis XIV, and yet it is a world; and if -it has more froth, it runs with the identical current. The great object -here also is selfish amusement, and to put on appearances; people strive -to be men of fashion; a coat bestows a certain kind of glory on its -wearer. De Grammont was in despair when the roguery of his valet obliged -him to wear the same suit twice over. Another courtier piques himself on -his songs and his guitar-playing. "Russell had a collection of two or -three hundred quadrilles in tablature, all of which he used to dance -without ever having studied them." Jermyn was known for his success with -the fair. "A gentleman," said Etherege, "ought to dress well, dance -well, fence well, have a talent for love-letters, a pleasant voice in a -room, to be always very amorous, sufficiently discreet, but not too -constant." These are already the court manners as they continued in -France up to the time of Louis XVI. With such manners, words take the -place of deeds. Life is passed in visits and conversation. The art of -conversing became the chief of all; of course, to converse agreeably, to -fill up an idle hour, on twenty subjects in an hour, hinting always, -without going deep, in such a fashion that conversation should not be a -labor, but a promenade. It was followed up by letters written in the -evening, by madrigals or epigrams to be read in the morning, by -drawing-room tragedies, or caricatures of society. In this manner a new -literature was produced, the work and the portrait of the world which -was at once its audience and its model, which sprung from it, and ended -in it. - - - - -Section II.--Dawn of the Classic Spirit - - -The art of conversation being then a necessity, people set themselves to -acquire it. A revolution was effected in mind as well as in manners. As -soon as circumstances assume new aspects, thought assumes a new form. -The Renaissance is ended, the Classic Age begins, and the artist makes -room for the author. Man is returned from his first voyage round the -world of facts; enthusiasm, the labor of a troubled imagination, the -tumultuous crowding of new ideas, all the faculties which a first -discovery calls into play, have become satiated, then depressed. The -incentive is blunted, because the work is done. The eccentricities, the -far vistas, the unbridled originality, the all-powerful flights of -genius aimed at the centre of truth through the extremes of folly, all -the characteristics of grand inventive genius have disappeared. The -imagination is tempered; the mind is disciplined: it retraces its steps; -it walks its own domain once more with a satisfied curiosity, an -acquired experience. Judgment, as it were, chews the cud and corrects -itself. It finds a religion, an art, a philosophy, to reform or to form -anew. It is no longer the minister of inspired intuition, but of a -regular process of decomposition. It no longer feels or looks for -generalities; it handles and observes specialties. It selects and -classifies, it refines and regulates. It ceases to be a creator, and -becomes a discourser. It quits the province of invention and settles -down into criticism. It enters upon that magnificent and confused -aggregate of dogmas and forms, in which the preceding age has gathered -up indiscriminately its dreams and discoveries; it draws thence the -ideas which it modifies and verifies. It arranges them in long chains of -simple ratiocination, which descend link by link to the vulgar -apprehension. It expresses them in exact terms, which present a -graduated series, step by step, to the vulgar reasoning power. It marks -out in the entire field of thought a series of compartments and a -network of passages, which, excluding all error and digression, lead -gradually every mind to every object. It becomes at last clear, -convenient, charming. And the world lends its aid; contingent -circumstances finish the natural revolution; the taste becomes changed -through a declivity of its own, but also through the influence of the -court. When conversation becomes the chief business of life, it modifies -style after its own image, and according to its peculiar needs. It -repudiates digression, excessive metaphor, impassioned exclamations, all -loose and overstrained ways. We cannot bawl, gesticulate, dream aloud, -in a drawing-room; we restrain ourselves; we criticise and keep watch -over ourselves; we pass the time in narration and discussion; we stand -in need of concise expression, exact language, clear and connected -reasoning; otherwise we cannot fence or comprehend each other. Correct -style, good language, conversation, are self-generated, and very quickly -perfected; for refinement is the aim of the man of the world: he studies -to render everything more becoming and more serviceable, his furniture -and his speech, his periods and his dress. Art and artifice are there -the distinguishing mark. People pride themselves on being perfect in -their mother-tongue, never to miss the correct sense of any word, to -avoid vulgar expressions, to string together their antitheses, to -develop their thoughts, to employ rhetoric. Nothing is more marked than -the contrast of the conversations of Shakespeare and Fletcher with those -of Wycherley and Congreve. In Shakespeare the dialogue resembles an -assault of arms; we could imagine men of skill fencing with words and -gestures as it were in a fencing-school. They play the buffoon, sing, -think aloud, burst out into a laugh, into puns, into fishwomen's talk -and into poets' talk, into quaint whimsicalities; they have a taste for -the ridiculous, the sparkling; one of them dances while he speaks; they -would willingly walk on their hands; there is not one grain of -calculation to more than three grains of folly in their heads. In -Wycherley, on the other hand, the characters are steady; they reason and -dispute; ratiocination is the basis of their style; they are so perfect -that the thing is overdone, and we see through it all the author -stringing his phrases. They arrange a tableau, multiply ingenious -comparisons, balance well-ordered periods. One character delivers a -satire, another serves up a little essay on morality. We might draw from -the comedies of the time a volume of sentences; they are charged with -literary morsels which foreshadow the "Spectator."[290] They hunt for -clever and suitable expressions, they clothe indecent circumstances with -decent words; they glide swiftly over the fragile ice of decorum, and -scratch the surface without breaking it. I see gentlemen, seated in gilt -arm-chairs, of quiet wit and studied speech, cool in observation, -eloquent sceptics, expert in the fashions, lovers of elegance, liking -fine talk as much from vanity as from taste, who, while conversing -between a compliment and a reverence, will no more neglect their good -style than their neat gloves or their hat. - - - - -Section III.--Sir William Temple - - -Amongst the best and most agreeable specimens of this new refinement, -appears Sir William Temple, a diplomatist and man of the world, -cautions, prudent, and polite, gifted with tact in conversation and in -business, expert in the knowledge of the times, and in the art of not -compromising himself, adroit in pressing forward and in standing aside, -who knew how to attract to himself the favor and the expectations of -England, to obtain the eulogies of men of letters, of savants, of -politicians, of the people, to gain a European reputation, to win all -the crowns appropriated to science, patriotism, virtue, genius, without -having too much of science, patriotism, genius, or virtue. Such a life -is the masterpiece of that age: fine externals on a foundation not so -fine; this is its abstract. His manner as an author agrees with his -maxims as a politician. His principles and style are homogeneous; a -genuine diplomatist, such as one meets in the drawing-rooms, having -probed Europe and touched everywhere the bottom of things; tired of -everything, specially of enthusiasm, admirable in an arm-chair or at a -levée, a good storyteller, waggish if need were, but in moderation, -accomplished in the art of maintaining the dignity of his station and of -enjoying himself. In his retreat at Sheen, afterwards at Moor Park, he -employs his leisure in writing; and he writes as a man of his rank would -speak, very well, that is to say, with dignity and facility, -particularly when he writes of the countries he has visited, of the -incidents he has seen, the noble amusements which serve to pass his -time.[291] He has an income of fifteen hundred a year, and a nice -sinecure in Ireland. He retired from public life during momentous -struggles, siding neither with the king nor against him, resolved, as he -tells us himself, not to set himself against the current when the -current is irresistible. He lives peacefully in the country with his -wife, his sister, his secretary, his dependents, receiving the visits of -strangers, who are anxious to see the negotiator of the Triple Alliance, -and sometimes of the new King William, who, unable to obtain his -services, comes occasionally to seek his counsel. He plants and gardens, -in a fertile soil, in a country the climate of which agrees with him, -amongst regular flower-beds, by the side of a very straight canal, -bordered by a straight terrace; and he lauds himself in set terms, and -with suitable discreetness, for the character he possesses and the part -he has chosen: "I have often wondered how such sharp and violent -invectives come to be made so generally against Epicurus, by the ages -that followed him, whose admirable wit, felicity of expression, -excellence of nature, sweetness of conversation, temperance of life and -constancy of death, made him so beloved by his friends, admired by his -scholars, and honoured by the Athenians."[292] He does well to defend -Epicurus, because he has followed his precepts, avoiding every great -confusion of the mind, and installing himself, like one of Lucretius's -gods, in the interspace of worlds; as he says: "Where factions were once -entered and rooted in a state, they thought it madness for good men to -meddle with public affairs." And again: "The true service of the public -is a business of so much labour and so much care, that though a good and -wise man may not refuse it, if he be called to it by his prince or his -country, and thinks he may be of more than vulgar use, yet he will -seldom or never seek it; but leaves it commonly to men who, under the -disguise of public good, pursue their own designs of wealth, power, and -such bastard honours as usually attend them, not that which is the true, -and only true, reward of virtue."[293] This is how he ushers himself in. -Thus presented to us, he goes on to talk of the gardening which he -practises, and first of the six grand Epicureans who have illustrated -the doctrine of their master--Cæsar, Atticus, Lucretius, Horace, -Maecenas, Vergil; then of the various sorts of gardens which have a name -in the world, from the garden of Eden, and the garden of Alcinous, to -those of Holland and Italy; and all this at some length, like a man who -listens to himself and is listened to by others, who does rather -profusely the honors of his house and of his wit to his guests, but does -them with grace and dignity, not dogmatically nor haughtily, but in -varied tones, aptly modulating his voice and gestures. He recounts the -four kinds of grapes which he has introduced into England, and confesses -that he has been extravagant, yet does not regret it; for five years he -has not once wished to see London. He intersperses technical advice with -anecdotes; whereof one relates to Charles II, who praised the English -climate above all others, saying: "He thought that was the best climate, -where he could be abroad in the air with pleasure, or at least without -trouble or inconvenience, most days of the year, and most hours of the -day." Another about the Bishop of Munster, who, unable to grow anything -but cherries in his orchard, had collected all varieties, and so -perfected the trees that he had fruit from May to September. The reader -feels an inward gratification when he hears an eye-witness relate minute -details of such great men. Our attention is aroused immediately; we in -consequence imagine ourselves denizens of the court, and smile -complacently; no matter if the details be slender; they serve passably -well, they constitute "a half hour with the aristocracy," like a lordly -way of taking snuff or shaking the lace of one's ruffles. Such is the -interest of courtly conversation; it can be held about nothing; the -excellence of the manner lends this nothing a peculiar charm; you hear -the sound of the voice, you are amused by the half smile, abandon -yourself to the fluent stream, forget that these are ordinary ideas; you -observe the narrator, his peculiar breeches, the cane he toys with, the -beribboned shoes, his easy walk over the smooth gravel of his garden -paths between the faultless hedges; the ear, the mind even is charmed, -captivated by the appropriateness of his diction, by the abundance of -his ornate periods, by the dignity and fulness of a style which is -involuntarily regular, which, at first artificial, like good breeding, -ends, like true good breeding, by being changed into a real necessity -and a natural talent. - -Unfortunately, this talent occasionally leads to blunders; when a man -speaks well about everything, he thinks he has a right to speak of -everything. He plays the philosopher, the critic, even the man of -learning; and indeed becomes so actually, at least with the ladies. Such -a man writes, like Temple, "Essays on the Nature of Government," on -"Heroic Virtue,"[294] on "Poetry"; that is, little treatises on society, -on the beautiful, on the philosophy of history. He is the Locke, the -Herder, the Bentley of the drawing-room, and nothing else. Now and then, -doubtless, his mother-wit leads him to fair original judgments. Temple -was the first to discover a Pindaric glow in the old chant of Ragnar -Lodbrog, and to place Don Quixote in the first rank of modern fictions; -moreover, when he handles a subject within his range, like the causes of -the power and decline of the Turks, his reasoning is admirable. But -otherwise, he is simply a tyro; nay, in him the pedant crops out, and -the worst of pedants, who, being ignorant, wishes to seem wise, who -quotes the history of every land, hauling in Jupiter, Saturn, Osiris, -Fo-hi, Confucius, Manco-Capac, Mahomet, and discourses on all these -obscure and unknown civilizations, as if he had laboriously studied -them, at the fountain-head and not at second hand, through the extracts -of his secretary, or the books of others. One day he came to grief; -having plunged into a literary dispute, and claimed superiority for the -ancients over the moderns, he imagined himself a Hellenist, an -antiquarian, related the voyages of Pythagoras, the education of -Orpheus, and remarked that the Greek sages "were commonly excellent -poets, and great physicians: they were so learned in natural philosophy, -that they foretold not only eclipses in the heavens, but earthquakes at -land and storms at sea, great droughts and great plagues, much plenty or -much scarcity of certain sorts of fruits of grain; not to mention the -magical powers attributed to several of them, to allay storms, to raise -gales, to appease commotions of people, to make plagues cease."[295] -Admirable faculties, which we no longer possess. Again he regretted the -decay of music, "by which men and beasts, fishes, fowls, and serpents, -were so frequently enchanted, and their very natures changed; by which -the passions of men were raised to the greatest height and violence, and -then as suddenly appeased, so as they might be justly said to be turned -into lions or lambs, into wolves or into harts, by the powers and charms -of this admirable art."[296] He wished to enumerate the greatest modern -writers, and forgot to mention in his catalogue, "amongst the Italians, -Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Tasso; in his list of French, Pascal, -Bossuet, Molière, Corneille, Racine, and Boileau; in his list of -Spaniards, Lope and Calderon; and in his list of English, Chaucer, -Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton";[297] though, by way of compensation, -he inserted the names of Paolo Sarpi, Guevara, Sir Philip Sidney, -Selden, Voiture, and Bussy-Rabutiri, "author of the 'Histoire amoureuse -des Gaules.'" To cap all, he declared the fables of Æsop, which are a -dull Byzantine compilation, and the letters of Phalaris, a wretched -sophistical forgery, to be admirable and authentic: "It may perhaps be -further affirmed, in favor of the ancients, that the oldest books we -have are still in their kind the best. The two most ancient that I know -of in prose, among those we call profane authors, are Æsop's Fables and -Phalaris's Epistles, both living near the same time, which was that of -Cyrus and Pythagoras. As the first has been agreed by all ages since for -the greatest master in his kind, and all others of that sort have been -but imitations of his original; so I think the 'Epistles of Phalaris' to -have more grace, more spirit, more force of wit and genius, than any -others I have ever seen, either ancient or modern." And then, in order -to commit himself beyond remedy, he gravely remarked: "I know several -learned men (or that usually pass for such, under the name of critics) -have not esteemed them genuine, and Politian with some others have -attributed them to Lucian; but I think he must have little skill in -painting that cannot find out this to be an original: such diversity of -passions, upon such variety of actions and passages of life and -government, such freedom of thought, such boldness of expression, such -bounty to his friends, such scorn of his enemies, such honor of learned -men, such esteem of good, such knowledge of life, such contempt of -death, with such fierceness of nature and cruelty of revenge, could -never be represented but by him that possessed them; and I esteem Lucian -to have been no more capable of writing than of acting what Phalaris -did. In all one writ, you find the scholar or the sophist; and in all -the other, the tyrant and the commander."[298] - -Fine rhetoric truly; it is sad that a passage so aptly turned should -cover so many stupidities. All this appeared very triumphant; and the -universal applause with which this fine oratorical bombast was greeted -demonstrates the taste and the culture, the hollowness and the -politeness, of the elegant world of which Temple was the marvel, and -which, like Temple, loved only the varnish of truth. - - - - -Section IV.--Writers à la Mode - - -Such were the ornate and polished manners which gradually pierce through -debauchery and assume the ascendant. Gradually the current grows -clearer, and marks out its course, like a stream, which forcibly -entering a new bed, moves with difficulty at first through a heap of -mud, then pushes forward its still murky waters, which are purified -little by little. These debauchees try to be men of the world, and -sometimes succeed in it. Wycherley writes well, very clearly, without -the least trace of euphuism, almost in the French manner. He makes -Dapperwit say of Lucy, in measured phrase, "She is beautiful without -affectation, amorous without impertinence,... frolic without -rudeness."[299] When he wishes it he is ingenious, and his gentlemen -exchange happy comparisons. "Mistresses," says one, "are like books: if -you pore upon them too much, they doze you, and make you unfit for -company; but if used discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by -'em. Yes," says another, "a mistress should be like a little country -retreat near the town; not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night -and away, to taste the town the better when a man returns."[300] These -folk have style, even out of place, often not in accordance with the -situation or condition of the persons. A shoemaker in one of Etherege's -plays says: "There is never a man in the town lives more like a -gentleman with his wife than I do. I never mind her motions; she never -inquires into mine. We speak to one another civilly, hate one another -heartily." There is perfect art in this little speech; everything is -complete, even to the symmetrical antithesis of words, ideas, sounds: -what a fine talker is this same satirical shoemaker! After a satire, a -madrigal. In one place a certain character exclaims, in the very middle -of a dialogue, and in sober prose, "Pretty pouting lips, with a little -moisture hanging on them, that look like the Provence rose fresh on the -bush, ere the morning sun has quite drawn up the dew." Is not this the -graceful gallantry of the court? Rochester himself sometimes might -furnish a parallel. Two or three of his songs are still to be found in -the expurgated books of extracts in use among modest young girls. It -matters nothing that such men are really scamps; they must be every -moment using compliments and salutations: before women whom they wish to -seduce they are compelled to warble tender words and insipidities: they -acknowledge but one check, the necessity to appear well-bred; yet this -check suffices to restrain them. Rochester is correct even in the midst -of his filth; if he talks lewdly, it is in the able and exact manner of -Boileau. All these roisterers aim at being wits and men of the world. -Sir Charles Sedley ruins and pollutes himself, but Charles II calls him -"the viceroy of Apollo." Buckingham extols "the magic of his style." He -is the most charming, the most sought-after of talkers; he makes puns -and verses, always agreeable, sometimes refined; he handles dexterously -the pretty jargon of mythology; he insinuates into his airy, flowing -verses all the dainty and somewhat affected prettiness of the -drawing-room. He sings thus to Chloris: - - -"My passion with your beauty grew, -While Cupid at my heart, -Still as his mother favour'd you, -Threw a new flaming dart." - - -And then sums up: - - -"Each gloried in their wanton part: -To make a lover, he -Employ'd the utmost of his art; -To make a beauty, she."[301] - - -There is no love whatever in these pretty things; they are received as -they are presented, with a smile; thy form part of the conventional -language, the polite attentions due from gentlemen to ladies. I suppose -they would send them in the morning with a nosegay, or a box of -preserved fruits. Roscommon indites some verses on a dead lapdog, on a -young lady's cold; this naughty cold prevents her singing--cursed be the -winter! And hereupon he takes the winter to task, abuses it at length. -Here you have the literary amusements of the worldling. They first treat -love, then danger, most airily and gayly. On the eve of a naval contest, -Dorset, at sea, amidst the pitching of his vessel, addresses a -celebrated song to the ladies. There is nothing weighty in it, either -sentiment or wit; people hum the couplets as they pass; they emit a -gleam of gayety; the next moment they are forgotten. Dorset at sea -writes to the ladies, on the night before an engagement: - - -"Let's hear of no inconstancy, -We have too much of that at sea." - - -And again: - - -"Should foggy Opdam chance to know -Our sad and dismal story, -The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, -And quit their fort at Goree. -For what resistance can they find -From men who've left their hearts behind?" - - -Then come jests too much in the English style: - - -"Then if we write not by each post, -Think not we are unkind;... -Our tears we'll send a speedier way; -The tide shall bring them twice a day." - - -Such tears can hardly flow from sorrow; the lady regards them as the -lover sheds them, good-naturedly. She is "at a play" (he thinks so, and -tells her so): - - -"Whilst you, regardless of our woe, -Sit careless at a play, -Perhaps permit some happier man -To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan."[302] - - -Dorset hardly troubles himself about it, plays with poetry without -excess or assiduity, just as it flows, writing to-day a verse against -Dorinda, to-morrow a satire against Mr. Howard, always easily and -without study, like a true gentleman. He is an earl, lord-chamberlain, -and rich; he pensions and patronizes poets as he would flirts--to amuse -himself, without binding himself. The Duke of Buckingham does the same, -and also the contrary; caresses one poet, parodies another; is -flattered, mocked, and ends by having his portrait taken by Dryden--a -_chef d'œuvre_, but not flattering. We have seen such pastimes and such -bickerings in France; we find here the same manners and the same -literature, because we find here also the same society and the same -spirit. - -Among these poets, and in the front rank, is Edmund Waller, who lived -and wrote in this manner to his eighty-second year: a man of wit and -fashion, well-bred, familiar from his youth with great people, endued -with tact and foresight, quick at repartee, not easy to put out of -countenance, but selfish, with hardly any feelings, having changed sides -more than once, and bearing very well the memory of his tergiversations; -in short, a good model of the worldling and the courtier. It was he who, -having once praised Cromwell, and afterwards Charles II, but the latter -mote feebly than the former, said by way of excuse: "Poets, your -Majesty, succeed better in fiction than in truth." In this kind of -existence, three-quarters of the poetry is written for the occasion; it -is the small change of conversation or flattery; it resembles the little -events or the little sentiments from which it sprang. One piece is -written "Of Tea," another on the queen's portrait; it is necessary to -pay court; moreover "His Majesty has requested some verses." One lady -makes him a present of a silver pen, straight he throws his gratitude -into rhyme; another has the power of sleeping at will, straight a -sportive stanza; a false report is spread of her being painted, straight -a copy of verses on this grave affair. A little further on there are -verses to the Countess of Carlisle on her chamber, condolences to my -Lord of Northumberland on the death of his wife, a pretty thing on a -lady "passing through a crowd of people," an answer, verse for verse, to -some rhymes of Sir John Suckling. He seizes anything frivolous, new, or -becoming on the wing; and his poetry is only a written conversation--I -mean the conversation which goes on at a ball, when people speak for the -sake of speaking, lifting a lock of one's wig, or twisting about a -glove. Gallantry holds the chief place here, as it ought to do, and we -may be pretty certain that the love is not over-sincere. In reality, -Waller sighs on purpose (Sacharissa had a fine dowry), or at least for -the sake of good manners: that which is most evident in his tender poems -is, that he aims at a flowing style and good rhymes. He is affected, he -exaggerates, he strains after wit, he is always an author. Not venturing -to address Sacharissa herself, he addresses Mrs. Braughton, her -attendant, "his fellow-servant": - - -"So, in those nations which the Sun adore, -Some modest Persian, or some weak-eyed Moor, -No higher dares advance his dazzled sight -Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light -Of their ascending god adorns the east, -And, graced with his beam, outshines the rest."[303] - - -A fine comparison! That is a well-made courtesy; I hope Sacharissa -responds with one equally correct. His despairs bear the same flavor; he -pierces the groves of Penshurst with his cries, "reports his flame to -the beeches," and the well-bred beeches "bow their heads, as' if they -felt the same."[304] It is probable that, in these mournful walks, his -greatest care was lest he should wet the soles of his high-heeled shoes. -These transports of love bring in the classical machinery, Apollo and -the Muses. Apollo is annoyed that one of his servants is ill-treated, -and bids him depart; and he departs, telling Sacharissa that she is -harder than an oak, and that she was certainly produced from a -rock.[305] - -There is one genuine reality in all this--sensuality; not ardent, but -light and gay. There is a certain piece, "The Fall," which an abbé of -the court of Louis XV might have written: - - -"Then blush not, Fair! or on him frown,... -How could the youth, alas! but bend -When his whole Heav'n upon him lean'd? -If aught by him amiss were done, -'Twas that he let you rise so soon."[306] - - -Other pieces smack of their surroundings, and are not so polished: - - -"Amoret! as sweet as good, -As the most delicious food, -Which but tasted does impart -Life and gladness to the heart."[307] - - -I should not be pleased, were I a woman, to be compared to a beef-steak, -though that be appetizing; nor should I like any more to find myself, -like Sacharissa, placed on a level with good wine, which flies to the -head: - - -"Sacharissa's beauty's wine, -Which to madness doth incline; -Such a liquor as no brain -That is mortal can sustain."[308] - - -This is too much honor for port wine and meat. The English background -crops up here and elsewhere; for example, the beautiful Sacharissa, -having ceased to be beautiful, asked Waller if he would again write -verses for her: he answered, "Yes, madame, when you are once more as -young and as handsome as you were." Here is something to shock a -Frenchman. Nevertheless Waller is usually amiable; a sort of brilliant -light floats like a halo round his verses; he is always elegant, often -graceful. His gracefulness is like the perfume exhaled from the world; -fresh toilettes, ornamented drawing-rooms, the abundance and the pursuit -of all those refined and delicate comforts give to the mind a sort of -sweetness which is breathed forth in obliging compliments and smiles. -Waller has many of these compliments and smiles, and those most -flattering, _à propos_ of a bud, a girdle, a rose. Such bouquets become -his hands and his art. He pays an excellent compliment "To young Lady -Lucy Sidney" on her age. And what could be more attractive for a -frequenter of drawing-rooms, than this bud of still unopened youth, but -which blushes already, and is on the point of expanding? - - -"Yet, fairest blossom! do not slight -That age which you may know so soon. -The rosy morn resigns her light -And milder glory to the noon."[309] - - -All his verses flow with a continuous harmony, clearness, facility, -though his voice is never raised, or out of tune, or rough, nor loses -its true accent, except by the worldling's affectation, which regularly -changes all tones in order to soften them. His poetry resembles one of -those pretty, affected, bedizened women, busy in inclining their heads -on one side, and murmuring with a soft voice commonplace things which -they can hardly be said to think, yet agreeable in their beribboned -dresses, and who would please altogether if they did not dream of always -pleasing. - -It is not that these men cannot handle grave subjects; but they handle -them in their own fashion, without gravity or depth. What the courtier -most lacks is the genuine sentiment of a true and original idea. That -which interests him most is the correctness of the adornment, and the -perfection of external form. They care little for the matter itself, -much for the outward shape. In fact, it is form which they take for -their subject in nearly all their serious poetry; they are critics, they -lay down precepts, they compose Arts of Poetry. Denham in his "Preface -to the Destruction of Troy" lays down rules for translating, whilst -Roscommon teaches in a complete poem, an "Essay on Translated Verse," -the art of translating poetry well. The Duke of Buckinghamshire -versified an "Essay on Poetry" and an "Essay on Satire." Dryden is in -the first rank of these pedagogues. Like Dryden again, they turn -translators, amplifiers. Roscommon translated the "Ars Poetica" of -Horace; Waller, the first act of "Pompée," a tragedy by Corneille; -Denham some fragments of Homer and Vergil, and two poems, one "Of -Prudence" and another "Of Justice." Rochester composed a satire against -Mankind, in the style of Boileau, and also an epistle upon Nothing; the -amorous Waller wrote a didactic poem on "The Fear of God," and another -in six cantos on "Divine Love." These are exercises of style. They take -a theological thesis, a commonplace subject of philosophy, a poetic -maxim, and develop it in jointed prose, furnished with rhymes; invent -nothing, feel little, and only aim at expressing good arguments in -classical metaphors, in noble terms, after a conventional model. Most of -their verses consist of two nouns, furnished with epithets, and -connected by a verb, like college Latin verses. The epithet is good: -they had to hunt through the Gradus for it, or, as Boileau wills it, -they had to carry the line unfinished in their heads, and had to think -about it an hour in the open air, until at last, at the corner of a -wood, they found the right word which they could not hit upon before. I -yawn, but applaud. After so much trouble a generation ends by forming -the sustained style which is necessary to support, make public, and -demonstrate grand things. Meanwhile, with their ornate, official -diction, and their borrowed thought they are like formal chamberlains, -in embroidered coats, present at a royal marriage or an imperial -baptism, empty of head, grave in manner, admirable for dignity and -bearing, with the punctilio and the ideas of a dummy. - - - - -Section V.--Sir John Denham - - -One of them only (Dryden always excepted) showed talent, Sir John -Denham, Charles I's secretary. He was employed in public affairs, and -after a dissolute youth, turned to serious habits; and leaving behind -him satiric verse and party broad-jokes, attained in riper years a lofty -oratorical style. His best poem, "Cooper's Hill," is the description of -a hill and its surroundings, blended with the historical ideas which the -sight recalls, and the moral reflections which its appearance naturally -suggests. All these subjects are in accordance with the nobility and the -limitation of the classical spirit, and display his vigor without -betraying his weaknesses; the poet could show off his whole talent -without forcing it. His fine language exhibits all its beauty, because -it is sincere. We find pleasure in following the regular progress of -those copious phrases in which his ideas, opposed or combined, attain -for the first time their definite place and full clearness, where -symmetry only brings out the argument more clearly, expansion only -completes thought, antithesis and repetition do not induce trifling and -affectation, where the music of verse, adding the breadth of sound to -the fulness of sense, conducts the chain of ideas, without effort or -disorder, by an appropriate measure to a becoming order and movement. -Gratification is united with solidity; the author of "Cooper's Hill," -knows how to please as well as to impress. His poem is like a king's -park, dignified and level without doubt, but arranged to please the eye, -and full of choice prospects. It leads us by easy digressions across a -multitude of varied thoughts. It shows us here a mountain, yonder a -memorial of the nymphs, a classic memorial, like a portico filled with -statues, further on a broad stream, and by its side the ruins of an -abbey; each page of the poem is like a distinct alley, with its distinct -perspective. Further on, our thoughts are turned to the superstitions of -the ignorant Middle Ages, and to the excesses of the recent revolution; -then comes the picture of a royal hunt; we see the trembling stag make -his retreat to some dark covert: - - -"He calls to mind his strength, and then his speed, -His winged heels, and then his armed head; -With these t' avoid, with that his fate to meet; -But fear prevails, and bids him trust his feet. -So fast he flies, that his reviewing eye -Has lost the chasers, and his ear the cry."[310] - - -These are the worthy spectacles and the studied diversity of the grounds -of a nobleman. Every object, moreover, receives here, as in a king's -palace, all the adornment which can be given to it; elegant epithets are -introduced to embellish a feeble substantive, the decorations of art -transform the commonplace of nature: vessels are "floating towers"; the -Thames is "the most loved of all the Ocean's sons"; the airy mountain -hides its proud head among the clouds, whilst a shady mantle clothes its -sides. Among different kinds of ideas, there is one kingly, full of -stately and magnificent ceremonies of self-contained and studied -gestures, of correct yet commanding figures, uniform and imposing like -the appointments of a palace; hence the classic writers, and Denham -amongst them, draw all their poetic tints. From this every object and -event takes its coloring, because constrained to come into contact with -it. Here the object and events are compelled to traverse other things. -Denham is not a mere courtier, he is an Englishman; that is, preoccupied -by moral emotions. He often quits his landscape to enter into some grave -reflection; politics, religion, disturb the enjoyment of his eyes; in -reference to a hill or forest, he meditates upon man; externals lead him -inward; impressions of the senses to contemplations of the soul. The men -of this race are by nature and custom esoteric. When he sees the Thames -throw itself into the sea, he compares it with "mortal life hasting to -meet eternity." The "lofty forehead" of a mountain, beaten by storms, -reminds him of "the common fate of all that's high or great." The course -of the river suggests to him ideas of inner reformation: - - -"O could I flow like thee! and make thy stream -My great example, as it is my theme! -Though deep, yet clear, though gentle yet not dull; -Strong without rage, without o'erflowing, full. - -"But his proud head the airy mountain hides -Among the clouds; his shoulders and his sides -A shady mantle clothes; his curled brows -Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows; -While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat, -The common fate of all that's high or great."[311] - - -There is in the English mind an indestructible store of moral instincts, -and grand melancholy; and it is the greatest confirmation of this, that -we can discover such a stock at the court of Charles II. - -These are, however, but rare openings, and as it were crop-pings up of -the original rock. The habits of the worldling are as a thick layer -which cover it throughout. Manners, conversation, style, the stage, -taste, all is French, or tries to be; they imitate France as well as -they are able, and go there to mould themselves. Many cavaliers went -there, driven away by Cromwell. Denham, Waller, Roscommon, and Rochester -resided there; the Duchess of Newcastle, a poetess of the time, was -married at Paris; the Duke of Buckinghamshire served for a short time -under Turenne; Wycherley was sent to France by his father, who wished to -rescue him from the contagion of Puritan opinions; Vanbrugh, one of the -best comic playwrights, went thither to contract a polish. The two -courts were allied almost always in fact, and always at heart, by a -community of interests, and of religious and monarchical ideas. Charles -II accepted from Louis XIV a pension, a mistress, counsels, and -examples; the nobility followed their prince, and France was the model -of the English court. Her literature and manners, the finest of the -classic age, led the fashion. We perceive in English writings that -French authors are their masters, and that they were in the hands of all -well-educated people. They consulted Bossuet, translated Corneille, -imitated Molière, respected Boileau. It went so far, that the greatest -gallants of them tried to be altogether French, to mix some scraps of -French in every phrase. "It is as ill-breeding now to speak good -English," says Wycherley, "as to write good English, good sense, or a -good hand." These Frenchified coxcombs[312] are compliment-mongers, -always powdered, perfumed, "eminent for being _bien gantés._" They -affect delicacy, they are fastidious; they find Englishmen coarse, -gloomy, stiff; they try to be giddy and thoughtless; they giggle and -prate at random, placing the reputation of man in the perfection of his -wig and his bows. The theatre, which ridicules these imitators, is an -imitator after their fashion. French comedy, like French politeness, -becomes their model. They copy both, altering without equalling them; -for monarchical and classic France is, amongst all nations, the best -fitted from its instincts and institutions for the modes of worldly -life, and the works of an oratorical mind. England follows it in this -course, being carried away by the universal current of the age, but at a -distance, and drawn aside by its national peculiarities. It is this -common direction and this particular deviation which the society and its -poetry have proclaimed, and which the stage and its characters will -display. - - - - -Section VI.--Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh and Farquhar - - -Four principal writers established this comedy--Wycherley, Congreve, -Vanbrugh, Farquhar:[313] the first gross, and in the pristine irruption -of vice; the others more sedate, possessing more a taste for urbanity -than debauchery; yet all men of the world, and priding themselves on -their good breeding, on passing their days at court or in fine company, -on having the tastes and bearing of gentlemen. "I am not a literary -man," said Congreve to Voltaire, "I am a gentleman." In fact, as Pope -said, he lived more like a man of quality than a man of letters, was -noted for his successes With the fair, and passed his latter years in -the house of the Duchess of Marlborough. I have said that Wycherley, -under Charles II, was one of the most fashionable courtiers. He served -in the army for some time, as did also Vanbrugh and Farquhar; nothing is -more gallant than the name of Captain which they employed, the military -stories they brought back, and the feather they stuck in their hats. -They all wrote comedies oft the same worldly and classical model, made -up of probable incidents such as we observe around us every day, of -well-bred characters such as we commonly meet in a drawing-room, correct -and elegant conversations such as well-bred men can carry on. This -theatre, wanting in poetry, fancy, and adventures, imitative and -discursive, was formed at the same time as that of Molière, by the same -causes, and on his model, so that in order to comprehend it we must -compare it with that of Molière. - -"Molière belongs to no nation," said a great English actor (Kemble); -"one day the god of comedy, wishing to write, became a man, and happened -to fall into France." I accept this saying; but in becoming a man, he -found himself, at the same time, a man of the seventeenth century and a -Frenchman, and that is how he was the god of comedy. "To amuse -respectable people," said Molière, "what a strange task!" Only the -French art of the seventeenth century could succeed in that; for it -consists in leading by an agreeable path to general notions; and the -taste for these notions, as well as the custom of treading this path, is -the peculiar mark of respectable people. Molière, like Racine, expands -and creates. Open any one of his plays that comes to hand, and the first -scene in it, chosen at random; after three replies you are carried away, -or rather led away. The second continues the first, the third carries -out the second, the fourth completes all; a current is created which -bears us on, which bears us away, which does not release us until it is -exhausted. There is no check, no digression, no episodes to distract our -attention. To prevent the lapses of an absent mind, a secondary -character intervenes, a lackey, a lady's maid, a wife, who, couplet by -couplet, repeat in a different fashion the reply of the principal -character, and by means of symmetry and contrast keep us in the path -laid down. Arrived at the end, a second current seizes us and acts like -the first. It is composed like the other, and with reference to the -other. It throws it out by contrast, or strengthens it by resemblance. -Here the valets repeat the dispute, then the reconciliation of their -masters. In one place, Alceste, drawn in one direction through three -pages, by anger, is drawn in a contrary direction, and through three -pages, by love. Further on, tradesmen, professors, relatives, domestics, -relieve each other scene after scene, in order to bring out in clearer -light the pretentiousness and gullibility of M. Jourdain. Every scene, -every act, brings out in greater relief, completes, or prepares another. -Everything is united, and everything is simple; the action progresses, -and progresses only to carry on the idea; there is no complication, no -incidents. One comic event suffices for the story. A dozen conversations -make up the play of the "Misanthrope." The same situation, five or six -times renewed, is the whole of "L'École des Femmes." These pieces are -made out of nothing. They have no need of incidents, they find ample -space in the compass of one room and one day, without surprises, without -decoration, with an arras and four arm-chairs. This paucity of matter -throws out the ideas more clearly and quickly; in fact, their whole aim -is to bring those ideas prominently forward; the simplicity of the -subject, the progress of the action, the linking together of the -scenes--to this everything tends. At every step clearness increases, -the impression is deepened, vice stands out: ridicule is piled up, -until, before so many apt and united appeals, laughter forces its way -and breaks forth. And this laughter is not a mere outburst of physical -amusement; it is the judgment which incites it. The writer is a -philosopher, who brings us into contact with a universal truth by a -particular example. We understand through him, as through La Bruyère or -Nicole, the force of prejudice, the obstinacy of conventionality, the -blindness of love. The couplets of his dialogue, like the arguments of -their treatises, are but the worked-out proof and the logical -justification of a preconceived conclusion. We philosophize with him on -humanity; we think because he has thought. And he has only thought thus -in the character of a Frenchman, for an audience of French men of the -world. In him we taste a national pleasure. French refined and -systematic intelligence, the most exact in seizing on the subordination -of ideas, the most ready in separating ideas from matter, the most fond -of clear and tangible ideas, find in him its nourishment and its echo. -None who has sought to show us mankind, has led us by a straighter and -easier mode to a more distinct and speaking portrait. I will add, to a -more pleasing portrait--and this is the main talent of comedy: it -consists in keeping back what is hateful; and observe that which is -hateful abounds in the world. As soon as you will paint the world truly, -philosophically, you meet with vice, injustice, and everywhere -indignation; amusement flees before anger and morality. Consider the -basis of Tartuffe; an obscene pedant, a red-faced hypocritical wretch, -who, palming himself off on a decent and refined family, tries to drive -the son away, marry the daughter, corrupt the wife, ruin and imprison -the father, and almost succeeds in it, not by clever plots, but by -vulgar mummery, and by the coarse audacity of his caddish disposition. -What could be more repelling? And how is amusement to be drawn from such -a subject, where Beaumarchais and La Bruyère failed?[314] Similarly, in -the "Misanthrope," is not the spectacle of a loyally sincere and honest -man, very much in love, whom his virtue finally overwhelms with ridicule -and drives from society, a sad sight to see? Rousseau was annoyed that -it should produce laughter; and if we were to look upon the subject, not -in Molière, but in itself, we should find enough to revolt our natural -generosity. Recall his other plots; Georges Dandin mystified, Géronte -beaten, Arnolphe duped, Harpagon plundered, Sganarelle married, girls -seduced, louts thrashed, simpletons turned financiers. There are sorrows -here, and deep ones; many would rather weep than laugh at them. -Arnolphe, Dandin, Harpagon, are almost tragic characters; and when we -see them in the world instead of the theatre, we are not disposed to -sarcasm, but to pity. Picture to yourself the originals from whom -Molière has taken his doctors. Consider this venturesome -experimentalist, who, in the interest of science, tries a new saw, or -inoculates a virus; think of his long nights at the hospital, the wan -patient carried on a mattress to the operating-table, and stretching out -his leg to the knife; or again imagine the peasant's bed of straw in the -damp cottage, where an old dropsical mother lies choking,[315] while her -children grudgingly count up the crowns she has already cost them. You -quit such scenes deeply moved, filled with sympathy for human misery; -you discover that life, seen near and face to face, is a mass of trivial -harshnesses and grievous passions; you are tempted, if you wish to -depict it, to enter into the mire of sorrows whereon Balzac and -Shakespeare have built: you see in it no other poetry than that -audacious reasoning power which from such a confusion abstracts the -master-forces, or the light of genius which flickers over the swarm and -the falls of so many polluted and wounded wretches. How everything -changes under the hand of a mercurial Frenchman! how all this human -ugliness is blotted out! how amusing is the spectacle which Molière has -arranged for us! how we ought to thank the great artist for having -transformed his subject so well! At last we have a cheerful world, on -canvas at least; we could not have it otherwise, but this we have. How -pleasant it is to forget truth! what an art is that which divests us of -ourselves! what a point of view which converts the contortions of -suffering into funny grimaces! Gayety has come upon us, the dearest -possession of a Frenchman. The soldiers of Villars used to dance that -they might forget they had no longer any bread. Of all French -possessions, too, it is the best. This gift does not destroy thought, -but it masks it. In Molière, truth is at the bottom, but concealed; he -has heard the sobs of human tragedy, but he prefers not to re-echo them. -It is quite enough to feel our wounds smart; let us not go to the -theatre to see them again. Philosophy, while it reveals them, advises us -not to think of them too much. Let us enliven our condition with the -gayety of easy conversation and light wit, as we would the chamber of -sickness. Let us cover Tartuffe, Harpagon, the doctors, with outrageous -ridicule: ridicule will make us forget their vices; they will afford us -amusement instead of causing horror. Let Alceste be grumpy and awkward. -It is in the first place true, because our more valiant virtues are only -the outbreaks of a temper out of harmony with circumstances; but, in -addition, it will be amusing, His mishaps will cease to make him the -martyr of justice; they will only be the consequences of a cross-grained -character. As to the mystifications of husbands, tutors, and fathers, I -fancy that we are not to see in them a concerted attack on society or -morality. We are only entertaining ourselves for one evening, nothing -more. The syringes and thrashings, the masquerades and dances, prove -that it is a sheer piece of buffoonery. Do not be afraid that philosophy -will perish in a pantomime; it is present even in the "Marriage Forcé," -even in the "Malade Imaginaire." It is the mark of a Frenchman and a man -of the world to clothe everything, even that which is serious, in -laughter. When he is thinking, he does not always wish to show it. In -his most violent moments he is still the master of the house, the polite -host; he conceals from you his thoughts or his suffering. Mirabeau, when -in agony, said to one of his friends with a smile, "Come, you who take -an interest in plucky deaths, you shall see mine!" The French talk in -this style when they are depicting life; no other nation knows how to -philosophize smartly, and die with good taste. - -This is the reason why in no other nation comedy, while it continues -comic, affords a moral; Molière is the only man who gives us models -without getting pedantic, without trenching on the tragic, without -growing solemn. This model is the "respectable man," as the phrase was, -Philinte, Ariste, Clitandre, Éraste;[316] there is no other who can at -the same time instruct and amuse us. His talent has reflection for its -basis, but it is cultivated by the world. His character has honesty for -its basis, but it is in harmony with the world. You may imitate him -without transgressing either reason or duty; he is neither a coxcomb nor -a roisterer. You can imitate him without neglecting your interests or -making yourself ridiculous; he is neither an ignoramus nor unmannerly. -He has read and understands the jargon of Trissotin and Lycidas, but in -order to pierce them through and through, to beat them with their own -arguments, to set the gallery in a roar at their expense. He will -discuss even morality and religion, but in a style so natural, with -proofs so clear, with warmth so genuine, that he interests women, and is -listened to by men of the world. He knows man, and reasons about him, -but in such brief sentences, such living delineations, such pungent -humor, that his philosophy is the best of entertainments. He is faithful -to his ruined mistress, his calumniated friend, but gracefully, without -fuss. All his actions, even noble ones, have an easy way about them -which adorns them; he does nothing without pleasantness. His great -talent is knowledge of the world; he shows it not only in the trivial -circumstances of everyday life, but in the most passionate scenes, the -most embarrassing positions. A noble swordsman wants to take Philinte, -the "respectable man," as his second in a duel; he reflects a moment, -excuses himself in a score of phrases, and "without playing the Hector," -leaves the bystanders convinced that he is no coward. Armande insults -him, then throws herself in his arms; he politely averts the storm, -declines the reconciliation with the most loyal frankness, and without -employing a single falsehood, leaves the spectators convinced that he is -no boor. When he loves Éliante,[317] who prefers Alceste, and whom -Alceste may possibly marry, he proposes to her with a complete delicacy -and dignity, without lowering himself, without recrimination, without -wronging himself or his friend. When Oronte reads him a sonnet, he does -not assume in the fop a nature which he has not, but praises the -conventional verses in conventional language, and is not so clumsy as to -display a poetical judgment which would be out of place. He takes at -once his tone from the circumstances; he perceives instantly what he -must say and what be silent about, in what degree and in what -gradations, what exact expedient will reconcile truth and conventional -propriety, how far he ought to go or where to take his stand, what faint -line separates decorum from flattery, truth from awkwardness. On this -narrow path he proceeds free from embarrassment or mistakes, never put -out of his way by the shocks or changes of circumstance, never allowing -the calm smile of politeness to quit his lips, never omitting to receive -with a laugh of good humor the nonsense of his neighbor. This -cleverness, entirely French, reconciles in him fundamental honesty and -worldly breeding; without it, he would be altogether on the one side or -the other. In his way comedy finds its hero half-way between the _roué_ -and the preacher. - -Such a theatre depicts a race and an age. This mixture of solidity and -elegance belongs to the seventeenth century, and belongs to France. The -world does not deprave, it develops Frenchmen; it polished then not only -their manners and their homes, but also their sentiments and ideas. -Conversation provoked thought; it was no mere talk, but an inquiry; with -the exchange of news, it called forth the interchange of reflections. -Theology and philosophy entered into it; morals, and the observation of -the heart, formed its daily pabulum. Science kept up its vitality, and -lost only its aridity. Pleasantness cloaked reason, but did not smother -it. Frenchmen never think better than in society; the play of features -excites them; their ready ideas flash into lightning, in their shock -with the ideas of others. The varied current of conversation suits their -fits and starts; the frequent change of subject fosters their invention; -the pungency of piquant speeches reduces truth to small but precious -coin, suitable to the lightness of their hands. And the heart is no more -tainted by it than the intelligence. The Frenchman is of a sober -temperament, with little taste for the brutishness of the drunkard, for -violent joviality, for the riot of loose suppers; he is moreover gentle, -obliging, always ready to please; in order to set him at ease he needs -that flow of good-will and elegance which polite society creates and -cherishes. And in accordance therewith, he shapes his temperate and -amiable inclinations into maxims; it is a point of honor with him to be -serviceable and refined. Such is the gentleman, the product of society -in a sociable race. It was not so with the English. Their ideas do not -spring up in chance conversation, but by the concentration of solitary -thought; this is the reason why ideas were then wanting. Their -gentlemanly feelings are not the fruit of sociable instincts, but of -personal reflection; that is why gentlemanly feelings were then at a -discount. The brutish foundation remained; the outside alone was smooth. -Manners were gentle, sentiments harsh; speech was studied, ideas -frivolous. Thought and refinement of soul were rare, talent and fluent -wit abundant. There was politeness of manner, not of heart; they had -only the set rules and the conventionalities of life, its giddiness and -heedlessness. - - - - -Section VII.--Superficiality Of English Comedy - - -The English comedy-writers paint these vices, and possess them. Their -talent and their stage are tainted by them. Art and philosophy are -absent. The authors do not advance upon a general idea, and they do not -proceed by the most direct method. They put together ill, and are -embarrassed by materials. Their pieces have generally two intermingled -plots, manifestly distinct,[318] combined in order to multiply -incidents, and because the public demands a multitude of characters and -facts. A strong current of boisterous action is necessary to stir up -their dense appreciation; they do as the Romans did, who packed several -Greek plays into one. They grew tired of the French simplicity of -action, because they had not the French refined taste. The two series of -actions mingle and jostle one with another. We cannot see where we are -going; every moment we are turned out of our path. The scenes are ill -connected; they change twenty times from place to place. When one scene -begins to develop itself, a deluge of incidents interrupts. An -irrelevant dialogue drags on between the incidents, suggesting a book -with the notes introduced promiscuously into the text. There is no plan -carefully conceived and rigorously carried out; they took, as it were, a -plan, and wrote out the scenes one after another, pretty much as they -came into their head. Probability is not well cared for. There are -poorly arranged disguises, ill simulated folly, mock marriages, and -attacks by robbers worthy of the comic opera. In order to obtain a -sequence of ideas and probability, we must set out from some general -idea. The conception of avarice, hypocrisy, the education of women, -ill-assorted marriages, arranges and binds together by its individual -power incidents which are to reveal it. But in the English comedy we -look in vain for such a conception. Congreve, Farquhar, Vanbrugh, are -only men of wit, not thinkers. They skim the surface of things, but do -not penetrate. They play with their characters. They aim at success, at -amusement. They sketch caricatures, they spin out in lively fashion a -vain and bantering conversation; they make answers clash with one -another, fling forth paradoxes; their nimble fingers manipulate and -juggle with the incidents in a hundred ingenious and unlooked-for ways. -They have animation, they abound in gesture and repartee; the constant -bustle of the stage and its lively spirit surround them with continual -excitement. But the pleasure is only skin-deep; we have seen nothing of -the eternal foundation and the real nature of mankind; we carry no -thought away; we have passed an hour, and that is all; the amusement -teaches us nothing, and serves only to fill up the evenings of coquettes -and coxcombs. - -Moreover, this pleasure is not real; it has no resemblance to the hearty -laugh of Molière. In English comedy there is always an undercurrent of -tartness. We have seen this, and more, in Wycherley; the others, though -less cruel, joke sourly. Their characters in a joke say harsh things to -one another; they amuse themselves by hurting each other; a Frenchman is -pained to hear this interchange of mock politeness; he does not go to -blows by way of fun. Their dialogue turns naturally to virulent satire; -instead of covering vice, it makes it prominent; instead of making it -ridiculous, it makes it odious: - - -"_Clarissa._ Prithee, tell me how you have passed the night?... -_Araminta._ Why, I have been studying all the ways my brain could -produce to plague my husband. -_Cl._ No wonder indeed you look so fresh this morning, after the -satisfaction of such pleasing ideas all night"[319] - - -These women are really wicked, and that too openly. Throughout vice is -crude, pushed to extremes, served up with material adjuncts. Lady Fidget -says: "Our virtue is like the statesman's religion, the Quaker's word, -the gamester's oath, and the great man's honour; but to cheat those that -trust us."[320] Or again: "If you'll consult the widows of this town," -says a young lady who does not wish to marry again, "they'll tell you, -you should never take a lease of a house you can hire for a quarter's -warning."[321] Or again: "My heart cut a caper up to my mouth," says a -young heir, "when I heard my father was shot through the head."[322] The -gentlemen collar each other on the stage, treat the ladies roughly -before spectators, contrive an adultery not far off between the wings. -Base or ferocious parts abound. There are furies like Mrs. Loveit and -Lady Touchwood. There are swine like Parson Bull and the go-between -Coupler. Lady Touchwood wants to stab her lover on the stage.[323] -Coupler, on the stage, uses gestures which recall the court of Henry III -of France. Wretches like Fainall and Maskwell are unmitigated -scoundrels, and their hatefulness is not even cloaked by the grotesque. -Even honest women like Silvia and Mrs. Sullen are plunged into the most -shocking situations. Nothing shocked the English public of those days; -they had no real education, but only its varnish. - -There is a forced connection between the mind of a writer, the world -which surrounds him, and the characters which he produces; for it is -from this world that he draws the materials out of which he composes -them. The sentiments which he contemplates in others and feels himself -are gradually arranged into characters; he can only invent after his -given model and his acquired experience; and his characters only -manifest what he is, or abridge what he has seen. Two features are -prominent in this world; they are prominent also on this stage. All the -successful characters can be reduced to two classes--natural beings on -the one part, and artificial on the other; the first with the coarseness -and shamelessness of their primitive inclinations, the second with the -frivolities and vices of worldly habits: the first uncultivated, their -simplicity revealing nothing but their innate baseness; the second -cultivated, their refinement instilling into them nothing but a new -corruption. And the talent of the writers is suited to the painting of -these two groups: they possess the grand English faculty, which is the -knowledge of exact detail and real sentiments; they see gestures, -surroundings, dresses; they hear the sounds of voices, and they have the -courage to exhibit them; they have inherited very little, and at a great -distance, and in spite of themselves, still they have inherited from -Shakespeare; they manipulate freely, and without any softening, the -coarse harsh red color which alone can bring out the figures of their -brutes. On the other hand, they have animation and a good style; they -can express the thoughtless chatter, the frolicsome affectations, the -inexhaustible and capricious abundance of drawing-room stupidities; they -have as much liveliness as the maddest, and at the same time they speak -as well as the best instructed; they can give the model of witty -conversation; they have lightness of touch, brilliancy, and also -facility, exactness, without which you cannot draw the portrait of a man -of the world. They find naturally on their palette the strong colors -which suit their barbarians, and the pretty tints which suit their -exquisites. - - - - -Section VIII.--Natural Characters - - -First there is the blockhead, Squire Sullen, a low kind of sot, of whom -his wife speaks in this fashion: "After his man and he had rolled about -the room, like sick passengers in a storm, he comes flounce into bed, -dead as a salmon into a fishmonger's basket; his feet cold as ice, his -breath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his face as greasy as his -flannel nightcap. O matrimony! He tosses up the clothes with a barbarous -swing over his shoulders, disorders the whole economy of my bed, leaves -me half naked, and my whole night's comfort is the tuneable serenade of -that wakeful nightingale, his nose!"[324] Sir John Brute says: "What the -plague did I marry her (his wife) for? I knew she did not like me; if -she had, she would have lain with me."[325] He turns his drawing-room -into a stable, smokes it foul to drive the women away, throws his pipe -at their heads, drinks, swears, and curses. Coarse words and oaths flow -through his conversation like filth through a gutter. He gets drunk at -the tavern, and howls out, "Damn morality! and damn the watch! and let -the constable be married."[326] He cries out that he is a free-born -Englishman; he wants to go out and break everything. He leaves the inn -with other besotted scamps, and attacks the women in the street. He robs -a tailor who was carrying a doctor's gown, puts it on, thrashes the -guard. He is seized and taken by the constable; on the road he breaks -out into abuse, and ends by proposing to him, amid the hiccoughs and -stupid reiterations of a drunken man, to go and find out somewhere a -bottle and a girl. He returns home at last, covered with blood and mud, -growling like a dog, with red swollen eyes, calling his wife a slut and -a liar. He goes to her, forcibly embraces her, and as she turns away, -cries, "I see it goes damnably against your stomach--and therefore--kiss -me again. (_Kisses and tumbles her._) So, now you being as dirty and as -nasty as myself, we may go pig together."[327] He wants to get a cup of -cold tea out of the closet, kicks open the door, discovers his wife's -and niece's gallants. He storms, raves madly with his clammy tongue, -then suddenly falls asleep. His valet comes and takes the insensible -burden on his shoulders.[328] It is the portrait of a mere animal, and I -fancy it is not a nice one. - -That is the husband; let us look at the father, Sir Tunbelly Clumsey, a -country gentleman, elegant, if any of them were. Tom Fashion knocks at -the door of the mansion, which looks like "Noah's ark," and where they -receive people as in a besieged city. A servant appears at a window with -a blunderbuss in his hand, who is at last with great difficulty -persuaded that he ought to let his master know that somebody wishes to -see him. "Ralph, go thy weas, and ask Sir Tunbelly if he pleases to be -waited upon. And dost hear? call to nurse that she may lock up Miss -Hoyden before the geat's open."[329] Please to observe that in this -house they keep a watch over the girls. Sir Tunbelly comes up with his -people, armed with guns, pitchforks, scythes, and clubs, in no amiable -mood, and wants to know the name of his visitor. "Till I know your name, -I shall not ask you to come into my house; and when I know your -name--'tis six to four I don't ask you neither."[330] He is like a -watchdog growling and looking at the calves of an intruder. But he -presently learns that this intruder is his future son-in-law; he utters -some exclamations, and makes his excuses. "Cod's my life! I ask your -lordship's pardon ten thousand times. (_To a servant._) Here, run in -a-doors quickly. Get a Scotch-coal fire in the great parlor; set all the -Turkey-work chairs in their places; get the great brass candlesticks -out, and be sure stick the sockets full of laurel. Run!... And do you -hear, run away to nurse, bid her let Miss Hoyden loose again, and if it -was not shifting-day, let her put on a clean tucker, quick!"[331] The -pretended son-in-law wants to marry Hoyden straight off. "Not so soon -neither! that's shooting my girl before you bid her stand!... Besides, -my wench's wedding-gown is not come home yet."[332] The other suggests -that a speedy marriage will save money. Spare money? says the father, -"Udswoons, I'll give my wench a wedding dinner, though I go to grass -with the king of Assyria for't.... Ah! poor girl, she'll be scared out -of her wits on her wedding-night; for, honestly speaking, she does not -know a man from a woman but by his beard and his breeches."[333] -Foppington, the real son-in-law, arrives. Sir Tunbelly, taking him for -an impostor, calls him a dog; Hoyden proposes to drag him in the -horse-pond; they bind him hand and foot, and thrust him into the -dog-kennel; Sir Tunbelly puts his fist under his nose and threatens to -knock his teeth down his throat. Afterwards, having discovered the -impostor, he says, "My lord, will you cut his throat? or shall I?... -Here, give me my dog-whip.... Here, here, here, let me beat out his -brains, and that will decide all."[334] He raves, and wants to fall upon -Tom Fashion with his fists. Such is the country gentleman, of high birth -and a farmer, boxer and drinker, brawler and beast. There steam up from -all these scenes a smell of cooking, the noise of riot, the odor of a -dunghill. - -Like father like child. What a candid creature is Miss Hoyden! She -grumbles to herself, "It's well I have a husband a-coming, or, ecod, I'd -marry the baker; I would so! Nobody can knock at the gate, but presently -I must be locked up; and here's the young greyhound bitch can run loose -about the house all the day long, she can; 'tis very well."[335] When -the nurse tells her her future husband has arrived, she leaps for joy, -and kisses the old woman. "O Lord! I'll go put on my laced smock, though -I'm whipped till the blood run down my heels for't."[336] Tom comes -himself, and asks her if she will be his wife. "Sir, I never disobey my -father in anything but eating of green gooseberries. But your father -wants to wait a whole week. A week!--Why I shall be an old woman by -that time."[337] I cannot give all her answers. There is the spirit of a -goat behind her kitchen-talk. She marries Tom secretly on the spot, and -the chaplain wishes them many children. "Ecod," she says, "with all my -heart! the more the merrier, I say; ha! nurse!"[338] But Lord -Foppington, her real intended, turns up, and Tom makes off. Instantly -her plan is formed. She bids the nurse and chaplain hold their tongues. -"If you two will be sure to hold your tongues, and not say a word of -what's past, I'll e'en marry this lord too. What," says nurse, "two -husbands, my dear? Why, you had three, good nurse, you may hold your -tongue."[339] She nevertheless takes a dislike to the lord, and very -soon; he is not well made, he hardly gives her any pocket-money; she -hesitates between the two. "If I leave my lord, I must leave my lady -too; and when I rattle about the streets in my coach, they'll only say, -There goes mistress--mistress--mistress what? What's this man's name I -have married, nurse? Squire Fashion. Squire Fashion is it?--Well, -'Squire,' that's better than nothing.[340]... Love him! why do you think -I love him, nurse? ecod, I would not care if he were hanged, so I were -but once married to him!--No--that which pleases me, is to think what -work I'll make when I get to London; for when I am a wife and a lady -both, nurse, ecod, I'll flaunt it with the best of 'em."[341] But she is -cautious all the same. She knows that her father has his dog's whip -handy, and that he will give her a good shake. "But, d'ye hear?" she -says to the nurse. "Pray take care of one thing: when the business comes -to break out, be sure you get between me and my father, for you know his -tricks: he'll knock me down."[342] Here is your true moral ascendancy. -For such a character, there is no other, and Sir Tunbelly does well to -keep her tied up, and to let her taste a discipline of daily -stripes.[343] - - - - -Section IX.--Artificial Characters - - -Let us accompany this modest character to town, and place her with her -equals in fine society. All these artless ladies do wonders there, both -in the way of actions and maxims. Wycherley's "Country Wife" gives us -the tone. When one of them happens to be partly honest,[344] she has the -manners and the boldness of a hussar in petticoats. Others seem born -with the souls of courtesans and procuresses. "If I marry my Lord -Aimwell," says Dorinda, "there will be title, place, and precedence, the -Park, the play, and the drawing-room, splendor, equipage, noise and -flambeaux. Hey, my Lady Aimwell's servants there! Lights, lights to the -stairs! My Lady Aimwell's coach put forward! Stand by, make room for her -ladyship!--Are not these things moving?"[345] She is candid, and so are -others--Corinna, Miss Betty, Belinda, for example. Belinda says to her -aunt, whose virtue is tottering: "The sooner you capitulate the -better."[346] Further on, when she has decided to marry Heartfree, to -save her aunt who is compromised, she makes a confession of faith which -promises well for the future of her new spouse: "Were't not for your -affair in the balance, I should go near to pick up some odious man of -quality yet, and only take poor Heartfree for a gallant."[347] These -young ladies are clever, and in all cases apt to follow good -instruction. Listen to Miss Prue: "Look you here, madam, then, what Mr. -Tattle has given me. Look you here, cousin, here's a snuff-box: nay, -there's snuff in't;--here, will you have any?--Oh, good! how sweet it -is!--Mr. Tattle is all over sweet; his peruke is sweet, and his gloves -are sweet, and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than -roses. Smell him, mother, madam, I mean. He gave me this ring for a -kiss.... Smell, cousin; he says, he'll give me something that will make -my smocks smell this way. Is not it pure?--It's better than lavender, -mun. I'm resolved I won't let nurse put any more lavender among my -smocks--ha, cousin?"[348] It is the silly chatter of a young magpie, who -flies for the first time. Tattle, alone with her, tells her he is going -to make love: - - -"_Miss Prue._ Well; and how will you make love to me? come, I long -to have you begin. Must I make love too? you must tell me how. -_Tattle._ You must let me speak, miss, you must not speak first; I must -ask you questions, and you must answer. -_Miss P._ What, is it like the catechism?--come then, ask me. -_T._ D'ye think you can love me? -_Miss P._ Yes. -_T._ Pooh! pox! you must not say yes already; I shan't care a farthing -for you then in a twinkling. -_Miss P._ What must I say then? -_T._ Why, you must say no, or you believe not, or you can't tell. -_Miss P._ Why, must I tell a lie then? -_T._ Yes, if you'd be well-bred; all well-bred persons lie. Besides, you -are a woman, you must never speak what you think: your words must -contradict your thoughts; but your actions may contradict your words. -So, when I ask you, if you can love me, you must say no, but you must -love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and -say I flatter you. But you must think yourself more charming than I -speak you: and like me, for the beauty which I say you have, as much -as if I had it myself. If I ask you to kiss me, you must be angry, but -you must not refuse me.... -_Miss P._ O Lord, I swear this is pure!--I like it better than our -old-fashioned country way of speaking one's mind;--and must not you -lie too? -_T._ Hum!--Yes; but you must believe I speak truth. -_Miss P._ O Gemini! well, I always had a great mind to tell lies; but -they frighted me, and said it was a sin. -_T._ Well, my pretty creature; will you make me happy by giving me -a kiss? -_Miss P._ No, indeed; I'm angry at you. (_Runs and kisses him._) -_T._ Hold, hold, that's pretty well;--but you should not have given it -me, but have suffered me to have taken it. -_Miss P._ Well, we'll do it again. -_T._ With all my heart. Now, then, my little angel. (_Kisses her._) -_Miss P._ Pish! -_T._ That's right--again, my charmer! (_Kisses again._) -_Miss P._ O fy! nay, now I can't abide you. -_T._ Admirable! that was as well as if you had been born and bred in -Covent Garden."[349] - - -She makes such rapid progress that we must stop the quotation forthwith. -And mark, what is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh. All these -charming characters soon employ the language of kitchen-maids. When Ben, -the dolt of a sailor, wants to make love to Miss Prue, she sends him off -with a flea in his ear, raves, lets loose a string of cries and coarse -expressions, calls him a "great sea-calf. What does father mean," he -says, "to leave me alone, as soon as I come home, with such a dirty -dowdy? Sea-calf! I an't calf enough to lick your chalked face, you -cheese-curd, you." Moved by these amenities, she breaks out into a rage, -weeps, calls him a "stinking tar-barrel."[350] People come and put a -stop to this first essay at gallantry. She fires up, declares she will -marry Tattle, or the butler, if she cannot get a better man. Her father -says, "Hussy, you shall have a rod." She answers, "A fiddle of a rod! -I'll have a husband: and if you won't get me one, I'll get one for -myself. I'll marry our Robin the butler."[351] Here are pretty and -prancing mares if you like; but decidedly, in these authors' hands, the -natural man becomes nothing but a waif from the stable or the kennel. - -Will you be better pleased by the educated man? The worldly life which -they depict is a regular carnival, and the heads of their heroines are -full of wild imaginations and unchecked gossip. You may see in Congreve -how they chatter, with what a flow of words and affectations, with what -a shrill and modulated voice, with what gestures, what twisting of arms -and neck, what looks raised to heaven, what genteel airs, what grimaces. -Lady Wishfort speaks: - - -"But art thou sure Sir Rowland will not fail to come? or will he not -fail when he does come? Will he be importunate, Foible, and push? For if -he should not be importunate, I shall never break decorums:--I shall die -with confusion, if I am forced to advance.--Oh no, I can never -advance!--I shall swoon, if he should expect advances. No, I hope Sir -Rowland is better bred than to put a lady to the necessity of breaking -her forms. I won't be too coy neither--I won't give him despair--but a -little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring." -_Foible._ A little scorn becomes your ladyship. -_Lady Wishfort._ Yes, but tenderness becomes me best--a sort of -dyingness--you see that picture has a sort of a--ha, Foible! a swimmingness -in the eye--yes, I'll look so--my niece affects it; but she wants features. -Is Sir Rowland handsome? Let my toilet be removed--I'll dress above. -I'll receive Sir Rowland here. Is he handsome? Don't answer me. I -won't know: I'll be surprised, I'll be taken by surprise.[352]... And -how do I look, Foible? -_F._ Most killing well, madam. -_Lady W._ Well, and how shall I receive him? in what figure shall I -give his heart the first impression?... Shall I sit?--no, I won't -sit--I'll walk--ay, I'll walk from the door upon his entrance; and then -turn full upon him--no, that will be too sudden. I'll lie--ay, I'll lie -down--I'll receive him in my little dressing-room; there's a couch--yes, -yes, I'll give the first impression on a couch. I won't lie neither; -but loll and lean upon one elbow: with one foot a little dangling off, -jogging in a thoughtful way--yes--and then as soon as he appears, start, -ay, start, and be surprised, and rise to meet him in a pretty -disorder."[353] - - -These hesitations of a finished coquette become still more vehement at -the critical moment. Lady Plyant thinks herself beloved by Mellefont, -who does not love her at all, and tries in vain to undeceive her. - - -"_Mellefont._ For heaven's sake, madam. -_Lady Plyant._ O, name it no more!--Bless me, how can you talk of -heaven! and have so much wickedness in your heart? May be you don't -think it a sin.--They say some of you gentlemen don't think it a sin.--May -be it is no sin to them that don't think it so; indeed, if I did not -think it a sin--but still my honour, if it were no sin.--But then, to -marry my daughter, for the conveniency of frequent opportunities, I'll -never consent to that; as sure as can be I'll break the match. -_Mel._ Death and amazement.--Madam, upon my knees. -_Lady P._ Nay, nay, rise up; come, you shall see my good nature. I -know love is powerful, and nobody can help his passion: 'tis not your -fault; nor I swear it is not mine. How can I help it, if I have charms? -and how can you help it if you are made a captive? I swear it is pity -it should be a fault. But my honour--well, but your honour too--but -the sin!--well, but the necessity--O Lord, here is somebody coming, I -dare not stay. Well, you must consider of your crime; and strive as -much as can be against it--strive, be sure--but don't be melancholic, -don't despair.--But never think that I'll grant you anything; O Lord, -no.--But be sure you lay aside all thoughts of the marriage: for though -I know you don't love Cynthia, only as a blind to your passion for me, -yet it will make me jealous.--O Lord, what did I say? jealous! no, -no; I can't be jealous, for I must not love you--therefore don't hope--but -don't despair neither.--O, they're coming! I must fly."[354] - - -She escapes and we will not follow her. - -This giddiness, this volubility, this pretty corruption, these reckless -and affected airs, are collected in the most brilliant, the most worldly -portrait of the stage we are discussing, that of Mrs. Millamant, "a fine -lady," as the Dramatis Personæ say.[355] She enters, "with her fan -spread and her streamers out," dragging a train of furbelows and -ribbons, passing through a crowd of laced and bedizened fops, in -splendid perukes, who flutter about her path, haughty and wanton, witty -and scornful, toying with gallantries, petulant, with a horror of every -grave word and all nobility of action, falling in only with change and -pleasure. She laughs at the sermons of Mirabell, her suitor: -"Sententious Mirabell!--Prithee don't look with that violent and -inflexible wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child in an -old tapestry-hanging.[356]... Ha! ha! ha!--pardon me, dear creature, -though I grant you 'tis a little barbarous, ha! ha! ha!"[357] - - -She breaks out into laughter, then gets into a rage, then banters, then -sings, then makes faces, and changes at every motion while we look at -her. It is a regular whirlpool; all turns round in her brain as in a -clock when the mainspring is broken. Nothing can be prettier than her -fashion of entering on matrimony: - - -"_Millamant._ Ah! I'll never marry unless I am first made sure of my -will and pleasure!... My dear liberty, shall I leave thee? my -faithful solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid you then adieu? -Ay--h--adieu--my morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers, -all ye _douceurs ye sommeils du matin_ adieu?--I can't do it; 'tis -more than impossible--positively, Mirabell, I'll lie a-bed in a morning -as long as I please. -_Mirabell._ Then I'll get up in a morning as early as I please. -_Mill._ Ah! idle creature, get up when you will--and d'ye hear, I won't -be called names after I'm married; positively I won't be called names. -_Mir._ Names! -_Mill._ Ay, as wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweet heart, and -the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so -fulsomely familiar--I shall never bear that--good Mirabell, don't let -us be familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like my Lady Fadler, and -Sir Francis.... Let us never visit together, nor go to a play together; -but let us be very strange and well-bred: let us be as strange -as if we had been married a great while; and as well bred as if we were -not married at all.... -_Mir._ Shall I kiss your hand upon the contract?[358] -_Mill._ Fainall, what shall I do? shall I have him? I think I must -have him. -_Fainall._ Ay, ay, take him. What should you do? -_Mill._ Well then--I'll take my death I'm in a horrid fright--Fainall, I -shall never say it--well--I think--I'll endure you. -_Fain._ Fy! fy! have him, have him, and tell him so in plain terms: -for I am sure you have a mind to him. -_Mill._ Are you? I think I have--and the horrid man looks as if he -thought so too--well, you ridiculous thing you, I'll have you--I won't -be kissed, nor I won't be thanked--here kiss my hand, though.--So, -hold your tongue now, don't say a word."[359] - - -The agreement is complete. I should like to see one more article to -it--a divorce "_a mensâ et thoro_": this would be the genuine marriage -of the worldlings, that is a decent divorce. And I am sure that in two -years Mirabell and Millamant will come to this. Hither tends the whole -of this theatre; for, with regard to the women, but particularly with -regard to the married women, I have only presented their most amiable -aspects. Deeper down it is all gloomy, bitter, above all, pernicious. It -represents a household as a prison, marriage as a warfare, woman as a -rebel, adultery as the result looked for, irregularity as a right, -extravagance as pleasure.[360] A woman of fashion goes to bed in the -morning, rises at mid-day, curses her husband, listens to obscenities, -frequents balls, haunts the plays, ruins reputations, turns her home -into a gambling-house, borrows money, allures men, associates her honor -and fortune with debts and assignations. "We are as wicked (as men)," -says Lady Brute, "but our vices lie another way. Men have more courage -than we, so they commit more bold, impudent sins. They quarrel, fight, -swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like; whereas we being cowards, only -backbite, tell lies, cheat at cards, and so forth."[361] An admirable -résumé, in which the gentlemen are included and the ladies too! The -world has done nothing but provide them with correct phrases and elegant -dresses. In Congreve especially they talk in the best style; above all -they know how to hand ladies about and entertain them with news; they -are expert in the fence of retorts and replies; they are never out of -countenance, find means to make the most ticklish notions understood; -they discuss very well, speak excellently, make their bow still better; -but to sum up, they are blackguards, systematical epicureans, professed -seducers. They set forth immorality in maxims, and reason out their -vice. "Give me," says one, "a man that keeps his five senses keen and -bright as his sword, that has 'em always drawn out in their just order -and strength, with his reason, as commander at the head of 'em, that -detaches 'em by turns upon whatever party of pleasure agreeably offers, -and commands 'em to retreat upon the least appearance of disadvantage or -danger.... I love a fine house, but let another keep it; and just so I -love a fine woman."[362] One deliberately seduces his friend's wife; -another under a false name gets possession of his brother's intended. A -third hires false witnesses to secure a dowry. I must ask the reader to -consult for himself the fine stratagems of Worthy, Mirabell, and others. -They are cold-blooded rascals who forge, commit adultery, swindle, as if -they had done nothing else all their lives. They are represented here as -men of fashion; they are theatrical lovers, heroes, and as such they -manage to get hold of an heiress. We must go to Mirabell for an example -of this medley of corruption and elegance. Mrs. Fainall, his former -mistress, married by him to a common friend, a miserable wretch, -complains to him of this hateful marriage. He appeases her, gives her -advice, shows her the precise mode, the true expedient for setting -things on a comfortable footing. "You should have just so much disgust -for your husband, as may be sufficient to make you relish your lover." -She cries in despair, "Why did you make me marry this man?" He smiles -calmly, "Why do we daily commit disagreeable and dangerous actions? to -save that idol, reputation." How tender is this argument! How can a man -better console a woman whom he has plunged into bitter unhappiness! What -a touching logic in the insinuation which follows: "If the familiarities -of our loves had produced that consequence of which you were -apprehensive, where could you have fixed a father's name with credit, -but on a husband?" He continues his reasoning in an excellent style; -listen to the dilemma of a man of feeling: "A better man ought not to -have been sacrificed to the occasion; a worse had not answered to the -purpose. When you are weary of him, you know your remedy."[363] Thus are -a woman's feelings to be considered, especially a woman whom we have -loved. To cap all, this delicate conversation is meant to force the poor -deserted Mrs. Fainall into a low intrigue which shall obtain for -Mirabell a pretty wife and a good dowry. Certainly this gentleman knows -the world; no one could better employ a former mistress. Such are the -cultivated characters of this theatre, as dishonest as the uncultivated -ones: having transformed their evil instincts into systematic vices, -lust into debauchery, brutality into cynicism, perversity into -depravity, deliberate egotists, calculating sensualists, with rules for -their immorality, reducing feeling to self-interest, honor to decorum, -happiness to pleasure. - -The English Restoration altogether was one of those great crises which, -while warping the development of a society and a literature, show the -inward spirit which they modify, but which contradicts them. Society did -not lack vigor, nor literature talent; men of the world were polished, -writers inventive. There was a court, drawing-rooms, conversation, -worldly life, a taste for letters, the example of France, peace, -leisure, the influence of the sciences, of politics, of theology--in -short, all the happy circumstances which can elevate the mind and -civilize manners. There was the vigorous satire of Wycherley, the -sparkling dialogue and delicate raillery of Congreve, the frank nature -and animation of Vanbrugh, the manifold invention of Farquhar, in short, -all the resources which might nourish the comic element, and offer a -genuine theatre to the best constructions of human intelligence. Nothing -came to a head; all was abortive. Their age left nothing behind but the -memory of corruption; their comedy remains a repertory of viciousness; -society had only a soiled elegance, literature a frigid wit. Their -manners are gross and trivial; their ideas are futile or incomplete. -Through disgust and reaction, a revolution was at hand in literary -feeling and moral habits, as well as in general beliefs and political -institutions. Man was to change altogether, and to turn completely round -at once. The same repugnance and the same experience were to detach him -from every aspect of his old condition. The Englishman discovered that -he was not monarchical, Papistical, nor sceptical, but liberal, -Protestant, and a believer. He came to understand that he was not a -roisterer nor a worldling, but reflective and introspective. He -possesses a current of animal life too violent to suffer him without -danger to abandon himself to enjoyment; he needs a barrier of moral -reasoning to repress his outbreaks. There is in him a current of -attention and will too strong to suffer himself to rest content with -trifles; he needs some weighty and serviceable labor on which to expend -his power. He needs a barrier and an employment. He needs a constitution -and a religion which shall restrain him by duties which must be -performed, and which shall occupy him by rights which must be defended. -He is content only in a serious and orderly life; there he finds the -natural groove and the necessary outlet for his faculties and his -passions. From this time he enters upon it, and this theatre itself -exhibits the impress of it. It undoes and transforms itself. Collier -threw discredit upon it; Addison condemned it. National sentiment awoke -on the stage; French manners are jeered at; the prologues celebrate the -defeats of Louis XIV; the license, elegance, religion of his court, are -presented under a ridiculous or odious light.[364] Immorality gradually -diminishes, marriage is more respected, the heroines go no further than -to the verge of adultery;[365] the roisterers are pulled up at the -critical moment; one of them suddenly declares himself purified, and -speaks in verse, the better to mark his enthusiasm; another praises -marriage;[366] some aspire in the fifth act to an orderly life. We shall -soon see Steele writing a moral treatise called "The Christian Hero." -Henceforth comedy declines and literary talent flows into another -channel. Essay, novel, pamphlet, dissertation, take the place of the -drama; and the English classical spirit, abandoning the kinds of writing -which are foreign to its nature, enters upon the great works which are -destined to immortalize it and give it expression. - - - - -Section X.--Sheridan.--Decadence of the Theatre - - -Nevertheless, in this continuous decline of dramatic invention, and in -the great change of literary vitality, some shoots strike out at distant -intervals towards comedy; for mankind always seeks for entertainment, -and the theatre is always a place of entertainment. The tree once -planted grows, feebly no doubt, with long intervals of almost total -dryness and almost constant barrenness, yet subject to imperfect -renewals of life, to transitory partial blossomings, sometimes to an -inferior fruitage bursting forth from the lowest branches. Even when the -great subjects are worn out, there is still room here and there for a -happy idea. Let a wit, clever and experienced, take it in hand, he will -catch up a few oddities on his way, he will introduce on the scene some -vice or fault of his time; the public will come in crowds and ask no -better than to recognize itself and laugh. There was one of these -successes when Gay, in the "Beggars' Opera" brought out the rascaldom of -the great world, and avenged the public on Walpole and the court; -another, when Goldsmith, inventing a series of mistakes, led his hero -and his audience through five acts of blunders.[367] After all, if true -comedy can only exist in certain ages, ordinary comedy can exist in any -age. It is too akin to the pamphlet, novels, satire, not to raise itself -occasionally by its propinquity. If I have an enemy, instead of -attacking him in a brochure, I can take my fling at him on the stage. If -I am capable of painting a character in a story, I am not far from -having the talent to bring out the pith of this same character in a few -turns of a dialogue. If I can quietly ridicule a vice in a copy of -verses, I shall easily arrive at making this vice speak out from the -mouth of an actor. At least I shall be tempted to try it; I shall be -seduced by the wonderful _éclat_ which the footlights, declamation, -scenery give to an idea; I shall try and bring my own into this strong -light; I shall go in for it even when it is necessary that my talent be -a little or a good deal forced for the occasion. If need be, I shall -delude myself, substitute expedients for artless originality and true -comic genius. If on a few points I am inferior to the great masters, on -some, it may be, I surpass them; I can work up my style, refine upon it, -discover happier words, more striking jokes, a brisker exchange of -brilliant repartees, newer images, more picturesque comparisons; I can -take from this one a character, from the other a situation, borrow of a -neighboring nation, out of old plays, good novels, biting pamphlets, -polished satires, and petty newspapers; I can accumulate effects, serve -up to the public a stronger and more appetizing stew; above all, I can -perfect my machine, oil the wheels, plan the surprises, the stage -effects, the see-saw of the plot, like a consummate playwright. The art -of constructing plays is as capable of development as the art of -clock-making. The farce-writer of to-day sees that the catastrophe of -half of Molière's plays is ridiculous; nay, many of them can produce -catastrophes better than Molière; in the long run, they succeed in -stripping the theatre of all awkwardness and circumlocution. A piquant -style, and perfect machinery; pungency in all the words, and animation -in all the scenes; a superabundance of wit, and marvels of ingenuity; -over all this, a true physical activity, and the secret pleasure of -depicting and justifying one's self, of public self-glorification: here -is the foundation of the "School for Scandal," here the source of the -talent and the success of Sheridan. - -Richard Brinsley Sheridan was the contemporary of Beaumarchais, and -resembled him in his talent and in his life. The two epochs, the two -dramatic schools, the two characters, correspond. Like Beaumarchais, he -was a lucky adventurer, clever, amiable, and generous, reaching success -through scandal, who flashed up in a moment, dazzled everybody, scaled -with a rush the empyrean of politics and literature, settled himself, as -it were, among the constellations, and, like a brilliant rocket, -presently went out completely exhausted. Nothing failed him; he attained -all at the first attempt, without apparent effort, like a prince who -need only show himself to win his place. He took as his birthright -everything that was most surpassing in happiness, most brilliant in art, -most exalted in worldly position. The poor unknown youth, the wretched -translator of an unreadable Greek sophist, who at twenty walked about -Bath in a red waistcoat and a cocked hat, destitute of hope, and ever -conscious of the emptiness of his pockets, had gained the heart of the -most admired beauty and musician of her time, had carried her off from -ten rich, elegant, titled adorers, had fought with the best-hoaxed of -the ten, beaten him, had carried by storm the curiosity and attention of -the public. Then, challenging glory and wealth, he placed successively -on the stage the most diverse and the most applauded dramas, comedies, -farce, opera, serious verse; he bought and worked a large theatre -without a farthing, inaugurated a reign of successes and pecuniary -advantages, and led a life of elegance amid the enjoyments of social and -domestic joys, surrounded by universal admiration and wonder. Thence, -aspiring yet higher, he conquered power, entered the House of Commons, -showed himself a match for the first orators, opposed Pitt, accused -Warren Hastings, supported Fox, jeered at Burke; sustained with -brilliancy, disinterestedness, and constancy, a most difficult and -liberal part; became one of the three or four most noted men in England, -an equal of the greatest lords, the friend of the Prince of Wales, in -the end even Receiver-General of the Duchy of Cornwall, treasurer to the -fleet. In every career he took the lead. As Byron said of him: -"Whatsoever Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been, _par -excellence_, always the best of its kind. He has written the best comedy -('The School for Scandal'), the best drama (in my mind far before that -St. Giles lampoon 'The Beggars' Opera'), the best farce ('The -Critic'--it is only too good for a farce), and the best address -('Monologue on Garrick'), and, to crown all, delivered the very best -oration (the famous Begum Speech) ever conceived or heard in this -country."[368] - -All ordinary rules were reversed in his favor. He was forty-four years -old, debts began to accumulate; he had supped and drunk to excess; his -cheeks were purple, his nose red. In this state he met at the Duke of -Devonshire's a charming young lady with whom he fell in love. At the -first sight she exclaimed, "What an ugly man, a regular monster!" He -spoke to her; she confessed that he was very ugly, but that he had a -good deal of wit. He spoke again, and again, and she found him very -amiable. He spoke yet again, and she loved him, and resolved at all -hazard to marry him. The father, a prudent man, wishing to end the -affair, gave out that his future son-in-law must provide a dowry of -fifteen thousand pounds; the fifteen thousand pounds were deposited as -by magic in the hands of a banker; the young couple set off into the -country; and Sheridan, meeting his son, a fine strapping fellow, not -very satisfied with the marriage, persuaded him that it was the most -sensible thing that a father could do, and the most fortunate event that -a son could rejoice over. Whatever the business, whoever the man, he -persuaded; none withstood him, everyone fell under his charm. - -What is more difficult than for an ugly man to make a young girl forget -his ugliness? There is one thing more difficult, and that is to make a -creditor forget you owe him money. There is something more difficult -still, and that is, to borrow money from a creditor who has come to dun -you. One day one of his friends was arrested for debt; Sheridan sends -for Mr. Henderson, the crabbed tradesman, coaxes him, interests him, -moves him to tears, works upon his feelings, hedges him in with general -considerations and lofty eloquence, so that Mr. Henderson offers his -purse, actually wants to lend two hundred pounds, insists, and finally, -to his great joy, obtains permission to lend it. No one was ever more -amiable, quicker to win confidence than Sheridan; rarely has the -sympathetic, affectionate; and fascinating character been more fully -displayed; he was literally seductive. In the morning, creditors and -visitors filled the rooms in which he lived; he came in smiling with an -easy manner with so much loftiness and grace, that the people forgot -their wants and their claims, and looked as if they had only come to see -him. His animation was irresistible; no one had a more dazzling wit; he -had an inexhaustible fund of puns, contrivances, sallies, novel ideas. -Lord Byron, who was a good judge, said that he had never heard nor -conceived of a more extraordinary power of conversation. Men spent -nights in listening to him; no one equalled him during a supper; even -when drunk he retained his wit. One morning he was picked up by the -watch, and they asked him his name; he gravely answered, "Wilberforce." -With strangers and inferiors he had no arrogance or stiffness; he -possessed in an eminent degree that unreserved character which always -exhibits itself complete, which holds back none of its light, which -abandons and gives itself up; he wept when he received a sincere eulogy -from Lord Byron, or in recounting his miseries as a plebeian parvenu. -Nothing is more charming than this openness of heart; it at once sets -people on a footing of peace and amity; men suddenly desert their -defensive and cautious attitude; they perceive that a man is giving -himself up to them, and they give themselves up to him; the outpouring -of his innermost feelings invites the outpouring of theirs. A minute -later, Sheridan's impetuous and sparkling individuality flashes out; his -wit explodes, rattles like a discharge of fire-arms; he takes the -conversation to himself, with a sustained brilliancy, a variety, an -inexhaustible vigor, till five o'clock in the morning. Against such a -necessity for launching out in unconsidered speech, of indulgence, of -self-outpouring, a man had need be well on his guard; life cannot be -passed like a holiday; it is a strife against others and against one's -self; people must think of the future, mistrust themselves, make -provision; there is no subsisting without the precaution of a -shop-keeper, the calculation of a tradesman. If we sup too often, we -will end by not having wherewithal to dine upon; when our pockets have -holes in them, the shillings will fall out; nothing is more of a truism, -but it is true. Sheridan's debts accumulated, his digestion failed. He -lost his seat in Parliament, his theatre was burned; sheriff's officer -succeeded sheriff's officer, and they had long been in possession of his -house. At last, a bailiff arrested the dying man in his bed, and was for -taking him off in his blankets; nor would he let him go until threatened -with a lawsuit, the doctor having declared that the sick man would die -on the road. A certain newspaper (the "Examiner") cried shame on the -great lords who suffered such a man to end so miserably; they hastened -to leave their cards at his door. In the funeral procession two brothers -of the king, dukes, earls, bishops, the first men in England, carried or -followed the body. A singular contrast, picturing in abstract all his -talent, and all his life; lords at his funeral and bailiffs at his -death-bed. - -His theatre was in accordance with his life; all was brilliant, but the -metal was not all his own, nor was it of the best quality. His comedies -were comedies of society, the most amusing ever written, but merely -comedies of society. Imagine the exaggerated caricatures artists are -wont to improvise, in the drawing-room of a house where they are -intimate, about eleven o'clock in the evening. His first play, "The -Rivals," and afterwards his "Duenna," and "The Critic," are filled with -these, and scarce anything else. There is Mrs. Malaprop, a silly, -pretentious woman, who uses grand words higgledy-piggledy, delighted -with herself, in "a nice derangement of epitaphs" before her nouns, and -declaring that her niece is "as headstrong as an allegory on the banks -of the Nile." There is a Bob Acres, who suddenly becomes a hero, gets -engaged in a duel, and being led on the ground, calculates the effect of -the balls, thinks of his will, burial, embalmment, and wishes he were at -home. There is another caricature in the person of a clumsy and cowardly -servant, of an irascible and brawling father, of a sentimental and -romantic young lady, of a touchy Irish duellist. All this jogs and -jostles on, without much order, amid the surprises of a twofold plot, by -aid of appliances and _rencontres_, without the full and regular control -of a dominating idea. But in vain we perceive it is a patchwork; the -high spirit carries off everything: we laugh heartily; every single -scene has its facetious and rapid movement; we forget that the clumsy -valet makes remarks as witty as Sheridan himself,[369] and that the -irascible gentleman speaks as well as the most elegant of writers.[370] -The playwright is also a man of letters; if, through mere animal and -social spirit, he wished to amuse others and to amuse himself, he does -not forget the interests of his talent and the care for his reputation. -He has tastes, he appreciates the refinement of style, the worth of a -new image, of a striking contrast, of a witty and well-considered -insinuation. He has, above all, wit, a wonderful conversational wit, the -art of rousing and sustaining the attention, of being biting, varied, of -taking his hearers unawares, of throwing in a repartee, of setting folly -in relief, of accumulating one after another witticisms and happy -phrases. He brought himself to perfection subsequently to his first -play, having acquired theatrical experience, writing and erasing; trying -various scenes, recasting, arranging them; his desire was that nothing -should arrest the interest, no improbability shock the spectator; that -his comedy might glide on with the precision, certainty, uniformity of a -good machine. He invents jests, replaces them by better ones; he whets -his jokes, binds them up like a sheaf of arrows, and writes at the -bottom of the last page, "Finished, thank God.--Amen." He is right, for -the work costs him some pains; he will not write a second. This kind of -writing, artificial and condensed as the satires of La Bruyère, is like -a cut phial, into which the author has distilled all his reflections, -his reading, his wit, without keeping anything for himself. - -What is there in this celebrated "School for Scandal"? And how is it -that it has cast upon English comedy, which day by day was being more -and more forgotten, the radiance of a last success? Sheridan took two -characters from Fielding, Blifil, and Tom Jones; two plays of Molière, -"Le Misanthrope" and "Tartuffe"; and from these puissant materials, -condensed with admirable cleverness, he has constructed the most -brilliant firework imaginable. Molière has only one female slanderer, -Célimène; the other characters serve only to give her a cue; there is -quite enough of such a jeering woman; she rails on within certain -bounds, without hurry, like a true queen of the drawing-room, who has -time to converse, who knows that she is listened to, who listens to -herself: she is a woman of society, who preserves the tone of refined -conversation; and in order to smooth down the harshness, her slanders -are interrupted by the calm reason and sensible discourse of the amiable -Éliante. Molière represents the malice of the world without -exaggeration; but in Sheridan they are rather caricatured than depicted. -"Ladies, your servant," says Sir Peter; "mercy upon me! the whole set--a -character dead at every sentence."[371] In fact, they are ferocious: it -is a regular quarry; they even befoul one another, to deepen the -outrage. Mrs. Candour remarks: "Yesterday Miss Prim assured me, that Mr. -and Mrs. Honeymoon are now become mere man and wife, like the rest of -their acquaintance. She likewise hinted, that a certain widow in the -next street had got rid of her dropsy, and recovered her shape in a most -surprising manner.... I was informed, too, that Lord Flimsy caught his -wife at a house of no extraordinary fame; and that Tom Saunter and Sir -Harry Idle were to measure swords on a similar occasion."[372] Their -animosity is so bitter that they lower themselves to play the part of -buffoons. The most elegant person in the room, Lady Teazle, shows her -teeth to ape a ridiculous lady, draws her mouth on one side, and makes -faces. There is no pause, no softening; sarcasms fly about like pistol -shots. The author had laid in a stock, he had to use them up. He himself -is speaking through the mouth of his characters; he gives them all the -same wit, that is his own, his irony, his harshness, his picturesque -vigor; whatever they are, clowns, fops, old maids, no matter, the -author's main business is to break out into twenty explosions in a -minute: - - -"_Mrs. Candour._ Well, I will never join in the ridicule of a friend; -so I tell my cousin Ogle, and ye all know what pretensions she has to -beauty. -_Crab._ She has the oddest countenance--a collection of features from -all the corners of the globe. -_Sir Benjamin._ She has, indeed, an Irish front. -_Crab._ Caledonian locks. -_Sir B._ Dutch nose. -_Crab._ Austrian lips. -_Sir B._ The complexion of a Spaniard. -_Crab._ And teeth _à la Chinoise._ -_Sir B._ In short, her face resembles a _table d'hôte_ at Spa, where no -two guests are of a nation. -_Crab._ Or a congress at the close of a general war, where every member -seems to have a different interest, and the nose and chin are the only -parties likely to join issue."[373] - - -Or again: - - -"_Crab._ Sad news upon his arrival, to hear how your brother has -gone on! -_Joseph Surface._ I hope no busy people have already prejudiced his -uncle against him--he may reform. -_Sir Benjamin._ True, he may; for my part, I never thought him so -utterly void of principle as people say, and though he has lost all his -friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of amongst the Jews. -_Crab._ Foregad, if the old Jewry was a ward, Charles would be an -alderman, for he pays as many annuities as the Irish Tontine; and when -he is sick, they have prayers for his recovery in all the Synagogues. -_Sir B._ Yet no man lives in greater splendor.--They tell me, when he -entertains his friends, he can sit down to dinner with a dozen of his -own securities, have a score of tradesmen waiting in the ante-chamber, -and an officer behind every guest's chair."[374] - - -And again: - - -"_Sir B._ Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you, but depend on't, -your brother is utterly undone. -_Crab._ Oh! undone as ever man was--can't raise a guinea. -_Sir B._ Everything is sold, I am told, that was moveable. -_Crab._ Not a moveable left, except some old bottles and some pictures, -and they seem to be framed in the wainscot, egad. -_Sir B._ I am sorry to hear also some bad stories of him. -_Crab._ Oh! he has done many mean things, that's certain. -_Sir B._ But, however, he's your brother. -_Crab._ Ah! as he is your brother--we'll tell you more another -opportunity."[375] - - -In this manner has he pointed, multiplied, driven into the quick the -measured epigrams of Molière. And yet is it possible to grow weary of -such a well-sustained discharge of malice and witticisms? - -Observe also the change which the hypocrite undergoes under Sheridan's -treatment. Doubtless all the grandeur disappears from the part. Joseph -Surface does not uphold, like Tartuffe, the interest of the comedy; he -does not possess, like his ancestor, the nature of a cad, the boldness -of a man of action, the manners of a beadle, the neck and shoulders of a -monk. He is merely selfish and cautious; if he is engaged in an -intrigue, it is rather against his will; he is only half-hearted in the -matter, like a correct young man, well dressed, with a fair income, -timorous and fastidious by nature, discreet in manners, and without -violent passions; all about him is soft and polished, he takes his tone -from the times, he makes no display of religion, though he does of -morality; he is a man of measured speech, of lofty sentiments, a -disciple of Dr. Johnson or of Rousseau, a dealer in set phrases. There -is nothing on which to construct a drama in this common-place person; -and the fine situations which Sheridan takes from Molière lose half -their force through depending on such pitiful support. But how this -insufficiency is covered by the quickness, abundance, naturalness of the -incidents! how skill makes up for everything! how it seems capable of -supplying everything! even genius! how the spectator laughs to see -Joseph caught in his sanctuary like a fox in his hole; obliged to hide -the wife, then to conceal the husband; forced to run from the one to the -other; busy in hiding the one behind the screen, and the other in his -closet; reduced, in casting himself into his own snares, in justifying -those whom he wished to ruin, the husband in the eyes of the wife, the -nephew in the eyes of the uncle, to ruin the only man whom he wished to -justify; namely, the precious and immaculate Joseph Surface; to turn out -in the end ridiculous, odious, baffled, confounded, in spite of his -adroitness, even by reason of his adroitness, step by step, without -quarter or remedy; to sneak off, poor fox, with his tail between his -legs, his skin spoiled, amid hootings and laughter! And how, at the same -time, side by side with this, the naggings of Sir Peter and his wife, -the suppers, songs, the picture sale at the spendthrift's house, weave a -comedy in a comedy, and renew the interest by renewing the attention! We -cease to think of the meagreness of the characters, as we cease to think -of the deviation from truth; we are willingly carried away by the -vivacity of the action, dazzled by the brilliancy of the dialogue; we -are charmed, applaud; admit that, after all, next to great inventive -faculty, animation and wit are the most agreeable gifts in the world: we -appreciate them in their season, and find that they also have their -place in the literary banquet; and that if they are not worth as much as -the substantial joints, the natural and generous wines of the first -course, at least they furnish the dessert. - -The dessert over, we must leave the table. After Sheridan, we leave it -forthwith. Henceforth comedy languishes, fails; there is nothing left -but farce, such as Townley's "High Life Below Stairs," the burlesques of -George Colman, a tutor, an old maid, countrymen and their dialect; -caricature succeeds painting; Punch raises a laugh when the days of -Reynolds and Gainsborough are over. There is nowhere in Europe, at the -present time, a more barren stage; the higher classes abandon it to the -people. This is because the form of society and of intellect which had -called it into being, has disappeared. Vivacity, and the abundance of -original conceptions, had peopled the stage of the Renaissance in -England--a surfeit which, unable to display itself in systematic -argument, or to express itself in philosophical ideas, found its natural -outlet only in mimic action and talking characters. The wants of -polished society had nourished the English comedy of the seventeenth -century--a society which, accustomed to the representations of the court -and the displays of the world, sought on the stage a copy of its -conversation and its drawing-rooms. With the decline of the court and -the check of mimic invention, the genuine drama and the genuine comedy -disappeared; they passed from the stage into books. The reason of it is, -that people no longer live in public, like the embroidered dukes of -Louis XIV and Charles II, but in their families, or at the -writing-table; the novel replaces the theatre at the same time that -citizen life replaces the life of the court. - - - - -[Footnote 219: See especially the portraits of Lady Morland, Lady -Williams, the Countess of Ossory, the Duchess of Cleveland, Lady -Price, and many others.] - -[Footnote 220: Oliver Cromwell's "Letters and Speeches," edited by -Carlyle, 1866, I. 39.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 221: Colonel Hutchinson was at one time held in suspicion -because he wore long hair and dressed well.] - -[Footnote 222: 1648; thirty in one day. One of them confessed that she -had been at a gathering of more than five hundred witches.] - -[Footnote 223: In 1652, the kirk-session of Glasgow "brot boyes and -servants before them, for breaking the sabbath, and other faults. They -had clandestine censors, and gave money to some for this end."--Note -28, taken from Wodrow's "Analecta"; Buckle, "History of Civilization in -England," 3 vols. 1867, III. 208. - -Even early in the eighteenth century, "the most popular divines" in -Scotland affirmed that Satan "frequently appears clothed in a corporeal -substance."--Ibid. III. 233, note 76, taken from Memoirs of C. L. Lewes. - -"No husband shall kiss his wife, and no mother shall kiss her child on -the Sabbath day."--Note 135. Ibid. III. 253; from Rev. C. J. Lyon's "St. -Andrews," vol. I. 458, with regard to government of a colony. (It would -have been satisfactory if Mr. Lyon had given his authority.)--Tr. - -"(Sept. 22, 1649) The quhilk day the Sessioune caused mak this act, that -ther sould be no pypers at brydels," etc.--Ibid. III. 258, note 153. In -1719, the Presbytery of Edinburgh indignantly declares: "Yea, some have -arrived at that height of impiety, as not to be ashamed of washing in -waters, and swimming in rivers upon the holy Sabbath."--Note 187. Ibid. -III. 266. - -"I think David had never so sweet a time as then, when he was pursued as -a partridge by his son Absalom."--Note 190. Gray's "Great and Precious -Promises." - -See the whole of Chapter III. vol. III. in which Buckle has described, -by similar quotations, the condition of Scotland, chiefly in the -seventeenth century.] - -[Footnote 224: See, in Richardson, Swift, and Fielding, but particularly -in Hogarth, the delineation of brutish debauchery.] - -[Footnote 225: The king was playing at backgammen; a doubtful throw -occurs: "Ah, here is Grammont, who'll decide for us; Grammont, come and -decide. Sire, you have lost. What: you do not yet know."... "Ah, -sire, if the throw had been merely doubtful, these gentlemen would not -have failed to say you had won."] - -[Footnote 226: Hamilton says of Grammont, "He sought out the unfortunate -only to succor them."] - -[Footnote 227: This saying sounds strange after the horrors of the -Commune.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 228: A Spanish author, who continued and imitated Cervantes's -"Don Quixote."] - -[Footnote 229: A work by Scarron. "Hudibras," edited Z. Grey, 1801, 2 -Vols. I. Canto 1. line 289, says also: -"For as Æneas bore his sire -Upon his shoulders through the fire. -Our knight did bear no less a pack -Of his own buttocks on his back."] - -[Footnote 230: "Hudibras," part I. canto 1. lines 241-250.] - -[Footnote 231: "Hudibras," part I. canto 1. lines 253-280.] - -[Footnote 232: Ibid, lines 375-386.] - -[Footnote 233: "Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat. -Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate; -For though the thesis which thou -lay'st -Be true ad amussim as thou say'st -(For that bear-baiting should appear -Jure divino lawfuller -Than Synods are, thou do'st deny, -Totidem verbis; so do I), -Yet there is fallacy in this; -For if by sly homœosis, -Tussis pro crepitu, an art -. . . . . . . . . . . -Thou wouldst sophistically imply, -Both are unlawful, I deny." -Part I. canto 1. lines 821-834.] - -[Footnote 234: "The Life of Clarendon," edited by himself, new ed. 1827, -3 vols, I. 378.] - -[Footnote 235: Ibid. I. 379.] - -[Footnote 236: "The Life of Clarendon," edited by himself, new ed. 1827, -3 vols. I. 380.] - -[Footnote 237: "Mr. Evelyn tells me of several of the menial servants of -the Court lacking bread, that have not received a farthing wages since the -King's coming in."--Pepys's Diary, ed. Lord Braybrooke, 3d ed. 1848, 5 -vols. IV. April 26, 1667. - -"Mr. Povy says that to this day the King do follow the women as much as -he ever did; that the Duke of York... hath come out of his wife's bed, -and gone to others laid in bed for him;... that the family (of the Duke) -is in horrible disorder by being in debt by spending above £60,000 per -annum, when he hath not £40,000." (Ibid. IV. June 23, 1667). - -"It is certain that, as it now is, the seamen of England, in my -conscience, would, if they could, go over and serve the king of France -or Holland rather than us." (Ibid. IV. June 25, 1667).] - -[Footnote 238: Pepys's Diary, vol. IV. July 29, 1667.] - -[Footnote 239: Rochester's Works, edited by Saint-Évremond.] - -[Footnote 240: Pepys's Diary, II. January 1, 1662-1663.] - -[Footnote 241: Ibid. IV. July 30, 1667.] - -[Footnote 242: Ibid. III. July 26, 1665.] - -[Footnote 243: Ibid. II. November 9, 1663.] - -[Footnote 244: Pepys's Diary, II. February 8, 17, 1662-3.] - -[Footnote 245: Ibid. February 21, 1664-1665.] - -[Footnote 246: The author has inadvertently confounded "my Lady Bennet" -with the Countess of Arlington. See Pepys's Diary, IV. May 30, 1668, -footnote.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 247: "Though I reverence those men of ancient times that -either have written truth perspicuously, or set it in a better way to -find it out ourselves, yet to the antiquity itself, I think nothing due; -for if we reverence the age, the present is the oldest."--Hobbes's -Works, Molesworth, 11 vols. 8 vo, 1839-45, III. 712.] - -[Footnote 248: "To say he hath spoken to him in a dream, is no more than -to say he dreamed that God spake to him.... To say he hath seen a vision -or heard a voice, is to say that he has dreamed between sleeping and -waking.... To say he speaks by supernatural inspiration, is to say he -finds an ardent desire to speak, or some strong opinion of himself for -which he can allege no sufficient and natural reason."--Ibid, III. -361-2.] - -[Footnote 249: "From the principle parts of Nature, Reason, and Passion, -have proceeded two kinds of learning, mathematical and dogmatical. The -former is free from controversy and dispute, because it consisteth in -comparing figure and motion only, in which things truth and the interest -of men oppose not each other. But in the other there is nothing -undisputable, because it compares men, and meddles with their right and -profit."--Ibid. 11 vols. 8 vo, 1839-45, IV. Epis. ded.] - -[Footnote 250: His chief works were written between 1646 and 1655.] - -[Footnote 251: Nemo dat nisi respiciens ad bonum sibi. - -Amicitiæ bonse, nempe utiles. Nam amicitiæ cum ad multa alia, turn ad -præsidium conferunt. - -Sapientia utile. Nam præsidium in se habet nonnullum. Etiam appetibile -est per se, id est jucundum. Item pulchrum, quia acquisitu difficilis. - -Non enim qui sapiens est, ut dixere stoici, dives est sed contra qui dives -est sapiens est dicendus est. - -Ignoscere veniam petenti pulchrum. Nam indicium fiduciæ sui. - -Imitatio jucundum: revocat enim præterita. Præterita autem si bona -fuerint, jucunda sunt repræsentata, quia bona; si mala, quia -præterita. Jucunda igitur musica, poesis pictura.--Hobbes's "Opera -Latina," Molesworth, vol. II. 98-102.] - -[Footnote 252: Metus potentiarum invisibilium, sive fictæ illæ sint, -sive ab historiis acceptæ sint publiée, religio est si publice -acceptæ non sint, superstitio.--Ibid. III. 45.] - -[Footnote 253: Omnis igitur societas vel commodi causa vel gloriæ, hoc -est, sui, non sociorum amore contrahitur.--Ibid. II. 161. - -Statuendum igitur est, originem magnarum et diuturnarum societatum non -a mutua hominum benevolentia, sed a mutuo metu exstitisse.--Ibid. II. -161. - -Voluntas lædendi omnibus quidem inest in statu naturae.--Ibid. II. 162. - -Status hominum naturalis antequam in societatem coiretur bellum fuerit; -neque hoc simpliciter, sed bellum omnium in omftes.--Ibid. II. 166. - -Bellum sua natura sempiternum.--See 166, line 16.] - -[Footnote 254: Corpus et substantia idem significant, et proinde -vox composita substantia incorporea est insignificans æque -ac si quis diceret corpus incorporeum.--Hobbes's "Opera Latina," -Molesworth, vol. III. 281. - -Quidquid imaginamur finitum est. Nulla ergo est idea neque conceptus -qui oriri potest a voce hac, infinitum.--Ibid. III. 20. - -Recidit itaque ratiocinatio omnis ad duas operationes animi, additionem -et substractionem.--Ibid. I. 3. - -Nomina signa sunt non rerum sed cogitationem.--Ibid. I. 15. - -Veritas enim in dicto non in re consists.--Ibid. I. 31. - -Sensio igitur in sentiente nihil aliud esse potest præter motum partium -aliquarum intus in sentiente existentium, quæ partes motæ organorum quibus -sentimus partes sunt.--Ibid. I. 317.] - -[Footnote 255: Pepys's Diary, II. September 29, 1662.] - -[Footnote 256: His "Wild Gallant" dates from 1662.] - -[Footnote 257: "We love to get our mistresses, and purr over them, as cats -do over mice, and let them get a little way; and all the pleasure is to -pat them back again.--Mock Astrologer," II. 1. - -Wildblood says to his mistress: "I am none of those unreasonable lovers -that propose to themselves the loving to eternity. A month is commonly -my stint." And Jacintha replies: "Or would not a fortnight serve our -turn?"--Ibid. - -Frequently one would think Dryden was translating Hobbes, by the -harshness of his jests.] - -[Footnote 258: "Love in a Nunnery," II. 3.] - -[Footnote 259: Ibid. III. 3.] - -[Footnote 260: "Spanish Friar," III. 3. And jumbled with the plot we keep -meeting with political allusions. This is a mark of the time. Torrismond, -to excuse himself from marrying the queen, says, "Power which in one age -is tyranny is ripen'd in the next to true succession. She's in -possession."--"Spanish Friar," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 261: Plautus's "Amphitryon" has been imitated by Dryden and -Molière. Sir Walter Scott, in the introduction to Dryden's play, says: -"He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Molière is witty; and -where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the Englishman -always contrives to make it a single one."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 262: "Amphitryon," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 263: "Amphitryon," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 264: As Jupiter is departing, on the plea of daylight, Alemena -says to him: -"But you and I will draw our curtains -close. -Extinguish daylight, and put out the -sun. -Come back, my lord.... -You have not yet laid long enough in -bed -To warm your widowed side." ---Act II. 2. - -Compare Plautus's Roman matron and Molière's honest Frenchwoman -with this expansive female (Louis XIV and Mme. de Montespan were -not very decent either. See "Mémoires de Saint-Simon.")--Tr.] - -[Footnote 265: Himself a Huguenot, who had become a Roman Catholic, and -the husband of Julie d'Angennes, for whom the French poets composed the -celebrated "Guirlande."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 266: "The Dramatic Works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, -and Farquhar," ed. Leigh Hunt, 1840. Dedication of "Love in a Wood" -to her Grace the Duchess of Cleveland.] - -[Footnote 267: Act III. 3.] - -[Footnote 268: "The Country Wife," V. 4.] - -[Footnote 269: Read the epilogue, and see what words and details authors -dared then to put in the mouths of actresses.] - -[Footnote 270: "That spark, who has his fruitless designs upon the -bed-ridden rich widow, down to the sucking heiress in her... -clout.--Love in a Wood," I. 2. - -Mrs. Flippant: "Though I had married the fool, I thought to have -reserved the wit as well as other ladies."--Ibid. - -Dapperwit: "I will contest with no rival, not with my old rival your -coachman."--Ibid. - -"She has a complexion like a Holland cheese, and no more teeth left, than -such as give a haut goût to her breath."--Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 271: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 272: Ibid. V. 2.] - -[Footnote 273: The letter of Agnes, in Molière's "L'École des Femmes," -III. 4, begins thus: "Je veux vous écrire, et je suis bien en peine par -où je m'y prendrai. J'ai des pensées que je désirerais que vous -sussiez; mais je ne sais comment faire pour vous les dire, et je me -défie de mes paroles," etc. Observe how Wycherley translates it: "Dear, -sweet Mr. Horner, my husband would have me send you a base, rude, -unmannerly letter; but I won't--and would have me forbid you loving me; -but I won't--and would have me say to you, I hate you, poor Mr. Horner; -but I won't tell a lie for him--for I'm sure if you and I were in the -country at cards together, I could not help treading on your toe under -the table, or rubbing knees with you, and staring in your face, till you -saw me, and then looking down, and blushing for an hour together," -etc.--"Country Wife," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 274: In the "Gentleman Dancing-Master."] - -[Footnote 275: "The Plain Dealer," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 276: "The Plain Dealer," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 277: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 278: "The Plain Dealer," V. 1.] - -[Footnote 279: Compare with the sayings of Alceste, in Molière's -"Misanthrope," such tirades as this: "Such as you, like common whores -and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace." And with the -character of Philinte, in the same French play, such phrases as these: -"But, faith, could you think I was a friend to those I hugged, kissed, -flattered, bowed to? When their backs were turned, did not I tell you -they were rogues, villains, rascals, whom I despised and hated?"] - -[Footnote 280: Olivia says: "Then shall I have again my alcove smell like -a cabin, my chamber perfumed with his tarpaulin Brandenburgh; and hear -vollies of brandy-sighs, enough to make a fog in one's room."--"The -Plain Dealer," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 281: "The Plain Dealer," III. 1.] - -[Footnote 282: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 283: "The Plain Dealer," IV. 2.] - -[Footnote 284: "Paradise Lost," book I. lines 490-502.] - -[Footnote 285: Consult all Shakespeare's historical plays.] - -[Footnote 286: Pepys's Diary, II. July 13, 1663.] - -[Footnote 287: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 288: "Mémoires de Grammont," by A. Hamilton.] - -[Footnote 289: Ibid. ch. IX.] - -[Footnote 290: Take, for example, Farquhar's "Beaux Stratagem," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 291: Consult especially, "Observations upon the United Provinces -of the Netherlands; Of Gardening."] - -[Footnote 292: Temple's Works: "Of Gardening," II. 190.] - -[Footnote 293: Ibid. 184.] - -[Footnote 294: Compare this essay with that of Carlyle, on "Heroes and -Hero-Worship"; the title and subject are similar; it is curious to note -the difference of the two centuries.] - -[Footnote 295: Temple's Works, II: "An Essay upon the Ancient and Modern -Learning," 155.] - -[Footnote 296: Ibid. 165.] - -[Footnote 297: Macaulay's Works, VI. 319: "Essay on Sir William Temple."] - -[Footnote 298: "An Essay upon the Ancient and Modern Learning," 173.] - -[Footnote 299: "Love in a Wood," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 300: "The Country Wife," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 301: Sir Charles Sedley's Works, ed. Briscoe, 1778, 2 vols: -"The Mulberry Garden," II.] - -[Footnote 302: "Works of the Earls of Rochester, Roscommon, and Dorset," -2 vols. 1731, II. 54.] - -[Footnote 303: "The English Poets," ed. A. Chalmers, 21 vols. 1810; -Waller, vol. VIII. 44.] - -[Footnote 304: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 305: "While in this park I sing, the list'ning deer -Attend my passion, and forget to fear; -When to the beeches I report my flame, -They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. -To gods appealing, when I reach their bow'rs -With loud complaints, they answer me in showers. -To thee a wild and cruel soul is giv'n, -More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n! -... The rock. -That cloven rock, produc'd thee.... -This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce -Of just Apollo, president of verse; -Highly concerned that the Muse should bring -Damage to one whom he had taught to sing."--Ibid. pp. 44-45.] - -[Footnote 306: Ibid, 32.] - -[Footnote 307: Ibid. 45.] - -[Footnote 308: "The English Poets," Waller, VIII. 45.] - -[Footnote 309: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 310: "English Poets," VII. 237.] - -[Footnote 311: Ibid. 236-237.] - -[Footnote 312: Etherege's "Sir Fopling Flutter"; Wycherley's "The -Gentleman Dancing-master," I. 2.] - -[Footnote 313: From 1672 to 1726.] - -[Footnote 314: Onuphre, in La Bruyère's "Caractères," ch. XIII. de la -Mode; Begears, in Beaumarchais's "La Mère Coupable."] - -[Footnote 315: Consultations of Sganarelle in the "Médecin Malgré Lui."] - -[Footnote 316: Amongst women, Éliante, Henriette, Élise, Uranie, Élmire.] - -[Footnote 317: Compare the admirable tact and coolness of Éliante, -Henriette, and Élmire.] - -[Footnote 318: Dryden boasts of this. With him, we always find a -complete comedy grossly amalgamated with a complete tragedy.] - -[Footnote 319: Vanbrugh, "Confederacy," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 320: Wycherley, "The Country Wife," V. 4.] - -[Footnote 321: Vanbrugh, "Relapse," II. end.] - -[Footnote 322: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 323: She says to Maskwell, her lover: "You want but leisure to -invent fresh falsehood, and soothe me to a fond belief of all your -fictions; but I will stab the lie that's forming in your heart, and -save a sin, in pity to your soul."--Congreve, "Double Dealer," V. 17.] - -[Footnote 324: Farquhar, "The Beaux Stratagem," II. 1.] - -[Footnote 325: Vanbrugh, "Provoked Wife," V. 6.] - -[Footnote 326: Vanbrugh, "Provoked Wife," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 327: Ibid. V. 2.] - -[Footnote 328: The valet Rasor says to his master: "Come to your kennel, -you cuckoldy drunken sot you."--Ibid.] - -[Footnote 329: Vanbrugh's "Relapse," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 330: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 331: Vanbrugh's "Relapse," III. 2.] - -[Footnote 332: Ibid. III. 5.] - -[Footnote 333: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 334: Ibid. V. 5.] - -[Footnote 335: Ibid. III. 4.] - -[Footnote 336: Vanbrugh's "Relapse," III. 4.] - -[Footnote 337: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 338: Ibid. IV. 4. The character of the nurse is excellent. Tom -Fashion thanks her for the training she has given Hoyden: "Alas, all I -can boast of is, I gave her pure good milk, and so your honour would -have said, an you had seen how the poor thing sucked it.--Eh! God's -blessing on the sweet face on't! how it used to hang at this poor teat, -and suck and squeeze, and kick and sprawl it would, till the belly on't -was so full, it would drop off like a leech." This is good, even after -Juliet's nurse in Shakespeare.] - -[Footnote 339: Vanbrugh's "Relapse," IV. 6.] - -[Footnote 340: Ibid. V. 5.] - -[Footnote 341: Ibid. IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 342: Vanbrugh's "Relapse," V. 5.] - -[Footnote 343: See also the character of a young stupid blockhead, Squire -Humphrey. (Vanbrugh's "Journey to London.") He has only a single idea, to -be always eating.] - -[Footnote 344: Wycherley's Hippolita; Farquhar's Silvia.] - -[Footnote 345: Farquhar's "Beaux Stratagem," IV. 1] - -[Footnote 346: Vanbrugh's "Provoked Wife," III. 3] - -[Footnote 347: Ibid. V. 2.] - -[Footnote 348: Congreve's "Love for Love," II. 10.] - -[Footnote 349: Ibid. 11.] - -[Footnote 350: Miss Prue: "Well, and there's a handsome gentleman, and a -fine gentleman, and a sweet gentleman, that was here, that loves me, and -I love him; and if he sees you speak to me any more, he'll thrash your -jacket for you, he will; you great sea-calf." - -Ben: "What! do you mean that fair-weather spark that was here just now? -Will he thrash my jacket? Let'n, let'n, let'n--but an he comes near me, -mayhap I may give him a salt-eel for's supper, for all that. What does -father mean, to leave me alone, as soon as I come home with such a dirty -dowdy? Sea-calf! I an't calf enough to lick your chalked face, you -cheese-curd you."--Ibid. III. 7.] - -[Footnote 351: Congreve's "Love for Love," V. 6.] - -[Footnote 352: Congreve, "The Way of the World," III. 5.] - -[Footnote 353: Ibid. IV.] - -[Footnote 354: Congreve, "The Double-dealer," II. 5.] - -[Footnote 355: Congreve, "The Way of the World."] - -[Footnote 356: Ibid. II. 6.] - -[Footnote 357: Ibid. III. 11.] - -[Footnote 358: Congreve, "The Way of the World," IV. 5.] - -[Footnote 359: Ibid. IV. 6.] - -[Footnote 360: Amanda: "How did you live together?" Berinthia: "Like man -and wife, asunder.--He loved the country, I the town. He hawks and -hounds, I coaches and equipage. He eating and drinking, I carding and -playing. He the sound of a horn, I the squeak of a fiddle. We were dull -company at table, worse a-bed. Whenever we met, we gave one another the -spleen; and never agreed but once, which was about lying -alone."--Vanbrugh, "Relapse," Act II. ad fin. - -Compare Vanbrugh, "A Journey to London." Rarely has the repulsiveness -and corruption of the brutish or worldly nature been more vividly -displayed. Little Betty and her brother. Squire Humphrey, deserve -hanging. - -Again. Mrs. Foresight: "Do you think any woman honest?" Scandal: -"Yes, several very honest; they'll cheat a little at cards, sometimes; but -that's nothing." Mrs. F.: "Pshaw! but virtuous, I mean." S.: "Yes, faith; -I believe some women are virtuous too; but 'tis as I believe some men are -valiant, through fear. For why should a man court danger or a woman shun -pleasure?"--Congreve, "Love for Love," III. 14.] - -[Footnote 361: Vanbrugh, "Provoked Wife," V. 2. Compare also in this piece -the character of Mademoiselle, the French chambermaid. They represent -French vice as even more shameless than English vice.] - -[Footnote 362: Farquhar's "The Beaux Stratagem," I. 1; and in the same -piece here is the catechism of love: "What are the objects of that -passion?--youth, beauty, and clean linen." And from the "Mock Astrologer" -of Dryden: "As I am a gentleman, a man about town, one that wears good -clothes, eats, drinks, and wenches sufficiently."] - -[Footnote 363: Congreve, "The Way of the World," II. 4.] - -[Footnote 364: The part of Chaplain Foigard in Farquhar's "Beaux -Stratagem": of Mademoiselle, and generally of all the French people.] - -[Footnote 365: The part of Amanda in Vanbrugh's "Relapse"; of Mrs. -Sullen; the conversion of two roisterers, in the "Beaux Stratagem."] - -[Footnote 366: "Though marriage be a lottery in which there are a wondrous -many blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot, in which the only heaven -upon earth is written." - -"To be capable of loving one, doubtless, is better than to possess a -thousand."--Vanbrugh.] - -[Footnote 367: "She Stoops to Conquer."] - -[Footnote 368: "The Works of Lord Byron", 18 vols. ed. Moore, 1833, II. -p. 303.] - -[Footnote 369: Acres: "Odds blades! David, no gentleman will ever risk -the loss of his honour!" - -David: "I say, then, it would be but civil in honour never to risk the -loss of a gentleman.--Look ye, master, this honour seems to me to be a -marvellous false friend; ay, truly, a very courtier-like servant."--The -Dramatic Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1828; "The Rivals," IV. 1.] - -[Footnote 370: Sir Anthony: "Nay, but Jack, such eyes! so innocently -wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some -thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! so deeply blushing at the -insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O Jack, lips, -smiling at their own discretion! and if not smiling, more sweetly -pouting, more lovely in sullenness!"--Ibid. III. 1.] - -[Footnote 371: "The School for Scandal," II. 2.] - -[Footnote 372: "The School for Scandal," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 373: Ibid. II. 2.] - -[Footnote 374: "The School for Scandal," I. 1.] - -[Footnote 375: Ibid.] - - - - -CHAPTER SECOND - - -Dryden - - -Comedy has led us a long way; we must return on our steps and consider -other kinds of writing. A higher spirit moves in the midst of the great -current. In the history of this talent we shall find the history of the -English classical spirit, its structure, its gaps, and its powers, its -formation and its development. - - - - -Section I.--Dryden's Début - - -The subject of the following lines is a young man, Lord Hastings, who -died of smallpox at the age of nineteen: - - -"His body was an orb, his sublime soul -Did move on virtue's and on learning's pole; -... Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make -If thou this hero's altitude canst take. -... Blisters with pride swell'd, which through's flesh did sprout -Like rose-buds, stuck i' the lily skin about. -Each little pimple had a tear in it, -To wail the fault its rising did commit.... -Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, -The cabinet of a richer soul within? -No comet need foretell his change drew on -Whose corpse might seem a constellation."[376] - - -With such a pretty morsel, Dryden, the greatest poet of the classical -age, makes his _début._ - -Such enormities indicate the close of a literary age. Excess of folly in -poetry, as excess of injustice in political matters, leads up to and -foretell revolutions. The Renaissance, unchecked and original, abandoned -the minds of men to the excitement and caprice of imagination, the -eccentricities, curiosities, outbreaks of a fancy which only cares to -content itself, breaks out into singularities, has need of novelties, -and loves audacity and extravagance, as reason loves justice and truth. -After the extinction of genius folly remained; after the removal of -inspiration nothing was left but absurdity. Formerly disorder and -internal enthusiasm produced and excused _concetti_ and wild flights; -thenceforth men threw them out in cold blood, by calculation and without -excuse. Formerly they expressed the state of the mind, now they belie -it. So are literary revolutions accomplished. The form, no longer -original or spontaneous, but imitated and passed from hand to hand, -outlives the old spirit which had created it, and is in opposition to -the new spirit which destroys it. This preliminary strife and -progressive transformation make up the life of Dryden, and account for -his impotence and his failures, his talent and his success. - - - - -Section II.--Dryden's Family and Education - - -Dryden's beginnings are in striking contrast with those of the poets of -the Renaissance, actors, vagabonds, soldiers, who were tossed about from -the first in all the contrasts and miseries of active life. He was born -in 1631 of a good family; his grand-father and uncle were baronets; Sir -Gilbert Pickering, his first cousin, was created a baronet by Charles I, -was a member of Parliament, chamberlain to the Protector, and one of his -Peers. Dryden was brought up in an excellent school, under Dr. Busby, -then in high repute; after which he passed four years at Cambridge. -Having inherited by his father's death a small estate, he used his -liberty and fortune only to remain in his studious life, and continued -in seclusion at the University for three years more. These are the -regular habits of an honorable and well-to-do family, the discipline of -a connected and solid education, the taste for classical and complete -studies. Such circumstances announce and prepare, not an artist, but a -man of letters. - -I find the same inclination and the same signs in the remainder of his -life, private or public. He regularly spends his mornings in writing or -reading, then dines with his family. His reading was that of a man of -culture and a critical mind, who does not think of amusing or exciting -himself, but who learns and judges. Vergil, Ovid, Horace, Juvenal, and -Persius were his favorite authors; he translated several; their names -were always on his pen; he discusses their opinions and their merits, -feeding himself on that reasoning which oratorical customs had imprinted -on all the works of the Roman mind. He is familiar with the new French -literature, the heir of the Latin, with Corneille and Racine, Boileau, -Rapin, and Bossu;[377] he reasons with them, often in their spirit, -writes thoughtfully, seldom fails to arrange some good theory to justify -each of his new works. He knew very well the literature of his own -country, though sometimes not very accurately, gave to authors their due -rank, classified the different kinds of writing, went back as far as old -Chaucer, whom he translated and put into a modern dress. His mind thus -filled, he would go in the afternoon to Will's coffee-house, the great -literary rendezvous: young poets, students fresh from the University, -literary dilettante crowded round his chair, carefully placed in summer -on the balcony, in winter by the fire, thinking themselves fortunate to -listen to him, or to extract a pinch of snuff respectfully from his -learned snuff-box. For indeed he was the monarch of taste and the umpire -of letters; he criticised novelties--Racine's last tragedy, Blackmore's -heavy epic, Swift's first poems; slightly vain, praising his own -writings, to the extent of saying that "no one had ever composed or will -ever compose a finer ode" than his own "Alexander's Feast"; but full of -information, fond of that interchange of ideas which discussion never -fails to produce, capable of enduring contradiction, and admitting his -adversary to be in the right. These manners show that literature had -become a matter of study rather than of inspiration, an employment for -taste rather than for enthusiasm, a source of amusement rather than of -emotion. - -His audience, his friendships, his actions, his quarrels, had the same -tendency. He lived amongst great men and courtiers, in a society of -artificial manners and measured language. He had married the daughter of -Thomas, Earl of Berkshire; he was historiographer-royal and -poet-laureate. He often saw the king and the princes. He dedicated each -of his works to some lord, in a laudatory, flunkeyish preface, bearing -witness to his intimate acquaintance with the great. He received a purse -of gold for each dedication, went to return thanks; introduces some of -these lords under pseudonyms in his "Essay on the Dramatic Art"; wrote -introductions for the works of others, called them Mæcenas, Tibullus, -or Pollio; discussed with them literary works and opinions. The -re-establishment of the court had brought back the art of conversation, -vanity, the necessity for appearing to be a man of letters and of -possessing good taste, all the company-manners which are the source of -classical literature, and which teach men the art of speaking well.[378] -On the other hand, literature, brought under the influence of society, -entered into society's interests, and first of all in petty private -quarrels. Whilst men of letters learned etiquette, courtiers learned how -to write. They soon became jumbled together, and naturally fell to -blows. The Duke of Buckingham wrote a parody on Dryden, "The Rehearsal," -and took infinite pains to teach the chief actor Dryden's tone and -gestures. Later, Rochester took up the cudgels against the poet, -supported a cabal in favor of Settle against him, and hired a band of -ruffians to cudgel him. Besides this, Dryden had quarrels with Shadwell -and a crowd of others, and finally with Blackmore and Jeremy Collier. To -crown all, he entered into the strife of political parties and religious -sects, fought for the Tories and Anglicans, then for the Roman -Catholics; wrote "The Medal, Absalom and Achitophel" against the -Whigs: "Religio Laici" against Dissenters and Papists; then "The Hind -and Panther" for James II, with the logic of controversy and the -bitterness of party. It is a long way from this combative and -argumentative existence to the reveries and seclusion of the true poet. -Such circumstances teach the art of writing clearly and soundly, -methodical and connected discussion, strong and exact style, banter and -refutation, eloquence and satire; these gifts are necessary to make a -man of letters heard or believed, and the mind enters compulsorily upon -a track when it is the only one that can conduct it to its goal. Dryden -entered upon it spontaneously. In his second production,[379] the -abundance of well-ordered ideas, the energy and oratorical harmony, the -simplicity, the gravity, the heroic and Roman spirit, announce a classic -genius, the relative not of Shakespeare, but of Corneille, capable not -of dramas, but of discussions. - - - - -Section III.--Dramatic Theories of Dryden - - -And yet, at first, he devoted himself to the drama; he wrote -twenty-seven pieces, and signed an agreement with the actors of the -King's Theatre to supply them with three every year. The theatre, -forbidden under the Commonwealth, had just reopened with extraordinary -magnificence and success. The rich scenes made movable, the women's -parts no longer played by boys, but by women, the novel and splendid -wax-lights, the machinery, the recent popularity of actors who had -become heroes of fashion, the scandalous importance of the actresses, -who were mistresses of the aristocracy and of the king, the example of -the court and the imitation of France, drew spectators in crowds. The -thirst for pleasure, long repressed, knew no bounds. Men indemnified -themselves for the long abstinence imposed by fanatical Puritans; eyes -and ears, disgusted with gloomy faces, nasal pronunciation, official -ejaculations on sin and damnation, satiated themselves with sweet -singing, sparkling dress, the seduction of voluptuous dances. They -wished to enjoy life, and that in a new fashion; for a new world, that -of the courtiers and the idle, had been formed. The abolition of feudal -tenures, the vast increase of commerce and wealth, the concourse of -landed proprietors, who let their lands and came to London to enjoy the -pleasures of the town and to court the favors of the king, had installed -on the summit of society, in England as well as in France, rank, -authority, the manners and tastes of the world of fashion, of the idle, -the drawing-room frequenters, lovers of pleasure, conversation, wit, and -polish, occupied with the piece in vogue, less to amuse themselves than -to criticise it. Thus was Dryden's drama built up; the poet, greedy of -glory and pressed for money, found here both money and glory, and was -half an innovator, with a large reinforcement of theories and prefaces, -diverging from the old English drama, approaching the new French -tragedy, attempting a compromise between classical eloquence and -romantic truth, accommodating himself as well as he could to the new -public, which paid and applauded him. - - -"The language, wit, and conversation of our age, are improved and -refined above the last.... Let us consider in what the refinement of a -language principally consists; that is, 'either in rejecting such old -words, or phrases, which are ill-sounding or improper; or in admitting -new, which are more proper, more sounding, and more significant.' ... -Let any man who understands English, read diligently the works of -Shakspeare and Fletcher, and I dare undertake, that he will find in -every page either some solecism of speech, or some notorious flaw in -sense.... Many of (their plots) were made of some ridiculous, incoherent -story, which in one play many times took up the business of an age. I -suppose I need not name 'Pericles Prince of Tyre,' nor the historical -plays of Shakspeare; besides many of the rest, as the 'Winter's Tale, -Love's Labour Lost, Measure for Measure,' which were either grounded on -impossibilities, or at least so meanly written, that the comedy neither -caused your mirth, nor the serious part your concernment.... I could -easily demonstrate, that our admired Fletcher neither understood correct -plotting, nor that which they call the decorum of the stage.... The -reader will see Philaster wounding his mistress, and afterwards his boy, -to save himself.... And for his shepherd he falls twice into the former -indecency of wounding women."[380] - - -Fletcher nowhere permits kings to retain a dignity suited to kings. -Moreover, the action of these authors' plays is always barbarous. They -introduce battles on the stage; they transport the scene in a moment to -a distance of twenty years or five hundred leagues, and a score of times -consecutively in one act; they jumble together three or four different -actions, especially in the historical dramas. But they sin most in -style. Dryden says of Shakespeare: "Many of his words, and more of his -phrases, are scarce intelligible. And of those which we understand, some -are ungrammatical, others coarse; and his whole style is so pestered -with figurative expressions, that it is as affected as it is -obscure."[381] Ben Jonson himself often has bad plots, redundancies, -barbarisms: "Well-placing of words, for the sweetness of pronunciation, -was not known till Mr. Waller introduced it."[382] All, in short, -descend to quibbles, low and common expressions: "In the age wherein -those poets lived, there was less of gallantry than in ours.... Besides -the want of education and learning, they wanted the benefit of -converse.... Gentlemen will now be entertained with the follies of each -other; and, though they allow Cob and Tibb to speak properly, yet they -are not much pleased with their tankard, or with their rags."[383] For -these gentlemen we must now write, and especially for "reasonable men"; -for it is not enough to have wit or to love tragedy, in order to be a -good critic: we must possess sound knowledge and a lofty reason, know -Aristotle, Horace, Longinus, and pronounce judgment according to their -rules.[384] These rules, based upon observation and logic, prescribe -unity of action; that this action should have a beginning, middle, and -end; that its parts should proceed naturally one from the other; that it -should excite terror and pity, so as to instruct and improve us; that -the characters should be distinct, harmonious, conformable with -tradition or the design of the poet. Such, says Dryden, will be the new -tragedy, closely allied, it seems, to the French, especially as he -quotes Bossu and Rapin, as if he took them for instructors. - -Yet it differs from it, and Dryden enumerates all that an English pit -can blame on the French stage. He says: - - -"The beauties of the French poesy are the beauties of a statue, but not -of a man, because not animated with the soul of poesy, which is -imitation of humour and passions.... He who will look upon their plays -which have been written till these last ten years, or thereabouts, will -find it an hard matter to pick out two or three passable humours amongst -them. Corneille himself, their arch-poet, what has he produced except -the 'Liar'? and you know how it was cried up in France; but when it came -upon the English stage, though well translated,... the most favourable -to it would not put it in competition with many of Fletcher's or Ben -Jonson's.... Their verses are to me the coldest I have ever read,... -their speeches being so many declamations. When the French stage came to -be reformed by Cardinal Richelieu, those long harangues were introduced, -to comply with the gravity of a churchman. Look upon the 'Cinna' and the -'Pompey'; they are not so properly to be called plays as long discourses -of reasons of state; and 'Polieucte,' in matters of religion is as -solemn as the long stops upon our organs. Since that time it is grown -into a custom, and their actors speak by the hour-glass, like our -parsons.... I deny not but this may suit well enough with the French; -for as we who are a more sullen people, come to be diverted at our -plays, so they, who are of an airy and gay temper, come thither to make -themselves more serious."[385] - - -As for the tumults and combats which the French relegate behind the -scenes, "nature has so formed our countrymen to fierceness,... they will -scarcely suffer combats and other objects of horror to be taken from -them."[386] Thus the French, by fettering themselves with these -scruples,[387] and confining themselves in their unities and their -rules, have removed action from their stage, and brought themselves down -to unbearable monotony and dryness. They lack originality, naturalness, -variety, fulness. - - -"... Contented to be thinly regular:... -Their tongue, enfeebled, is refined too much, -And, like pure gold, it bends at every touch. -Our sturdy Teuton yet will art obey, -More fit for manly thought, and strengthened with allay."[388] - - -Let them laugh as much as they like at Fletcher and Shakespeare; there -is in them "a more masculine fancy and greater spirit in the writing -than there is in any of the French." - -Though exaggerated, this criticism is good; and because it is good, I -mistrust the works which the writer is to produce. It is dangerous for -an artist to be excellent in theory; the creative spirit is hardly -consonant with the criticising spirit: he who, quietly seated on the -shore, discusses and compares, is hardly capable of plunging straight -and boldly into the stormy sea of invention. Moreover, Dryden holds -himself too evenly poised betwixt the moods; original artists love -exclusively and unjustly a certain idea and a certain world; the rest -disappears from their eyes; confined to one region of art, they deny or -scorn the other; it is because they are limited that they are strong. We -see beforehand that Dryden, pushed one way by his English mind, will be -drawn another way by his French rules; that he will alternately venture -and partly restrain himself; that he will attain mediocrity; that is, -platitude; that his faults will be incongruities; that is, absurdities. -All original art is self-regulated, and no original art can be regulated -from without: it carries its own counterpoise, and does not receive it -from elsewhere; it constitutes an inviolable whole; it is an animated -existence, which lives on its own blood, and which languishes or dies if -deprived of some of its blood and supplied from the veins of another. -Shakespeare's imagination cannot be guided by Racine's reason, nor -Racine's reason be exalted by Shakespeare's imagination; each is good in -itself, and excludes its rival; to unite them would be to produce a -bastard, a weakling, and a monster. Disorder, violent and sudden action, -harsh words, horror, depth, truth, exact imitation of reality, and the -lawless outbursts of mad passions--these features of Shakespeare become -each other. Order, measure, eloquence, aristocratic refinement, worldly -urbanity, exquisite painting of delicacy and virtue, all Racine's -features suit each other. It would destroy the one to attenuate, the -other to inflame him. Their whole being and beauty consist in the -agreement of their parts: to mar this agreement would be to abolish -their being and their beauty. In order to produce, we must invent a -personal and harmonious conception: we must not mingle two strange and -opposite ones. Dryden has left undone what he should have done, and has -done what he should not have done. - -He had, moreover, the worst of audiences, debauched and frivolous, void -of individual taste, floundering amid confused recollections of the -national literature and deformed imitations of foreign literature, -expecting nothing from the stage but the pleasure of the senses or the -gratification of curiosity. In reality, the drama, like every work of -art, only gives life and truth to a profound ideal of man and of -existence; there is a hidden philosophy under its circumvolutions and -violences, and the public ought to be capable of comprehending it, as -the poet is of conceiving it. The audience must have reflected or felt -with energy or refinement, in order to take in energetic or refined -thoughts; Hamlet and Iphigénie will never move a vulgar roisterer or a -lover of money. The character who weeps on the stage only rehearses our -own tears; our interest is but sympathy; and the drama is like an -external conscience, which shows us what we are, what we love, what we -have felt. What could the drama teach to gamesters like St. Albans, -drunkards like Rochester, prostitutes like Castlemaine, old boys like -Charles II? What spectators were those coarse epicureans, incapable even -of an assumed decency, lovers of brutal pleasures, barbarians in their -sports, obscene in words, void of honor, humanity, politeness, who made -the court a house of ill-fame! The splendid decorations, change of -scenes, the patter of long verse and forced sentiments, the observance -of a few rules imported from Paris--such was the natural food of their -vanity and folly, and such the theatre of the English Restoration. - -I take one of Dryden's tragedies, very celebrated in time past, -"Tyrannic Love, or the Royal Martyr";--a fine title, and fit to make a -stir. The royal martyr is St. Catharine, a princess of royal blood as it -appears, who is brought before the tyrant Maximin. She confesses her -faith, and a pagan philosopher, Apollonius, is set loose against her, to -refute her. Maximin says: - - -"War is my province!--Priest, why stand you mute? -You gain by heaven, and, therefore, should dispute." - - -Thus encouraged, the priest argues; but St. Catharine replies in the -following words: - - -"... Reason with your fond religion fights, -For many gods are many infinites; -This to the first philosophers was known, -Who, under various names, ador'd but one."[389] - - -Apollonius scratches his ear a little, and then answers that there are -great truths and good moral rules in paganism. The pious logician -immediately replies: - - -"Then let the whole dispute concluded be -Betwixt these rules, and Christianity."[390] - - -Being nonplussed, Apollonius is converted on the spot, insults the -prince, who, finding St. Catharine very beautiful, becomes suddenly -enamored, and makes jokes: - - -"Absent, I may her martyrdom decree, -But one look more will make that martyr me."[391] - - -In this dilemma he sends Placidius, "a great officer," to St. Catharine; -the great officer quotes and praises the gods of Epicurus; forthwith the -lady propounds the doctrine of final causes, which upsets that of atoms. -Maximin comes himself, and says: - - -"Since you neglect to answer my desires, -Know, princess, you shall burn in other fires."[392] - - -Thereupon she beards and defies him, calls him a slave, and walks off. -Touched by these delicate manners, he wishes to marry her lawfully, and -to repudiate his wife. Still, to omit no expedient, he employs a -magician, who utters invocations (on the stage), summons the infernal -spirits, and brings up a troop of spirits; these dance and sing -voluptuous songs about the bed of St. Catharine. Her guardian-angel -comes and drives them away. As a last resource, Maximin has a wheel -brought on the stage, on which to expose St. Catharine and her mother. -Whilst the executioners are going to strip the saint, a modest angel -descends in the nick of time, and breaks the wheel; after which the -ladies are carried off, and their throats are cut behind the wings. Add -to these pretty inventions a twofold intrigue, the love of Maximin's -daughter, Valeria, for Porphyrius, captain of the Prætorian bands, and -that of Porphyrius for Berenice, Maximin's wife; then a sudden -catastrophe, three deaths, and the triumph of the good people, who get -married and interchange polite phrases. Such is this tragedy, which is -called French-like; and most of the others are like it. In "Secret -Love," in "Marriage à la Mode," in "Aureng-Zebe," in the "Indian -Emperor," and especially in the "Conquest of Granada," everything is -extravagant. People cut one another to pieces, take towns, stab each -other, shout lustily. These dramas have just the truth and naturalness -of the libretto of an opera. Incantations abound; a spirit appears in -the "Indian Emperor," and declares that the Indian gods "are driven to -exile from their native lands." Ballets are also there; Vasquez and -Pizarro, seated in "a pleasant grotto," watch like conquerors the dances -of the Indian girls, who gambol voluptuously about them. Scenes worthy -of Lulli[393] are not wanting; Almeria, like Armide, comes to slay -Cortez in his sleep, and suddenly falls in love with him. Yet the -libretti of the opera have no incongruities; they avoid all which might -shock the imagination or the eyes; they are written for men of taste, -who shun ugliness and heaviness of any sort. Would you believe it? In -the "Indian Emperor," Montezuma is tortured on the stage, and to cap -all, a priest tries to convert him in the mean while.[394] I recognize -in this frightful pedantry the handsome cavaliers of the time, logicians -and hangmen, who fed on controversy, and for the sake of amusement went -to look at the tortures of the Puritans. I recognize behind these heaps -of improbabilities and adventures the puerile and worn-out courtiers, -who, sodden with wine, were past seeing incongruities, and whose nerves -were only stirred by startling surprises and barbarous events. - -Let us go still further. Dryden would set up on his stage the beauties -of French tragedy, and in the first place its nobility of sentiment. Is -it enough to copy, as he does, phrases of chivalry? He would need a -whole world, for a whole world is necessary to form noble souls. Virtue, -in the French tragic poets, is based on reason, religion, education, -philosophy. Their characters have that uprightness of mind, that -clearness of logic, that lofty judgment, which plant in a man settled -maxims and self-government. We perceive in their company the doctrines -of Bossuet and Descartes; with them, reflection aids conscience; the -habits of society add tact and finesse. The avoidance of violent actions -and physical horrors, the proportion and order of the fable, the art of -disguising or shunning coarse or low persons, the continuous perfection -of the most measured and noble style, everything contributes to raise -the stage to a sublime region, and we believe in higher souls by seeing -them in a purer air. Can we believe in them in Dryden? Frightful or -infamous characters every instant drag us down by their coarse -expressions in their own mire. Maximin, having stabbed Placidius, sits -on his body, stabs him twice more, and says to the guards: - - -"Bring me Porphyrius and my empress dead:-- -I would brave heaven, in my each hand a head."[395] - - -Nourmahal, repulsed by her husband's son, insists four times, using such -indecent and pedantic words as the following: - - -"And why this niceness to that pleasure shown, -Where nature sums up all her joys in one.... -Promiscuous love is nature's general law; -For whosoever the first lovers were, -Brother and sister made the second pair, -And doubled by their love their piety.... -You must be mine, that you may learn to live."[396] - - -Illusion vanishes at once; instead of being in a room with noble -characters, we meet with a mad prostitute and a drunken savage. When we -lift the masks the others are little better. Almeria, to whom a crown is -offered, says insolently: - - -"I take this garland, not as given by you, -But as my merit, and my beauty's due."[397] - - -Indamora, to whom an old courtier makes love, settles him with the -boastfulness of an upstart and the coarseness of a kitchen-maid: - - -"Were I no queen, did you my beauty weigh, -My youth in bloom, your age in its decay."[398] - - -None of these heroines know how to conduct themselves; they look on -impertinence as dignity, sensuality as tenderness; they have the -recklessness of the courtesan, the jealousies of the grisette, the -pettiness of a chapman's wife, the billingsgate of a fish-woman. The -heroes are the most unpleasant of swash-bucklers. Leonidas, first -recognized as hereditary prince, then suddenly forsaken, consoles -himself with this modest reflection: - - -"'Tis true I am alone. -So was the godhead, ere he made the world, -And better served himself than served by nature. -... I have scene enough within -To exercise my virtue."[399] - - -Shall I speak of that great trumpet-blower Almanzor, painted, as Dryden -confesses, after Artaban,[400] a redresser of wrongs, a -battalion-smiter, a destroyer of kingdoms?[401] We find nothing but -overcharged sentiments, sudden devotedness, exaggerated generosities, -high-sounding bathos of a clumsy chivalry; at bottom the characters are -clods and barbarians, who have tried to deck themselves in French honor -and fashionable politeness. And such, in fact, was the English court: it -imitated that of Louis XIV as a sign-painter imitates an artist. It had -neither taste nor refinement, and wished to appear as if it possessed -them. Panders and licentious women, ruffianly or butchering courtiers, -who went to see Harrison drawn, or to mutilate Coventry, maids of honor -who have awkward accidents at a ball, or sell to the planters the -convicts presented to them, a palace full of baying dogs and bawling -gamesters, a king who would bandy obscenities in public with his -half-naked mistresses[402]--such was the illustrious society; from -French modes they took but dress, from French noble sentiments but -high-sounding words. - - - - -Section IV.--The Style of Dryden's Plays - - -The second point worthy of imitation in classical tragedy is the style. -Dryden, in fact, purifies his own, and renders it more clear, by -introducing close reasoning and precise words. He has oratorical -discussions like Corneille, well-delivered retorts, symmetrical, like -carefully parried arguments. He has maxims vigorously enclosed in the -compass of a single line, distinctions, developments, and the whole art -of special pleading. He has happy antitheses, ornamental epithets, -finely wrought comparisons, and all the artifices of the literary mind. -What is most striking is, that he abandons that kind of verse specially -appropriated to the English drama which is without rhyme, and the -mixture of prose and verse common to the old authors, for a rhymed -tragedy like the French, fancying that he is thus inventing a new -species, which he calls heroic play. But in this transformation the good -perished, the bad remains. For rhyme differs in different races. To an -Englishman it resembles a song, and transports him at once to an ideal -and fairy world. To a Frenchman it is only a conventionalism or an -expediency, and transports him at once to an antechamber or a -drawing-room; to him it is an ornamental dress and nothing more; if it -mars prose, it ennobles it; it imposes respect, not enthusiasm, and -changes a vulgar into a high-bred style. Moreover, in French -aristocratic verse everything is connected; pedantry, logical machinery -of every kind, is excluded from it; there is nothing more disagreeable -to well-bred and refined persons than the scholastic rust. Images are -rare, but always well kept up; bold poesy, real fantasy, have no place -in it; their brilliancy and divergencies would derange the politeness -and regular flow of the social world. The right word, the prominence of -free expressions, are not to be met with in it; general terms, always -rather threadbare, suit best the caution and niceties of select society. -Dryden sins heavily against all these rules. His rhymes, to an -Englishman's ear, scatter at once the whole illusion of the stage; they -see that the characters who speak thus are but speaking puppets; he -himself admits that his heroic tragedy is only fit to represent on the -stage chivalric poems like those of Ariosto and Spenser. - -Poetic dash gives the finishing stroke to all likelihood. Would we -recognize the dramatic accent in this epic comparison? - - -"As some fair tulip, by a storm oppress'd -Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest; -And, bending to the blast, all pale and dead, -Hears, from within, the wind sing round its head-- -So, shrouded up, your beauty disappears: -Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears, -The storm, that caused your fright, is pass'd and done."[403] - - -What a singular triumphal song are these _concetti_ of Cortez as he -lands: - - -"On what new happy climate are we thrown, -So long kept secret, and so lately known? -As if our old world modestly withdrew, -And here in private had brought forth a new."[404] - - -Think how these patches of color would contrast with the sober design of -French dissertation. Here lovers vie with each other in metaphors; there -a wooer, in order to magnify the beauties of his mistress, says that -"bloody hearts lie panting in her hand." In every page harsh or vulgar -words spoil the regularity of a noble style. Ponderous logic is broadly -displayed in the speeches of princesses. "Two ifs," says Lyndaraxa, -"scarce make one possibility."[405] Dryden sets his college cap on the -heads of these poor women. Neither he nor his characters are well -brought up; they have taken from the French but the outer garb of the -bar and the schools; they have left behind symmetrical eloquence, -measured diction, elegance and delicacy. Awhile before, the licentious -coarseness of the Restoration pierced the mask of the fine sentiments -with which it was covered; now the rude English imagination breaks the -oratorical mould in which it tried to enclose itself. - -Let us look at the other side of the picture. Dryden would keep the -foundation of the old English drama, and retains the abundance of -events, the variety of plot, the unforeseen accidents, and the physical -representation of bloody or violent action. He kills as many people as -Shakespeare. Unfortunately, all poets are not justified in killing. When -they take their spectators among murders and sudden accidents, they -ought to have a hundred hidden preparations. Fancy a sort of rapture and -romantic folly, a most daring style, eccentric and poetical, songs, -pictures, reveries spoken aloud, frank scorn of all verisimilitude, a -mixture of tenderness, philosophy, and mockery, all the retiring charms -of varied feelings, all the whims of nimble fancy: the truth of events -matters little. No one who ever saw "Cymbeline" or "As you Like it" -looked at these plays with the eyes of a politician or a historian; no -one took these military processions, these accessions of princes, -seriously; the spectators were present at dissolving views. They did not -demand that things should proceed after the laws of nature; on the -contrary, they willingly did require that they should proceed against -the laws of nature. The irrationality is the charm. That new world must -be all imagination; if it was only so by halves, no one would care to -rise to it. This is why we do not rise to Dryden's. A queen dethroned, -then suddenly set up again; a tyrant who finds his lost son, is -deceived, adopts a girl in his place; a young prince led to punishment, -who snatches the sword of a guard, and recovers his crown; such are the -romances which constitute the "Maiden Queen" and the "Marriage à la -Mode." We can imagine what a display classical dissertations make in -this medley; solid reason beats down imagination, stroke after stroke, -to the ground. We cannot tell if the matter be a true portrait or a -fancy painting; we remain suspended between truth and fancy; we should -like either to get up to heaven or down to earth, and we jump down as -quick as possible from the clumsy scaffolding where the poet would perch -us. - -On the other hand, when Shakespeare wishes to impress a doctrine, not -raise a dream, he attunes us to it beforehand, but after another -fashion. We naturally remain in doubt before a cruel action: we divine -that the red irons which are about to put out the eyes of little Arthur -are painted sticks, and that the six rascals that besiege Rome, are -supernumeraries hired at a shilling a night. To conquer this mistrust we -must employ the most natural style, circumstantial and rude imitation of -the manners of the guardroom and of the alehouse; I can only believe in -Jack Cade's sedition on hearing the dirty words of bestial lewdness and -mobbish stupidity. You must let me have the jests, the coarse laughter, -drunkenness, the manners of butchers and tanners, to make me imagine a -mob or an election. So in murders, let me feel the fire of bubbling -passion, the accumulation of despair or hate which have unchained the -will and nerved the hand. When the unchecked words, the fits of rage, -the convulsive ejaculations of exasperated desire, have brought me in -contact with all the links of the inward necessity which has moulded the -man and guided the crime, I no longer think whether the knife is bloody, -because I feel with inner trembling the passion which has handled it. -Have I to see if Shakespeare's Cleopatra be really dead? The strange -laugh that bursts from her when the basket of asps is brought, the -sudden tension of nerves, the flow of feverish words, the fitful gayety, -the coarse language, the torrent of ideas with which she overflows, have -already made me sound all the depths of suicide,[406] and I have -foreseen it as soon as she came on the stage. This madness of the -imagination, incited by climate and despotic power; these woman's, -queen's, prostitute's nerves; this marvellous self-abandonment to all -the fire of invention and desire--these cries, tears, foam on the lips, -tempest of insults, actions, emotions; this promptitude to murder, -announce the rage with which she would rush against the least obstacle -and be dashed to pieces. What does Dryden effect in this matter with his -written phrases? What of the maid speaking, in the author's words, who -bids her half-mad mistress "call reason to assist you?"[407] What if -such a Cleopatra as his, designed after Lady Castlemaine,[408] skilled -in artifices and whimpering, voluptuous and a coquette, with neither the -nobleness of virtue, nor the greatness of crime: - - -"Nature meant me -A wife; a silly, harmless household dove, -Fond without art, and kind without deceit."[409] - - -Nay, Nature meant nothing of the kind, or otherwise this turtle dove -would not have tamed or kept an Antony; a woman without any prejudices -alone could do it, by the superiority of boldness and the fire of -genius. I can see already from the title of the piece why Dryden has -softened Shakespeare: "All for Love; or, the World well Lost." What a -wretchedness, to reduce such events to a pastoral, to excuse Antony, to -praise Charles II indirectly, to bleat as in a sheepfold! And such was -the taste of his contemporaries. When Dryden wrote the "Tempest" after -Shakespeare, and the "State of Innocence" after Milton, he again spoiled -the ideas of his masters; he turned Eve and Miranda into -courtesans;[410] he extinguished everywhere, under conventionalism and -indecencies, the frankness, severity, delicacy, and charm of the -original invention. By his side, Settle, Shadwell, Sir Robert Howard did -worse. "The Empress of Morocco," by Settle, was so admired, that the -gentlemen and ladies of the court learned it by heart, to play at -Whitehall before the king. And this was not a passing fancy; although -modified, the taste was to endure. In vain poets rejected a part of the -French alloy wherewith they had mixed their native metal; in vain they -returned to the old unrhymed verses of Jonson and Shakespeare; in vain -Dryden, in the parts of Antony, Ventidius, Octavia, Don Sebastian, and -Dorax, recovered a portion of the old naturalness and energy; in vain -Otway, who had real dramatic talent, Lee and Southern, attained a true -or touching accent, so that once, in "Venice Preserved," it was thought -that the drama would be regenerated. The drama was dead, and tragedy -could not replace it; or rather each one died by the other; and their -union, which robbed them of strength in Dryden's time, enervated them -also in the time of his successors. Literary style blunted dramatic -truth; dramatic truth marred literary style; the work was neither -sufficiently vivid nor sufficiently well written; the author was too -little of a poet or of an orator; he had neither Shakespeare's fire of -imagination nor Racine's polish and art.[411] He strayed on the -boundaries of two dramas, and suited neither the half-barbarous men of -art nor the well-polished men of the court. Such indeed was the -audience, hesitating between two forms of thought, fed by two opposite -civilizations. They had no longer the freshness of feelings, the depth -of impression, the bold originality and poetic folly of the cavaliers -and adventurers of the Renaissance; nor will they ever acquire the -aptness of speech, gentleness of manners, courtly habits, and -cultivation of sentiment and thought which adorned the court of Louis -XIV. They are quitting the age of solitary imagination and invention, -which suits their race, for the age of reasoning and worldly -conversation, which does not suit their race; they lose their own -merits, and do not acquire the merits of others. They were meagre poets -and ill-bred courtiers, having lost the art of imagination and having -not yet acquired good manners, at times dull or brutal, at times -emphatic or stiff. For the production of fine poetry, race and age must -concur. This race, diverging from its own age, and fettered at the -outset by foreign imitation, formed its classical literature but slowly; -it will only attain it after transforming its religious and political -condition: the age will be that of English reason. Dryden inaugurates it -by his other works, and the writers who appear in the reign of Queen -Anne will give it its completion, its authority, and its splendor. - - - - -Section V.--His Merit as a Dramatist - - -But let us pause a moment longer to inquire whether, amid so many -abortive and distorted branches, the old theatrical stock, abandoned by -chance to itself, will not produce at some point a sound and living -shoot. When a man like Dryden, so gifted, so well informed and -experienced, works with a will, there is hope that he will some time -succeed; and once, in part at least, Dryden did succeed. It would be -treating him unjustly to be always comparing him with Shakespeare; but -even on Shakespeare's ground, with the same materials, it is possible to -create a fine work; only the reader must forget for a while the great -inventor, the inexhaustible creator of vehement and original souls, and -to consider the imitator on his own merits, without forcing an -overwhelming comparison. - -There is vigor and art in this tragedy of Dryden, "All for Love. He has -informed us, that this was the only play written to please -himself."[412] And he had really composed it learnedly, according to -history and logic. And what is better still, he wrote it in a manly -style. In the preface he says: "The fabric of the play is regular -enough, as to the inferior parts of it; and the unities of time, place, -and action, more exactly observed, than perhaps the English theatre -requires. Particularly, the action is so much one, that it is the only -of the kind without episode, or underplot; every scene in the tragedy -conducing to the main design, and every act concluding with a turn of -it."[413] He did more; he abandoned the French ornaments, and returned -to national tradition: "In my style I have professed to imitate the -divine Shakespeare; which that I might perform more freely, I have -disincumbered myself from rhyme.... Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and -without vanity, that by imitating him, I have excelled myself throughout -the play; and particularly, that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and -Ventidius in the first act, to anything which I have written in this -kind."[414] Dryden was right; if Cleopatra is weak, if this feebleness -of conception takes away the interest and mars the general effect, if -the new rhetoric and the old emphasis at times suspend the emotion and -destroy the likelihood, yet on the whole the drama stands erect, and -what is more, moves on. The poet is skilful; he has planned, he knows -how to construct a scene, to represent the internal struggle by which -two passions contend for a human heart. We perceive the tragical -vicissitude of the strife, the progress of a sentiment, the overthrow of -obstacles, the slow growth of desire or wrath, to the very instant when -the resolution, rising up of itself or seduced from without, rushes -suddenly in one groove. There are natural words; the poet thinks and -writes too genuinely not to discover them at need. There are manly -characters: he himself is a man; and beneath his courtier's pliability, -his affectations as a fashionable poet, he has retained his stern and -energetic character. Except for one scene of recrimination, his Octavia -is a Roman matron; and when, even in Alexandria, in Cleopatra's palace, -she comes to look for Antony, she does it with a simplicity and -nobility, not to be surpassed. "Cæsar's sister," cries out Antony, -accosting her. Octavia answers: - - -"That's unkind. -Had I been nothing more than Cæsar's sister, -Know, I had still remain'd in Cæsar's camp: -But your Octavia, your much injured wife, -Though banish'd from your bed, driven from your house, -In spite of Cæsar's sister, still is yours. -'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness, -And prompts me not to seek what you should offer; -But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride. -I come to claim you as my own; to show -My duty first, to ask, nay beg, your kindness: -Your hand, my lord; 'tis mine, and I will have it."[415] - - -Antony humiliated, refuses the pardon Octavia has brought him and tells -her: - - -"I fear, Octavia, you have begg'd my life,... -Poorly and basely begg'd it of your brother. -_Octavia._ Poorly and basely I could never beg, -Nor could my brother grant.... -My hard fortune -Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes. -But the conditions I have brought are such, -You need not blush to take: I love your honour, -Because 'tis mine; it never shall be said -Octavia's husband was her brother's slave. -Sir, you are free; free, even from her you loath; -For, though my brother bargains for your love, -Makes me the price and cement of your peace, -I have a soul like yours; I cannot take -Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve. -I'll tell my brother we are reconciled; -He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march -To rule the East: I may be dropt at Athens; -No matter where. I never will complain, -But only keep the barren name of wife, -And rid you of the trouble."[416] - - -This is lofty; this woman has a proud heart, and also a wife's heart: -she knows how to give and how to bear; and better, she knows how to -sacrifice herself without self-assertion, and calmly; no vulgar mind -conceived such a soul as this. And Ventidius, the old general, who with -her and previous to her, comes to rescue Antony from his illusion and -servitude, is worthy to speak in behalf of honor, as she had spoken for -duty. Doubtless he was a plebeian, a rude and plain-speaking soldier, -with the frankness and jests of his profession, sometimes clumsy, such -as a clever eunuch can dupe, "a thick-skulled hero," who, out of -simplicity of soul, from the coarseness of his training, unsuspectingly -brings Antony back to the meshes, which he seemed to be breaking -through. Falling into a trap, he tells Antony that he has seen Cleopatra -unfaithful with Dolabella: - - -"_Antony._ My Cleopatra? -_Ventidius._ Your Cleopatra. -Dolabella's Cleopatra. -Every man's Cleopatra. -_Antony._ Thou best. -_Ventidius._ I do not lie, my lord. -Is this so strange? Should mistresses be left, -And not provide against a time of change? -You know she's not much used to lonely nights."[417] - - -It was just the way to make Antony jealous and bring him back furious to -Cleopatra. But what a noble heart has this Ventidius, and how we catch, -when he is alone with Antony, the manly voice, the deep tones which had -been heard on the battlefield! He loves his general like a good and -honest dog, and asks no better than to die, so it be at his master's -feet. He growls stealthily on seeing him cast down, crouches round him, -and suddenly weeps: - - -"_Ventidius._ Look, emperor, this is no common dew. [_Weeping._] -I have not wept this forty years; but now -My mother comes afresh into my eyes, -I cannot help her softness. -_Antony._ By Heaven, he weeps! poor, good old man, he weeps! -The big round drops course one another down -The furrows of his cheeks.--Stop them, Ventidius, -Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame, -That caused them full before me. -_Ventidius._ I'll do my best. -_Antony._ Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends: -See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not -For my own grief, but thine. Nay, Father!"[418] - - -As we hear these terrible sobs, we think of Tacitus's veterans, who -escaping from the marshes of Germany, with scarred breasts, white heads, -limbs stiff with service, kissed the hands of Drusus, carried his -fingers to their gums, that he might feel their worn and loosened teeth, -incapable to bite the wretched bread which was given to them: - - -"No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours -In desperate sloth, miscall'd philosophy. -Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you, -And long to call you chief: By painful journies, -I led them, patient both of heat and hunger, -Down from the Parthian marshes to the Nile. -'Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt faces, -Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands; there's virtue in them. -They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates -Than yon trim bands can buy."[419] - - -And when all is lost, when the Egyptians have turned traitors and there -is nothing left but to die well, Ventidius says: - - -"There yet remain -Three legions in the town. The last assault -Lopt off the rest: if death be your design-- -As I must wish it now--these are sufficient -To make a heap about us of dead foes, -An honest pile for burial.... Chuse your death; -For, I have seen in him such various shapes, -I care not which I take: I'm only troubled. -The life I bear is worn to such a rag, -'Tis scarce worth giving. I could wish, indeed. -We threw it from us with a better grace; -That, like two lions taken in the toils, -We might at least thrust out our paws, and wound -The hunters that inclose us."[420]... - - -Antony begs him to go, but he refuses; and then he entreats Ventidius -to kill him: - - -"_Antony._ Do not deny me twice. -_Ventidius._ By Heaven I will not. -Let it not be to outlive you. -_Antony._ Kill me first, -And then die thou; for 'tis but just thou serve -Thy friend, before thyself. -_Ventidius._ Give me your hand. -We soon shall meet again. Now, farewell, emperor! -[_Embraces._] -... I will not make a business of a trifle: -And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you. -Pray, turn your face. -_Antony._ I do: strike home, be sure. -_Ventidius._ Home, as my sword will reach."[421] - - -And with one blow he kills himself. These are the tragic, stoical -manners of a military monarchy, the great profusion of murders and -sacrifices wherewith the men of this overturned and shattered society -killed and died. This Antony, for whom so much has been done, is not -undeserving of their love: he has been one of Cæsar's heroes, the first -soldier of the van; kindness and generosity breathe from him to the -last; if he is weak against a woman, he is strong against men; he has -the muscles and heart, the wrath and passions of a soldier; it is this -fever-heat of blood, this too quick sentiment of honor, which has caused -him ruin; he cannot forgive his own crime; he possesses not that lofty -genius which, dwelling in a region superior to ordinary rules, -emancipates a man from hesitation, from discouragement and remorse; he -is only a soldier, he cannot forget that he has not executed the orders -given to him: - - -"_Ventidius._ Emperor! -_Antony._ Emperor? Why, that's the style of victory; -The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds, -Salutes his general so; but never more -Shall that sound reach my ears. -_Ventidius._ I warrant you. -_Antony._ Actium, Actium! Oh---- -_Ventidius._ It sits too near you. -_Antony._ Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day; -And in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers, -The hag that rides my dreams...." - -"_Ventidius._ That's my royal master; -And, shall we fight? -_Antony._ I warrant thee, old soldier. -Thou shalt behold me once again in iron; -And at the head of our old troops, that beat -The Parthians, cry aloud, 'Come, follow me.'"[422] - - -He fancies himself on the battlefield, and already his impetuosity -carries him away. Such a man is not fit to govern men; we cannot master -fortune until we have mastered ourselves; this man is only made to belie -and destroy himself, and to be veered round alternately by every -passion. As soon as he believes Cleopatra faithful, honor, reputation, -empire, everything vanishes: - - -"_Ventidius._ And what's this toy, -In balance with your fortune, honour, fame? -_Antony._ What is't, Ventidius? it outweighs them all. -Why, we have more than conquer'd Cæsar now. -My queen's not only innocent, but loves me.... -Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art, -And ask forgiveness of wrong'd innocence! -_Ventidius._ I'll rather die than take it. Will you go? -_Antony._ Go! Whither? Go from all that's excellent! -... Give, you gods, -Give to your boy, your Cæsar, -This rattle of a globe to play withal, -This gewgaw world; and put him cheaply off: -I'll not be pleased with less than Cleopatra."[423] - - -Dejection follows excess; these souls are only tempered against fear; -their courage is but that of the bull and the lion; to be fully -themselves, they need bodily action, visible danger; their temperament -sustains them; before great moral sufferings they give away. When Antony -thinks himself deceived, he despairs, and has nothing left but to die: - - -"Let him (Cæsar) walk -Alone upon't. I'm weary of my part. -My torch is out; and the world stands before me, -Like a black desert at the approach of night; -I'll lay me down, and stray no farther on."[424] - - -Such verses remind us of Othello's gloomy dreams, of Macbeth's, of -Hamlet's even; beyond the pile of swelling tirades and characters of -painted cardboard, it is as though the poet had touched the ancient -drama, and brought its emotion away with him. - -By his side another also has felt it, a young man, a poor adventurer, by -turns a student, actor, officer, always wild and always poor, who lived -madly and sadly in excess and misery, like the old dramatists, with -their inspiration, their fire, and who died at the age of thirty-four, -according to some of a fever caused by fatigue, according to others of a -prolonged fast, at the end of which he swallowed too quickly a morsel of -bread bestowed on him in charity. Through the pompous cloak of the new -rhetoric, Thomas Otway now and then reached the passions of the other -age. It is plain that the times he lived in marred him, that he blunted -himself the harshness and truth of the emotion he felt, that he no -longer mastered the bold words he needed, that the oratorical style, the -literary phrases, the classical declamation, the well-poised antitheses, -buzzed about him, and drowned his note in their sustained and monotonous -hum. Had he but been born a hundred years earlier! In his "Orphan" and -"Venice Preserved" we encounter the sombre imaginations of Webster, -Ford, and Shakespeare, their gloomy idea of life, their atrocities, -murders, pictures of irresistible passions, which riot blindly like a -herd of savage beasts, and make a chaos of the battlefield, with their -yells and tumult, leaving behind them but devastation and heaps of dead. -Like Shakespeare, he represents on the stage human transports and -rages--a brother violating his brother's wife, a husband perjuring -himself for his wife; Polydore, Chamont, Jaffier, weak and violent -souls, the sport of chance, the prey of temptation, with whom transport -or crime, like poison poured into the veins, gradually ascends, envenoms -the whole man, is communicated to all whom he touches, and contorts and -casts them down together in a convulsive delirium. Like Shakespeare, he -has found poignant and living words,[425] which lay bare the depths of -humanity, the strange creaking of a machine which is getting out of -order, the tension of the will stretched to breaking-point,[426] the -simplicity of real sacrifice, the humility of exasperated and craving -passion, which begs to the end, and against all hope, for its fuel and -its gratification.[427] Like Shakespeare, he has conceived genuine -women[428]--Monima, above all, Belvidera, who, like Imogen, has given -herself wholly, and is lost as in an abyss of adoration for him whom she -has chosen, who can but love, obey, weep, suffer, and who dies like a -flower plucked from the stalk, when her arms are torn from the neck -around which she has locked them. Like Shakespeare again, he has found, -at least once, the grand bitter buffoonery, the harsh sentiment of human -baseness; and he has introduced into his most painful tragedy, an impure -caricature, an old senator, who unbends from his official gravity in -order to play at his mistress's house the clown or the valet. How -bitter! how true was his conception, in making the busy man eager to -leave his robes and his ceremonies! how ready the man is to abase -himself, when, escaped from his part, he comes to his real self! how the -ape and the dog crop up in him! The senator Antonio comes to his -Aquilina, who insults him; he is amused; hard words are a relief to -compliments; he speaks in a shrill voice, runs into a falsetto like a -zany at a country fair: - - -"_Antonio._ Nacky, Nacky, Nacky--how dost do, Nacky? Hurry, -durry. I am come, little Nacky. Past eleven o'clock, a late hour; time -in all conscience to go to bed, Nacky.--Nacky did I say? Ay, Nacky, -Aquilina, lina, lina, quilina; Aquilina, Naquilina, Acky, Nacky, queen -Nacky.--Come, let's to bed.--You fubbs, you pug you--You little -puss.--Purree tuzzy--I am a senator. -_Aquilina._ You are a fool, I am sure. -_Antonio._ May be so too, sweet-heart. Never the worse senator for -all that. Come, Nacky, Nacky; let's have a game at romp, Nacky! -... You won't sit down? Then look you now; suppose me a bull, -a Basan-bull, the bull of bulls, or any bull. Thus up I get, and with -my brows thus bent--I broo; I say I broo, I broo, I broo. You won't -sit down, will you---I broo.... Now, I'll be a senator again, and -thy lover, little Nicky, Nacky. Ah, toad, toad, toad, toad, spit in my -face a little, Nacky; spit in my face, pry'thee, spit in my face, never -so little; spit but a little bit--spit, spit, spit, spit when you are -bid, I say; do pry'thee, spit.--Now, now spit. What, you won't spit, will -you? Then I'll be a dog. -_Aquilina._ A dog, my lord! -_Antonio._ Ay a dog, and I'll give thee this t'other purse to let me be -a dog--and to use me like a dog a little. Hurry durry, I will--here 'tis. -(Gives the purse.)... Now bough waugh waugh, bough, waugh. -_Aquilina._ Hold, hold, sir. If curs bite, they must be kicked, sir. Do -you see, kicked thus? -_Antonio._ Ay, with all my heart. Do, kick, kick on, now I am under -the table, kick again--kick harder--harder yet--bough, waugh, waugh, -bough.--Odd, I'll have a snap at thy shins.--Bough, waugh, waugh, -waugh, bough--odd, she kicks bravely."[429] - - -At last she takes a whip, thrashes him soundly, and turns him out of the -house. He will return, we may be sure of that; he has spent a pleasant -evening; he rubs his back, but he was amused. In short, he was but a -clown who had missed his vocation, whom chance has given an embroidered -silk gown, and who turns out at so much an hour political harlequinades. -He feels more natural, more at his ease, playing Punch than aping a -statesman. - -These are but gleams: for the most part Otway is a poet of his time, -dull and forced in color; buried, like the rest, in the heavy, gray, -clouded atmosphere, half English and half French, in which the bright -lights brought over from France, are snuffed out by the insular fogs. He -is a man of his time; dike the rest, he writes obscene comedies, "The -Soldier's Fortune, The Atheist, Friendship in Fashion." He depicts -coarse and vicious cavaliers, rogues on principle, as harsh and corrupt -as those of Wycherley, Beaugard, who vaunts and practises the maxims of -Hobbes; the father, an old, corrupt rascal, who brags of his morality, -and whom his son coldly sends to the dogs with a bag of crowns: Sir -Jolly Jumble, a kind of base Falstaff, a pander by profession, whom the -courtesans call "papa, daddy," who, "if he sits but at the table with -one, he'll be making nasty figures in the napkins:"[430] Sir Davy Dunce, -a disgusting animal, "who has such a breath, one kiss of him were enough -to cure the fits of the mother; 'tis worse than assafœtida. Clean -linen, he says, is unwholesome...; he is continually eating of garlic, -and chewing tobacco";[431] Polydore, who, enamored of his father's ward, -tries to force her in the first scene, envies the brutes, and makes up -his mind to imitate them on the next occasion.[432] Otway defiles even -his heroines.[433] Truly this society sickens us. They thought to cover -all their filth with fine correct metaphors, neatly ended poetical -periods, a garment of harmonious phrases and noble expressions. They -thought to equal Racine by counterfeiting his style. They did not know -that in this style the outward elegance conceals an admirable propriety -of thought; that if it is a masterpiece of art, it is also a picture of -manners; that the most refined and accomplished in society alone could -speak and understand it; that it paints a civilization, as Shakespeare's -does; that each of these lines, which appear so stiff, has its -inflection and artifice; that all passions, and every shade of passions, -are expressed in them--not, it is true, wild and entire, as in -Shakespeare, but pared down and refined by courtly life; that this is a -spectacle as unique as the other; that nature perfectly polished is as -complex and as difficult to understand as nature perfectly intact; that -as for the dramatists we speak of, they were as far below the one as -below the other; and that, in short, their characters are as much like -Racine's as the porter of M. de Beauvilliers or the cook of Mme de -Sévigné were like Mme de Sévigné or M. de Beauvilliers.[434] - - - - -Section VI.--His Prose Style - - -Let us then leave this drama in the obscurity which it deserves, and -seek elsewhere, in studied writings, for a happier employment of a -fuller talent. - -Pamphlets and dissertations in verse, letters, satires, translations and -imitations; here was the true domain of Dryden and of classical reason; -this the field on which logical faculties and the art of writing find -their best occupation.[435] Before descending into it, and observing -their work, it will be as well to study more closely the man who so -wielded them. - -His was a singularly solid and judicious mind, an excellent reasoner, -accustomed to mature his ideas, armed with good long-meditated proofs, -strong in discussion, asserting principles, establishing his -subdivisions, citing authorities, drawing inferences; so that, if we -read his prefaces without reading his dramas, we might take him for one -of the masters of the dramatic art. He naturally attains a prose style, -definite and precise; his ideas are unfolded with breadth and clearness; -his style is well moulded, exact and simple, free from the affectations -and ornaments with which Pope's was burdened afterwards; his expression -is, like that of Corneille, ample and full; the cause of it is simply to -be found in the inner arguments which unfold and sustain it. We can see -that he thinks, and that on his own behalf; that he combines and -verifies his thoughts; that besides all this, he naturally has a just -perception, and that with his method he has good sense. He has the -tastes and the weaknesses which suit his cast of intellect. He holds in -the highest estimation "the admirable Boileau, whose numbers are -excellent, whose expressions are noble, whose thoughts are just, whose -language is pure, whose satire is pointed, and whose sense is close. -What he borrows from the ancients, he repays with usury of his own, in -coin as good, and almost as universally valuable."[436] He has the -stiffness of the logician poets, too strict and argumentative, blaming -Ariosto "who neither designed justly, nor observed any unity of action, -or compass of time, or moderation in the vastness of his draught; his -style is luxurious, without majesty or decency, and his adventures -without the compass of nature and possibility."[437] He understands -delicacy no better than fancy. Speaking of Horace, he finds that "his -wit is faint and his salt almost insipid. Juvenal is of a more vigorous -and masculine wit; he gives me as much pleasure as I can bear."[438] For -the same reason he depreciates the French style: "Their language is not -strung with sinew's, like our English; it has the nimbleness of a -greyhound, but not the bulk and body of a mastiff.... They have set up -purity for the standard of their language; and a masculine vigor is that -of ours."[439] Two or three such words depict a man; Dryden has just -shown, unwittingly, the measure and quality of his mind. - -This mind, as we may imagine, is heavy, and especially so in flattery. -Flattery is the chief art in a monarchical age. Dryden is hardly skilful -in it, any more than his contemporaries. Across the Channel, at the same -epoch, they praised just as much, but without cringing too low, because -praise was decked out; now disguised or relieved by charm of style; now -looking as if men took to it as to a fashion. Thus delicately tempered, -people are able to digest it. But here, far from the fine aristocratic -kitchen, it weighs like an undigested mass upon the stomach. I have -related how Lord Clarendon, hearing that his daughter had just married -the Duke of York in secret, begged the king to have her instantly -beheaded;[440] how the Commons, composed for the most part of -Presbyterians, declared themselves and the English people rebels, worthy -of the punishment of death, and moreover cast themselves at the king's -feet, with contrite air to beg him to pardon the House and the -nation.[441] Dryden is no more delicate than statesmen and legislators. -His dedications are as a rule nauseous. He says to the Duchess of -Monmouth: "To receive the blessings and prayers of mankind, you need -only be seen together. We are ready to conclude, that you are a pair of -angels sent below to make virtue amiable in your persons, or to sit to -poets when they would pleasantly instruct the age, by drawing goodness -in the most perfect and alluring shape of nature.... No part of Europe -can afford a parallel to your noble Lord in masculine beauty, and in -goodliness of shape."[442] Elsewhere he says to the Duke of Monmouth: -"You have all the advantages of mind and body, and an illustrious birth -conspiring to render you an extraordinary person. The Achilles and the -Rinaldo are present in you, even above their originals; you only want a -Homer or a Tasso to make you equal to them. Youth, beauty, and courage -(all which you possess in the height of their perfection) are the most -desirable gifts of Heaven."[443] His Grace did not frown nor hold his -nose, and his Grace was right.[444] Another author, Mrs. Aphra Behn, -burned a still more ill-savored incense under the nose of Nell Gwynne: -people's nerves were strong in those days, and they breathed freely -where others would be suffocated. The Earl of Dorset having written some -little songs and satires, Dryden swears that in his way he equalled -Shakespeare, and surpassed all the ancients. And these bare-faced -panegyrics go on imperturbably for a score of pages, the author -alternately passing in review the various virtues of his great man, -always finding that the last is the finest;[445] after which he receives -by way of recompense a purse of gold. Dryden in taking the money, is not -more a flunkey than others. The corporation of Hull, harangued one day -by the Duke of Monmouth, made him a present of six broad pieces, which -were presented to Monmouth by Marvell, the member for Hull.[446] Modern -scruples were not yet born. I can believe that Dryden, with all his -prostrations, lacked spirit more than honor. - -A second talent, perhaps the first in carnival time, is the art of -saying broad things, and the Restoration was a carnival, about as -delicate as a bargee's ball. There are strange songs and rather -shameless prologues in Dryden's plays. His "Marriage à la Mode" opens -with these verses sung by a married woman: - - -"Why should a foolish marriage vow, -Which long ago was made, -Oblige us to each other now, -When passion is decay'd? -We loved, and we loved as long as we could, -'Till our love was loved out in us both. -But our marriage is dead when the pleasure is fled; -'Twas pleasure first made it an oath."[447] - - -The reader may read the rest for himself in Dryden's plays; it cannot be -quoted. Besides, Dryden does not succeed well; his mind is on too solid -a basis; his mood is too serious, even reserved, taciturn. As Sir Walter -Scott justly said, "his indelicacy was like the forced impudence of a -bashful man."[448] He wished to wear the fine exterior of a Sedley or a -Rochester, made himself petulant of set purpose, and squatted clumsily -in the filth in which others simply sported. Nothing is more sickening -than studied lewdness, and Dryden studies everything, even pleasantry -and politeness. He wrote to Dennis, who had praised him: "They (the -commendations) are no more mine when I receive them than the light of -the moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the reflection -of her brother."[449] He wrote to his cousin, in a diverting narration, -these details of a fat woman, with whom he had travelled: "Her weight -made the horses travel very heavily; but, to give them a breathing time, -she would often stop us,... and tell us we were all flesh and no -blood."[450] It seems that these were the sort of jokes which would then -amuse a lady. His letters are made up of heavy official civilities, -vigorously hewn compliments, mathematical salutes; his badinage is a -dissertation, he props up his trifles with periods. I have found in his -works some beautiful passages, but never agreeable ones; he cannot even -argue with taste. The characters in his "Essay of Dramatic Poesy" think -themselves still at college, learnedly quote Paterculus, and in Latin -too, opposing the definition of the other side, and observing "that it -was only _à genere et fine_, and so not altogether perfect."[451] In -one of his prefaces he says in a professorial tone: "It is charged upon -me that I make debauched persons my protagonists, or the chief persons -of the drama; and that I make them happy in the conclusion of my play; -against the law of comedy, which is to reward virtue, and punish -vice."[452] Elsewhere he declares: "It is not that I would explode the -use of metaphors from passion, for Longinus thinks them necessary to -raise it." His great "Essay on Satire" swarms with useless or long -protracted passages, with the inquiries and comparisons of a -commentator. He cannot get rid of the scholar, the logician, the -rhetorician, and show the plain downright man. - -But his true manliness was often apparent; in spite of several falls and -many slips, he shows a mind constantly upright, bending rather from -conventionality than from nature, possessing enthusiasm and afflatus, -occupied with grave thoughts, and subjecting his conduct to his -convictions. He was converted loyally and by conviction to the Roman -Catholic creed, persevered in it after the fall of James II, lost his -post of historiographer and poet-laureate, and though poor, burdened -with a family, and infirm, refused to dedicate his "Vergil" to King -William. He wrote to his sons: "Dissembling, though lawful in some -cases, is not my talent: yet, for your sake, I will struggle with the -plain openness of my nature.... In the mean time, I flatter not myself -with any manner of hopes, but do my duty, and suffer for God's sake.... -You know the profits (of 'Vergil') might have been more; but neither my -conscience nor my honor would suffer me to take them; but I can never -repent of my constancy, since I am thoroughly persuaded of the justice -of the cause for which I suffer."[453] One of his sons having been -expelled from school, he wrote to the master, Dr. Busby, his own former -teacher, with extreme gravity and nobleness, asking without humiliation, -disagreeing without giving offence, in a sustained and proud style, -which is calculated to please, seeking again his favor, if not as a debt -to the father, at least as a gift to the son, and concluding, "I have -done something, so far to conquer my own spirit as to ask it." He was a -good father to his children, as well as liberal, and sometimes even -generous, to the tenant of his little estate.[454] He says: "More libels -have been written against me than almost any man now living.... I have -seldom answered any scurrilous lampoon,... and, being naturally -vindictive, have suffered in silence, and possessed my soul in -quiet."[455] Insulted by Collier as a corrupter of morals, he endured -this coarse reproof, and nobly confessed the faults of his youth: "I -shall say the less of Mr. Collier, because in many things he has taxed -me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expressions of -mine which can be truly argued obscenity, profaneness, or immorality, -and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my -friend, as I have given him no personal occasion to be otherwise, he -will be glad of my repentance."[456] There is some wit in what follows: -"He (Collier) is too much given to horseplay in his raillery, and comes -to battle like a dictator from the plough. I will not say 'the zeal of -God's house has eaten him up,' but I am sure it has devoured some part -of his good manners and civility."[457] Such a repentance raises a man; -when he humbles himself thus, he must be a great man. He was so in mind -and in heart, full of solid arguments and individual opinions, above the -petty mannerism of rhetoric and affectations of style, a master of -verse, a slave to his idea, with that abundance of thought which is the -sign of true genius: "Thoughts such as they are, come crowding in so -fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject, to run -them into verses, or to give them the other harmony of prose: I have so -long studied and practised both, that they are grown into a habit, and -become familiar to me."[458] With these powers he entered upon his -second career; the English constitution and genius opened it to him. - - - - -Section VII.--How Literature in England is Occupied with -Politics and Religion - - -"A man," says La Bruyère, "born a Frenchman and a Christian finds -himself constrained in satire; great subjects are forbidden to him; he -essays them sometimes, and then turns aside to small things, which he -elevates by the beauty of his genius and his style." It was not so in -England. Great subjects were given up to vehement discussion; politics -and religion, like two arenas, invited every talent and every passion to -boldness and to battle. The king, at first popular, had roused -opposition by his vices and errors, and bent before public discontent as -before the intrigue of parties. It was known that he had sold the -interests of England to France; it was believed that he would deliver up -the consciences of Protestants to the Papists. The lies of Oates, the -murder of the magistrate Godfrey, his corpse solemnly paraded in the -streets of London, had inflamed the imagination and prejudices of the -people; the judges, blind or intimidated, sent innocent Roman Catholics -to the scaffold, and the mob received with insults and curses their -protestations of innocence. The king's brother had been dismissed from -his offices, and it was proposed to exclude him from the throne. The -pulpit, the theatre, the press, the hustings, resounded with discussions -and recriminations. The names of Whigs and Tories arose, and the -loftiest debates of political philosophy were carried on, enlivened by -the feeling of present and practical interests, embittered by the rancor -of old and wounded passions. Dryden plunged in; and his poem of "Absalom -and Achitophel" was a political pamphlet. "They who can criticise so -weakly," he says in the preface, "as to imagine that I have done my -worst, may be convinced at their own cost that I can write severely with -more ease than I can gently." A Biblical allegory, suited to the taste -of the time, hardly concealed the names, and did not hide the men. He -describes the tranquil old age and incontestable right of King -David;[459] the charm, pliant humor, popularity of his natural son -Absalom;[460] the genius and treachery of Achitophel,[461] who stirs up -the son against the father, unites the clashing ambitions, and -reanimates the conquered factions. There is hardly any wit here; there -is no time to be witty in such contests; think of the roused people who -listened, men in prison or exile who are waiting: fortune, liberty, life -was at stake. The thing is to strike the nail on the head, hard, not -gracefully. The public must recognize the characters, shout their names -as they recognize the portraits, applaud the attacks which are made upon -them, rail at them, hurl them from the high rank which they covet. -Dryden passes them all in review: - - -"In the first rank of these did Zimri[462] stand, -A man so various that he seemed to be -Not one, but all mankind's epitome: -Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, -Was everything by starts and nothing long; -But in the course of one revolving moon -Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; -Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, -Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. -Blest madman, who could every hour employ -With something new to wish or to enjoy! -Railing and praising were his usual themes; -And both, to show his judgment, in extremes: -So over-violent, or over-civil, -That every man with him was God or devil. -In squandering wealth was his peculiar art; -Nothing went unrewarded but desert. -Beggared by fools whom still he found too late, -He had his jest, and they had his estate. -He laugh'd himself from Court; then sought relief -By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief: -For spite of him, the weight of business fell -On Absalom and wise Achitophel; -Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft, -He left not faction, but of that was left.... - -"Shimei,[463] whose youth did early promise bring -Of zeal to God and hatred to his King; -Did wisely from expensive sins refrain -And never broke the Sabbath but for gain: -Nor ever was he known an oath to vent, -Or curse, unless against the government." - - -Against these attacks their chief, Shaftesbury, made a stand; when -accused of high treason he was declared not guilty by the grand jury, in -spite of all the efforts of the court, amidst the applause of a great -crowd; and his partisans caused a medal to be struck, bearing his face, -and boldly showing on the reverse London Bridge and the Tower, with the -sun rising and shining through a cloud. Dryden replied by his poem of -the "Medal," and the violent diatribe overwhelmed the open provocation: - - -"Oh, could the style that copied every grace -And plow'd such furrows for an eunuch face, -Could it have formed his ever-changing will, -The various piece had tired the graver's skill! -A martial hero first, with early care, -Blown like a pigmy by the winds, to war; -A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man, -So young his hatred to his Prince began. -Next this (how wildly will ambition steer!) -A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear; -Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold, -He cast himself into the saint-like mould, -Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain, -The loudest bag-pipe of the squeaking train." - - -The same bitterness envenomed religious controversy. Disputes on dogma, -for a moment cast into the shade by debauched and sceptical manners, had -broken out again, inflamed by the bigoted Roman Catholicism of the -prince, and by the just fears of the nation. The poet who in "Religio -Laici" was still an Anglican, though lukewarm and hesitating, drawn on -gradually by his absolutist inclinations, had become a convert to -Romanism, and in his poem of "The Hind and the Panther" fought for his -new creed. "The nation," he says in the preface, "is in too high a -ferment for me to expect either fair war or even so much as fair quarter -from a reader of the opposite party." And then, making use of mediaeval -allegories, he represents all the heretical sects as beasts of prey, -worrying a white hind of heavenly origin; he spares neither coarse -comparisons, gross sarcasms, nor open objurgations. The argument is -close and theological throughout. His hearers were not wits, who cared -to see how a dry subject could be adorned; they were not theologians, -only by accident and for a moment, animated by mistrustful and cautious -feelings, like Boileau in his "Amour de Dieu." They were oppressed men, -barely recovered from a secular persecution, attached to their faith by -their sufferings, ill at ease under the visible menaces and ominous -hatred of their restrained foes. Their poet must be a dialectician and a -schoolman; he needs all the sternness of logic; he is immeshed in it, -like a recent convert, saturated with the proofs which have separated -him from the national faith, and which support him against public -reprobation, fertile in distinctions, pointing with his finger at the -weaknesses of an argument, subdividing replies, bringing back his -adversary to the question, thorny and unpleasing to a modern reader, but -the more praised and loved in his own time. In all English minds there -is a basis of gravity and vehemence; hate rises tragic, with a gloomy -outbreak, like the breakers of the North Sea. In the midst of his public -strife Dryden attacks a private enemy, Shadwell, and overwhelms him with -immortal scorn.[464] A great epic style and solemn rhyme gave weight to -his sarcasm, and the unlucky rhymester was drawn in a ridiculous triumph -on the poetic car, whereon the muse sets the heroes and the gods. Dryden -represented the Irishman Mac Flecknoe, an old king of folly, -deliberating on the choice of a worthy successor, and choosing Shadwell -as an heir to his gabble, a propagator of nonsense, a boastful conqueror -of common sense. From all sides, through the streets littered with -paper, the nations assembled to look upon the young hero, standing near -the throne of his father, his brow surrounded with thick fogs, the -vacant smile of satisfied imbecility floating over his countenance: - - -"The hoary prince in majesty appear'd, -High on a throne of his own labours rear'd. -At his right hand our young Ascanius sate, -Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state; -His brows thick fogs instead of glories grace, -And lambent dulness play'd around his face. -As Hannibal did to the altars come, -Sworn by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome; -So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain, -That he, till death, true dulness would maintain; -And, in his father's right and realm's defence, -Ne'er to have peace with wit nor truce with sense. -The king himself the sacred unction made, -As king by office and as priest by trade. -In his sinister hand, instead of ball, -He placed a mighty mug of potent ale." - - -His father blesses him: - - -"'Heavens bless my son! from Ireland let him reign -To far Barbadoes on the western main; -Of his dominion may no end be known, -And greater than his father's be his throne; -Beyond Love's Kingdom let him stretch his pen! -He paused, and all the people cried Amen. -Then thus continued he: 'My son, advance -Still in new impudence, new ignorance. -Success let others teach, learn thou from me. -Pangs without birth and fruitless industry. -Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; -Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit.... -Let them be all by thy own model made -Of dulness and desire no foreign aid, -That they to future ages may be known, -Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own: -Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, -All full of thee and differing but in name.... -Like mine thy gentle numbers feebly creep; -Thy tragic Muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep. -With whate'er gall thou setst thyself to write, -Thy inoffensive satires never bite; -In thy felonious heart though venom lies, -It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. -Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame -In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram. -Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command -Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. -There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise, -And torture one poor word ten thousand ways; -Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit, -Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.' -He said, but his last words were scarcely heard. -For Bruce and Longville had a trap prepared, -And down they set the yet declaiming bard. -Sinking he left his drugget robe behind, -Borne upwards by a subterranean wind. -The mantle fell to the young prophet's part, -With double portion of his father's art."[465] - - -Thus the insulting masquerade goes on, not studied and polished like -Boileau's "Lutrin," but rude and pompous, inspired by a coarse poetical -afflatus, as you may see a great ship enter the muddy Thames, with -spread canvas, cleaving the waters. - - - - -Section VIII.--Development of the Art of Writing - - -In these three poems, the art of writing, the mark and the source of -classical literature, appeared for the first time. A new spirit was born -and renewed this art, like everything else; thenceforth, and for a -century to come, ideas sprang up and fell into their place after another -law than that which had hitherto shaped them. Under Spenser and -Shakespeare, living words, like cries or music, betrayed the internal -imagination which gave them forth. A kind of vision possessed the -artist; landscapes and events were unfolded in his mind as in nature; he -concentrated in a glance all the details and all the forces which make -up a being, and this image acted and was developed within him like the -external object; he imitated his characters; he heard their words; he -found it easier to represent them with every pulsation than to relate or -explain their feelings; he did not judge, he saw; he was an involuntary -actor and mimic; drama was his natural work, because in it the -characters speak, and not the author. Then this complex and imitative -conception changes color and is decomposed: man sees things no more at a -glance, but in detail; he walks leisurely round them, turning his light -upon all their parts in succession. The fire which revealed them by a -single illumination is extinguished; he observes qualities, marks -aspects, classifies groups of actions, judges and reasons. Words, before -animated, and as it were swelling with sap, are withered and dried up; -they become abstractions; they cease to produce in him figures and -landscapes; they only set in motion the relics of enfeebled passion; -they barely shed a few flickering beams on the uniform texture of his -dulled conception; they become exact, almost scientific, like numbers, -and like numbers they are arranged in a series, allied by their -analogies--the first, more simple, leading up to the next, more -composite--all in the same order, so that the mind which enters upon a -track, finds it level, and is never obliged to quit it. Thenceforth a -new career is opened; man has the whole world resubjected to his -thought; the change in his thoughts has changed all aspects, and -everything assumes a new form in his metamorphosed mind. His task is to -explain and to prove; this, in short, is the classical style, and this -is the style of Dryden. - -He develops, defines, concludes; he declares his thought, then takes it -up again, that his reader may receive it prepared, and having received, -may retain it. He bounds it with exact terms justified by the -dictionary, with simple constructions justified by grammar, that the -reader may have at every step a method of verification and a source of -clearness. He contrasts ideas with ideas, phrases with phrases, so that -the reader, guided by the contrast, may not deviate from the route -marked out for him. You may imagine the possible beauty of such a work. -This poesy is but a stronger prose. Closer ideas, more marked contrasts, -bolder images, only add weight to the argument. Metre and rhyme -transform the judgments into sentences. The mind, held on the stretch by -the rhythm, studies itself more, and by means of reflection arrives at a -noble conclusion. The judgments are enshrined in abbreviative images, or -symmetrical lines, which give them the solidity and popular form of a -dogma. General truths acquire the definite form which transmits them to -posterity, and propagates them in the human race. Such is the merit of -these poems; they please by their good expressions.[466] In a full and -solid web stand out cleverly connected or sparkling threads. Here Dryden -has gathered in one line a long argument; there a happy metaphor has -opened up a new perspective under the principal idea;[467] further on, -two similar words, united together, have struck the mind with an -unforeseen and cogent proof;[468] elsewhere a hidden comparison has -thrown a tinge of glory or shame on the person who least expected it. -These are all artifices or successes of a calculated style, which chains -the attention, and leaves the mind persuaded or convinced. - - - - -Section IX.--Dryden's Translations and Adaptations.--His -Occasional Soul--Stirring Verses - - -In truth, there is scarcely any other literary merit. If Dryden is a -skilled politician, a trained controversialist, well armed with -arguments, knowing all the ins and outs of discussion, versed in the -history of men and parties, this pamphleteering aptitude, practical and -English, confines him to the low region of everyday and personal -controversies, far from the lofty philosophy and speculative freedom -which give endurance and greatness to the classical style of his French -contemporaries. In the main, in this age, in England, all discussion was -fundamentally narrow. Except the terrible Hobbes, they all lack grand -originality. Dryden, like the rest, is confined to the arguments and -insults of sect and fashion. Their ideas were as small as their hatred -was strong; no general doctrine opened up a poetical vista beyond the -tumult of the strife; texts, traditions, a sad train of rigid reasoning, -such were their arms; the same prejudices and passions exist in both -parties. This is why the subject-matter fell below the art of writing. -Dryden had no personal philosophy to develop; he does but versify themes -given to him by others. In this sterility art soon is reduced to the -clothing of foreign ideas, and the writer becomes an antiquarian or a -translator. In reality, the greatest part of Dryden's poems are -imitations, adaptations, or copies. He translated Persius and Vergil, -with parts of Horace, Theocritus, Juvenal, Lucretius, and Homer, and put -into modern English several tales of Boccaccio and Chaucer. These -translations then appeared to be as great works as original -compositions. When he took the Æneid in hand, the nation, as Johnson -tells us, appeared to think its honor interested in the issue. Addison -furnished him with the arguments of every book, and an essay on the -Georgies; others supplied him with editions and notes; great lords vied -with one another in offering him hospitality; subscriptions flowed in. -They said that the English Vergil was to give England the Vergil of -Rome. This work was long considered his highest glory. Even so at Rome, -under Cicero, in the early dearth of national poetry, the translators of -Greek works were as highly praised as the original authors. - -This sterility of invention alters or depresses the taste. For taste is -an instinctive system, and leads us by internal maxims, which we ignore. -The mind, guided by it, perceives connections, shuns discordances, -enjoys or suffers, chooses or rejects, according to general conceptions -which master it, but are not visible. These removed, we see the tact, -which they engendered, disappear; the writer is clumsy, because -philosophy fails him. Such is the imperfection of the stories handled by -Dryden, from Boccaccio and Chaucer. Dryden does not see that fairy tales -or tales of chivalry only suit a poetry in its infancy; that ingenuous -subjects require an artless style; that the talk of Reynard and -Chanticleer, the adventures of Palamon and Arcite, the transformations, -tournaments, apparitions, need the astonished carelessness and the -graceful gossip of old Chaucer. Vigorous periods, reflective antitheses, -here oppress these amiable ghosts; classical phrases embarrass them in -their too stringent embrace; they are lost to our sight; to find them -again, we must go to their first parent, quit the too harsh light of a -learned and manly age; we cannot pursue them fairly except in their -first style in the dawn of credulous thought, under the mist which plays -about their vague forms, with all the blushes and smiles of morning. -Moreover, when Dryden comes on the scene, he crushes the delicacies of -his master, hauling in tirades or reasonings, blotting out sincere and -self-abandoning tenderness. What a difference between his account of -Arcite's death and Chaucer's! How wretched are all his fine literary -words, his gallantry, his symmetrical phrases, his cold regrets, -compared to the cries of sorrow, the true outpouring, the deep love in -Chaucer! But the worst fault is that almost everywhere he is a copyist, -and retains the faults like a literal translator, with eyes glued on the -work, powerless to comprehend and recast it, more a rhymester than a -poet. When La Fontaine put Æsop or Boccaccio into verse, he breathed a -new spirit into them; he took their matter only: the new soul, which -constitutes the value of his work, is his, and only his; and this soul -befits the work. In place of the Ciceronian periods of Boccaccio, we -find slim, little lines, full of delicate raillery, dainty -voluptuousness, feigned artlessness, which relish the forbidden fruit -because it is fruit, and because it is forbidden. The tragic departs, -the relics of the Middle Ages are a thousand leagues away; there remains -nothing but the invidious gayety, Gallic and racy, as of a critic and an -epicurean. In Dryden, incongruities abound; and our author is so little -shocked by them that he imports them elsewhere, in his theological -poems, representing the Roman Catholic Church, for instance, as a hind, -and the heresies by various animals, who dispute at as great length and -as learnedly as Oxford graduates.[469] I like him no better in his -Epistles; as a rule, they are but flatteries, almost always awkward, -often mythological, interspersed with somewhat commonplace sentences. "I -have studied Horace," he says, "and hope the style of his Epistles is -not ill imitated here."[470] But don't believe him. Horace's Epistles, -though in verse, are genuine letters, brisk, unequal in movement, always -unstudied, natural. Nothing is further from Dryden than this original -and thorough man of the world, philosophical and lewd,[471] this most -refined and most nervous of epicureans, this kinsman (at eighteen -centuries' distance) of Alfred de Musset and Voltaire. Like Horace, an -author must be a thinker and a man of the world to write agreeable -morality, and Dryden was no more than his contemporaries either a man of -the world or a thinker. - -But other characteristics, as eminently English, sustain him. Suddenly, -in the midst of the yawns which these Epistles occasioned, our eyes are -arrested. A true accent, new ideas, are brought out. Dryden, writing to -his cousin, a country gentleman, has lighted on an English original -subject. He depicts the life of a rural squire, the referee of his -neighbors, who shuns lawsuits and town doctors, who keeps himself in -health by hunting and exercise. Here is his portrait: - - -How bless'd is he, who leads a country life, -Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife!... -With crowds attended of your ancient race, -You seek the champaign sports, or sylvan chase; -With well-breathed beagles you surround the wood, -Even then industrious of the common good; -And often have you brought the wily fox -To suffer for the firstlings of the flocks; -Chased even amid the folds, and made to bleed, -Like felons, where they did the murderous deed. -This fiery game your active youth maintain'd; -Not yet by years extinguish'd though restrain'd:... - -"A patriot both the king and country serves; -Prerogative and privilege preserves: -Of each our laws the certain limit shows; -One must not ebb, nor t'other overflow; -Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand, -The barriers of the state on either hand; -May neither overflow, for then they drown the land -When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode; -Like those that water'd once the paradise of God. -Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share; -In peace the people, and the prince in war: -Consuls of moderate power in calms were made; -When the Gauls came, one sole dictator sway'd. -Patriots, in peace, assert the people's right, -With noble stubbornness resisting might; -No lawless mandates from the court receive, -Nor lend by force, but in a body give."[472] - - -This serious converse shows a political mind, fed on the spectacle of -affairs, having in the matter of public and practical debates the -superiority which the French have in speculative discussions and social -conversation. So, amidst the dryness of polemics break forth sudden -splendors, a poetic fount, a prayer from the heart's depths; the English -well of concentrated passion is on a sudden opened again with a flow and -a spirit which Dryden does not elsewhere exhibit: - - -"Dim as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars -To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers, -Is reason to the soul: and as on high -Those rolling fires discover but the sky, -Not light us here; so Reason's glimm'ring ray -Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, -But guide us upward to a better day. -And as those nightly tapers disappear -When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere, -So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight, -So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light."[473] - -"But, gracious God! how well dost thou provide -For erring judgments an unerring guide! -Thy throne is darkness in th' abyss of light, -A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. -O teach me to believe Thee thus conceal'd, -And search no farther than Thyself reveal'd; -But her alone for my director take, -Whom Thou hast promised never to forsake! -My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires; -My manhood, long misled by wandering fires, -Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone, -My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. -Such was I, such by nature still I am; -Be Thine the glory and be mine the shame! -Good life be now my task; my doubts are done."[474] - - -Such is the poetry of these serious minds. After having strayed in the -debaucheries and pomps of the Restoration, Dryden found his way to the -grave emotions of the inner life; though a Romanist, he felt like a -Protestant the wretchedness of man and the presence of grace: he was -capable of enthusiasm. Here and there a manly and soul-stirring verse -discloses, in the midst of his reasonings, the power of conception and -the inspiration of desire. When the tragic is met with, he takes to it -as to his own domain; at need, he deals in the horrible. He has -described the infernal chase, and the torture of the young girl worried -by dogs, with the savage energy of Milton.[475] As a contrast, he loved -nature: this taste always endures in England; the sombre, reflective -passions are unstrung in the grand peace and harmony of the fields. -Landscapes are to be met with amidst theological disputation: - - -"New blossoms flourish and new flowers arise, -As God had been abroad, and walking there -Had left his footsteps and reformed the year. -The sunny hills from far were seen to glow -With glittering beams, and in the meads below -The burnished brooks appeared with liquid gold to flow. -As last they heard the foolish Cuckoo sing, -Whose note proclaimed the holy day of spring."[476] - - -Under his regular versification the artist's soul is brought to -light;[477] though contracted by habits of classical argument, though -stiffened by controversy and polemics, though unable to create souls or -depict artless and delicate sentiments, he is a genuine poet: he is -troubled, raised by beautiful sounds and forms; he writes boldly under -the pressure of vehement ideas; he surrounds himself willingly with -splendid images; he is moved by the buzzing of their swarms, the glitter -of their splendors; he is, when he wishes it, a musician and a painter; -he writes stirring airs, which shake all the senses, even if they do not -sink deep into the heart. Such is his "Alexander's Feast," an ode in -honor of St. Cecilia's day, an admirable trumpet-blast, in which metre -and sound impress upon the nerves the emotions of the mind, a -masterpiece of rapture and of art, which Victor Hugo alone has come up -to.[478] Alexander is on his throne in the palace of Persepolis; the -lovely Thais sat by his side; before him, in a vast hall, his glorious -captains. And Timotheus sings: - - -"The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung; -Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young. -The jolly God in triumph comes; -Sound the trumpets, beat the drums; -Flush'd with a purple grace, -He shews his honest face. -Now, give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes, -Bacchus ever fair and young, -Drinking joys did first ordain; -Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, -Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: -Rich the treasure, -Sweet the pleasure; -Sweet is pleasure after pain." - - -And at the stirring sounds the king is troubled; his cheeks are glowing; -his battles return to his memory; he defies heaven and earth. Then a sad -song depresses him. Timotheus mourns the death of the betrayed Darius. -Then a tender song softens him; Timotheus lauds the dazzling beauty of -Thais. Suddenly he strikes the lyre again: - - -"A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. -Break his bands of sleep asunder, -And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. -Hark, hark! the horrid sound -Has raised up his head; -As awaked from the dead, -And amazed, he stares around. -Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries, -See the furies arise; -See the snakes, that they rear, -How they hiss in their hair! -And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! -Behold a ghastly band, -Each a torch in his hand! -Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, -And unburied remain -Inglorious on the plain: -Give the vengeance due -To the valiant crew. -Behold how they toss their torches on high, -How they point to the Persian abodes, -And glittering temples of their hostile gods.-- -The princes applaud, with a furious joy. -And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; -Thais led the way, -To light him to his prey, -And, like another Helen, fired another Troy."[479] - - -Thus formerly music softened, exalted, mastered men; Dryden's verses -acquire again their power in describing it. - - - - -Section X.--Misfortunes of Dryden's Old Age - - -This was one of his last works;[480] brilliant and poetical, it was born -amidst the greatest sadness. The king for whom he had written was -deposed and in exile; the religion which he had embraced was despised -and oppressed; a Roman Catholic and a royalist, he was bound to a -conquered party, which the nation resentfully and distrustfully -considered as the natural enemy of liberty and reason. He had lost the -two places which were his support; he lived wretchedly, burdened with a -family, obliged to support his sons abroad; treated as a hireling by a -coarse publisher, forced to ask him for money to pay for a watch which -he could not get on credit, beseeching Lord Bolingbroke to protect him -against Tonson's insults, rated by this shopkeeper when the promised -page was not finished on the stated day. His enemies persecuted him with -pamphlets; the severe Collier lashed his comedies unfeelingly; he was -damned without pity, but conscientiously. He had long been in ill -health, crippled, constrained to write much, reduced to exaggerate -flattery in order to earn from the great the indispensable money which -the publishers would not give him:[481] "What Vergil wrote in the vigor -of his age, in plenty and at ease, I have undertaken to translate in my -declining years; struggling with wants, oppressed with sickness, curbed -in my genius, liable to be misconstrued in all I write; and my judges, -if they are not very equitable, already prejudiced against me, by the -lying character which has been given them of my morals."[482] Although -he looked at his conduct from the most favorable point of view, he knew -that it had not always been worthy, and that all his writings would not -endure. Born between two epochs, he had oscillated between two forms of -life and two forms of thought, having reached the perfection of neither, -having kept the faults of both; having discovered in surrounding manners -no support worthy of his character, and in surrounding ideas no subject -worthy of his talent. If he had founded criticism and good style, this -criticism had only its scope in pedantic treatises or unconnected -prefaces; this good style continued out of the track in inflated -tragedies, dispersed over multiplied translations, scattered in -occasional pieces, in odes written to order, in party poems, meeting -only here and there an afflatus capable of employing it, and a subject -capable of sustaining it. What gigantic efforts to end in such a -moderate result! This is the natural condition of man. The end of -everything is pain and agony. For a long time gravel and gout left him -no peace; erysipelas seized one of his legs. In April, 1700, he tried to -go out; "a slight inflammation in one of his toes became, from neglect, -a gangrene;" the doctor would have tried amputation, but Dryden decided -that what remained to him of health and happiness was not worth the -pain. He died at the age of sixty-nine. - - - - -[Footnote 376: Dryden's Works, ed. Sir Walter Scott, 2d ed. 18 vols. -1821, XI. 94.] - -[Footnote 377: Rapin (1621-1687), a French Jesuit, a modern Latin poet -and literary critic. Bossu, or properly Lebossu (1631-1680), wrote a -"Traité du Poème épique," which had a great success in its day. -Both critics are now completely forgotten.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 378: In his "Defence of the Epilogue of the Second Part of the -Conquest of Granada," IV. 226, Dryden says: "Now, if they ask me, whence -it is that our conversation is so much refined, I must freely, and without -flattery, ascribe it to the court."] - -[Footnote 379: "Heroic stanzas to the memory of Oliver Cromwell."] - -[Footnote 380: "Defence of the Epilogue of the Second Part of the Conquest -of Granada," IV. 213.] - -[Footnote 381: Preface to "Troilus and Cressida," VI. 239.] - -[Footnote 382: "Defence of the Epilogue of the Conquest of Granada," IV. -219.] - -[Footnote 383: "Defence of the Epilogue of the Conquest of Granada," IV. -225-228.] - -[Footnote 384: Preface to "All for Love," V. 306.] - -[Footnote 385: "An Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 337-341.] - -[Footnote 386: "An Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 343.] - -[Footnote 387: In the preface of "All for Love," V. 308, Dryden says: -"In this nicety of manners does the excellency of French poetry consist. -Their heroes are the most civil people breathing, but their good -breeding seldom extends to a word of sense; all their wit is in their -ceremony; they want the genius which animates our stage.... Thus, their -Hippolytus is so scrupulous in point of decency, that he will rather -expose himself to death than accuse his stepmother to his father; and my -critics, I am sure, will commend him for it: But we of grosser -apprehensions are apt to think that this excess of generosity is not -practicable but with fools and madmen." - -"... But take Hippolytus out of his poetic fit, and I suppose he would -think it a wiser part to set the saddle on the right horse, and chuse -rather to live with the reputation of a plain-spoken honest man, than to -die with the infamy of an incestuous villain.... (The poet) has chosen -to give him the turn of gallantry, sent him to travel from Athens to -Paris, taught him to make love, and transformed the Hippolytus of -Euripides into Monsieur Hippolite." This criticism shows in a small -compass all the common sense and freedom of thought of Dryden; but, at -the same time, all the coarseness of his education and of his age.] - -[Footnote 388: Epistle XIV. to Mr. Motteux, XI. 70.] - -[Footnote 389: "Tyrannic Love," III. 2, I.] - -[Footnote 390: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 391: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 392: "Tyrannic Love," III. 3, I. This Maximin has a turn for -jokes. Porphyrius, to whom he offers his daughter in marriage, says that -"the distance was so vast"; whereupon Maximin replies: "Yet heaven and -earth, which so remote appear, are by the air, which flows betwixt them, -near" (2, 1).] - -[Footnote 393: Lulli (1633-1687), a renowned Italian composer. "Armide" is -one of his chief works.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 394: Christian Priest: "But we by martyrdom our faith avow." -Montezuma: "You do no more than I for ours do now. -To prove religion true, -If either wit or sufferings would suffice, -All faiths afford the constant and the wise, -And yet even they, by education sway'd, -In age defend what infancy obeyed." -Christian Priest: "Since age by erring childhood is misled, -Refer yourself to our unerring head." -Montezuma: "Man, and not err! what reason can you give?" -Christian Priest: "Renounce that carnal reason, and believe...." -Pizarro: "Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack." ---"The Indian Emperor," V. 2.] - -[Footnote 395: "Tyrannic Love," III. 5, 1. When dying Maximin says: "And -shoving back this earth on which I sit, I'll mount, and scatter all the -Gods I hit."] - -[Footnote 396: "Aureng-Zebe," V. 4, 1. Dryden thought he was imitating -Racine, when six lines further on he makes Nourmahal say: -"I am not changed, I love my husband still; -But love him as he was, when youthful grace -And the first down began to shade his face: -That image does my virgin-flames renew, -And all your father shines more bright in you." - -Racine's Phèdre (2, 5) thinks her husband Thesus dead, and says to her -stepson Hippolytus: -"Oui, prince, je languis, je brûle pour Thésée: -Je l'aime... -Mais fidèle, mais fier, et même un peu farouche, -Charmant, jeune, traînant tous les coeurs après soi, -Tel qu'on dépeint nos dieux, ou tel que je vous voi. -Il avait votre port, vos yeux, votre langage; -Cette noble pudeur colorait son visage." - -According to a note in Sir Walter Scott's edition of Dryden's works, -Langbaine traces this speech also to Seneca's Hippolytus.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 397: "The Indian Emperor," I. 2.] - -[Footnote 398: "Aureng-Zebe," V. 2, 1.] - -[Footnote 399: "Marriage à la Mode," IV. 3, 1.] - -[Footnote 400: "The first image I had of him was from the Achilles of -Homer, the next from Tasso's Rinaldo, and the third from the Artaban of -Monsieur Calpranède."--Preface to "Almanzor."] - -[Footnote 401: "The Moors have heaven, and me, to assist their cause" -"I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me" (3, 1). - -He falls in love, and speaks thus: - -"'Tis he; I feel him now in every part; -Like a new lord he vaunts about my heart, -Surveys in state each corner of my breast, -While poor fierce I, that was, am dispossess'd'" (3, 1).] - -[Footnote 402: Compare the song of the Zambra dance in the first part of -"Almanzor and Almahide."] - -[Footnote 403: The first part of "Almanzor and Almahide," IV. 5, 2.] - -[Footnote 404: "The Indian Emperor," II. 1, 1.] - -[Footnote 405: The first part of "Almanzor and Almahide," IV. 2, 1. This -same Lyndaraxa says also to Abdalla (4, 2), "Poor women's thoughts are -all extempore." These logical ladies can be very coarse; for example, -this same damsel says in Act 2, 1, to the same lover, who entreats her -to make him "happy, If I make you so, you shall pay my price."] - -[Footnote 406: "He words me, girls; he words me, that I should not -Be noble to myself; but hark thee, Charmian.... -Now, Iras, what think'st thou? -Thou, an Egyptian puppet shalt be shown -In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves, -With greasy aprons, rules and hammers, shall -Uplift us to the view.... -Saucy lictors -Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers -Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians -Extemporally will stage us, and present -Our Alexandrian revels; Antony -Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see -Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness -I' the posture of a whore.... -Husband, I come: -Now to that name my courage prove my title! -I am fire and air; my other elements -I give to baser life. So; have you done? -Come, then, and take the last warmth of my lips. -Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.... -Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, -That sucks the nurse asleep?" ---Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra," 5, 2. - -These two last lines, referring to the asp, are sublime, as the bitter -joke of a courtesan and an artist.] - -[Footnote 407: Iras: "Call reason to assist you." -Cleopatra: "I have none, -And none would have: My love's a noble madness -Which shews the cause deserved it: Modest sorrow -Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man; -But I have loved with such transcendent passion, -I soared, at first, quite out of reason's view, -And now am lost above it."--"All for Love," V. 2, 1.] - -[Footnote 408: Cleop.: "Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms! -You've been too long away from my embraces; -But, when I have you fast, and all my own, -With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs, -I'll say, you were unkind, and punish you, -And mark you red with many an eager kiss."--Ibid. V. 3, 1.] - -[Footnote 409: Ibid. 4, 1.] - -[Footnote 410: Dryden's Miranda says, in the "Tempest" (2, 2): "And if I -can but escape with life, I had rather be in pain nine months, as my -father threatened, than lose my longing." Miranda has a sister; they -quarrel, are jealous of each other, and so on. See also in "The State of -Innocence," 3, 1, the description which Eve gives of her happiness, and -the ideas which her confidences suggest to Satan.] - -[Footnote 411: This impotence reminds one of Casimir Delavigne.] - -[Footnote 412: See the introductory notice, by Sir Walter Scott, of "All -for Love," V. 290.] - -[Footnote 413: Ibid. V. 307.] - -[Footnote 414: Ibid. V. 319.] - -[Footnote 415: "All for Love," V. 3, 1.] - -[Footnote 416: "All for Love," V. 3, 1.] - -[Footnote 417: Ibid. 4, 1.] - -[Footnote 418: "All for Love," I, 1.] - -[Footnote 419: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 420: "All for Love," V., 1.] - -[Footnote 421: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 422: "All for Love," I., 1.] - -[Footnote 423: Ibid. II., 1, end.] - -[Footnote 424: "All for Love," V., 1.] - -[Footnote 425: Monimia says, in the "Orphan" (5, end), when dying, "How -my head swims! 'Tis very dark; good night."] - -[Footnote 426: See the death of Pierre and Jaffier in "Venice Preserved" -(5, last scene). Pierre, stabbed once, bursts into a laugh.] - -[Footnote 427: Jaffier: "Oh, that my arms were rivetted -Thus round thee ever! But my friends, -my oath! -This, and no more." (Kisses her.) -Belvidera: "Another, sure another -For that poor little one you've ta'en -such care of; -I'll giv't him truly." ---"Venice Preserved," 5, 1. - -There is jealousy in this last word.] - -[Footnote 428: "Oh, thou art tender all, -Gentle and kind, as sympathizing -nature, -Dove-like, soft and kind.... -I'll ever live your most obedient -wife, -Nor ever any privilege pretend -Beyond your will."--"Orphan," 4, 1.] - -[Footnote 429: "Venice Preserved," III, 1. Antonio is meant as a copy of -the "celebrated Earl of Shaftesbury, the lewdness of whose latter years," -says Mr. Thornton in his edition of Otway's Works, 3 vols. 1815, "was a -subject of general notoriety."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 430: "The Soldier's Fortune," I, 1.] - -[Footnote 431: "The Soldier's Fortune," I, 1.] - -[Footnote 432: "Who'd be that sordid foolish thing called man, -To cringe thus, fawn, and flatter for a pleasure, -Which beasts enjoy so very much above him? -The lusty bull ranges thro' all the field, -And from the herd singling his female out, -Enjoys her, and abandons her at will. -It shall be so, I'll yet possess my love, -Wait on, and watch her loose unguarded hours: -Then, when her roving thoughts have been abroad, -And brought in wanton wishes to her heart; -I' th' very minute when her virtue nods, -I'll rush upon her in a storm of love, -Beat down her guard of honour all before me, -Surfeit on joys, till ev'n desire grew sick; -Then by long absence liberty regain. -And quite forget the pleasure and the pain."--"The Orphan," I, 1. - -It is impossible to see together more moral roguery and literary -correctness.] - -[Footnote 433: Page (to Monimia): "In the morning when you call me to you, -And by your bed I stand and tell you stories, -I am ashamed to see your swelling breasts; -It makes me blush, they are so very white." -Monimia: "Oh men, for flatt'ry and deceit renown'd!"--Ibid.] - -[Footnote 434: Burns said, after his arrival in Edinburgh, "Between the -man of rustic life and the polite world, I observed little -difference.... But a refined and accomplished woman was a being -altogether new to me, and of which I had formed but a very inadequate -idea."--(Burns's Works, ed. Cunningham, 1832, 8 vols. I. 207.)] - -[Footnote 435: Dryden says, in his "Essay on Satire," XIII. 30, "the -staple to which my genius never much inclined me."] - -[Footnote 436: "Essay on Satire," dedicated to the Earl of Dorset, XIII. -16.] - -[Footnote 437: "Essay on Satire," XIII. 16.] - -[Footnote 438: Ibid. 84.] - -[Footnote 439: Dedication of the "Æneïs," XIV. 204.] - -[Footnote 440: See Book III, chapter first, section IV.] - -[Footnote 441: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 442: Dedication of "The Indian Emperor," II. 261.] - -[Footnote 443: Dedication of "Tyrannic Love," III. 347.] - -[Footnote 444: He also says in the same epistle dedicatory: "All men will -join me in the adoration which I pay you." To the Earl of Rochester he -writes in a letter (XVIII. 90): "I find it is not for me to contend any -way with your Lordship, who can write better on the meanest subject than -I can on the best.... You are above any incense I can give you." In his -dedication of the Fables (XI. 195) he compares the Duke of Ormond to -Joseph, Ulysses, Lucullus, etc. In his fourth poetical epistle (XI. 20) -he compares Lady Castlemaine to Cato.] - -[Footnote 445: Dedication of the "Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 286.] - -[Footnote 446: See Andrew Marvell's Works, I. 210.] - -[Footnote 447: "Marriage à la Mode," IV. 245.] - -[Footnote 448: Scott's "Life of Dryden," I. 447.] - -[Footnote 449: Letter 2, "to Mr. John Dennis," XVIII. 114.] - -[Footnote 450: Letter 29, "to Mrs. Steward," XVIII. 144.] - -[Footnote 451: "Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 302.] - -[Footnote 452: Preface to "An Evening's Love," III. 225.] - -[Footnote 453: Letter 23, "to his sons at Rome," XVIII. 133.] - -[Footnote 454: Scott's "Life of Dryden," I. 449.] - -[Footnote 455: "Essay on Satire," XIII. 80.] - -[Footnote 456: Preface to the Fables, VI. 238.] - -[Footnote 457: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 458: Ibid. XI. 209.] - -[Footnote 459: Charles II.] - -[Footnote 460: The Duke of Monmouth.] - -[Footnote 461: The Earl of Shaftesbury: -"Of these the false Achitophel was first, -A name to all succeeding ages curst: -For close designs and crooked counsels fit, -Sagacious, bold and turbulent of wit-- -Restless, unfixed in principles and place, -In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace; -A fiery soul, which working out its way, -Fretted the pigmy body to decay -And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. -A daring pilot in extremity, -Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, -He sought the storm; but, for a calm unfit, -Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. -Great wits are sure to madness near allied -And thin partitions do their bounds divide; -Else, why should he, with wealth and honour blest, -Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? -Punish a body which he could not please, -Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? -And all to leave what with his toil he won, -To that unfeathered two-legged thing, a son, -Got, while his soul did huddled notions try, -And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy, -In friendship false, implacable in hate, -Resolved to ruin or to rule the state."] - -[Footnote 462: The Duke of Buckingham.] - -[Footnote 463: Slingsby Bethel.] - -[Footnote 464: Mac Flecknoe.] - -[Footnote 465: Mac Flecknoe.] - -[Footnote 466: "Strong were our sires, and as they fought they writ, -Conquering with force of arms and dint of wit: -Theirs was the giant race before the flood, -And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood. -Like Janus, he the stubborn soil manured, -With rules of husbandry the rankness cured; -Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude, -And boisterous English wit with art endured.... -But what we gain'd in skill we lost in strength, -Our builders were with want of genius curst; -The second temple was not like the first." ---"Epistle 12 to Congreve," XI. 59.] - -[Footnote 467: "Held up the buckler of the people's cause -Against the crown, and skulk'd against the laws.... -Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed, -Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed!" ---"Absalom and Achitophel," Part I.] - -[Footnote 468: "Why then should I, encouraging the bad, -Turn rebel, and run popularly mad?" ---Ibid.] - -[Footnote 469: "Though Huguenots contemn our -ordination. -Succession, ministerial vocation," -etc. -("The Hind and the Panther," Part. II. 10. 166). Such are the harsh words -we often find in his books.] - -[Footnote 470: Preface to the "Religio Laid," X. 32.] - -[Footnote 471: What Augustus says about Horace is charming, but cannot be -quoted, even in Latin.] - -[Footnote 472: Epistle 15, XI. 75.] - -[Footnote 473: Beginning of "Religio Laici," X. 37.] - -[Footnote 474: "The Hind and the Panther," Part I. lines 64-75, X. 121.] - -[Footnote 475: "Theodore and Honoria," XI. 435.] - -[Footnote 476: "The Hind and the Panther," Part III. lines 553-560, X. -214.] - -[Footnote 477: "For her the weeping heavens become -serene, -For her the ground is clad in cheerful -green, -For her the nightingales are taught -to sing, -And nature for her has delayed the -Spring." - -These charming verses on the Duchess York remind one of those of La -Fontaine in "Le Songe," addressed to the Princess of Conti.] - -[Footnote 478: For instance, in the "Chant du Cirque."] - -[Footnote 479: "Alexander's Feast," XI. 183-188.] - -[Footnote 480: "Alexander's Feast" was written in 1697, soon after the -publication of the Vergil. In 1699 appeared Dryden's translated tales and -original poems, generally known as "The Fables," in which the portrait of -the English country gentleman is to be found.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 481: He was paid two hundred and fifty guineas for ten thousand -lines.] - -[Footnote 482: Postscript of Vergil's Works, as translated by Dryden, XV. -p. 187.] - - - - -CHAPTER THIRD - - -The Revolution - - -Section I.--The Moral Revolution - - -With the constitution of 1688 a new spirit appears in England. Slowly, -gradually, the moral revolution accompanies the social: man changes with -the state, in the same sense and for the same causes; character moulds -itself to the situation; and little by little, in manners and in -literature, we see spring up a serious, reflective, moral spirit, -capable of discipline and independence, which can alone maintain and -give effect to a constitution. - - - - -Section II.--Brutality of the People.--Private Morals.--Chesterfield -and Gay - - -This was not achieved without difficulty, and at first sight it seems as -though England had gained nothing by this revolution of which she is so -proud. The aspect of things under William, Anne, and the first two -Georges, is repulsive. We are tempted to agree with Swift in his -judgment, to say that if he has depicted a Yahoo, it is because he has -seen him; naked or drawn in his carriage, the Yahoo is not beautiful. We -see but corruption in high places, brutality in low, a band of -intriguers leading a mob of brutes. The human beast, inflamed by -political passions, gives vent to cries and violence, burns Admiral Byng -in effigy, demands his death, would destroy his house and park, sways in -turns from party to party, seems with its blind force ready to -annihilate civil society. When Dr. Sachevevell was tried, the butcher -boys, crossing-sweepers, chimney-sweepers, costermongers, drabs, the -entire scum, conceiving the Church to be in danger, follow him with -yells of rage and enthusiasm, and in the evening set to work to burn and -pillage the dissenters' chapels. When Lord Bute, in defiance of public -opinion, was set up in Pitt's place, he was assailed with stones, and -was obliged to surround his carriage with a strong guard. At every -political crisis was heard a riotous growl, were seen disorder, blows, -broken heads. It was worse when the people's own interests were at -stake. Gin had been discovered in 1684, and about half a century later -England consumed seven millions of gallons.[483] The tavernkeepers on -their signboards invited people to come in and get drunk for a penny; -for twopence they might get dead drunk; no charge for straw; the -landlord dragged those who succumbed into a cellar, where they slept off -their carouse. A man could not walk London streets without meeting -wretches, incapable of motion or thought, lying in the kennel, whom the -care of the passers-by alone could prevent from being smothered in mud, -or run over by carriage wheels. A tax was imposed to stop this madness: -it was in vain; the judges dared not condemn, the informers were -assassinated. The House gave way, and Walpole, finding himself -threatened with a riot, withdrew his law.[484] All these bewigged and -ermined lawyers, these bishops in lace, these embroidered and -gold-bedizened lords, this fine government so cleverly balanced, was -carried on the back of a huge and formidable brute, which as a rule -would tramp peacefully though growlingly on, but which on a sudden, for -a mere whim, could shake and crush it. This was clearly seen in 1780, -during the riots of Lord George Gordon. Without reason or guidance at -the cry of No Popery the excited mob demolished the prisons, let loose -the criminals, abused the Peers, and was for three days master of -London, burning, pillaging, and glutting itself. Barrels of gin were -staved in and made rivers in the streets. Children and women on their -knees drank themselves to death. Some became mad, others fell down -besotted, and the burning and falling houses killed them, and buried -them under their ruins. Eleven years later, at Birmingham, the people -sacked and gutted the houses of the Liberals and Dissenters, and were -found next day in heaps, dead drunk, in the roads and ditches. When -instinct rebels in this over-strong and well-fed race it becomes -perilous. John Bull dashed headlong at the first red rag which he -thought he saw. - -The higher ranks were even less estimable than the lower. If there has -been no more beneficial revolution than that of 1688, there has been -none that was launched or supported by dirtier means. Treachery was -everywhere, not simple, but double and triple. Under William and Anne, -admirals, ministers, members of the Privy Council, favorites of the -antechamber, corresponded and conspired with the same Stuarts whom they -had sold, only to sell them again, with a complication of bargains, each -destroying the last, and a complication of perjuries, each surpassing -the last, until in the end no one knew who had bought him, or to what -party he belonged. The greatest general of the age, the Duke of -Marlborough, is one of the basest rogues in history, supported by his -mistresses, a niggard user of the pay which he received from them, -systematically plundering his soldiers, trafficking on political -secrets, a traitor to James II, to William, to England, betraying to -James the intended plan of attacking Brest, and even, when old and -infirm, walking from the public rooms in Bath to his lodgings, on a cold -and dark night, to save sixpence in chair-hire. Next to him we may place -Bolingbroke, a sceptic and cynic, minister in turn to Queen and -Pretender, disloyal alike to both, a trafficker in consciences, -marriages, and promises, who had squandered his talents in debauch and -intrigue, to end in disgrace, impotence, and scorn.[485] Walpole, who -used to boast that "every man had his price,"[486] was compelled to -resign, after having been prime minister for twenty years. Montesquieu -wrote in 1729:[487] "There are Scotch members who have only two hundred -pounds for their vote, and sell it at this price. Englishmen are no -longer worthy of their liberty. They sell it to the king; and if the -king should sell it back to them, they would sell it him again." We read -in Bubb Doddington's Diary the candid fashion and pretty contrivances of -this great traffic. So Dr. King states: "He (Walpole) wanted to carry a -question in the House of Commons, to which he knew there would be great -opposition.... As he was passing through the Court of Requests, he met a -member of the contrary party, whose avarice, he imagined, would not -reject a large bribe. He took him aside and said, 'Such a question comes -on this day; give me your vote, and here is a bank-bill of two thousand -pounds,' which he put into his hands. The member made him this answer: -'Sir Robert, you have lately served some of my particular friends; and -when my wife was last at court, the King was very gracious to her, which -must have happened at your instance. I should therefore think myself -very ungrateful (putting the bank-bill into his pocket) if I were to -refuse the favor you are now pleased to ask me.'"[488] This is how a man -of the world did business. Corruption was so firmly established in -public manners and in politics, that after the fall of Walpole, Lord -Bute, who had denounced him, was obliged to practise and increase it. -His colleague Henry Fox, the first Lord Holland, changed the pay-office -into a market, haggled about their price with hundreds of members, -distributed in one morning twenty-five thousand pounds. Votes were only -to be had for cash down, and yet at an important crisis these -mercenaries threatened to go over to the enemy, struck for wages, and -demanded more. Nor did the leaders miss their own share. They sold -themselves for, or paid themselves with, titles, dignities, sinecures. -In order to get a place vacant, they gave the holder a pension of two, -three, five, and even seven thousand a year. Pitt, the most upright of -politicians, the leader of those who were called patriots, gave and -broke his word, attacked or defended Walpole, proposed war or peace, all -to become or to continue a minister. Fox, his rival, was a sort of -shameless sink. The Duke of Newcastle, "whose name was perfidy, a -living, moving, talking caricature," the most clumsy, ignorant, -ridiculed and despised of the aristocracy, was in the Cabinet for thirty -years and premier for ten years, by virtue of his connections, his -wealth, of the elections which he managed, and the places in his gift. -The fall of the Stuarts put the government into the hands of a few great -families which, by means of rotten boroughs, bought members and -high-sounding speeches, oppressed the king, moulded the passions of the -mob, intrigued, lied, wrangled, and tried to swindle each other out of -power. - -Private manners were as lovely as public. As a rule, the reigning king -detested his son; this son got into debt, asked Parliament for an -increased allowance, allied himself with his father's enemies. George I -kept his wife in prison thirty-two years, and got drunk every night with -his two ugly mistresses. George II, who loved his wife, took mistresses -to keep up appearances, rejoiced at his son's death, upset his father's -will. His eldest son cheated at cards,[489] and one day at Kensington, -having borrowed five thousand pounds from Bubb Doddington, said, when he -saw him from the window: "That man is reckoned one of the most sensible -men in England, yet with all his parts I have just nicked him out of -five thousand pounds."[490] George IV was a sort of coachman, gamester, -scandalous roisterer, unprincipled betting-man, whose proceedings all -but got him excluded from the Jockey Club. The only upright man was -George III, a poor half-witted dullard, who went mad, and whom his -mother had kept locked up in his youth as though in a cloister. She gave -as her reason the universal corruption of men of quality. "The young -men," she said, "were all rakes; the young women made love, instead of -waiting till it was made to them." In fact, vice was in fashion, not -delicate vice as in France. "Money," wrote Montesquieu, "is here -esteemed above everything, honor and virtue not much. An Englishman must -have a good dinner, a woman, and money. As he does not go much into -society, and limits himself to this, so, as soon as his fortune is gone, -and he can no longer have these things, he commits suicide or turns -robber." The young men had a superabundance of coarse energy, which made -them mistake brutality for pleasure. The most celebrated called -themselves Mohocks, and tyrannized over London by night. They stopped -people, and made them dance by pricking their legs with their swords; -sometimes they would put a woman in a tub, and set her rolling down a -hill; others would place her on her head, with her feet in the air; some -would flatten the nose of the wretch whom they had caught, and press his -eyes out of their sockets. Swift, the comic writers, the novelists, have -painted the baseness of this gross debauchery, craving for riot, living -in drunkenness, revelling in obscenity, issuing in cruelty, ending by -irreligion and atheism.[491] This violent and excessive mood requires to -occupy itself proudly and daringly in the destruction of what men -respect, and what institutions protect. These men attack the clergy by -the same instinct which leads them to beat the watch. Collins, Tindal, -Bolingbroke, are their teachers; the corruption of manners, the frequent -practice of treason, the warring amongst sects, the freedom of speech, -the progress of science, and the fermentation of ideas, seemed as if -they would dissolve Christianity. "There is no religion in England," -said Montesquieu. "Four or five in the House of Commons go to prayers or -to the parliamentary sermon.... If anyone speaks of religion, everybody -begins to laugh. A man happening to say, 'I believe this like an article -of faith,' everybody burst out laughing." In fact, the phrase was -provincial, and smacked of antiquity. The main thing was to be -fashionable, and it is amusing to see from Lord Chesterfield in what -this fashion consisted. Of justice and honor he only speaks transiently, -and for form's sake. Before all, he says to his son, "have manners, good -breeding, and the graces." He insists upon it in every letter, with a -fulness and force of illustration which form an odd contrast: "_Mon cher -ami, comment vont les graces, les manières, les agréments, et tous ces -petits riens si nécessaires pour rendre un homme aimable? Les -prenez-vous? y faites-vous des progrès?... A propos, on m'assure que -Madame de Blot sans avoir des traits, est jolie comme un cœur, et que -nonobstant cela, elle s'en est tenue jusqu'ici scrupuleusement à son -mari, quoiqu'il y ait déjà plus d'un an qu'elle est mariée. Elle n'y -pense pas._"[492]... "It seems ridiculous to tell you, but it is most -certainly true, that your dancing-master is at this time the man in all -Europe of the greatest importance to you."[493]... "In your person you -must be accurately clean; and your teeth, hands, and nails' should be -superlatively so.... Upon no account whatever put your fingers in your -nose or ears.[494] What says Madame Dupin to you? For an attachment I -should prefer her to _la petite_ Blot.[495]... Pleasing women may in -time be of service to you. They often please and govern others."[496] -And he quotes to him as examples, Bolingbroke and Marlborough, the two -worst _roués_ of the age. Thus speaks a serious man, once -Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and ambassador and plenipotentiary, and -finally a Secretary of State, an authority in matters of education and -taste.[497] He wishes to polish his son, to give to him a French air, to -add to solid diplomatic knowledge and large views of ambition an -engaging, lively, and frivolous manner. This outward polish, which at -Paris is of the true color, is here but a shocking veneer. This -transplanted politeness is a lie, this vivacity is want of sense, this -worldly education seems fitted only to make actors and rogues. - -So thought Gay in his "Beggars' Opera," and the polished society -applauded with _furore_ the portrait which he drew of it. Sixty-three -consecutive nights the piece ran amidst a tempest oft laughter; the -ladies had the songs written on their fans, and the principal actress -married a duke. What a satire! Thieves infested London, so that in 1728 -the queen herself was almost robbed; they formed bands, with officers, a -treasury, a commander-in-chief, and multiplied, though every six weeks -they were sent by the cartload to the gallows. Such was the society -which Gay put on the stage. In his opinion, it was as good as the higher -society; it was hard to discriminate between them; the manners, wit, -conduct, morality in both were alike. "Through the whole piece you may -observe such a similitude of manners in high and low life, that it is -difficult to determine whether (in the fashionable vices) the fine -gentlemen imitate the gentlemen of the road, or the gentlemen of the -road the fine gentlemen."[498] - -Wherein, for example, is Peachum different from a great minister? Like -him, he is a leader of a gang of thieves; like him, he has a register -for thefts; like him, he receives money with both hands; like him, he -contrives to have his friends caught and hanged when they trouble him; -he uses, like him, parliamentary language and classical comparisons; he -has, like him, gravity, steadiness, and is eloquently indignant when his -honor is suspected. It is true that Peachum quarrels with a comrade -about the plunder, and takes him by the throat. But lately, Sir Robert -Walpole and Lord Townsend had fought with each other on a similar -question. Listen to what Mrs. Peachum says of her daughter: "Love him! -(Macheath), worse and worse! I thought the girl had been better -bred."[499] The daughter observes: "A woman knows how to be mercenary -though she has never been in a court or at an assembly."[500] And the -father remarks: "My daughter to me should be, like a court lady to a -minister of stale, a key to the whole gang."[501] As to Macheath, he is -a fit son-in-law for such a politician. If less brilliant in council -than in action, that only suits his age. Point out a young and noble -officer who has a better address, or performs finer actions. He is a -highwayman, that is his bravery; he shares his booty with his friends, -that is his generosity: "You see, gentlemen, I am not a mere -court-friend, who professes everything and will do nothing.... But we, -gentlemen, have still honour enough to break through the corruptions of -the world."[502] For the rest he is gallant; he has half à dozen -wives, a dozen children; he frequents stews, he is amiable towards the -beauties whom he meets, he is easy in manners, he makes elegant bows to -everyone, he pays compliments to all: "Mistress Slemmekin! as careless -and genteel as ever! all you fine ladies, who know your own beauty -affect undress.... If any of the ladies chuse gin, I hope they will be -so free as to call for it. Indeed, sir, I never drink strong waters, but -when I have the colic.--Just the excuse of the fine ladies! why, a lady -of quality is never without the colic."[503] Is this not the genuine -tone of good society? And does anyone doubt that Macheath is a man of -quality when we learn that he has deserved to be hanged, and is not? -Everything yields to such a proof. If, however, we wish for another, he -would add that, "As to conscience and musty morals, I have as few -drawbacks upon my pleasures as any man of quality in England; in those I -am not at least vulgar."[504] After such a speech a man must give in. Do -not bring up the foulness of these manners; we see that there is nothing -repulsive in them, because fashionable society likes them. These -interiors of prisons and stews, these gambling-houses, this whiff of -gin, this pander-traffic, and these pickpockets' calculations, by no -means disgust the ladies, who applaud from the boxes. They sing the -songs of Polly; their nerves shrink from no details; they have already -inhaled the filthy odors from the highly polished pastorals of the -amiable poet.[505] They laugh to see Lucy show her pregnancy to -Machoath, and give Polly "rat-bane." They are familiar with all the -refinements of the gallows, and all the niceties of medicine. Mistress -Trapes expounds her trade before them, and complains of having "eleven -fine customers now down under the surgeon's hands." Mr. Filch, a -prison-prop, uses words which cannot even be quoted. A cruel keenness, -sharpened by a stinging irony, flows through the work, like one of those -London streams whose corrosive smells Swift and Gay have described; more -than a hundred years later it still proclaims the dishonour of the -society which is bespattered and befouled with its mire. - - - - -Section III.--Principles of Civilization in France and England - - -These were but the externals; and close observers, like Voltaire, did -not misinterpret them. Betwixt the slime at the bottom and the scum on -the surface rolled the great national river, which, purified by its own -motion, already at intervals gave signs of its true color, soon to -display the powerful regularity of its course and the wholesome -limpidity of its waters. It advanced in its native bed; every nation has -one of its own, which flows down its proper slope. It is this slope -which gives to each civilization its degree and form, and it is this -which we must endeavor to describe and measure. - -To this end we have only to follow the travellers from the two countries -who at this time crossed the channel. Never did England regard and -imitate France more, nor France England. To see the distinct current in -which each nation flowed, we have but to open our eyes. Lord -Chesterfield writes to his son: - - -"It must be owned, that the polite conversation of the men and Women at -Paris, though not always very deep, is much less futile and frivolous -than ours here. It turns at least upon some subject, something of taste, -some point of history, criticism, and even philosophy, which, though -probably not quite so solid as Mr. Locke's, is however better, and more -becoming rational beings, than our frivolous dissertations upon the -weather or upon whist."[506] - - -In fact, the French became civilized by conversation; not so the -English. As soon as the Frenchman quits mechanical labor and coarse -material life, even before he quits it, he converses: this is his goal -and his pleasure.[507] Barely has he escaped from religious wars and -feudal isolation, when he makes his bow and has his way. With the Hôtel -de Rambouillet we get the fine drawing-room talk, which is to last two -centuries: Germans, English, all Europe, either novices or dullards, -listen to France open-mouthed, and from time to time clumsily attempt an -imitation. How amiable are French talkers! What discrimination! What -innate tact! With what grace and dexterity they can persuade, interest, -amuse, stroke down sickly vanity, rivet the diverted attention, -insinuate dangerous truth, ever soaring a hundred feet above the -tedium-point where their rivals are floundering with all their native -heaviness. But, above all, how sharp they soon have become! -Instinctively and without effort they light upon easy gesture, fluent -speech, sustained elegance, a characteristic piquancy, a perfect -clearness. Their phrases, still formal under Guez de Balzac, are looser, -lighter, launch out, move speedily, and under Voltaire find their wings. -Did any man ever see such a desire, such an art of pleasing? Pedantic -sciences, political economy, theology, the sullen denizens of the -Academy and the Sorbonne, speak but in epigrams. Montesquieu's "Esprit -des Lois" is also "Esprit sur les lois." Rousseau's periods, which -begat a revolution, were balanced, turned, polished for eighteen hours -in his head. Voltaire's philosophy breaks out into a million sparks. -Every idea must blossom into a witticism; people only have flashes of -thought; all truth, the most intricate and the most sacred, becomes a -pleasant drawing-room conceit, thrown backward and forward, like a -gilded shuttlecock, by delicate women's hands, without sullying the lace -sleeves from which their slim arms emerge, or the garlands which the -rosy Cupids unfold on the wainscoting. Everything must glitter, sparkle, -or smile. The passions are deadened, love is rendered insipid, the -proprieties are multiplied, good manners are exaggerated. The fine man -becomes "sensitive." From his wadded taffeta dressing-gown he keeps -plucking his worked handkerchief to whisk away the moist omen of a tear; -he lays his hand on his heart, he grows tender; he has become so -delicate and correct, that an Englishman knows not whether to take him -for a hysterical young woman or a dancing-master.[508] Take a near view -of this beribboned puppy, in his light-green dress, lisping out the -songs of Florian. The genius of society which has led him to these -fooleries has also led him elsewhere; for conversation, in France at -least, is a chase after ideas. To this day, in spite of modern distrust -and sadness, it is at table, after dinner, over the coffee especially, -that deep politics and the loftiest philosophy crop up. To think, above -all to think rapidly, is a recreation. The mind finds in it a sort of -ball; think how eagerly it hastens thither. This is the source of all -French culture. At the dawn of the century, the ladies, between a couple -of bows, produced studied portraits and subtle dissertations; they -understand Descartes, appreciate Nicole, approve Bossuet. Presently -little suppers are introduced, and during the dessert they discuss the -existence of God. Are not theology, morality, set forth in a noble or -piquant style, pleasures for the drawing-room and adornments of luxury? -Fancy finds place amongst them, floats about and sparkles like a light -flame over all the subjects on which it feeds. How lofty a flight did -intelligence take during this eighteenth century! Was society ever more -anxious for sublime truths, more bold in their search, more quick to -discover, more ardent in embracing them? These perfumed marquises, these -laced coxcombs, all these pretty, well-dressed, gallant, frivolous -people, crowd to hear philosophy discussed, as they go to hear an opera. -The origin of animated beings, the eels of Needham,[509] the adventures -of Jacques the Fatalist,[510] and the question of free-will, the -principles of political economy, and the calculations of the "Man with -Forty Crowns"[511]--all is to them a matter for paradoxes and -discoveries. All the heavy rocks, which the men who have made it their -business, were hewing and undermining laboriously in solitude, being -carried along and polished in the public torrent, roll in myriads, -mingled together with a joyous clatter, hurried onwards with an -ever-increasing rapidity. There was no bar, no collision; they were not -checked by the practicability of their plans: they thought for -thinking's sake; theories could be expanded at ease. In fact, this is -how in France men have always conversed. They play with general truths; -they glean one nimbly from the heap of facts in which it lay concealed, -and develop it, they hover above observation in reason and rhetoric; -they find themselves uncomfortable and commonplace when they are not in -the region of pure ideas. And in this respect the eighteenth century -continues the seventeenth. The philosophers had described good breeding, -flattery, misanthropy, avarice; they now instituted inquiries into -liberty, tyranny, religion; they had studied man in himself; they now -study him in the abstract. Religious and monarchical writers are of the -same school as impious and revolutionary writers; Boileau leads up to -Rousseau, Racine to Robespierre. Oratorical reasoning formed the regular -theatre and classical preaching; it also produced the Declaration of -Rights and the "Contrat Social." They form for themselves a certain idea -of man, of his inclinations, faculties, duties; a mutilated idea, but -the more clear as it was the more reduced. From being aristocratic it -becomes popular; instead of being an amusement, it is a laith; from -delicate and sceptical hands it passes to coarse and enthusiastic hands. -From the lustre of the drawing-room they make a brand and a torch. Such -is the current on which the French mind floated for two centuries, -caressed by the refinements of an exquisite politeness, amused by a -swarm of brilliant ideas, charmed by the promises of golden theories, -until, thinking that it touched the cloud-palace, made bright by the -future, it suddenly lost its footing and fell in the storm of the -Revolution. - -Altogether different is the path which English civilization has taken. -It is not the spirit of society which has made it, but moral sense; and -the reason is that in England man is not as he is in France. The -Frenchmen who became acquainted with England at this period were struck -by it. "In France," says Montesquieu, "I become friendly with everybody; -in England with nobody. You must do here as the English do, live for -yourself, care for no one, love no one, rely on no one." Englishmen were -of a singular genius, yet "solitary and sad. They are reserved, live -much in themselves, and think alone. Most of them having wit, are -tormented by their very wit. Scorning or disgusted with all things, they -are unhappy amid so many reasons why they should not be so." And -Voltaire, like Montesquieu, continually alludes to the sombre energy of -the English character. He says that in London there are days when the -wind is in the east, when it is customary for people to hang themselves; -he relates shudderingly how a young girl cut her throat, and how her -lover without a word redeemed the knife. He is surprised to see "so many -Timons, so many splenetic, misanthropes." Whither will they go? There -was one path which grew daily wider. The Englishman, naturally serious, -meditative, and sad, did not regard life as a game or a pleasure; his -eyes were habitually turned, not outward to smiling nature, but inward -to the life of the soul; he examines himself, ever descends within -himself, confines himself to the moral world, and at last sees no other -beauty but that which shines there; he enthrones justice as the sole and -absolute queen of humanity, and conceives the plan of disposing all his -actions according to a rigid code. He has no lack of force in this; for -his pride comes to assist his conscience. Having chosen himself and by -himself the route, he would blush to quit it; he rejects temptations as -his enemies; he feels that he is fighting and conquering,[512] that he -is doing a difficult thing, that he is worthy of admiration, that he is -a man. Moreover, he rescues himself from his capital foe, tedium, and -satisfies his craving for action; understanding his duties, he employs -his faculties and he has a purpose in life, and this gives rise to -associations, endowments, preachings; and finding more steadfast souls, -and nerves more tightly strung, it sends them forth, without causing -them too much suffering, too long strife, through ridicule and danger. -The reflective character of the man has given a moral rule; the militant -character now gives moral force. The mind, thus directed, is more apt -than any other to comprehend duty; the will, thus armed, is more capable -than any other of performing its duty. This is the fundamental faculty -which is found in all parts of public life, concealed but present, like -one of those deep primeval rocks, which, lying far inland, give to all -undulations of the soil a basis and a support. - - - - -Section IV.--Religion - - -This faculty gives first a basis and a support to Protestantism, and it -is from this structure of mind that the Englishman is religious. Let us -find our way through the knotty and uninviting bark. Voltaire laughs at -it, and jests about the ranting of the preachers and the austerity of -the faithful. "There is no opera, no comedy, no concert on a Sunday in -London; cards even are expressly forbidden, so that only persons of -quality, and those who are called respectable people, play on that day." -He amuses himself at the expense of the Anglicans, "so scrupulous in -collecting their tithes"; the Presbyterians, "who look as if they were -angry, and preach with a strong nasal accent"; the Quakers, "who go to -church and wait for inspiration with their hats on their heads." But is -there nothing to be observed but these externals? And do we suppose that -we are acquainted with a religion because we know the details of -formulary and vestment? There is a common faith beneath all these -sectarian differences: whatever be the form of Protestantism, its object -and result are the culture of the moral sense; that is why it is popular -in England: principles and dogmas all make it suitable to the instincts -of the nation. The sentiment which in the Protestant is the source of -everything, is qualms of conscience; he pictures perfect justice, and -feels that his uprightness, however great, cannot stand before that. He -thinks of the Day of Judgment, and tells himself that he will be damned. -He is troubled, and prostrates himself; he prays God to pardon his sins -and renew his heart. He sees that neither by his desires, nor his deeds, -nor by any ceremony or institution, nor by himself, nor by any creature, -can he deserve the one or obtain the other. He betakes himself to -Christ, the one Mediator; he prays to him, he feels his presence, he -finds himself justified by his grace, elect, healed, transformed, -predestinated. Thus understood, religion is a moral revolution; thus -simplified, religion is only a moral revolution. Before this deep -emotion, metaphysics and theology, ceremonies and discipline, all is -blotted out or subordinate, and Christianity is simply the purification -of the heart. Look now at these men, dressed in sombre colors, speaking -through the nose on Sundays, in a box of dark wood, whilst a man in -bands, "with the air of a Cato," reads a psalm. Is there nothing in -their heart but theological "trash" or mechanical phrases? There is a -deep sentiment--veneration. This bare Dissenters' meeting-house, this -simple service and church of the Anglicans, leave them open to the -impression of what they read and hear. For they do hear, and they do -read; prayer in the vulgar tongue, psalms translated into the vulgar -tongue, can penetrate through their senses to their souls. They do -penetrate; and this is why they have such a collected mien. For the race -is by its very nature capable of deep emotions, disposed by the -vehemence of its imagination to comprehend the grand and tragic; and the -Bible, which is to them the very word of eternal God, provides it. I -know that to Voltaire it is only emphatic, unconnected, ridiculous; the -sentiments with which it is filled are out of harmony with French -sentiments. In England the hearers are on the level of its energy and -harshness. The cries of anguish or admiration of the solitary Hebrew, -the transports, the sudden outbursts of sublime passion, the desire for -justice, the growling of the thunder and the judgments of God, shake, -across thirty centuries, these Biblical souls. Their other books assist -it. The Prayer Book, which is handed down as an heirloom with the old -family Bible, speaks to all, to the dullest peasant, or the miner, the -solemn accent of true prayer. The new-born poetry, the reviving religion -of the sixteenth century, have impressed their magnificent gravity upon -it; and we feel in it, as in Milton himself, the pulse of the twofold -inspiration which then lifted a man out of himself and raised him to -heaven. Their knees bend when they listen to it. That Confession of -Faith, these collects for the sick, for the dying, in case of public -misfortune or private grief, these lofty sentences of impassioned and -sustained eloquence, transport a man to some unknown and august world. -Let the fine gentlemen yawn, mock, and succeed in not understanding: I -am sure that, of the others, many are moved. The idea of dark death and -of the limitless ocean, to which the poor weak soul must descend, the -thought of this, invisible justice, everywhere present, ever foreseeing, -on which the changing show of visible things depends, enlighten them -with unexpected flashes. The physical world and its laws seem to them -but a phantom, and a figure; they see nothing more real than justice; it -is the sum of humanity, as of nature. This is the deep sentiment which -on Sunday closes the theatre, discourages pleasures, fills the churches; -this it is which pierces the breastplate of the positive spirit and of -corporeal dulness. This shopkeeper, who all the week has been counting -his bales or drawing up columns of figures; this cattle-breeding squire, -who can only bawl, drink, jump a fence; these yeomen, these cottagers, -who in order to amuse themselves draw blood whilst boxing, or vie with -each other in grinning through a horse-collar--all these uncultivated -souls, immersed in material life, receive thus from their religion a -moral life. They love it; we hear it in the yells of a mob, rising like -a thunderstorm, when a rash hand touches or seems to touch the Church. -We see it in the sale of Protestant devotional books; the "Pilgrim's -Progress" and "The Whole Duty of Man" are alone able to force their way -to the window-ledge of the yeoman and squire, where four volumes, their -whole library, rest amid the fishing-tackle. We can only move the men of -this race by moral reflections and religious emotions. The cooled -Puritan spirit still broods underground, and is drawn in the only -direction where fuel, air, fire, and action are to be found. - -We obtain a glimpse of it when we look at the sects. In France, -Jansenists and Jesuits seem to be puppets of another century, fighting -for the amusement of this age. Here Quakers, Independents, Baptists -exist, serious, honored, recognized by the State, distinguished by their -able writers, their deep scholars, their men of worth, their founders of -nations.[513] Their piety causes their disputes; it is because they will -believe that they differ in belief: the only men without religion are -those who do not care for religion. A motionless faith is soon a dead -faith; and when a man becomes a sectarian, it is because he is fervent. -This Christianity lives because it is developed; we see the sap, always -flowing from the Protestant inquiry and faith, re-enter the old dogmas, -dried up for fifteen hundred years. Voltaire, when he came to England, -was surprised to find Arians, and amongst them the first thinkers in -England--Clarke, Newton himself. Not only dogma, but feeling, is -renewed; beyond the speculative Arians were the practical Methodists; -behind Newton and Clarke came Whitefield and Wesley. - -No history more deeply illustrates the English character than that of -these two men. In spite of Hume and Voltaire, they founded a monastical -and convulsionary sect, and triumph through austerity, and exaggeration, -which would have ruined them in France. Wesley was a scholar, an Oxford -student, and he believed in the devil; he attributes to him sickness, -nightmare, storms, earthquakes. His family heard supernatural noises; -his father had been thrice pushed by a ghost; he himself saw the hand of -God in the commonest events of life. One day at Birmingham, overtaken by -a hailstorm, he felt that he received this warning, because at table he -had not sufficiently exhorted the people who dined with him; when he had -to determine on anything, he opened the Bible at random for a text, in -order to decide. At Oxford he fasted and wearied himself until he spat -blood and almost died; at sea, when he departed for America, he only ate -bread, and slept on deck; he lived the life of an apostle, giving away -all that he earned, travelling and preaching all the year, and every -year, till the age of eighty-eight;[514] it has been reckoned that he -gave away thirty thousand pounds, travelled about a hundred thousand -miles, and preached forty thousand sermons. What could such a man have -done in France in the eighteenth century? Here he was listened to and -followed, at his death he had eighty thousand disciples; now he has a -million. The qualms of conscience, which forced him in this direction, -compelled others to follow in his footsteps. Nothing is more striking -than the confessions of his preachers, mostly low-born and laymen. -George Story had the spleen, dreamed and mused gloomily; took to -slandering himself and the occupations of men. Mark Bond thought himself -damned, because when a boy he had once uttered a blasphemy; he read and -prayed unceasingly and in vain, and at last in despair he enlisted, with -the hope of being killed. John Haime had visions, howled, and thought he -saw the devil. Another, a baker, had scruples because his master -continued to bake on Sunday, wasted away with anxiety, and soon was -nothing but a skeleton. Such are the timorous and impassioned souls -which become religious and enthusiastic. They are numerous in this land, -and on them doctrine took hold. Wesley declares that "A string of -opinions is no more Christian faith than a string of beads is Christian -holiness. It is not an assent to any opinion, or any number of -opinions. This justifying faith implies not only the personal -revelation, the inward evidence of Christianity, but likewise a sure and -firm confidence in the individual believer that Christ died for _his_ -sin, loved _him_, and gave his life for _him._"[515] "By a Christian, I -mean one who so believes in Christ, as that sin hath no more dominion -over him."[516] - -The faithful feels in himself the touch of a superior hand, and the -birth of an unknown being. The old man has disappeared, the new man has -taken his place, pardoned, purified, transfigured, steeped in joy and -confidence, inclined to good as strongly as he was once drawn to evil. A -miracle has been wrought, and it can be wrought at any moment, suddenly, -under any circumstances, without warning. Some sinner, the oldest and -most hardened, without wishing it, without having dreamed of it, falls -down weeping, his heart melted by grace. The hidden thoughts, which -fermented long in these gloomy imaginations, break out suddenly into -storms, and the dull brutal mood is shaken by nervous fits which it had -not known before. Wesley, Whitefield, and their preachers went all over -England preaching to the poor, the peasants, the workmen in the open -air, sometimes to a congregation of twenty thousand people. "The fire is -kindled in the country." There was sobbing and crying. At Kingswood, -Whitefield, having collected the miners, a savage race, "saw the white -gutters made by the tears which plentifully fell down from their black -cheeks, black as they came out from their coal-pits."[517] Some trembled -and fell; others had transports of joy, ecstasies. Southey writes thus -of Thomas Olivers: "His heart was broken, nor could he express the -strong desires which he felt for righteousness.... He describes his -feelings during a _Te Deum_ at the cathedral, as if he had done with -earth, and was praising God before His throne."[518] The god and the -brute, which each man carries in himself, were let loose; the physical -machine was upset; emotion was turned into madness, and the madness -became contagious. An eye-witness says: - - - - -[Illustration: CHOICE EXAMPLES OF EARLY PRINTING AND ENGRAVING. - -Fac-similes from Rare and Curious Books. - -_PRINTER'S MARK OF PHILIPPE LE NOIR._ - -The early printers, in order to distinguish their work, used a special -mark or plate which, as in the case before us, sometimes took the form -of a sort of rebus, or punning device. The negroes who support the -initial shield in this mark are gorgeous and Oriental in attire, and the -design, as a whole, is one of the most picturesque examples of this kind -of composition.] - - - - -"At Everton some were shrieking, some roaring aloud.... The most general -was a loud breathing, like that of people half strangled and gasping for -life; and, indeed, almost all the cries were like those of human -creatures dying in bitter anguish. Great numbers wept without any noise; -others fell down as dead.... I stood upon the pew-seat, as did a young -man in the opposite pew, an able-bodied, fresh, healthy countryman, but -in a moment, when he seemed to think of nothing else, down he dropt, -with a violence inconceivable.... I heard the stamping of his feet, -ready to break the boards, as he lay in strong convulsions at the bottom -of the pew.... I saw a sturdy boy, about eight years old, who roared -above his fellows; ... his face was red as scarlet; and almost all on -whom God laid his hand, turned either very red or almost black."[519] - - -Elsewhere, a woman, disgusted with this madness, wished to leave, but -had only gone a few steps when she fell into as violent fits as others. -Conversions followed these transports; the converted paid their debts, -foreswore drunkenness, read the Bible, prayed, and went about exhorting -others. Wesley collected them into societies, formed "classes" for -mutual examination and edification, submitted spiritual life to a -methodic discipline, built chapels, chose preachers, founded schools, -organized enthusiasm. To this day his disciples spend very large sums -every year in missions to all parts of the world, and on the banks of -the Mississippi and the Ohio their shoutings repeat the violent -enthusiasm and the conversions of primitive inspiration. The same -instinct is still revealed by the same signs; the doctrine of grace -survives in uninterrupted energy, and the race, as in the sixteenth -century, puts its poetry into the exaltation of the moral sense. - - - - -Section V.--The Pulpit - - -A sort of theological smoke covers and hides this glowing hearth which -burns in silence. A stranger who, at this time, had visited the country, -would see in this religion only a choking vapor of arguments, -controversies, and sermons. All those celebrated divines and preachers, -Barrow, Tillotson, South, Stillingfleet, Sherlock, Burnet, Baxter, -Barclay, preached, says Addison, like automatons, monotonously, without -moving their arms. For a Frenchman, for Voltaire, who did read them, as -he read everything, what a strange reading! Here is Tillotson first, the -most authoritative of all, a kind of father of the Church, so much -admired that Dryden tells us that he learned from him the art of writing -well, and that his sermons, the only property which he left his widow, -were bought by a publisher for two thousand five hundred guineas. This -work has, in fact, some weight; there are three folio volumes, each of -seven hundred pages. To open them, a man must be a critic by profession, -or be possessed by an absolute desire to be saved. And now let us open -them. "The Wisdom of being Religious"--such is his first sermon, much -celebrated in his time, and the foundation of his success: - - -"These words consist of two propositions, which are not distinct in -sense;... So that they differ only as cause and effect, which by a -metonymy, used in all sorts of authors, are frequently put one for -another."[520] - - -This opening makes us uneasy. Is this great orator a teacher of grammar? - - -"Having thus explained the words, I come now to consider the proposition -contained in them, which is this: - -"That religion is the best knowledge and wisdom. - -"This I shall endeavour to make good these three ways:-- - -"1st. By a direct proof of it; - -"2d. By shewing on the contrary the folly and ignorance of irreligion -and wickedness; - -"3d. By vindicating religion from those common imputations which seem to -charge it with ignorance or imprudence. I begin with the direct proof of -this...."[521] - - -Thereupon he gives his divisions. What a heavy demonstrator! We are -tempted to turn over the leaves only, and not to read them. Let us -examine his forty-second sermon: "Against Evil-speaking:" - - -"Firstly: I shall consider the nature of this vice, and wherein it -consists. - -"Secondly: I shall consider the due extent of this prohibition, To -speak evil of no man. - -"Thirdly: I shall show the evil of this practice, both in the causes -and effects of it. - -"Fourthly: I shall add some further considerations to dissuade men -from it. - -"Fifthly: I shall give some rules and directions for the prevention -and cure of it."[522] - - -What a style! and it is the same throughout. There is nothing lifelike; -it is a skeleton, with all its joints coarsely displayed. All the ideas -are ticketed and numbered. The schoolmen were not worse. Neither rapture -nor vehemence; no wit, no imagination, no original and brilliant idea, -no philosophy; nothing but quotations of mere scholarship, and -enumerations from a handbook. The dull argumentative reason comes with -its pigeon-holed classifications upon a great truth of the heart or an -impassioned word from the Bible, examines it "positively and -negatively," draws thence "a lesson and an encouragement," arranges each -part under its heading, patiently, indefatigably, so that sometimes -three whole sermons are needed to complete the division and the proof, -and each of them contains in its exordium the methodical abstract of all -the points treated and the arguments supplied. Just so were the -discussions of the Sorbonne carried on. At the court of Louis XIV -Tillotson would have been taken for a man who had run away from a -seminary. Voltaire would have called him a village curé. He has all -that is necessary to shock men of the world, nothing to attract them. -For he does not address men of the world, but Christians; his hearers -neither need nor desire to be goaded or amused; they do not ask for -analytical refinements, novelties in matter of feeling. They come to -have Scripture explained to them, and morality demonstrated. The force -of their zeal is only manifested by the gravity of their attention. Let -others have a text as a mere pretext; as for them, they cling to it: it -is the very word of God, they cannot dwell on it too much. They must -have the sense of every word hunted out, the passage interpreted phrase -by phrase, in itself, by the context, by parallel passages, by the whole -doctrine. They are willing to have the different readings, translations, -interpretations expounded; they like to see the orator become a -grammarian, a Hellenist, a scholiast. They are not repelled by all this -dust of scholarship, which rises from the folios to settle upon their -countenance. And the precept being laid down, they demand an enumeration -of all the reasons which support it; they wish to be convinced, carry -away in their heads a provision of good approved motives to last the -week. They came there seriously, as to their counting-house or their -field, not to amuse themselves, but to do some work, to toil and dig -conscientiously in theology and logic, to amend and better themselves. -They would be angry at being dazzled. Their great sense, their ordinary -common-sense, is much better pleased with cold discussions; they want -inquiries and methodical reports of morality, as if it was a subject of -export and import duties, and treat conscience as port wine or herrings. - -In this Tillotson is admirable. Doubtless he is pedantic, as Voltaire -called him; he has all "the bad manners learned at the university"; he -has not been "polished by association with women"; he is not like the -French preachers, academicians, elegant discoursers, who by a courtly -air, a well-delivered Advent sermon, the refinements of a purified -style, earn the first vacant bishopric and the favor of good society. -But he writes like a perfectly honest man; we can see that he is not -aiming in any way at the glory of an orator; he wishes to persuade -soundly, nothing more. We enjoy this clearness, this naturalness, this -preciseness, this entire loyalty. In one of his sermons he says: - - -"Truth and reality have all the advantages of appearance and many more. -If the show of anything be good for anything, I am sure sincerity is -better; for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is -not, but because he thinks it good to have such a quality as he pretends -to? For to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the appearance of -some real excellency. Now, the best way in the world for a man to seem -to be anything, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides, that -it is many times as troublesome to make good the pretence of a good -quality, as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is ten to one but -he is discovered to want it, and then all his pains and labour to seem -to have it are lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a -skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion. - -"It is hard to personate and act a part long; for where truth is not at -the bottom, nature will always be endeavouring to return, and will peep -out and betray herself one time or other. Therefore, if a man think it -convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his goodness -will appear to everybody's satisfaction;... so that, upon all accounts, -sincerity is true wisdom."[523] - - -We are led to believe a man who speaks thus; we say to ourselves, -"This is true, he is right, we must do as he says." The impression -received is moral, not literary; the sermon is efficacious, not -rhetorical; it does not please, it leads to action. - -In this great manufactory of morality, where every loom goes on as -regularly as its neighbor, with a monotonous noise, we distinguish two -which sound louder and better than the rest--Barrow and South. Not that -they were free from dulness. Barrow had all the air of a college pedant, -and dressed so badly that one day in London, before an audience who did -not know him, he saw almost the whole congregation at once leave the -church. He explained the word εύχαριστέΐν in the pulpit with -all the charm of a dictionary, commenting, translating, dividing, -subdividing like the most formidable of scholiasts,[524] caring no more -for the public than for himself; so that once, when he had spoken for -three hours and a half before the Lord Mayor, he replied to those who -asked him if he was not tired, "I did, in fact, begin to be weary of -standing so long." But the heart and mind were so full and so rich, that -his faults became a power. He had a geometrical method and -clearness,[525] an inexhaustible fertility, extraordinary impetuosity -and tenacity of logic, writing the same sermon three or four times over, -insatiable in his craving to explain and prove, obstinately confined to -his already overflowing thoughts, with a minuteness of division, an -exactness of connection, a superfluity of explanation, so astonishing -that the attention of the hearer at last gives way; and yet the mind -turns with the vast engine, carried away and doubled up as by the -rolling weight of a flattening-machine. - -Let us listen to his sermon, "Of the Love of God." Never was a more -copious and forcible analysis seen in England, so penetrating and -unwearying a decomposition of an idea into all its parts, a more -powerful logic, more rigorously collecting into one network all the -threads of a subject: - - -"Although no such benefit or advantage can accrue to God, which may -increase his essential and indefectible happiness; no harm or damage can -arrive that may impair it (for he can be neither really more or less -rich, or glorious, or joyful than he is; neither have our desire or our -fear, our delight or our grief, our designs or our endeavours any -object, any ground in those respects); yet hath he declared, that there -be certain interests and concernments, which, out of his abundant -goodness and condescension, he doth tender and prosecute as his own; as -if he did really receive advantage by the good, and prejudice by the bad -success, respectively belonging to them; that he earnestly desires and -is greatly delighted with some things, very much dislikes and is -grievously displeased with other things: for instance, that he bears a -fatherly affection towards his creatures, and earnestly desires their -welfare; and delights to see them enjoy the good he designed them; as -also dislikes the contrary events; doth commiserate and condole their -misery; that he is consequently well pleased when piety and justice, -peace and order (the chief means conducing to our welfare) do flourish; -and displeased, when impiety and iniquity, dissension and disorder -(those certain sources of mischief to us) do prevail; that he is well -satisfied with our rendering to him that obedience, honour, and respect, -which are due to him; and highly offended with our injurious and -disrespectful behaviour toward him, in the commission of sin and -violation of his most just and holy commandments; so that there wants -not sufficient matter of our exercising good-will both in affection and -action toward God; we are capable both of wishing and (in a manner, as -he will interpret and accept it) of doing good to him, by our -concurrence with him in promoting those things which he approves and -delights in, and in removing the contrary."[526] - - -This entanglement wearies us, but what a force and dash is there in this -well-considered and complete thought! Truth thus supported on all its -foundations can never be shaken. Rhetoric is absent. There is no art -here; the whole oratorical art consists in the desire thoroughly to -explain and prove what he has to say. He is even unstudied and artless; -and it is just this ingenuousness which raises him to the antique level. -We may meet with an image in his writings which seems to belong to the -finest period of Latin simplicity and dignity: - - -"The middle, we may observe, and the safest, and the fairest, and the -most conspicuous places in cities are usually deputed for the erections -of statues and monuments dedicated to the memory of worthy men, who have -nobly deserved of their countries. In like manner should we in the heart -and centre of our soul, in the best and highest apartments thereof, in -the places most exposed to ordinary observation, and most secure from -the invasions of worldly care, erect lively representations of, and -lasting memorials unto, the divine bounty."[527] - - -There is here a sort of effusion of gratitude; and at the end of the -sermon, when we think him exhausted, the expansion becomes more copious -by the enumeration of the unlimited blessings amidst which we move like -fishes in the sea, not perceiving them, because we are surrounded and -submerged by them. During ten pages the idea overflows in a continuous -and similar phrase, without fear of crowding or monotony, in spite of -all rules, so loaded are the heart and imagination, and so satisfied are -they to bring and collect all nature as a single offering: - - -"To him, the excellent quality, the noble end, the most obliging manner -of whose beneficence doth surpass the matter thereof, and hugely augment -the benefits: who, not compelled by any necessity, not obliged by any -law (or previous compact), not induced by any extrinsic arguments, not -inclined by our merits, not wearied with our importunities, not -instigated by troublesome passions of pity, shame, or fear (as we are -wont to be), not flattered with promises of recompense, nor bribed with -expectation of emolument, thence to accrue unto himself; but being -absolute master of his own actions, only both lawgiver and counsellor to -himself, all-sufficient, and incapable of admitting any accession to his -perfect blissfulness; most willingly and freely, out of pure bounty and -good-will, is our Friend and Benefactor; preventing not only our -desires, but our knowledge; surpassing not our deserts only, but our -wishes, yea, even our conceits, in the dispensation of his inestimable -and unrequitable benefits; having no other drift in the collation of -them, beside our real good and welfare, our profit and advantage, our -pleasure and content."[528] - - -Zealous energy and lack of taste; such are the features common to all -this eloquence. Let us leave this mathematician, this man of the closet, -this antique man, who proves too much and is too eager, and let us look -out amongst the men of the world him who was called the wittiest of -ecclesiastics, Robert South, as different from Barrow in his character -and life as in his works and his mind; armed for war, an impassioned -royalist, a partisan of divine right and passive obedience, an -acrimonious controversialist, a defamer of the dissenters, a foe to the -Act of Toleration, who never avoided in his enmities the license of an -insult or a foul word. By his side Father Bridaine,[529] who seems so -coarse to the French, was polished. His sermons are like a conversation -of that time; and we know in what style they conversed then in England. -South is not afraid to use any popular and impassioned image. He sets -forth little vulgar facts, with their low and striking details. He never -shrinks, he never minces matters; he speaks the language of the people. -His style is anecdotic, striking, abrupt, with change of tone, forcible -and clownish gestures, with every species of originality, vehemence, and -boldness. He sneers in the pulpit, he rails, he plays the mimic and -comedian. He paints his characters as if he had them before his eyes. -The audience will recognize the originals again in the streets; they -could put the names to his portraits. Read this bit on hypocrites: - - -"Suppose a man infinitely ambitious, and equally spiteful and malicious; -one who poisons the ears of great men by venomous whispers, and rises by -the fall of better men than himself; yet if he steps forth with a Friday -look and a Lenten face, with a blessed Jesu! and a mournful ditty for -the vices of the times; oh! then he is a saint upon earth: an Ambrose or -an Augustine (I mean not for that earthly trash of book-learning; for, -alas! such are above that, or at least that's above them), but for zeal -and for fasting, for a devout elevation of the eyes, and a holy rage -against other men's sins. And happy those ladies and religious dames, -characterized in the 2d of Timothy, ch. III. 6, who can have such -self-denying, thriving, able men for their confessors! and thrice happy -those families where they vouchsafe to take their Friday night's -refreshments! and thereby demonstrate to the world what Christian -abstinence, and what primitive, self-mortifying rigor there is in -forbearing a dinner, that they may have the better stomach to their -supper. In fine, the whole world stands in admiration of them; fools are -fond of them, and wise men are afraid of them; they are talked of, they -are pointed at; and, as they order the matter, they draw the eyes of all -men after them, and generally something else."[530] - - -A man so frank of speech was sure to commend frankness; he has done so -with the bitter irony, the brutality of a Wycherley. The pulpit had the -plaindealing and coarseness of the stage; and in this picture of -forcible, honest men, whom the world considers as bad characters, we -find the pungent familiarity of the "Plain Dealer": - - -"Again, there are some, who have a certain ill-natured stiffness -(forsooth) in their tongue, so as not to be able to applaud and keep -pace with this or that self-admiring, vain-glorious Thraso, while he is -pluming and praising himself, and telling fulsome stories in his own -commendation for three or four hours by the clock, and at the same time -reviling and throwing dirt upon all mankind besides. - -"There is also a sort of odd ill-natured men, whom neither hopes nor -fears, frowns nor favours, can prevail upon, to have any of the cast, -beggarly, forlorn nieces or kinswomen of any lord or grandee, spiritual -or temporal, trumped upon them. - -"To which we may add another sort of obstinate ill-natured persons, who -are not to be brought by any one's guilt or greatness, to speak or -write, or to swear or lie, as they are bidden, or to give up their own -consciences in a compliment to those who have none themselves. - -"And lastly, there are some, so extremely ill-natured, as to think it -very lawful and allowable for them to be sensible when they are injured -or oppressed, when they are slandered in their good names, and wronged -in their just interests; and withal, to dare to own what they find, and -feel without being such beasts of burden as to bear tamely whatsoever is -cast upon them; or such spaniels as to lick the foot which kicks them, -or to thank the goodly great one for doing them all these back -favours."[531] - - -In this eccentric style all blows tell; we might call it a boxing-match -in which sneers inflict bruises. But see the effect of these churls' -vulgarities. We issue thence with a soul full of energetic feeling; we -have seen the very objects, as they are, without disguise; we find -ourselves battered, but seized by a vigorous hand. This pulpit is -effective; and indeed, as compared with the French pulpit, this is its -characteristic. These sermons have not the art and artifice, the -propriety and moderation of French sermons; they are not like the -latter, monuments of style, composition, harmony, veiled science, -tempered imagination, disguised logic, sustained good taste, exquisite -proportion, equal to the harangues of the Roman forum and the Athenian -agora. They are not classical. No, they are practical. A big -workman-like shovel, roughly handled, and encrusted with pedantic rust, -was necessary to dig in this coarse civilization. The delicate French -gardening would have done nothing with it. If Barrow is redundant, -Tillotson heavy, South vulgar, the rest unreadable, they are all -convincing; their sermons are not models of elegance, but instruments of -edification. Their glory is not in their books, but in their works. They -have framed morals, not literary productions. - - - - -Section VI.--Theology - - -To form morals is not all; there are creeds to be defended. We must -combat doubt as well as vice, and theology goes side by side with -preaching. It abounds at this moment in England. Anglicans, -Presbyterians, Independents, Quakers, Baptists, Antitrinitarians, -wrangle with each other, "as heartily as a Jansenist damns a Jesuit," -and are never tired of forging weapons. What is there to take hold of -and preserve in all this arsenal? In France at least theology is lofty; -the fairest flowers of mind and genius have there grown over the briers -of scholastics; if the subject repels, the dress attracts. Pascal and -Bossuet, Fénelon and La Bruyère, Voltaire, Diderot and Montesquieu, -friends and enemies, all have scattered their wealth of pearls and gold. -Over the threadbare woof of barren doctrines the seventeenth century has -embroidered a majestic stole of purple and silk; and the eighteenth -century, crumpling and tearing it, scatters it in a thousand golden -threads, which sparkle like a ball-dress. But in England all is dull, -dry, and gloomy; the great men themselves, Addison and Locke, when they -meddle in the defense of Christianity, become flat and wearisome. From -Chillingworth to Paley, apologies, refutations, expositions, -discussions, multiply and make us yawn; they reason well, and that is -all. The theologian enters on a campaign against the Papists of the -seventeenth century and the Deists of the eighteenth,[532] like a -tactician, by rule, taking a position on a principle, throwing up all -around a breastwork of arguments, covering everything with texts, -marching calmly underground in the long shafts which he has dug; we -approach and see a sallow-faced pioneer creep out, with frowning brow, -stiff hands, dirty clothes; he thinks he is protected from all attacks; -his eyes, glued to the ground, have not seen the broad level road beside -his bastion, by which the enemy will outflank and surprise him. A sort -of incurable mediocrity keeps men like him, mattock in hand, in their -trenches, where no one is likely to pass. They understand neither their -texts nor their formulas. They are impotent in criticism and philosophy. -They treat the poetic figures of Scripture, the bold style, the -approximations to improvisation, the mystical Hebrew emotion, the -subtilties and abstractions of Alexandrian metaphysics, with the -precision of a jurist and a psychologist. They wish actually to make of -Scripture an exact code of prescriptions and definitions, drawn up by a -convention of legislators. Open the first that comes to hand, one of the -oldest--John Hales. He comments on a passage of St. Matthew, where a -question arises on a matter forbidden on the Sabbath. What was this? -"The disciples plucked the ears of corn and did eat them."[533] Then -follow divisions and arguments raining down by myriads.[534] Take the -most celebrated: Sherlock, applying the new psychology, invents an -explanation of the Trinity, and imagines three divine souls, each -knowing what passes in the others. Stillingfleet refutes Locke, who -thought that the soul in the resurrection, though having a body, would -not perhaps have exactly the same one in which it had lived. Let us look -at the most illustrious of all, the learned Clarke, a mathematician, -philosopher, scholar, theologian; he is busy patching up Arianism. The -great Newton himself comments on the Apocalypse, and proves that the -Pope is Antichrist. In vain have these men genius; as soon as they touch -religion, they become antiquated, narrow-minded; they make no way; they -are stubborn, and obstinately knock their heads against the same -obstacle. They bury themselves, generation after generation, in the -hereditary hole with English patience and conscientiousness, whilst the -enemy marches by, a league off. Yet in the hole they argue; they square -it, round it, face it with stones, then with bricks, and wonder that, -notwithstanding all these expedients, the enemy marches on. I have read -a host of these treatises, and I have not gleaned a single idea. We are -annoyed to see so much lost labor, and amazed that, during so many -generations, people so virtuous, zealous, thoughtful, loyal, well read, -well trained in discussion, have only succeeded in filling the lower -shelves of libraries. We muse sadly on this second scholastic theology, -and end by perceiving that if it was without effect in the kingdom of -science, it was because it only strove to bear fruit in the kingdom of -action. - -All these speculative minds were so in appearance only. They were -apologists, and not inquirers. They busy themselves with morality, not -with truth.[535] They would shrink from treating God as a hypothesis, -and the Bible as a document. They would see a vicious tendency in the -broad impartiality of criticism and philosophy. They would have scruples -of conscience if they indulged in free inquiry without limitation. In -reality there is a sort of sin in truly free inquiry, because it -presupposes scepticism, abandons reverence, weighs good and evil in the -same balance, and equally receives all doctrines, scandalous or -edifying, as soon as they are proved. They banish these dissolving -speculations; they look on them as occupants of the slothful; they seek -from argument only motives and means for right conduct. They do not love -it for itself; they repress it as soon as it strives to become -independent; they demand that reason shall be Christian and Protestant; -they would give it the lie under any other form; they reduce it to the -humble position of a handmaid, and set over it their own inner Biblical -and utilitarian sense. In vain did free-thinkers arise in the beginning -of the century; forty years later they were drowned in -forgetfulness.[536] Deism and atheism were in England only a transient -eruption developed on the surface of the social body, in the bad air of -the great world and the plethora of native energy. Professed irreligious -men, Toland, Tindal, Mandeville, Bolingbroke, met foes stronger than -themselves. The leaders of experimental philosophy,[537] the most -learned and accredited of the scholars of the age,[538] the most witty -authors, the most beloved and able,[539] all the authority of science -and genius was employed in putting them down. Refutations abound. Every -year, on the foundation of Robert Boyle, men noted for their talent or -knowledge come to London to preach eight sermons, for proving the -Christian religion against notorious infidels, viz., atheists, deists, -pagans, Mohammedans and Jews. And these apologies are solid, able to -convince a liberal mind, infallible for the conviction of a moral mind. -The clergymen who write them, Clarke, Bentley, Law, Watt, Warburton, -Butler, are not below the lay science and intellect. Moreover, the lay -element assists them. Addison writes the "Evidences of Christianity," -Locke the "Reasonableness of Christianity," Ray the "Wisdom of God -Manifested in the Works of the Creation." Over and above this concert of -serious words is heard a ringing voice: Swift compliments with his -terrible irony the elegant rogues who entertained the wise idea of -abolishing Christianity. If they had been ten times more numerous they -would not have succeeded, for they had nothing to substitute in its -place. Lofty speculation, which alone could take the ground, was shown -or declared to be impotent. On all sides philosophical conceptions -dwindle or come to naught. If Berkeley lighted on one, the denial of -matter, it stands alone, without influence on the public, as it were a -theological _coup d'état_, like a pious man who wants to undermine -immorality and materialism at their basis. Newton attained at most an -incomplete idea of space, and was only a mathematician. Locke, almost as -poor,[540] gropes about, hesitates, does little more than guess, doubt, -start an opinion to advance and withdraw it by turns, not seeing its -far-off consequences, nor, above all, exhausting anything. In short, he -forbids himself lofty questions, and is very much inclined to forbid -them to us. He has written a book to inquire what objects are within our -reach, or above our comprehension. He seeks for our limitations; he soon -finds them, and troubles himself no further. Let us shut ourselves in -our own little domain, and work there diligently. Our business in this -world is not to know all things, but those which regard the conduct of -our life. If Hume, more bold, goes further, it is in the same track: he -preserves nothing of lofty science; he abolishes speculation altogether. -According to him, we know neither substances, causes, nor laws. When we -affirm that an object is conjoined to another object, it is because we -choose, by custom; "all events seem entirely loose and separate." If we -give them "a tie," it is our imagination which creates it;[541] there is -nothing true but doubt, and even we must doubt this. The conclusion is, -that we shall do well to purge our mind of all theory, and only believe -in order that we may act. Let us examine our wings only in order to cut -them off, and let us confine ourselves to walking with our legs. So -finished a pyrrhonism serves only to cast the world back upon -established beliefs. In fact, Reid, being honest, is alarmed. He sees -society broken up, God vanishing in smoke, the family evaporating in -hypotheses. He objects as a father of a family, a good citizen, a -religious man, and sets up common sense as a sovereign judge of truth. -Rarely, I think, in this world has speculation fallen lower. Reid does -not even understand the systems which he discusses; he lifts his hands -to heaven when he tries to expound Aristotle and Leibnitz. If some -municipal body were to order a system, it would be this -churchwarden-philosophy. In reality the men of this country did not care -for metaphysics; to interest them it must be reduced to psychology. Then -it becomes a science of observation, positive and useful, like botany; -still the best fruit which they pluck from it is a theory of moral -sentiments. In this domain Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Price, Smith, -Ferguson, and Hume himself prefer to labor; here they find their most -original and durable ideas. On this point the public instinct is so -strong that it enrolls the most independent minds in its service, and -only permit them the discoveries which benefit it. Except two or three, -chiefly purely literary men, and who are French or Frenchified in mind, -they busy themselves only with morals. This idea rallies round -Christianity all the forces which in France Voltaire ranges against it. -They all defend it on the same ground--as a tie for civil society, and -as a support for private virtue. Formerly instinct supported it; now -opinion consecrates it; and it is the same secret force which, by a -gradual labor, at present adds the weight of opinion to the pressure of -instinct. Moral sense, having preserved for it the fidelity of the lower -classes, conquered for it the approval of the loftier intellects. Moral -sense transfers it from the public conscience to the literary world, and -from being popular makes it official. - - - - -Section VII.--The Constitution.--Locke's Theory of Government - - -We would hardly suspect this public tendency, after taking a distant -view of the English constitution: but on a closer view it is the first -thing we see. It appears to be an aggregate of privileges, that is, of -sanctioned injustices. The truth is, that it is a body of contracts, -that is, of recognized rights. Every one, great or small, has its own, -which he defends with all his might. My lands, my property, my chartered -right, whatsoever it be, antiquated, indirect, superfluous, individual, -public, none shall touch it, king, lords, or commons. Is it of the value -of five shillings? I will defend it as if it were worth a million -sterling; it is my person which they would attack. I will leave my -business, lose my time, throw away my money, form associations, pay -fines, go to prison, perish in the attempt; no matter; I shall show that -I am no coward, that I will not bend under injustice, that I will not -yield a portion of my right. - -By this sentiment Englishmen have conquered and preserved public -liberty. This feeling, after they had dethroned Charles I and James II, -is shaped into principles in the declaration of 1689, and is developed -by Locke in demonstrations.[542] "All men," says Locke, "are naturally -in a state of perfect freedom, also of equality."[543] "In the State of -Nature everyone has the Executive power of the Law of Nature,"[544] -_i.e._, of judging, punishing, making war, ruling his family and -dependents. "There only is political society where every one of the -members hath quitted this natural Power, resign'd it up into the Hands -of the Community in all Cases that exclude him not from appealing for -Protection to the Law established by it."[545] - - -"Those who are united into one body and have a common established law -and judicature to appeal to, with authority... to punish offenders, are -in civil society one with another.[546] As for the ruler (they are ready -to tell you), he ought to be absolute.... Because he has power to do -more hurt and wrong, 'tis right when he does it.... This is to think, -that men are so foolish, that they take care to avoid what mischiefs may -be done them by polecats or foxes; but are content, nay, think it -safety, to be devoured by lions.[547] The only way whereby any one -divests himself of his natural liberty, and puts on the bonds of civil -society, is by agreeing with other men to join and unite into a -community, for their comfortable, safe, and peaceable living one amongst -another, in a secure enjoyment of their properties, and a greater -security against any, that are not of it."[548] - - -Umpires, rules of arbitration, this is all which their federation can -impose upon them. They are freemen, who, having made a mutual treaty, -are still free. Their society does not found, but guarantees their -rights. And official acts here sustain abstract theory. When Parliament -declares the throne vacant, its first argument is, that the king has -violated the original contract by which he was king. When the Commons -impeach Sacheverell, it was in order publicly to maintain that the -constitution of England was founded on a contract, and that the subjects -of this kingdom have, in their different public and private capacities, -as legal a title to the possession of the rights accorded to them by -law, as the prince has to the possession of the crown. When Lord Chatham -defended the election of Wilkes, it was by laying down that "the rights -of the greatest and of the meanest subjects now stand upon the same -foundation, the security of law common to all.... When the people had -lost their rights, those of the peerage would soon become -insignificant." It was no supposition or philosophy which founded them, -but an act and deed, Magna Charta, the Petition of Rights, the Habeas -Corpus Act, and the whole body of the statute laws. - -These rights are there, inscribed on parchments, stored up in archives, -signed, sealed, authentic; those of the farmer and prince are traced on -the same page, in the same ink, by the same writer; both are on an -equality on this vellum; the gloved hand clasps the horny palm. What -though they are unequal? It is by mutual accord; the peasant is as much -a master in his cottage, with his rye-bread and his nine shillings a -week,[549] as the Duke of Marlborough in Blenheim Castle, with his many -thousands a year in places and pensions. - -There they are, these men, standing erect and ready to defend -themselves. Pursue this sentiment of right in the details of political -life; the force of brutal temperament and concentrated or savage -passions provides arms. If we go to an election, the first thing we see -is the full tables.[550] They cram themselves at the candidate's -expense: ale, gin, brandy are set flowing without concealment; the -victuals descend into their electoral stomachs, and their faces grow -red. At the same time they become furious. "Every glass they pour down -serves to increase their animosity. Many an honest man, before as -harmless as a tame rabbit, when loaded with a single election dinner, -has become more dangerous than a charged culverin."[551] The wrangle -turns into a fight, and the pugnacious instinct, once loosed, craves for -blows. The candidates bawl against each other till they are hoarse. They -are chaired, to the great peril of their necks; the mob yells, cheers, -grows warm with the motion, the defiance, the row; big words of -patriotism peal out, anger and drink inflame their blood, fists are -clenched, cudgels are at work, and bulldog passions regulate the -greatest interests of the country. Let all beware how they draw these -passions down on their heads: Lords, Commons, King, they will spare no -one; and when Government would oppress a man in spite of them, they will -compel Government to suppress their own law. - -They are not to be muzzled, they make that a matter of pride. With them, -pride assists instinct in defending the right. Each feels that "his -house is his castle," and that the law keeps guard at his door. Each -tells himself that he is defended against private insolence, that the -public arbitrary power will never touch him, that he has "his body," and -can answer blows by blows, wounds by wounds, that he will be judged by -an impartial jury and a law common to all. "Even if an Englishman," says -Montesquieu, "has as many enemies as hairs on his head, nothing will -happen to him. The laws there were not made for one more than for -another; each looks on himself as a king, and the men of this nation are -more confederates than fellow-citizens." This goes so far "that there is -hardly a day when some one does not lose respect for the king. Lately my -Lady Bell Molineux, a regular virago, sent to have the trees pulled up -from a small piece of land which the queen had bought for Kensington, -and went to law with her, without having wished, under any pretext, to -come to terms with her; she made the queen's secretary wait three -hours."[552] "When Englishmen come to France, they are deeply astonished -to see the sway of 'the king's good pleasure, the Bastille, the _lettres -de cachet_; a gentleman who dare not live on his estate in the country, -for fear of the governor of the province; a groom of the king's chamber, -who, for a cut with a razor, kills a poor barber with impunity."[553] In -England, "one man does not fear another." If we converse with any of -them, we will find how greatly this security raises their hearts and -courage. A sailor who rows Voltaire about, and may be pressed next day -into the fleet, prefers his condition to that of the Frenchman, and -looks on him with pity, whilst taking his five shillings. The vastness -of their pride breaks forth at every step and in every page. An -Englishman, says Chesterfield, thinks himself equal to beating three -Frenchmen. They would willingly declare that they are in the herd of men -as bulls in a herd of cattle. We hear them bragging of their boxing, of -their meat and ale, of all that can support the force and energy of -their virile will. Roast-beef and beer make stronger arms than cold -water and frogs.[554] In the eyes of the vulgar, the French are starved -wigmakers, papists, and serfs, an inferior kind of creatures, who can -neither call their bodies nor their souls their own, puppets and tools -in the hands of a master and a priest. As for themselves, - - -"Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state -With daring aims irregularly great. -Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, -I see the lords of human kind pass by; -Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, -By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand, -Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, -True to imagin'd right, above control, -While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, -And learns to venerate himself as man."[555] - - -Men thus constituted can become impassioned in public concerns, for they -are their own concerns; in France they are only the business of the king -and of Mme. de Pompadour.[556] In England, political parties are as -ardent as sects: High Church and Low Church, capitalists and landed -proprietors, court nobility and county families, they have their dogmas, -their theories, their manners, and their hatreds, like Presbyterians, -Anglicans, and Quakers. The country squire rails, over his wine, at the -House of Hanover, drinks to the king over the water; the Whig in London, -on the thirtieth of January, drinks to the man in the mask,[557] and -then to the man who will do the same thing without a mask. They -imprisoned, exiled, beheaded each other, and Parliament resounded daily -with the fury of their animadversions. Political, like religious life, -wells up and overflows, and its outbursts only mark the force of the -flame which nourishes it. The passion of parties, in state affairs as in -matters of belief, is a proof of zeal; constant quiet is only general -indifference; and if people fight at elections, it is because they take -an interest in them. Here "a tiler had the newspaper brought to him on -the roof that he might read it." A stranger who reads the papers "would -think the country on the eve of a revolution." When Government takes a -step, the public feels itself involved in it; its honor and its property -are being disposed of by the minister; let the minister beware if he -disposes of them ill. With the French, M. de Conflans, who lost his -fleet through cowardice, is punished by an epigram; here, Admiral Byng, -who was too prudent to risk his, was shot. Every man in his due -position, and according to his power, takes part in public business: the -mob broke the heads of those who would not drink Dr. Sacheverell's -health; gentlemen came in mounted troops to meet him. Some public -favorite or enemy is always exciting open demonstrations. One day it is -Pitt whom the people cheer, and on whom the municipal corporations -bestow many gold boxes; another day it is Grenville, whom people go to -hiss when coming out of the house; then again Lord Bute, whom the queen -loves, who is hissed, and who is burned under the effigy of a boat, a -pun on his name, whilst the Princess of Wales was burned under the -effigy of a petticoat; or the Duke of Bedford, whose town house is -attacked by a mob, and who is only saved by a garrison of horse and -foot; Wilkes, whose papers the Government seize, and to whom the jury -assign one thousand pounds damages. Every morning appear newspapers and -pamphlets to discuss affairs, criticise characters, denounce by name -lords, orators, ministers, the king himself. He who wants to speak -speaks. In this wrangle of writings and associations opinion swells, -mounts like a wave, and falling upon Parliament and Court, drowns -intrigue and carries away all differences. After all, in spite of the -rotten boroughs, it is public opinion which rules. What though the king -be obstinate, the men in power band together? Public opinion growls, and -everything bends or breaks. The Pitts rose as high as they did only -because public opinion raised them, and the independence of the -individual ended in the sovereignty of the people. - -In such a state, "all passions being free, hatred, envy, jealousy, the -fervor for wealth and distinction, would be displayed in all their -fulness."[558] We can imagine with what force and energy eloquence must -have been implanted and flourished. For the first time since the fall of -the ancient tribune, it found a soil in which it could take root and -live, and a harvest of orators sprang up, equal, in the diversity of -their talents, the energy of their convictions, and the magnificence of -their style, to that which once covered the Greek _agora_ and the Roman -_forum._ For a long time it seemed that liberty of speech, experience in -affairs, the importance of the interests involved, and the greatness of -the rewards offered, should have forced its growth; but eloquence came -to nothing, encrusted in theological pedantry, or limited in local aims; -and the privacy of the parliamentary sittings deprived it of half its -force by removing from it the light of day. Now at last there was light; -publicity, at first incomplete, then entire, gives Parliament the nation -for an audience. Speech becomes elevated and enlarged at the same time -that the public is polished and more numerous. Classical art, become -perfect, furnishes method and development. Modern culture introduces -into technical reasoning freedom of discourse and a breadth of general -ideas. In place of arguing, men conversed; they were attorneys, they -became orators. With Addison, Steele, and Swift, taste and genius invade -politics. Voltaire cannot say whether the meditated harangues once -delivered in Athens and Rome excelled the unpremeditated speeches of -Windham, Carteret, and their rivals. In short, discourse succeeds in -overcoming the dryness of special questions and the coldness of -compassed action, which had so long restricted it; it boldly and -irregularly extends its force and luxuriance; and in contrast with the -fine abbés of the drawing-room, who in France compose their academical -compliments, we see appear the manly eloquence of Junius, Chatham, Fox, -Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan. - -I need not relate their lives nor unfold their characters; I should have -to enter upon political details. Three of them, Lord Chatham, Fox, and -Pitt, were ministers,[559] and their eloquence is part of their power -and their acts. That eloquence is the concern of those men who may -record their political history; I can simply take note of its tone and -accent. - - - - -Section VIII.--Parliamentary Orators - - -An extraordinary afflatus, a sort of quivering of intense determination, -runs through all these speeches. Men speak, and they speak as if they -fought. No caution, politeness, restraint. They are unfettered, they -abandon themselves, they hurl themselves onward; and if they restrain -themselves, it is only that they may strike more pitilessly and more -forcibly. When the elder Pitt first filled the House with his vibrating -voice, he already possessed his indomitable audacity. In vain Walpole -tried to "muzzle him," then to crush him; his sarcasm was sent back to -him with a prodigality of outrages, and the all-powerful minister bent, -smitten with the truth of the biting insult which the young man -inflicted on him. A lofty haughtiness, only surpassed by that of his -son, an arrogance which reduced his colleagues to the rank of -subalterns, a Roman patriotism which demanded for England a universal -tyranny, an ambition lavish of money and men, gave the nation its -rapacity and its fire, and only saw rest in far vistas of dazzling glory -and limitless power, an imagination which brought into Parliament the -vehemence and declamation of the stage, the brilliancy of fitful -inspiration, the boldness of poetic imagery. Such are the sources of his -eloquence: - - -"'_But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world; now -none so poor to do her reverence!_ - -"_My lords, you cannot conquer America._ - -"We shall be forced ultimately to retract; let us retract while we can, -not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent -oppressive Acts: they must be repealed--you will repeal them; I pledge -myself for it, that you will in the end repeal them; I stake my -reputation on it. I will consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are -not finally repealed. - -"You may swell every expense, and every effort, still more -extravagantly; pile and accumulate every assistance you can buy or -borrow; traffic and barter with every little pitiful German prince, that -sells and sends his subjects to the shambles of a foreign prince; your -efforts are for ever vain and impotent--doubly so from this mercenary -aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the -minds of your enemies. To overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine -and plunder; devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of -hireling cruelty! If I were an American as I am an Englishman, while a -foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my -arms--never--never--never! - -"But, my Lords, who is the man, that in addition to these disgraces and -mischiefs of our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms -the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? To call into civilised -alliance the wild and inhuman savage of the woods; to delegate to the -merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors -of barbarous war against our brethren? My Lords, these enormities cry -aloud for redress and punishment; unless thoroughly done away, it will -be a stain on the national character--it is a violation of the -constitution--I believe it is against law."[560] - - -There is a touch of Milton and Shakespeare in this tragic pomp, in this -impassioned solemnity, in the sombre and violent brilliancy of this -overstrung and overloaded style. In such superb and blood-like purple -are English passions clad, under the folds of such a banner they fall -into battle array; the more powerfully that amongst them there is one -altogether holy, the sentiment of right, which rallies, occupies, and -ennobles them: - - -"I rejoice that America has resisted. Three millions of people so dead -to all the feelings of liberty, as voluntarily to submit to be slaves, -would have been fit instruments to make slaves of the rest."[561] - -"Let the sacredness of this property remain inviolate; let it be taxable -only by their own consent given in their provincial assemblies; else it -will cease to be property. - -"This glorious spirit of Whiggism animates three millions in America, -who prefer poverty with liberty to gilded chains and sordid affluence, -and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as freemen. ... The -spirit which now resists your taxation in America is the same which -formerly opposed loans, benevolences, and ship money in England; the -same spirit which called all England on its legs, and by the Bill of -Rights vindicated the English constitution; the same spirit which -established the great fundamental, essential maxim of your liberties; -that no subject of England shall be taxed but by his own consent. - -"As an Englishman by birth and principle, I recognise to the Americans -their supreme unalienable right in their property, a right which they -are justified in the defence of to the last extremity."[562] - - -If Pitt sees his own right, he sees that of others too; it was with this -idea that he moved and managed England. For it, he appealed to -Englishmen against themselves; and in spite of themselves they -recognized their dearest instinct in this maxim, that every human will -is inviolable in its limited and legal province, and that it must put -forth its whole strength against the slightest usurpation. - -Unrestrained passions and the most manly sentiment of right; such is the -abstract of all this eloquence. Instead of an orator, a public man, let -us take a writer, a private individual; let us look at the letters of -Junius, which, amidst national irritation and anxiety, fell one by one -like drops of fire on the fevered limbs of the body politic. If he makes -his phrases concise, and selects his epithets, it was not from a love of -style, but in order the better to stamp his insult. Oratorical artifices -in his hand become instruments of torture, and when he files his periods -it was to drive the knife deeper and surer; with what audacity of -denunciation, with what sternness of animosity, with what corrosive and -burning irony, applied to the most secret corners of private life, with -what inexorable persistence of calculated and meditated persecution, the -quotations alone will show. He writes to the Duke of Bedford: - - -"My lord, you are so little accustomed to receive any marks of respect -or esteem from the public, that if, in the following lines, a compliment -or expression of applause should escape me, I fear you would consider it -as a mockery of your established character, and perhaps an insult to -your understanding."[563] - - -He writes to the Duke of Grafton: - - -"There is something in both your character and conduct which -distinguishes you not only from all other ministers, but from all other -men. It is not that you do wrong by design, but that you should never do -right by mistake. It is not that your indolence and your activity have -been equally misapplied, but that the first uniform principle, or, if I -may call it, the genius of your life, should have carried you through -every possible change and contradiction of conduct, without the -momentary imputation or colour of a virtue; and that the wildest spirit -of inconsistency should never once have betrayed you into a wise or -honourable action."[564] - - -Junius goes on, fiercer and fiercer; even when he sees the minister -fallen and dishonored, he is still savage. - -It is vain that he confesses aloud that in the state in which he is, the -Duke might "disarm a private enemy of his resentment." He grows worse: - - -"You have every claim to compassion that can arise from misery and -distress. The condition you are reduced to would disarm a private enemy -of his resentment, and leave no consolation to the most vindictive -spirit, but that such an object, as you are, would disgrace the dignity -of revenge.... For my own part, I do not pretend to understand those -prudent forms of decorum, those gentle rules of discretion, which some -men endeavour to unite with the conduct of the greatest and most -hazardous affairs.... I should scorn to provide for a future retreat, or -to keep terms with a man who preserves no measures with the public. -Neither the abject submission of deserting his post in the hour of -danger, nor even the sacred shield of cowardice, should protect him. I -would pursue him through life, and try the last exertion of my abilities -to preserve the perishable infamy of his name, and make it -immortal."[565] - - -Except Swift, is there a human being who has more intentionally -concentrated and intensified in his heart the venom of hatred? Yet this -is not vile, for it thinks itself to be in the service of justice. -Amidst these excesses, this is the persuasion which enhances them; these -men tear one another; but they do not crouch; whoever their enemy be, -they take their stand in front of him. Thus Junius addresses the king: - - -"Sir: It is the misfortune of your life, and originally the cause of -every reproach and distress which has attended your government, that you -should never have been acquainted with the language of truth until you -heard it in the complaints of your people. It is not, however, too late -to correct the error of your education. We are still inclined to make an -indulgent allowance for the pernicious lessons you received in your -youth, and to form the most sanguine hopes from the natural benevolence -of your disposition. We are far from thinking you capable of a direct, -deliberate purpose to invade those original rights of your subjects on -which all their civil and political liberties depend. Had it been -possible for us to entertain a suspicion so dishonourable to your -character, we should long since have adopted a style of remonstrance -very distant from the humility of complaint.... The people of England -are loyal to the House of Hanover, not from a vain preference of one -family to another, but from a conviction that the establishment of that -family was necessary to the support of their civil and religious -liberties. This, Sir, is a principle of allegiance equally solid and -rational; fit for Englishmen to adopt, and well worthy of your Majesty's -encouragement. We cannot long be deluded by nominal distinctions. The -name of Stuart, of itself, is only contemptible:--armed with the -sovereign authority, their principles are formidable. The prince who -imitates their conduct, should be warned by their example; and while he -plumes himself upon the security of his title to the crown, should -remember that, as it was acquired by one revolution, it may be lost by -another."[566] - - -Let us look for less bitter souls, and try to encounter a sweeter -accent. There is one man, Charles James Fox, happy from his cradle, who -learned everything without study, whom his father trained in prodigality -and recklessness, whom, from the age of twenty-one, the public voice -proclaimed as the first in eloquence and the leader of a great party, -liberal, humane, sociable, not frustrating these generous expectations, -whose very enemies pardoned his faults, whom his friends adored, whom -labor never wearied, whom rivals never embittered, whom power did not -spoil; a lover of converse, of literature, of pleasure, who has left the -impress of his rich genius in the persuasive abundance, in the fine -character, the clearness and continuous ease of his speeches. Behold him -rising to speak; think of the discretion he must use; he is a Statesman, -a premier, speaking in Parliament of the friends of the king, lords of -the bedchamber, the noblest families of the kingdom, with their allies -and connections around him; he knows that every one of his words will -pierce like a fiery arrow into the heart and honor of five hundred men -who sit to hear him. No matter, he has been betrayed; he will punish the -traitors, and here is the pillory in which he sets "the janizaries of -the bedchamber," who by the Prince's order have deserted him in the -thick of the fight: - - -"The whole compass of language affords no terms sufficiently strong and -pointed to mark the contempt which I feel for their conduct. It is an -impudent avowal of political profligacy, as if that species of treachery -were less infamous than any other. It is not only a degradation of a -station which ought to be occupied only by the highest and most -exemplary honour, but forfeits their claim to the characters of -gentlemen, and reduces them to a level with the meanest and the basest -of the species; it insults the noble, the ancient, and the -characteristic independence of the English peerage, and is calculated to -traduce and vilify the British legislature in the eyes of all Europe, -and to the latest posterity. By what magic nobility can thus charm vice -into virtue, I know not nor wish to know; but in any other thing than -politics, and among any other men than lords of the bedchamber, such an -instance of the grossest perfidy would, as it well deserves, be branded -with infamy and execration."[567] - - -Then turning to the Commons: - - -"A Parliament thus fettered and controlled, without spirit and without -freedom, instead of limiting, extends, substantiates, and establishes -beyond all precedent, latitude, or condition, the prerogatives of the -crown. But though the British House of Commons were so shamefully -lost to its own weight in the constitution, were so unmindful of -its former struggles and triumphs in the great cause of liberty and -mankind, were so indifferent and treacherous to those primary objects and -concerns for which it was originally instituted, I trust the characteristic -spirit of this country is still equal to the trial; I trust Englishmen will -be as jealous of secret influence as superior to open violence; I trust -they are not more ready to defend their interests against foreign -depredation and insult, than to encounter and defeat this midnight -conspiracy against the constitution."[568] - - -If such are the outbursts of a nature above all gentle and amiable, we -can judge what the others must have been. A sort of impassioned -exaggeration reigns in the debates to which the trial of Warren Hastings -and the French Revolution gave rise, in the acrimonious rhetoric and -forced declamation of Sheridan, in the pitiless sarcasm and sententious -pomp of the younger Pitt. These orators love the coarse vulgarity of -gaudy colors; they hunt out accumulations of big words, contrasts -symmetrically protracted, vast and resounding periods. They do not fear -to repel; they crave effect. Force is their characteristic, and the -characteristic of the greatest amongst them, the first mind of the age, -Edmund Burke, of whom Dr. Johnson said: "Take up whatever topic you -please, he (Burke) is ready to meet you." - -Burke did not enter Parliament, like Pitt and Fox, in the dawn of his -youth, but at thirty-five, having had time to train himself thoroughly -in all matters, learned in law, history, philosophy, literature, master -of such a universal erudition that he has been compared to Bacon. But -what distinguished him from all other men was a wide, comprehensive -intellect, which, exercised by philosophical studies and writings,[569] -seized the general aspects of things, and, beyond text, constitutions, -and figures, perceived the invisible tendency of events and the inner -spirit, covering with his contempt those pretended statesmen, a vulgar -herd of common journeymen, denying the existence of everything not -coarse or material, and who, far from being capable of guiding the grand -movements of an empire, are not worthy to turn the wheel of a machine. - -Beyond all those gifts, he possessed one of those fertile and precise -imaginations which believe that finished knowledge is an inner view, -which never quit a subject without, having clothed it in its colors and -forms, and which, passing beyond statistics and the rubbish of dry -documents, recompose and reconstruct before the reader's eyes a distant -country and a foreign nation, with its monuments, dresses, landscapes, -and all the shifting detail of its aspects and manners. To all these -powers of mind, which constitute a man of system, he added all those -energies of heart which constitute an enthusiast. Poor, unknown, having -spent his youth in compiling for the publishers, he rose, by dint of -work and personal merit, with a pure reputation and an unscathed -conscience, ere the trials of his obscure life or the seductions of his -brilliant life had fettered his independence or tarnished the flower of -his loyalty. He brought to politics a horror of crime, a vivacity and -sincerity of conscience, a humanity, a sensibility, which seem only -suitable to a young man. He based human society on maxims of morality, -insisted upon a high and pure tone of feeling in the conduct of public -business, and seemed to have undertaken to raise and authorize the -generosity of the human heart. He fought nobly for noble causes; against -the crimes of power in England, the crimes of the people in France, the -crimes of monopolists in India. He defended, with immense research and -unimpeached disinterestedness, the Hindoos tyrannized over by English -greed: - - -"Every man of rank and landed fortune being long since extinguished, the -remaining miserable last cultivator who grows to the soil after having -his back scored by the farmer, has it again flayed by the whip of the -assignee, and is thus by a ravenous because a short-lived succession of -claimants lashed from oppressor to oppressor, whilst a single drop of -blood is left as the means of extorting a single grain of corn."[570] - - -He made himself everywhere the champion of principle and the persecutor -of vice; and men saw him bring to the attack all the forces of his -wonderful knowledge, his lofty reason, his splendid style, with the -unwearying and untempered ardor of a moralist and a knight. - -Let us read him only several pages at a time: only thus he is great; -otherwise all that is exaggerated, commonplace, and strange, will arrest -and shock us; but if we give ourselves up to him, we will be carried -away and captivated. The enormous mass of his documents rolls -impetuously in a current of eloquence. Sometimes a spoken or written -discourse needs a whole volume to unfold the train of his multiplied -proofs and courageous anger. It is either the _exposé_ of an -administration, or the whole history of British India, or the complete -theory of revolutions, and the political conditions, which comes down -like a vast, overflowing stream, to dash with its ceaseless effort and -accumulated mass against some crime that men would overlook, or some -injustice which they would sanction. Doubtless there is foam on its -eddies, mud in its bed: thousands of strange creatures sport wildly on -its surface. Burke does not select, he lavishes; he casts forth by -myriads his teeming fancies, his emphasized and harsh words, -declamations and apostrophes, jests and execrations, the whole grotesque -or horrible assemblage of the distant regions and populous cities which -his unwearied learning or fancy has traversed. He says, speaking of the -usurious loans, at forty-eight per cent, and at compound interest, by -which Englishmen had devastated India, that - - -"That debt forms the foul putrid mucus, in which are engendered the -whole brood of creeping ascarides, all the endless involutions, the -eternal knot, added to a knot of those inexpugnable tape-worms which -devour the nutriment, and eat up the bowels of India."[571] - - -Nothing strikes him as excessive in speech, neither the description of -tortures, nor the atrocity of his images, nor the deafening racket of -his antitheses, nor the prolonged trumpet-blast of his curses, nor the -vast oddity of his jests. To the Duke of Bedford, who had reproached him -with his pension, he answers: - - -"The grants to the house of Russell were so enormous, as not only to -outrage œconomy, but even to stagger credibility. The Duke of Bedford -is the leviathan among all the creatures of the crown. He tumbles about -his unwieldy bulk; he plays and frolics in the ocean of the royal -bounty. Huge as he is, and whilst 'he lies floating many a rood,' he is -still a creature. His ribs, his fins, his whalebone, his blubber, the -very spiracles through which he spouts a torrent of brine against his -origin, and covers me all over with the spray--everything of him and -about him is from the throne."[572] - - -Burke has no taste, nor have his compeers. The fine Greek or French -deduction has never found a place among the Germanic nations; with them -all is heavy or ill-refined. It is of no use for Burke to study Cicero, -and to confine his dashing force in the orderly channels of Latin -rhetoric; he continues half a barbarian, battening in exaggeration and -violence; but his fire is so sustained, his conviction so strong, his -emotion so warm and abundant, that we give way to him, forget our -repugnance, see in his irregularities and his outbursts only the -outpourings of a great heart and a deep mind, too open and too full; and -we wonder with a sort of strange veneration at this extraordinary -outflow, impetuous as a torrent, broad as a sea, in which the -inexhaustible variety of colors and forms undulates beneath the sun of a -splendid imagination, which lends to this muddy surge all the brilliancy -of its rays. - - - - -Section IX.--Doctrines of the French Revolution Contrasted -with the Conservative Tendencies of the English People - - -If you wish for a comprehensive view of all these personages, study Sir -Joshua Reynolds,[573] and then look at the fine French portraits of this -time, the cheerful ministers, gallant and charming archbishops, Marshal -de Saxe, who in the Strasburg monument goes down to his tomb with the -grace and ease of a courtier on the staircase at Versailles. In England, -under skies drowned in pallid mists, amid soft, vaporous clouds, appear -expressive or contemplative heads: the rude energy of the character has -not awed the artist; the coarse bloated animal; the strange and ominous -bird of prey; the growling jaws of the fierce bulldog--he has put them -all in: levelling politeness has not in his pictures effaced individual -asperities under uniform pleasantness. Beauty is there, but only in the -cold decision of look, in the deep seriousness and sad nobility of the -pale countenance, in the conscientious gravity and the indomitable -resolution of the restrained gesture. In place of Lely's courtesans, we -see by their side chaste ladies, sometimes severe and active; good -mothers surrounded by their little children, who kiss them and embrace -one another: morality is here, and with it the sentiment of home and -family, propriety of dress, a pensive air, the correct deportment of -Miss Burney's heroines. They are men who have done the world some -service: Bakewell transforms and reforms their cattle; Arthur Young -their agriculture; Howard their prisons; Arkwright and Watt their -industry; Adam Smith their political economy; Bentham their penal law; -Locke, Hutcheson, Ferguson, Bishop Butler, Reid, Stewart, Price, their -psychology and their morality. They have purified their private manners, -they now purify their public manners. They have settled their -government, they have established themselves in their religion. Johnson -is able to say with truth, that no nation in the world better tills its -soil and its mind. There is none so rich, so free, so well nourished, -where public and private efforts are directed with such assiduity, -energy, and ability towards the improvement of public and private -affairs. One point alone is wanting: lofty speculation. It is just this -point which, when all others are wanting, constitutes at this moment the -glory of France; and English caricatures show, with a good appreciation -of burlesque, face to face and in strange contrast, on one side the -Frenchman in a tumbledown cottage, shivering, with long teeth, thin, -feeding on snails and a handful of roots, but otherwise charmed with his -lot, consoled by a republican cockade and humanitarian programmes; on -the other, the Englishman, red and puffed out with fat, seated at his -table in a comfortable room, before a dish of most juicy roast-beef, -with a pot of foaming ale, busy in grumbling against the public distress -and the treacherous ministers, who are going to ruin everything. - -Thus Englishmen arrive on the threshold of the French Revolution, -Conservatives and Christians facing the French free-thinkers and -revolutionaries. Without knowing it, the two nations have rolled onwards -for two centuries towards this terrible shock; without knowing it, they -have only been working to make it worse. All their effort, all their -ideas, all their great men have accelerated the motion which hurls them -towards the inevitable conflict. A hundred and fifty years of politeness -and general ideas have persuaded the French to trust in human goodness -and pure reason. A hundred and fifty years of moral reflection and -political strife have attached the Englishman to positive religion and -an established constitution. Each has his contrary dogma and his -contrary enthusiasm. Neither understands and each detests the other. -What one calls reform, the other calls destruction; what one reveres as -the establishment of right, the other curses as the overthrow of right; -what seems to one the annihilation of superstition, seems to the other -the abolition of morality. Never was the contrast of two spirits and two -civilizations shown in clearer characters, and it was Burke who, with -the superiority of a thinker and the hostility of an Englishman, took it -in hand to show this to the French. - -He is indignant at this "tragi-comick farce," which at Paris is called -the regeneration of humanity. He denies that the contagion of such folly -can ever poison England. He laughs at the cockneys, who, roused by the -pratings of democratic societies, think themselves on the brink of a -revolution: - - -"Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with -their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed -beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray -do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of -the field; that of course, they are many in number; or that, after all, -they are other than the little shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud -and troublesome insects of the hour."[574] - - -Real England hates and detests the maxims and actions of the French -Revolution:[575] - - -"The very idea of the fabrication of a new government is enough to fill -us with disgust and horror. We wished... to derive all we possess as an -inheritance from our forefathers.... (We claim) our franchises not as -the rights of men, but as the rights of Englishmen."[576] - - -Our rights do not float in the air, in the imagination of philosophers; -they are put down in Magna Charta. We despise this abstract verbiage, -which deprives man of all equity and respect to puff him up with -presumption and theories: - - -"We have not been drawn and trussed, in order that we may be filled, -like stuffed birds in a museum, with chaff and rags and paltry blurred -shreds of paper about the rights of men."[577] - - -Our constitution is not a fictitious contract, like that of Rousseau, -sure to be violated in three months, but a real contract, by which king, -nobles, people, church, everyone holds the other, and is himself held. -The crown of the prince and the privilege of the noble are as sacred as -the land of the peasant and the tool of the working-man. Whatever be the -acquisition or the inheritance, we respect it in every man, and our law -has but one object, which is, to preserve to each his property and his -rights. - - -"We fear God; we look up with awe to kings; with affection to -parliaments; with duty to magistrates; with reverence to priests; and -with respect to nobility."[578] - -"There is not one public man in this kingdom who does not reprobate the -dishonest, perfidious, and cruel confiscation which the National -Assembly has been compelled to make.... Church and State are ideas -inseparable in our minds.... Our education is in a manner wholly in the -hands of ecclesiasticks, and in all stages, from infancy to manhood.... -They never will suffer the fixed estate of the church to be converted -into a pension, to depend on the treasury.... They made their church -like their nobility, independent. They can see without pain or grudging -an archbishop precede a duke. They can see a Bishop of Durham or a -Bishop of Winchester in possession of ten thousand a year."[579] - - -We will never suffer the established domain of our church to be -converted into a pension, so as to place it in dependence on the -treasury. We have made our church as our king and our nobility, -independent. We are shocked at your robbery--first, because it is an -outrage upon property; next, because it is an attack upon religion. We -hold that there exists no society without belief, and we feel that, in -exhausting the source, you dry up the whole stream. We have rejected as -a poison the infidelity which defiled the beginning of our century and -of yours, and we have purged ourselves of it, whilst you have been -saturated with it. - - -"Who, born within the last forty years, has read one word of Collins, -and Toland, and Tindal,... and that whole race who called themselves -Freethinkers?"[580] - -"We are Protestants, not from indifference, but from zeal. - -"Atheism is against not only our reason, but our instincts. - -"We are resolved to keep an established church, an established monarchy, -an established aristocracy, and an established democracy, each in the -degree it exists, and in no greater."[581] - - -We base our establishment upon the sentiment of right, and the sentiment -of right on reverence for God. - -In place of right and of God, whom do you, Frenchmen, acknowledge as -master? The sovereign people, that is, the arbitrary inconstancy of a -numerical majority. We deny that the majority has a right to destroy a -constitution. - - -"The constitution of a country being once settled upon some compact, -tacit or expressed, there is no power existing of force to alter it, -without the breach of the covenant, or the consent of all the -parties."[582] - - -We deny that a majority has a right to make a constitution; unanimity -must first have conferred this right on the majority. We deny that brute -force is a legitimate authority, and that a populace is a nation.[583] - - -"A true natural aristocracy is not a separate interest in the state or -separable from it.... When great multitudes act together under that -discipline of nature, I recognise the people;... when you separate the -common sort of men from their proper chieftains so as to form them into -an adverse army, I no longer know that venerable object called the -people in such a disbanded race of deserters and vagabonds."[584] - - -We detest with all our power of hatred the right of tyranny which you -give them over others, and we detest still more the right of -insurrection which you give them against themselves. We believe that a -constitution is a trust transmitted to this generation by the past, to -be handed down to the future, and that if a generation can dispose of it -as its own, it ought also to respect it as belonging to others. We hold -that, "by this unprincipled facility of changing the state as often, and -as much, and in as many ways as there are floating fancies and fashions, -the whole chain and continuity of the commonwealth would be broken. No -one generation could link with the other. Men would become little better -than the flies of a summer."[585] We repudiate this meagre and coarse -reason, which separates a man from his ties, and sees in him only the -present, which separates a man from society, and counts him as only one -head in a flock. We despise these "metaphysics of an undergraduate and -the mathematics of an exciseman," by which you cut up the state and -man's rights according to square miles and numerical unities. We have a -horror of that cynical coarseness by which "all the decent drapery of -life is to be rudely torn off," by which "now a queen is but a woman, -and a woman is but an animal,"[586] which cuts down chivalric and -religious spirit, the two crowns of humanity, to plunge them, together -with learning, into the popular mire, to be "trodden down under the -hoofs of a swinish multitude."[587] We have a horror of this systematic -levelling which disorganizes civil society. Burke continues thus: - - -"I am satisfied beyond a doubt that the project of turning a great -empire into a vestry, or into a collection of vestries, and of governing -it in the spirit of a parochial administration, is senseless and absurd, -in any mode, or with any qualifications. I can never be convinced that -the scheme of placing the highest powers of the state in churchwardens -and constables, and other such officers, guided by the prudence of -litigious attornies, and Jew brokers, and set in action by shameless -women of the lowest condition, by keepers of hotels, taverns, and -brothels, by pert apprentices, by clerks, shop-boys, hairdressers, -fiddlers, and dancers on the stage (who, in such a commonwealth as -yours, will in future overbear, as already they have overborne, the -sober incapacity of dull uninstructed men, of useful but laborious -occupations), can never be put into any shape that must not be both -disgraceful and destructive."[588] "If monarchy should ever obtain an -entire ascendancy in France, it will probably be... the most completely -arbitrary power that has ever appeared on earth. France will be wholly -governed by the agitators in corporations, by societies in the towns -formed of directors in assignats,... attornies, agents, money-jobbers, -speculators, and adventurers, composing an ignoble oligarchy founded on -the destruction of the crown, the church, the nobility, and the -people."[589] - - -This is what Burke wrote in 1790 at the dawn of the first French -Revolution.[590] Two years after the people of Birmingham destroyed the -houses of some English democrats, and the miners of Wednesbury went out -in a body from their pits to come to the succor of "king and church." If -we compare one crusade with another, scared England was as fanatical as -enthusiastic France. Pitt declared that they could not "treat with a -nation of atheists."[591] Burke said that the war was not between people -and people, but between property and brute force. The rage of -execration, invective, and destruction mounted on both sides like a -conflagration.[592] It was not the collision of the two governments, but -of the two civilizations and the two doctrines. The two vast machines, -driven with all their momentum and velocity, met face to face, not by -chance, but by fatality. A whole age of literature and philosophy had -been necessary to amass the fuel which filled their sides, and laid down -the rail which guided their course. In this thundering clash, amid these -ebullitions of hissing and fiery vapor, in these red flames which licked -the boilers, and whirled with a rumbling noise upwards to the heavens, -an attentive spectator may still discover the nature and the -accumulation of the force which caused such an outburst, dislocated such -iron plates, and strewed the ground with such ruins. - - - - -[Footnote 483: 1742, Report of Lord Lonsdale.] - -[Footnote 484: In the present inflamed temper of the people, the Act could -not be carried into execution without an armed force.--"Speech of Sir -Robert Walpole."] - -[Footnote 485: See Walpole's terrible speech against him, 1734.] - -[Footnote 486: See, tor the truth of this statement, "Memoirs of Horace -Walpole," 2 vols, ed. E. Warburton, 1851, I. 381, note.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 487: Notes during a journey in England made in 1729 with Lord -Chesterfield.] - -[Footnote 488: Dr. W. King, "Political and Literary Anecdotes of his -own Times," 1818, 27.] - -[Footnote 489: Frederick died 1751. "Memoirs of Horace Walpole," I. 262.] - -[Footnote 490: Walpole's "Memoirs of George II," ed. Lord Holland, 3 vols. -2d ed. 1847, I. 77.] - -[Footnote 491: See the character of Birton in Voltaire's "Jenny."] - -[Footnote 492: The original letter is in French. Chesterfield's "Letters -to his Son," ed. Mahon, 4 vols. 1845; II. April 15, 1751, p. 127.] - -[Footnote 493: Ibid. II. January 3, 1751, p. 72.] - -[Footnote 494: Ibid. II. November 12, 1750, p. 57.] - -[Footnote 495: Ibid. II. May 16, 1751, p. 146.] - -[Footnote 496: Ibid. II. January 21, 1751, p. 81.] - -[Footnote 497: "They (the English) are commonly twenty years old before -they have spoken to anybody above their schoolmaster and the fellows of -their college. If they happen to have learning, it is only Greek and -Latin, but not one word of modern history or modern languages. Thus -prepared, they go abroad, as they call it; but, in truth, they stay at -home all that while: for, being very awkward, confoundedly ashamed, and -not speaking the languages, they go into no foreign company, at -least none good; but dine and sup with one another only at the -tavern."--"Chesterfield's Letters to his Son," I. May 10 (O. S.) 1748, -p. 136. "I could wish you would ask him (Mr. Burrish) for some letters -to young fellows of pleasure or fashionable coquettes, that you may be -dans l'honnete débauche de Munich."--Ibid. II. October 3 1753, p. 331.] - -[Footnote 498: Speech of the Beggar in the Epilogue of the "Beggars' -Opera."] - -[Footnote 499: Gay's Plays, "The Beggars' Opera," I, 1.] - -[Footnote 500: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 501: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 502: Ibid. III. 2.] - -[Footnote 503: Ibid. II. 1.] - -[Footnote 504: I cannot find these lines in the edition I have -consulted.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 505: In these Eclogues the ladies explain in good style that -their friends have their lackeys for lovers: "Her favours Sylvia shares -amongst mankind; such gen'rous Love could never be confin'd." Elsewhere -the servant girl says to her mistress: "Have you not fancy'd, in his -frequent kiss, th' ungrateful leavings of a filthy miss?"] - -[Footnote 506: Chesterfield's Letters, II. April 22 (O. S.) 1751, p. 131. -See, for a contrast, Swift's "Essay on Polite Conversation."] - -[Footnote 507: Even in 1826, Sydney Smith, arriving at Calais, writes -("Life and Letters", II. 253, 254): "What pleases me is the taste and -ingenuity displayed in the shops, and the good manners and politeness -of the people. Such is the state of manners, that you appear almost to -have quitted a land of barbarians. I have not seen a cobbler who -is not better bred than an English gentleman."] - -[Footnote 508: See in "Evelina," by Miss Burney, 3 vols. 1784, the -character of the poor, genteel Frenchman, M. Dubois, who is made to -tremble even whilst lying in the gutter. These very correct young -ladies go to see Congreve's "Love for Love"; their parents are not -afraid of showing them Miss Prue. See also, in "Evelina," by way of -contrast, the boorish character of the English captain; he throws Mrs. -Duval twice in the mud; he says to his daughter Molly: "I charge you, -as you value my favour, that you'll never again be so impertinent as to -have a taste of your own before my face" (I. 190). The change, -even from sixty years ago, is surprising.] - -[Footnote 509: Needham (1713-1781), a learned English naturalist, made and -published microscopical discoveries and remarks on the generation of -organic bodies.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 510: The title of a philosophical novel by Diderot.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 511: The title of a philosophical tale by Voltaire.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 512: "The consciousness of silent endurance, so dear to every -Englishman, of standing out against something and not giving in."--"Tom -Brown's School Days."] - -[Footnote 513: William Penn.] - -[Footnote 514: On one tour he slept three weeks on the bare boards. One -day, at three in the morning, he said to Nelson, his companion: "Brother -Nelson, let us be of good cheer, I have one whole side yet; for the skin -is off but on one side."--Southey's "Life of Wesley," 2 vols, 1820, II. -ch. XV. 54.] - -[Footnote 515: Southey's "Life of Wesley," II. 176.] - -[Footnote 516: Ibid, I. 251.] - -[Footnote 517: Ibid. I. ch. VI, 236.] - -[Footnote 518: Southey's "Life of Wesley," II. ch. XVII. 111.] - -[Footnote 519: Ibid. II. ch. XXIV. 320.] - -[Footnote 520: Tillotson's Sermons, 10 vols. 1760, I. 1.] - -[Footnote 521: Ibid. I. 5.] - -[Footnote 522: Tillotson's Sermons, III. 2.] - -[Footnote 523: Tillotson's Sermons, IV. 15-16; Sermon 55, "Of Sincerity -towards God and Man," John I. 47. This was the last sermon Tillotson -preached; July 29, 1694.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 524: Barrow's Theological Works, 6 vols. Oxford, 1818, I. -141-142; Sermon VIII. "The Duty of Thanksgiving," Eph. V. 20. - -"These words, although (as the very syntax doth immediately discover) -they bear a relation to, and have a fit coherence with, those that -precede, may yet (especially considering St. Paul's style and manner of -expression in the preceptive and exhortative parts of his Epistles), -without any violence or prejudice on either hand, be severed from the -context, and considered distinctly by themselves.... First, then, -concerning the duty itself, to give thanks, or rather to be -thankful (for εύχαριστέΐν doth not only signify gratias agere, -reddere, dicere, to give, render, or declare thanks, but also gratias -habere, grate affectum esse, to be thankfully disposed, to entertain a -grateful affection, sense, or memory)... I say, concerning this duty -itself (abstractedly considered), as it involves a respect to benefits -or good things received; so in its employment about them it imports, -requires, or supposes these following particulars."] - -[Footnote 525: He was a mathematician of the highest order, and had -resigned his chair to Newton.] - -[Footnote 526: Barrow's Theological Works, I. Sermon XXIII. 500-501.] - -[Footnote 527: Barrow's Theological Works, I. 145; Sermon VIII. "The Duty -of Thanksgiving," Eph. V. 20.] - -[Footnote 528: Ibid. I. 159-160, Sermon VIII.] - -[Footnote 529: Jacques Bridaine (1701-1767), a celebrated and zealous -French preacher, whose sermons were always extempore, and hence not very -cultivated and refined in style.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 530: South's Sermons, 1715, II vols., VI. 110. The fourth and -last discourse from those words in Isaiah V. 20, "Woe unto them that call -evil good and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for -darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 531: South's Sermons, VI. 118.] - -[Footnote 532: I thought it necessary to look into the Socinian pamphlets, -which have swarmed so much among us within a few years.--Stillingfleet, -"In Vindication of the Doctrine of the Trinity," 1697.] - -[Footnote 533: John Hales of Eaton, Works, 3 vols., 12 mo, 1765, I. 4.] - -[Footnote 534: He examines, amongst other things, "the sin against the -Holy Ghost." They would very much like to know in what this consists. -But nothing is more obscure. Calvin and other theologians each gave a -different definition. After a minute dissertation, Hales concludes thus: -"And though negative proofs from Scripture are not demonstrative, yet -the general silence of the apostles may at least help to infer a -probability that the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost is not committable -by any Christian who lived not in the time of our Saviour" (1636). This -is a training for argument. So, in Italy, the discussion about giving -drawers to, or withholding them from the Capuchins, developed political -and diplomatic ability.--Ibid. I. 36.] - -[Footnote 535: "The Scripture is a book of morality, and not of -philosophy. Everything there relates to practice.... It is evident, from -a cursory view of the Old and New Testament, that they are miscellaneous -books, some parts of which are history, others writ in a poetical style, -and others prophetical; but the design of them all, is professedly to -recommend the practice of true religion and virtue."--John Clarke, -Chaplain of the King, 1721. (I have not been able to find these exact -words in the edition of Clarke accessible to me.--Tr.)] - -[Footnote 536: Burke, "Reflections on the Revolution in France."] - -[Footnote 537: Ray, Boyle Barrow, Newton.] - -[Footnote 538: Bentley, Clarke, Warburton, Berkeley.] - -[Footnote 539: Locke, Addison, Swift, Johnson, Richardson.] - -[Footnote 540: "Paupertina philosophia" says Leibnitz.] - -[Footnote 541: After the constant conjunction of two objects--heat and -flame, for instance, weight and solidity--we are determined by custom -alone to expect the one from the appearance of the other. All inferences -from experience are effects of custom, not of reasoning.... "Upon the -whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one instance of -connection which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and -separate; one event follows another; but we can never observe any tie -between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected."--Hume's -Essays, 4 vols., 1760, III. 117.] - -[Footnote 542: We must read Sir Robert Filmer's "Patriarcha," London, -1680, on the prevailing theory in order to see from what a quagmire of -follies people emerged. He said that Adam, on his creation, had received -an absolute and regal power over the universe; that in every society -of men there was one legitimate king, the direct heir of Adam. "Some say -it was by lot, and others that Noah sailed round the Mediterranean in -ten years, and divided the world into Asia, Africa, and Europe" -(p. 15)--portions for his three sons. Compare Bossuet, "Politique fondée -sur l'Ecriture." At this epoch moral science was being emancipated from -theology.] - -[Footnote 543: Locke, "Of Civil Government," 1714, book II. ch. II. -sec. 4.] - -[Footnote 544: Ibid. sec. 13.] - -[Footnote 545: Ibid. II. ch. VII. sec. 87.] - -[Footnote 546: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 547: Ibid. sec. 93.] - -[Footnote 548: Ibid. II. ch. VIII. sec. 95.] - -[Footnote 549: De Foe's estimate.] - -[Footnote 550: "Their eating, indeed, amazes me; had I five hundred -heads, and were each head furnished with brains, yet would they all be -insufficient to compute the number of cows, pigs, geese, and turkies -which upon this occasion die for the good of their country!... On the -contrary, they seem to lose their temper as they lose their appetites; -every morsel they swallow serves to increase their animosity... The mob -meet upon the debate, fight themselves sober, and then draw off to get -drunk again, and charge for another encounter."--Goldsmith's "Citizen of -the World," Letter CXII. "An election described." See also Hogarth's -prints.] - -[Footnote 551: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 552: Montesquieu, "Notes sur l'Angleterre."] - -[Footnote 553: Smollett, "Peregrine Pickle," ch. 40.] - -[Footnote 554: See Hogarth's prints.] - -[Footnote 555: Goldsmith's "Traveller."] - -[Footnote 556: Chesterfield observes that a Frenchman of his time did not -understand the word Country; you must speak to him of his Prince.] - -[Footnote 557: The executioner of Charles I.] - -[Footnote 558: Montesquieu, "De l'Esprit des Lois," book XIX. ch. 27.] - -[Footnote 559: Junius wrote anonymously, and critics have not yet been -able with certainty to reveal his true name. Most probably he was Sir -Philip Francis.] - -[Footnote 560: "Anecdotes and Speeches of the Earl of Chatham," 7th -ed. 3 vols. 1810, II. ch. 42 and 44.] - -[Footnote 561: Ibid. II. ch. 29.] - -[Footnote 562: Ibid. 42.] - -[Footnote 563: Junius's Letters, 2 vols. 1772, XXIII. I. 162.] - -[Footnote 564: Ibid. XII. I. 75.] - -[Footnote 565: Junius's Letters, XXXVI. II. 56.] - -[Footnote 566: Ibid. XXXV. II. 29.] - -[Footnote 567: Fox's Speeches, 6 vols. 1815, II. 271; December 17, 1783.] - -[Footnote 568: Fox's Speeches, II. p. 268.] - -[Footnote 569: "An Inquiry into our Ideas of the Sublime and the -Beautiful."] - -[Footnote 570: Burke's Works, 1808, 8 vols. IV. 286, "Speech on the -Nabob of Arcot's Debts."] - -[Footnote 571: Burke's Works, IV. 282.] - -[Footnote 572: Ibid. VIII. 35; "A Letter to a Noble Lord."] - -[Footnote 573: Lord Heathfield, the Earl of Mansfield, Major Stringer -Lawrence, Lord Ashburton, Lord Edgecombe, and many others.] - -[Footnote 574: Burke's Works, V. 165; "Reflections -on the Revolution in France."] - -[Footnote 575: "I almost venture to affirm, that not one in a hundred -amongst us participates in the triumph of the revolution society."--Ibid.] - -[Footnote 576: Ibid. 75.] - -[Footnote 577: Ibid. 166.] - -[Footnote 578: Burke's "Reflections," V. 167.] - -[Footnote 579: Ibid. 188.] - -[Footnote 580: Ibid. 172.] - -[Footnote 581: Ibid. 175.] - -[Footnote 582: Burke's Works, VI. 201; "Appeal from the New to the Old -Whigs."] - -[Footnote 583: "A government of five hundred country attornies and -obscure curates is not good for twenty-four millions of men, though it -were chosen by eight and forty millions.... As to the share of power, -authority, direction, which each individual ought to have in the -management of the state, that I must deny to be amongst the direct -original rights of man in civil society."--Ibid. v. 109; -"Reflections."] - -[Footnote 584: Ibid. VI. 219; "Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs."] - -[Footnote 585: Ibid. V. 181 "Reflections."] - -[Footnote 586: Burke's Works, V. 151; "Reflections."] - -[Footnote 587: Ibid. 154.] - -[Footnote 588: Ibid. VI. 5; "Letter to a Member of the National -Assembly."] - -[Footnote 589: Ibid. V. 349; "Reflections."] - -[Footnote 590: "The effect of liberty to individuals is, that they may -do what they please: we ought to see what it will please them to do, -before we risk congratulations which may be soon turned into -complaints.... Strange chaos of levity and ferocity,... monstrous -tragicomic scene.... After I have read the list of the persons and -descriptions elected into the Tiers-État, nothing which they afterwards -did could appear astonishing.... Of any practical experience in the -state, not one man was to be found. The best were only men of theory. -The majority was composed of practitioners in the law,... active -chicaners,... obscure provincial advocates, stewards of petty local -jurisdictions, country attornies, notaries, etc."--Ibid. V. 37 and 90. -That which offends Burke, and even makes him very uneasy, was, that no -representatives of the "natural landed interests" were among the -representatives of the Tiers-État. Let us give one quotation more, for -really this political clairvoyance is akin to genius: "Men are qualified -for civil liberty in exact proportion to their disposition to put moral -chains upon their own appetites.... Society cannot exist unless a -controlling power upon will and appetite be placed somewhere; and the -less of it there is within the more there must be without. It is -ordained in the eternal constitution of things that men of intemperate -minds cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters."] - -[Footnote 591: Pitt's Speeches, 3 vols. 1808, II. p. 81, on negotiating -for peace with France, January 26, 1795. Pitt says, however, in the same -speech: "God forbid that we should look on the body of the people of -France as atheists."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 592: "Letters to a Noble Lord; Letters on a Regicide Peace."] - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTH - - -Addison - - -Section I.--The Significance of the Writings of Addison and Swift - - -In this vast transformation of mind which occupies the whole eighteenth -century, and gives England its political and moral standing, two eminent -men appear in politics and morality, both accomplished writers--the -most accomplished yet seen in England: both accredited mouthpieces of a -party, masters in the art of persuasion and conviction; both limited in -philosophy and art, incapable of considering sentiments in a -disinterested fashion: always bent on seeing in things motives for -approbation or blame; otherwise differing, and even in contrast with one -another; one happy, benevolent, beloved; the other hated, hating, and -most unfortunate: the one a partisan of liberty and the noblest hopes of -man; the other an advocate of a retrograde party, and an eager detractor -of humanity: the one measured, delicate, furnishing a model of the most -solid English qualities, perfected by continental culture; the other -unbridled and formidable, showing an example of the harshest English -instincts, luxuriating without limit or rule in every kind of -devastation and amid every degree of despair. To penetrate to the -interior of this civilization and this people, there are no means better -than to pause and dwell upon Swift and Addison. - - - - -Section II.--Addison's Character and Education - - -"I have often reflected," says Steele of Addison, "after a night spent -with him, apart from all the world, that I had had the pleasure of -conversing with an intimate acquaintance of Terence and Catullus, who -had all their wit and nature heightened with humor, more exquisite and -delightful than any other man ever possessed."[593] And Pope, a rival of -Addison, and a bitter rival, adds: "His conversation had something in it -more charming that I have found in any other man."[594] These sayings -express the whole talent of Addison: his writings are conversations, -masterpieces of English urbanity and reason; nearly all the details of -his character and life have contributed to nourish this urbanity and -this reasoning. - -At the age of seventeen we find him at Oxford, studious and peaceful, -loving solitary walks under the elm-avenues, and amongst the beautiful -meadows on the banks of the Cherwell. From the thorny brake of school -education he chose the only flower--a withered one, doubtless, Latin -verse, but one which, compared to the erudition, to the theology, to the -logic of the time, is still a flower. He celebrates, in strophes or -hexameters, the peace of Ryswick, or the system of Dr. Burnet; he -composes little ingenious poems on a puppet-show, on the battle of the -pigmies and cranes; he learns to praise and jest--in Latin it is -true--but with such success that his verses recommend him for the -rewards of the ministry, and even come to the knowledge of Boileau. At -the same time he imbues himself with the Latin poets; he knows them by -heart, even the most affected, Claudian and Prudentius; presently in -Italy quotations will rain from his pen; from top to bottom, in all its -nooks, and under all its aspects, his memory is stuffed with Latin -verses. We see that he loves them, scans them with delight, that a fine -cæsura charms him, that every delicacy touches him, that no hue of art -or emotion escapes him, that his literary tact is refined, and prepared -to relish all the beauties of thought and expression. This inclination, -too long retained, is a sign of a little mind, I allow; a man ought not -to spend so much time in inventing centos. Addison would have done -better to enlarge his knowledge--to study Latin prose-writers, Greek -literature, Christian antiquity, modern Italy, which he hardly knew. But -this limited culture, leaving him weaker, made him more refined. He -formed his art by studying only the monuments of Latin urbanity; he -acquired a taste for the elegance and refinements, the triumphs and -artifices of style; he became self-contemplative, correct, capable of -knowing and perfecting his own tongue. In the designed reminiscences, -the happy allusions, the discreet tone of his little poems, I find -beforehand many traits of the "Spectator." - -Leaving the university, he travelled for a long time in the two most -polished countries in the world, France and Italy. He lived at Paris, in -the house of the ambassador, in the regular and brilliant society which -gave fashion to Europe; he visited Boileau, Malebranche, saw with -somewhat malicious curiosity the fine curtsies of the painted and -affected ladies of Versailles, the grave and almost stale civilities of -the fine speakers and fine dancers of the other sex. He was amused at -the complimentary intercourse of Frenchmen, and remarked that when a -tailor accosted a shoemaker, he congratulated himself on the honor of -saluting him. In Italy he admired the works of art, and praised them in -a letter,[595] in which the enthusiasm is rather cold, but very well -expressed.[596] He had the fine training which is now given to young men -of the higher ranks. And it was not the amusements of cockneys or the -racket of taverns which employed him. His beloved Latin poets followed -him everywhere. He had read them over before setting out; he recited -their verses in the places which they mention. "I must confess, it was -not one of the least entertainments that I met with in travelling, to -examine these several descriptions, as it were, upon the spot, and to -compare the natural face of the country with the landscapes that the -poets have given us of it."[597] These were the pleasures of an epicure -in literature; there could be nothing more literary and less pedantic -than the account which he wrote on his return.[598] Presently this -refined and delicate curiosity led him to coins. "There is a great -affinity," he says, "between them and poetry;" for they serve as a -commentary upon ancient authors; an effigy of the Graces makes a verse -of Horace visible. And on this subject he wrote a very agreeable -dialogue, choosing for personages well-bred men: "all three very well -versed in the politer parts of learning, and had travelled into the most -refined nations of Europe.... Their design was to pass away the heat of -the summer among the fresh breezes that rise from the river (the -Thames), and the agreeable mixture of shades and fountains in which the -whole country naturally abounds."[599] Then, with a gentle and -well-tempered gayety, he laughs at pedants who waste life in discussing -the Latin toga or sandal, but pointed out, like a man of taste and wit, -the services which coins might render to history and the arts. Was there -ever a better education for a literary man of the world? He had already -a long time ago acquired the art of fashionable poetry, I mean the -correct verses, which are complimentary, or written to order. In all -polite society we look for the adornment of thought; we desire for it -rare, brilliant, beautiful dress, to distinguish it from vulgar -thoughts, and for this reason we impose upon it rhyme, metre, noble -expression; we keep for it a store of select terms, verified metaphors, -suitable images, which are like an aristocratic wardrobe, in which it is -hampered but must adorn itself. Men of wit are bound to make verses for -it, and in a certain style just as others must display their lace, and -that after a certain pattern. Addison put on this dress, and wore it -correctly and easily, passing without difficulty from one habit to a -similar one, from Latin to English verse. His principal piece, "The -Campaign,"[600] is an excellent model of the agreeable and classical -style. Each verse is full, perfect in itself, with a clever antithesis, -a good epithet, or a concise picture. Countries have noble names; Italy -is Ausonia, the Black Sea is the Scythian Sea; there are mountains of -dead, and a thunder of eloquence sanctioned by Lucian; pretty turns of -oratorical address imitated from Ovid; cannons are mentioned in poetic -periphrases, as later in Delille.[601] The poem is an official and -decorative amplification, like that which Voltaire wrote afterwards on -the battle of Fontenoy. Addison does yet better; he wrote an opera, a -comedy, a much admired tragedy on the death of Cato. Such writing was -always, in the last century; a passport to a good style and to -fashionable society. A young man in Voltaire's time, on leaving college, -had to write his tragedy as now he must write an article on political -economy; it was then a proof that he could converse with ladies, as now -it is a proof that he can argue with men. He learned the art of being -amusing, of touching the heart, of talking of love; he thus escaped from -dry or special studies; he could choose among events or sentiments those -which interest or please; he was able to hold his own in good society, -to be sometimes agreeable there, never to offend. Such is the culture -which these works gave Addison; it is of slight importance that they are -poor. In them he dealt with the passions, with humor. He produced in his -opera some lively and smiling pictures; in his tragedy some noble or -moving accents; he emerged from reasoning and pure dissertation; he -acquired the art of rendering morality visible and truth expressive; he -knew how to give ideas a physiognomy, and that an attractive one. Thus -was the finished writer perfected by contact with ancient and modern, -foreign and national urbanity, by the sight of the fine arts, by -experience of the world and study of style, by continuous and delicate -choice of all that is agreeable in things and men, in life and art. - -His politeness received from his character a singular bent and charm. It -was not external, simply voluntary and official; it came from the heart. -He was gentle and kind, of refined sensibility, so shy even as to remain -silent and seem dull in a large company or before strangers, only -recovering his spirits before intimate friends, and confessing that only -two persons can converse together. He could not endure an acrimonious -discussion; when his opponent was intractable, he pretended to approve, -and for punishment, plunged him discreetly into his own folly. He -withdrew by preference from political arguments; being invited to deal -with them in the "Spectator," he contented himself with inoffensive and -general subjects, which could interest all whilst offending none. It -would have pained him to give others pain. Though a very decided and -steady Whig, he continued moderate in polemics; and in an age when the -winners in the political fight were ready to ruin their opponents or to -bring them to the block, he confined himself to show the faults of -argument made by the Tories, or to rail courteously at their prejudices. -At Dublin he went first of all to shake hands with Swift, his great and -fallen adversary. Insulted bitterly by Dennis and Pope, he refused to -employ against them his influence or his wit, and praised Pope to the -end. What can be more touching, when we have read his life, than his -essay on kindness? we perceive that he is unconsciously speaking of -himself: - - -"There is no society or conversation to be kept up in the world without -good-nature, or something which must bear its appearance, and supply its -place. For this reason mankind have been forced to invent a kind of -artificial humanity, which is what we express by the word -good-breeding.... The greatest wits I have conversed with are men -eminent for their humanity.... Good-nature is generally born with us; -health, prosperity, and kind treatment from the world are great -cherishers of it where they find it."[602] - - -It so happens that he is involuntarily describing his own charm and his -own success. It is himself that he is unveiling; he was very prosperous, -and his good fortune spread itself around him in affectionate -sentiments, in constant consideration for others, in calm cheerfulness. -At college he was distinguished; his Latin verses made him a fellow at -Oxford; he spent ten years there in grave amusements and in studies -which pleased him. Dryden, the prince of literature, praised him in the -highest terms, when Addison was only twenty-two. When he left Oxford, -the ministry gave him a pension of three hundred pounds to finish his -education, and prepare him for public service. On his return from his -travels, his poem on Blenheim placed him in the first rank of the Whigs. -He became twice Secretary for Ireland, Under-Secretary of State, a -member of Parliament, one of the principal Secretaries of State. Party -hatred spared him; amid the almost universal defeat of the Whigs, he was -re-elected member of Parliament; in the furious war of Whigs and Tories, -both united to applaud his tragedy of "Cato"; the most cruel -pamphleteers respected him; his uprightness, his talent, seemed exalted -by common consent above discussion. He lived in abundance, activity, and -honors, wisely and usefully, amid the assiduous admiration and constant -affection of learned and distinguished friends, who could never have too -much of his conversation, amid the applause of all the good men and all -the cultivated minds of England. If twice the fall of his party seemed -to destroy or retard his fortune, he maintained his position without -much effort, by reflection and coolness, prepared for all that might -happen, accepting mediocrity, confirmed in a natural and acquired -calmness, accommodating himself without yielding to men, respectful to -the great without degrading himself, free from secret revolt or internal -suffering. These are the sources of his talent; could any be purer or -finer? could anything be more engaging than worldly polish and elegance, -without the factitious ardor and the complimentary falsehoods of the -world? Where shall we look for more agreeable conversation than that of -a good and happy man, whose knowledge, taste, and wit, are only employed -to give us pleasure? - - - - -Section III.--Addison's Seriousness.--His Nobility of Character - - -This pleasure will be useful to us. Our interlocutor is as grave as he -is polite; he will and can instruct as well as amuse us; his education -has been as solid as it has been elegant; he even confesses in the -"Spectator" that he prefers the serious to the humorous style. He is -naturally reflective, silent, attentive. He has studied literature, men, -and things, with the conscientiousness of a scholar and an observer. -When he travelled in Italy, it was in the English style, noting the -difference of manners, the peculiarities of the soil, the good and ill -effects of various governments; providing himself with precise memoirs, -circumstantial statistics on taxes, buildings, minerals, climate, -harbors, administration, and on a great many other things.[603] An -English lord, who travels in Holland, goes simply into a cheese-shop, in -order to see, for himself all the stages of the manufacture; he returns, -like Addison, provided with exact statistics; complete notes; this mass -of verified information is the foundation of the common-sense of -Englishmen. Addison added to it experience of business, having been -successively, or at the same time, a journalist, a member of Parliament, -a statesman, hand and heart in all the fights and chances of party. Mere -literary education only makes good talkers, able to adorn and publish -ideas which they do not possess, and which others furnish for them. If -writers wish to invent, they must look to events and men, not to books -and drawing-rooms; the conversation of special men is more useful to -them than the study of perfect periods; they cannot think for -themselves, but in so far as they have lived or acted. Addison knew how -to act and live. When we read his reports, letters, and discussions, we -feel that politics and government have given him half his mind. To -exercise patronage, to handle money, to interpret the law, to divine the -motives of men, to foresee the changes of public opinion, to be -compelled to judge rightly, quickly, and twenty times a day, on present -and great interests, looked after by the public and under the espionage -of enemies; all this nourished his reason and sustained his discourses. -Such a man might judge and counsel his fellows; his judgments were not -amplifications arranged by a process of the brain, but observations -controlled by experience: he might be listened to on moral subjects as a -natural philosopher was on subjects connected with physics; we feel that -he spoke with authority, and that we were instructed. - -After having listened a little, people felt themselves better; for they -recognized in him from the first a singularly lofty soul, very pure, so -much attached to uprightness that he made it his constant care and his -dearest pleasure. He naturally loved beautiful things, goodness and -justice, science and liberty. From an early age he had joined the -Liberal party, and he continued in it to the end, hoping the best of -human virtue and reason, noting the wretchedness into which nations fell -who abandoned their dignity with their independence.[604] He followed -the grand discoveries of the new physical sciences, so as to give him -more exalted ideas of the works of God. He loved the deep and serious -emotions which reveal to us the nobility of our nature and the infirmity -of our condition. He employed all his talent and all his writings in -giving us the notion of what we are worth, and of what we ought to be. -Of two tragedies which he composed or contemplated, one was on the death -of Cato, the most virtuous of the Romans; the other on that of Socrates, -the most virtuous of the Greeks. At the end of the first he felt some -scruples; and for fear of being accused of finding an excuse for -suicide, he gave Cato some remorse. His opera of "Rosamond" ends with -the injunction to prefer pure love to forbidden joys; the "Spectator," -the "Tatler," the "Guardian," are mere lay sermons. Moreover, he put his -maxims into practice. When he was in office, his integrity was perfect; -he conferred often obligations on those whom he did not know--always -gratuitously, refusing presents, under whatever form they were offered. -When out of office, his loyalty was perfect; he maintained his opinions -and friendships without bitterness or baseness, boldly praising his -fallen protectors,[605] fearing not thereby to expose himself to the -loss of his only remaining resources. He possessed an innate nobility of -character, and reason aided him in keeping it. He considered that there -is common-sense in honesty. His first care, as he said, was to range his -passions on the side of truth. He had made for himself a portrait of a -rational creature, and he conformed his conduct to this by reflection as -much as by instinct. He rested every virtue on an order of principles -and proofs. His logic fed his morality, and the uprightness of his mind -completed the singleness of his heart. His religion, English in every -sense, was after the like fashion. He based his faith on a regular -succession of historical discussions:[606] he established the existence -of God by a regular series of moral deductions; minute and solid -demonstration was throughout the guide and foundation of his beliefs and -emotions. Thus disposed, he loved to conceive God as the rational head -of the world; he transformed accidents and necessities into calculations -and directions; he saw order and providence in the conflict of things, -and felt around him the wisdom which he attempted to establish in -himself. Addison, good and just himself, trusted in God, also a being -good and just. He lived willingly in His knowledge and presence, and -thought of the unknown future which was to complete human nature and -accomplish moral order. When the end came, he went over his life, and -discovered that he had done some wrong or other to Gay: this wrong was -doubtless slight, since Gay had never thought of it. Addison begged him -to come to his bedside, and asked his pardon. When he was about to die, -he wished still to be useful, and sent for his step-son, Lord Warwick, -whose careless life had caused him some uneasiness. He was so weak that -at first he could not speak. The young man, after waiting awhile, said -to him: "Dear sir, you sent for me, I believe; I hope that you have some -commands; I shall hold them most sacred." The dying man with an effort -pressed his hand, and replied gently: "See in what peace a Christian can -die."[607] Shortly afterwards he expired. - - - - -Section IV.--The Morality of Addison's Essays - - -"The great and only end of these speculations," says Addison, one of his -"Spectators, is to banish vice and ignorance out of the territories of -Great Britain." And he kept his word. His papers are wholly -moral--advices to families, reprimands to thoughtless women, a sketch -of an honest man, remedies for the passions, reflections on God and a -future life. I hardly know, or father I know very well, what success a -newspaper full of sermons would have in France. In England it was -extraordinary, equal to that of the most popular modern novelists. In -the general downfall of the daily and weekly papers ruined by the Stamp -Act,[608] the "Spectator" doubled its price, and held its ground.[609] -This was because it offered to Englishmen the picture of English reason: -the talent and the teaching were in harmony with the needs of the age -and of the country. Let us endeavor to describe this reason, which -became gradually eliminated from Puritanism and its rigidity, from the -Restoration and its excess. The mind attained its balance, together with -religion and the state. It conceived the rule, and disciplined its -conduct; it diverged from a life of excess, and confirmed itself in a -sensible life; it shunned physical and prescribed moral existence. -Addison rejects with scorn gross corporeal pleasure, the brutal joy of -noise and motion: "I would nevertheless leave to the consideration of -those who are the patrons of this monstrous trial of skill, whether or -no they are not guilty, in some measure, of an affront to their species, -in treating after this manner the human face divine."[610] "Is it -possible that human nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take -pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into -forms that raise horror and aversion? There is something disingenuous -and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight."[611] Of course he -sets himself against deliberate shamelessness and the systematic -debauchery which were the taste and the shame of the Restoration. He -wrote whole articles against young fashionable men, "a sort of vermin" -who fill London with their bastards; against professional seducers, who -are the "knights-errant" of vice. "When men of rank and figure pass away -their lives in these criminal pursuits and practices, they ought to -consider that they render themselves more vile and despicable than any -innocent man can be, whatever low station his fortune or birth have -placed him in."[612] He severely jeers at women who expose themselves to -temptations, and whom he calls "salamanders": "A salamander is a kind of -heroine in chastity, that treads upon fire, and lives in the midst of -flames without being hurt. A salamander knows no distinction of sex in -those she converses with, grows familiar with a stranger at first sight, -and is not so narrow-spirited as to observe whether the person she talks -to be in breeches or petticoats. She admits a male visitant to her -bedside, plays with him a whole afternoon at picquet, walks with him two -or three hours by moonlight."[613] He fights like a preacher against the -fashion of low dresses, and gravely demands the tucker and modesty of -olden times: "To prevent these saucy familiar glances, I would entreat -my gentle readers to sew on their tuckers again, to retrieve the modesty -of their characters, and not to imitate the nakedness, but the -innocence, of their mother Eve. In short, modesty gives the maid greater -beauty than even the bloom of youth; it bestows in the wife the dignity -of a matron, and reinstates the widow in her virginity."[614] We find -also lectures on masquerades which end with rendezvous; precepts on the -number of glasses people might drink, and the dishes of which they might -eat: condemnations of licentious professors of irreligion and -immorality; all maxims now somewhat stale, but then new and useful -because Wycherley and Rochester had put into practice and made popular -the opposite maxims. Debauchery passed for French and fashionable: this -is why Addison proscribes in addition all French frivolities. He laughs -at women who receive visitors in their dressing-rooms, and speak aloud -at the theatre: "There is nothing which exposes a woman to greater -dangers, than that gayety and airiness of temper, which are natural to -most of the sex. It should be therefore the concern of every wise and -virtuous woman to keep this sprightliness from degenerating into levity. -On the contrary, the whole discourse and behavior of the French is to -make the sex more fantastical, or (as they are pleased to term it) more -awakened, than is consistent either with virtue or discretion."[615] We -see already in these strictures the portrait of the sensible housewife, -the modest Englishwoman, domestic and grave, wholly taken up with her -husband and children. Addison returns a score of times to the artifices, -the pretty affected babyisms, the coquetry, the futilities of women. He -cannot suffer languishing or lazy habits. He is full of epigrams against -flirtations, extravagant toilets, useless visits.[616] He writes a -satirical journal of a man who goes to his club, learns the news, yawns, -studies the barometer, and thinks his time well occupied. He considers -that time is capital, business duty, and life a task. - -Is life only a task? If Addison holds himself superior to sensual life, -he falls short of philosophical life. His morality, thoroughly English, -always drags along among commonplaces, discovering no principles, making -no deductions. The fine and lofty aspects of the mind are wanting. He -gives useful advice, clear instruction, justified by what happened -yesterday, useful for to-morrow. He observes that fathers must not be -inflexible, and that they often repent driving their children to -despair. He finds that bad books are pernicious, because their -durability carries their poison to future ages. He consoles a woman who -has lost her sweetheart, by showing her the misfortunes of so many other -people who are suffering the greatest evils at the same time. His -"Spectator" is only an honest man's manual, and is often like the -"Complete Lawyer." It is practical, its aim being not to amuse, but to -correct us. The conscientious Protestant, nourished with dissertations -and morality, demands an effective monitor and guide; he would like his -reading to influence his conduct, and his newspaper to suggest a -resolution. To this end Addison seeks motives everywhere. He thinks of -the future life, but does not forget the present; he rests virtue on -interest rightly understood. He strains no principle to its limits; he -accepts them all, as they are to be met with everywhere, according to -their manifest goodness, drawing from them only the primary -consequences, shunning the powerful logical pressure which spoils all by -expressing too much. Let us observe him establishing a maxim, -recommending constancy, for instance; his motives are mixed and -incongruous: first, inconstancy exposes us to scorn; next, it puts us in -continual distraction; again, it hinders us as a rule from attaining our -end; moreover, it is the great feature of a human and mortal being; -finally, it is more opposed to the inflexible nature of God, who ought -to be our model. The whole is illustrated at the close by a quotation -from Dryden and a verse from Horace. This medley and jumble describe the -ordinary mind which remains on the level of its audience, and the -practical mind, which knows how to dominate over its audience. Addison -persuades the public, because he draws from the public sources of -belief. He is powerful because he is vulgar, and useful because he is -narrow. - -Let us picture now this mind, so characteristically mediocre, limited to -the discovery of good motives of action. What a reflective man, always -calm and dignified! What a store he has of resolutions and maxims! All -rapture, instinct, inspiration, and caprice, are abolished or -disciplined. No case surprises or carries him away. He is always ready -and protected; so much so, that he is like an automaton. Argument has -frozen and invaded him. Consider, for instance, how he puts us on our -guard against involuntary hypocrisy, announcing, explaining, -distinguishing the ordinary and extraordinary modes, dragging on with -exordiums, preparations, methods, allusions to Scripture.[617] After -having read six lines of this morality, a Frenchman would go out for a -mouthful of fresh air. What in the name of heaven would he do, if, in -order to move him to piety, he was told[618] that God's omniscience and -omnipresence furnished us with three kinds of motives, and then -subdivided these motives into first, second, and third? To put -calculation at every stage; to come with weights, scales, and figures, -into the thick of human passions, to label them, classify them like -bales, to tell the public that the inventory is complete; to lead them, -with the reckoning in their hand, and by the mere virtue of statistics, -to honor and duty--such is the morality of Addison and of England. It is -a sort of commercial common-sense applied to the interests of the soul; -a preacher here is only an economist in a white tie, who treats -conscience like food, and refutes vice because its introduction is -prohibited. - -There is nothing sublime or chimerical in the end which he sets before -us; all is practical, that is, business-like and sensible; the question -is, how "to be easy here and happy afterwards." To be easy is a word -which has no French equivalent, meaning that comfortable state of the -mind, a middle state between calm satisfaction, approved action and -serene conscience. Addison makes it consist in labor and manly -functions, carefully and regularly discharged. We must see with what -complacency he; paints in the "Freeholder" and Sir Roger the grave -pleasures of a citizen and proprietor: - - -"I have rather chosen this title (the Freeholder) than any other, -because it is what I most glory in, and what most effectually calls to -my mind the happiness of that government under which I live. As a -British freeholder, I should not scruple taking place of a French -marquis; and when I see one of my countrymen amusing himself in his -little cabbage-garden, I naturally look upon him as a greater person -than the owner of the richest vineyard in Champagne.... There is an -unspeakable pleasure in calling anything one's own. A freehold, though -it be but in ice and snow, will make the owner pleased in the -possession, and stout in the defence of it.... I consider myself as one -who give my consent to every law which passes.... A free-holder is but -one remove from a legislator, and for that reason ought to stand up in -the defence of those laws which are in some degree of his own -making."[619] - - -These are all English feelings, made up of calculation and pride, -energetic and austere; and this portrait is capped by that of the -married man: - - -"Nothing is more gratifying to the mind of man than power or dominion; -and this I think myself amply possessed of, as I am the father of a -family. I am perpetually taken up in giving out orders, in prescribing -duties, in hearing parties, in administering justice, and in -distributing rewards and punishments.... I look upon my family as a -patriarchal sovereignty, in which I am myself both king and priest." - -"... When I see my little troop before me, I rejoice in the additions -which I have made to my species, to my country, and to my religion, in -having produced such a number of reasonable creatures, citizens, and -Christians. I am pleased to see myself thus perpetuated; and as there is -no production comparable to that of a human creature, I am more proud of -having been the occasion of ten such glorious productions, than if I had -built a hundred pyramids at my own expense, or published as many volumes -of the finest wit and learning."[620] - - -If now we take the man away from his estate and his household, alone -with himself, in moments of idleness or reverie, we will find him just -as positive. He observes, that he may cultivate his own reasoning power, -and that of others; he stores himself with morality; he wishes to make -the most of himself and of existence, that is the reason why he thinks -of death. The northern races willingly direct their thoughts to final -dissolution and the dark future. Addison often chose for his promenade -gloomy Westminster Abbey, with its many tombs: "Upon my going into the -church I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in -every shovel-full of it that was thrown up the fragment of a bone or -skull intermixt with a kind of fresh mouldering earth that some time or -other had a place in the composition of a human body.... I consider that -great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our -appearance together."[621] And suddenly his emotion is transformed into -profitable meditations. Underneath his morality is a pair of scales -which weigh quantities of happiness. He stirs himself by mathematical -comparisons to prefer the future to the present. He tries to realize, -amidst an assemblage of dates, the disproportion of our short life to -infinity. Thus arises this religion, a product of melancholic -temperament and acquired logic, in which man, a sort of calculating -Hamlet, aspires to the ideal by making a good business of it, and -maintains his poetical sentiments by financial calculations. - -In such a subject these habits are offensive. We ought not to try and -over-define or prove God; religion is rather a matter of feeling than of -science; we compromise it by exacting too rigorous demonstrations, and -too precise dogmas. It is the heart which sees heaven; if a man would -make me believe in it, as he makes me believe in the antipodes, by -geographical accounts and probabilities, I shall barely or not at all -believe. Addison has little more than his college or edifying arguments, -very like those of the Abbé Pluche,[622] which let in objections at -every chink, and which we can only regard as dialectical essays or -sources of emotion. When we add to these arguments, motives of interest -and calculations of prudence, which can make recruits, but not converts, -we possess all his proofs. There is an element of coarseness in this -fashion of treating divine things, and we like still less the exactness -with which he explains God, reducing him to a mere magnified man. This -preciseness and this narrowness go so far as to describe heaven: - - -"Though the Deity be thus essentially present through all the immensity -of space, there is one part of it in which he discovers himself in a -most transcendent and visible glory.... It is here where the glorified -body of our Saviour resides, and where all the celestial hierarchies, -and the innumerable hosts of angels, are represented as perpetually -surrounding the seat of God with hallelujahs and hymns of praise.... -With how much skill must the throne of God be erected! ... How great -must be the majesty of that place, where the whole art of creation has -been employed, and where God has chosen to shew himself in the most -magnificent manner! What must be the architecture of infinite power -under the direction of infinite wisdom?"[623] - - -Moreover, the place must be very grand, and they have music there: it is -a noble palace; perhaps there are antechambers. We had better not -continue the quotation. The same dull and literal precision makes him -inquire what sort of happiness the elect have.[624] They will be -admitted into the councils of Providence, and will understand all its -proceedings: "There is, doubtless, a faculty in spirits by which they -apprehend one another as our senses do material objects; and there is no -question but our souls, when they are disembodied, or placed in -glorified bodies, will by this faculty, in whatever part of space they -reside, be always sensible of the Divine Presence."[625] This grovelling -philosophy repels us. One word of Addison will justify it, and make us -understand it: "The business of mankind in this life is rather to act -than to know." Now, such a philosophy is as useful in action as poor in -science. All its faults of speculation become merits in practice. It -follows in a prosy manner positive religion.[626] What support does it -not attain from the authority of an ancient tradition, a national -institution, an established priesthood, outward ceremonies, every-day -customs! It employs as arguments public utility, the example of great -minds, heavy logic, literal interpretation, and unmistakable texts. What -better means of governing the crowd than to degrade proofs to the -vulgarity of its intelligence and needs? It humanizes the Divinity: is -it not the only way to make men understand Him? It defines almost -obviously a future life: is it not the only way to cause it to be wished -for? The poetry of lofty philosophical deductions is weak compared to -the inner persuasion, rooted by so many positive and detailed -descriptions. In this way an active piety is born and religion thus -constructed doubles the force of the moral spring. Addison's is -admirable, because it is so strong. Energy of feeling rescues -wretchedness of dogma. Beneath his dissertations we feel that he is -moved; minutiæ, pedantry disappear. We see in him now only a soul -deeply penetrated with adoration and respect; no more a preacher -classifying God's attributes, and pursuing his trade as a good logician; -but a man who naturally, and of his own bent, returns to a lofty -spectacle, goes with awe into all its aspects, and leaves it only with a -renewed or overwhelmed heart. The sincerity of his emotions makes us -respect even his catechetical prescriptions. He demands fixed days of -devotion and meditation to recall us regularly to the thought of our -Creator and of our faith. He inserts prayers in his paper. He forbids -oaths, and recommends to keep always before us the idea of a sovereign -Master: - - -"Such an habitual homage to the Supreme Being would, in a particular -manner, banish from among us that prevailing impiety of using his name -on the most trivial occasions.... What can we then think of those who -make use of so tremendous a name in the ordinary expressions of their -anger, mirth, and most impertinent passions? of those who admit it into -the most familiar questions, and assertions, ludicrous phrases, and -works of humour? not to mention those who violate it by solemn -perjuries! It would be an affront to reason to endeavour to set forth -the horror and profaneness of such a practice."[627] - - -If a Frenchman was forbidden to swear, he would probably laugh at the -first word of the admonition; in his eyes that is a matter of good -taste, not of morality. But if he had heard Addison himself pronouncing -what I have written, he would laugh no longer. - - - - -Section V.--How Addison made Morality Fashionable.--Characteristics -of His Style - - -It is no small thing to make morality fashionable. Addison did it, and -it remained in fashion. Formerly honest men were not polished, and -polished men were not honest; piety was fanatical, and urbanity -depraved; in manners, as in literature, a man could meet only Puritans -or libertines. For the first time Addison reconciled virtue, with -elegance, taught duty in an accomplished style, and made pleasure -subservient to reason: - - -"It was said of Socrates that he brought Philosophy down from heaven, to -inhabit among men; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that -I have brought Philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and -colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in -coffee-houses. I would therefore, in a very particular manner, recommend -these my speculations to all well-regulated families, and set apart an -hour in every morning for tea and bread and butter; and would earnestly -advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually served -up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea-equipage."[628] - - -In this passage we may detect an inclination to smile, a little irony -tempers the serious idea; it is the tone of a polished man, who, at the -first sign of ennui, turns round, delicately laughs, even at himself, -and tries to please. It is Addison's general tone. - -What an amount of art is necessary to please! First, the art of making -one's self understood, at once, always, completely, without difficulty -to the reader, without reflection, without attention. Let us figure to -ourselves men of the world reading a page between two mouthfuls of -"bohea-rolls," ladies interrupting a phrase to ask when the ball begins: -three technical or learned words would make them throw the paper down. -They only desire distinct terms, in common use, into which wit enters -all at once, as it enters ordinary converse; in fact, for them reading -is only a conversation, and a better one than usual. For the select -world refines language. It does not suffer the risks and approximations -of extempore and inexperienced speaking. It requires a knowledge of -style, like a knowledge of external forms. It will have exact words to -express the fine shades of thought, and measured words to preclude -offensive or extreme impressions. It wishes for developed phrases, -which, presenting the same idea, under several aspects, impress it -easily upon its desultory mind. It demands harmonies of words, which, -presenting a known idea in a smart form, may introduce it in a lively -manner to its desultory imagination. Addison gives it all that it -desires; his writings are the pure source of classical style; men never -spoke better in England. Ornaments abound, and never has rhetoric a -share in them. Throughout we have precise contrasts, which serve only -for clearness, and are not too prolonged; happy expressions, easily hit -on, which give things a new and ingenious turn; harmonious periods, in -which the sounds flow into one another with the diversity and sweetness -of a quiet stream; a fertile vein of invention and fancy, through which -runs the most amiable irony. We trust one example will suffice: - - -"He is not obliged to attend her (Nature) in the slow advance which she -makes from one season to another, or to observe her conduct in the -successive production of plants and flowers. He may draw into his -description all the beauties of the spring and autumn, and make the -whole year contribute something to render it the more agreeable. His -rose-trees, woodbines, and jessamines may flower together, and his beds -be covered at the same time with lilies, violets, and amaranths. His -soil is not restrained to any particular set of plants, but is proper -either for oaks or myrtles, and adapts itself to the products of every -climate. Oranges may grow wild in it; myrrh may be met with in every -hedge; and if he thinks it proper to have a grove of spices, he can -quickly command sun enough to raise it. If all this will not furnish an -agreeable scene, he can make several new species of flowers, with richer -scents and higher colours, than any that grow in the gardens of nature. -His concerts of birds may be as full and harmonious, and his woods as -thick and gloomy as he pleases. He is at no more expense in a long vista -than a short one, and can as easily throw his cascades from a precipice -of half a mile high as from one of twenty yards. He has his choice of -the winds, and can turn the course of his rivers in all the variety of -meanders that are most delightful to the reader's imagination."[629] - - -I find here that Addison profits by the rights which he grants to -others, and is amused in explaining to us how we may amuse ourselves. -Such is the charming tone of society. Reading the "Spectator," we fancy -it still more amiable than it is: no pretension; no efforts; endless -contrivances employed unconsciously, and obtained without asking; the -gift of being lively and agreeable; a refined banter, raillery without -bitterness, a sustained gayety; the art of finding in everything the -most blooming and the freshest flower, and to smell it without bruising -or sullying it; science, politics, experience, morality, bringing their -finest fruits, adorning them, offering them at a chosen moment, ready to -withdraw them as soon as conversation has enjoyed them, and before it is -tired of them; ladies placed in the first rank,[630] arbiters of -refinement, surrounded with homage, crowning the politeness of men and -the brilliancy of society by the attraction of their toilets, the -delicacy of their wit, and the charm of their smiles; such is the -familiar spectacle in which the writer has formed and delighted himself. - -So many advantages are not without their inconvenience. The compliments -of society, which attenuate expressions, blunt the style; by regulating -what is instinctive and moderating what is vehement, they make speech -threadbare and uniform. We must not always seek to please, above all, to -please the ear. M. de Chateaubriand boasted of not admitting a single -elision into the song of "Cymodocée"; so much the worse for -"Cymodocée." So the commentators who have noted in Addison the balance -of his periods, do him an injustice.[631] They explain thus why he -slightly wearies us. The rotundity of his phrases is a scanty merit and -mars the rest. To calculate longs and shorts, to be always thinking of -sounds, of final cadences--all these classical researches spoil a -writer. Every idea has its accent, and all our labor ought to be to put -it down free and simple on paper, as it is in our mind. We ought to copy -and mark our thought with the flow of emotions and images, which raise -it, caring for nothing but its exactness and clearness. One true phrase -is worth a hundred periods: the first is a document which fixes forever -a movement of the heart or the senses; the other is a toy to amuse the -empty heads of verse-makers. I would give twenty pages of Fléchier for -three lines of Saint-Simon. Regular rhythm mutilates the impetus of -natural invention; the shades of inner vision vanish; we see no more a -soul which thinks or feels, but fingers which count measures whilst -scanning. The continuous period is like the shears of La Quintinie,[632] -which clip all the trees round under pretence of beautifying. This is -why there is some coldness and monotony in Addison's style. He seems to -be listening to himself. He is too measured and correct. His most -touching stories, like that of "Theodosius and Constantia," touch us -only partially. Who could feel inclined to weep over such periods as -these? - - -"Constantia, who knew that nothing but the report of her marriage could -have driven him to such extremities, was not to be comforted: she now -accused herself for having so tamely given an ear to the proposal of a -husband, and looked upon the new lover as the murderer of Theodosius: in -short, she resolved to suffer the utmost effects of her father's -displeasure, rather than to comply with a marriage which appeared to her -so full of guilt and horror."[633] - - -Is this the way to paint horror and guilt? Where are the passionate -emotions which Addison pretends to paint? The story is related, not -seen. - -The classical writer simply cannot see. Always measured and rational, -his first care is to proportion and arrange. He has his rules in his -pocket, and brings them out for everything. He does not rise to the -source of the beautiful at once, like genuine artists, by force and -lucidity of natural inspiration; he lingers in the middle regions, amid -precepts, subject to taste and common-sense. This is why Addison's -criticism is so solid and so poor. They who seek ideas will do well not -to read his "Essays on Imagination,"[634] so much praised, so well -written, but so scant of philosophy, and so commonplace, dragged down by -the intervention of final causes. His celebrated commentary on "Paradise -Lost" is little better than the dissertations of Batteux and Bossu. In -one place he compares, almost in a line, Homer, Vergil, and Ovid. The -fine arrangement of a poem is with him the highest merit. The pure -classics enjoy better arrangement and good order than artless truth and -strong originality. They have always their poetic manual in their hands: -if we agree with the prearranged pattern, we have genius; if not, we -have none. Addison, in praise of Milton, establishes that, according to -the rule of epic poetry, the action of "Paradise Lost" is one, complete -and great; that its characters are varied and of universal interest, and -its sentiments natural, appropriate, and elevated; the style clear, -diversified, and sublime. Now we may admire Milton; he has a testimonial -from Aristotle. Listen, for instance, to cold details of classical -dissertation: - - -"Had I followed Monsieur Bossu's method in my first paper on Milton, I -should have dated the action of 'Paradise Lost' from the beginning of -Raphael's speech in this book."[635] - -"But, notwithstanding the fineness of this allegory (Sin and Death) may -atone for it (the defect in the subject of his poem) in some measure, I -cannot think that persons of such a chimerical existence are proper -actors in an epic poem."[636] - - -Further on Addison defines poetical machines, the conditions of their -structure, the advantage of their use. He seems to me a carpenter -inspecting a staircase. Do not suppose that artificiality shocks him; on -the contrary, he rather admires it. He finds the violent declamations of -the Miltonic divinity and the royal compliments indulged in by the -persons of the Trinity, sublime. The camps of the angels, their bearing -in chapel and barrack, their scholastic disputes, their bitter -puritanical or pious royalistic style, do not strike him as false or -disagreeable. Adam's pedantry and household lectures appear to him -suitable to the state of innocence. In fact, the classics of the last -two centuries never looked upon the human mind, except in its cultivated -state. The child, the artist, the barbarian, the inspired man, escaped -them; so, of course, did all who were beyond humanity; their world was -limited to the earth, and to the earth of the study and drawing-rooms; -they rose neither to God nor nature, or if they did, it was to transform -nature into a well-regulated garden-plot, and God into a moral -scrutator. They reduced genius to eloquence, poetry to discourse, the -drama to a dialogue. They regarded reason as if it were beauty, a sort -of middle faculty, not apt for invention, potent in rules, balancing -imagination like conduct, and making taste the arbiter of letters, as it -made morality the arbiter of actions. They dispensed with the play on -words, the sensual grossness, the flights of imagination, the -unlikelihood, the atrocities, and all the bad accompaniments of -Shakespeare;[637] but they only half followed him in the deep intuitions -by which he pierced the human heart, and discovered therein the god and -the animal. They wanted to be moved, but not overwhelmed; they allowed -themselves to be impressed, but demanded to be pleased. To please -rationally was the object of their literature. Such is Addison's -criticism, which resembles his art; born, like his art, of classical -urbanity; fit, like his art, for the life of the world, having the same -solidity and the same limits, because it had the same sources, namely, -order and relaxation. - - - - -Section VI.--Addison's Gallantry.--His Humor.--Sir Roger -de Coverley.--The Vision of Mirza - - -But we must consider that we are in England, and that we find there many -things not agreeable to a Frenchman. In France, the classical age -attained perfection; so that, compared to it, other countries lack -somewhat of finish. Addison, elegant in his own native country, is not -quite so in France. Compared with Tillotson, he is the most charming man -possible; compared to Montesquieu, he is only half polished. His -converse is hardly sparkling enough; the quick movement, the easy change -of tone, the facile smile, readily dropped and readily resumed, are -hardly visible. He drags on in long and too uniform phrases; his periods -are too square; we might cull a load of useless words. He tells us what -he is going to say: he marks divisions and subdivisions; he quotes -Latin, even Greek; he displays and protracts without end the serviceable -and sticky plaster of his morality. He has no fear of being wearisome. -That is not what Englishmen fear. Men who love demonstrative sermons -three hours long are not difficult to amuse. Remember that here the -women like to go to meeting, and are entertained by listening for half a -day to discourses on drunkenness, or on the sliding scale for taxes; -these patient creatures do not require that conversation should be -always lively and piquant. Consequently they can put up with a less -refined politeness and less disguised compliments. When Addison bows to -them, which happens often, it is gravely, and his reverence is always -accompanied by a warning. Take the following on their gaudy dresses: - - -"I looked with as much pleasure upon this little party-coloured -assembly, as upon a bed of tulips, and did not know at first whether it -might not be an embassy of Indian queens; but upon my going about into -the pit, and taking them in front, I was immediately undeceived and saw -so much beauty in every face, that I found them all to be English. Such -eyes and lips, cheeks and foreheads, could be the growth of no other -country. The complexion of their faces hindered me from observing any -further the colour of their hoods, though I could easily perceive, by -that unspeakable satisfaction which appeared in their looks, that their -own thoughts were wholly taken up on those pretty ornaments they wore -upon their heads."[638] - - -In this discreet raillery, modified by an almost official admiration, we -perceive an English mode of treating women: man, by her side, is always -a lay-preacher; they are for him charming children, or useful -housewives, never queens of the drawing-room, or equals, as amongst the -French. When Addison wishes to bring back the Jacobite ladies to the -Protestant party, i he treats them almost like little girls, to whom we -promise, if they will be good, to restore their doll or their cake: - - -"They should first reflect on the great sufferings and persecutions to -which they expose themselves by the obstinacy of their behaviour. They -lose their elections in every club where they are set up for toasts. -They are obliged by their principles to stick a patch on the most -unbecoming side of their foreheads. They forego the advantage of -birthday suits.... They receive no benefit from the army, and are never -the better for all the young fellows that wear hats and feathers. They -are forced to live in the country and feed their chickens; at the same -time that they might show themselves at court, and appear in brocade, if -they behaved themselves well. In short, what must go to the heart of -every fine woman, they throw themselves quite out of the fashion. ... A -man is startled when he sees a pretty bosom heaving with such -party-rage, as is disagreeable even in that sex which is of a more -coarse and rugged make. And yet such is our misfortune, that we -sometimes see a pair of stays ready to burst with sedition; and hear the -most masculine passions expressed in the sweetest voices.... Where a -great number of flowers grow, the ground at distance seems entirely -covered with them, and we must walk into it before we can distinguish -the several weeds that spring up in such a beautiful mass of -colours."[639] - - -This gallantry is too deliberate; we are somewhat shocked to see a woman -touched by such thoughtful hands. It is the urbanity of a moralist; -albeit he is well-bred, he is not quite amiable; and if a Frenchman can -receive from him lessons of pedagogy and conduct, Addison might come -over to France to find models of manners and conversation. - -If the first care of a Frenchman in society is to be amiable, that of an -Englishman is to be dignified; their mood leads them to immobility, as -ours to gestures; and their pleasantry is as grave as ours is gay. -Laughter with them is inward; they shun giving themselves up to it; they -are amused silently. Let us make up our mind to understand this kind of -temper, it will end by pleasing us. When phlegm is united to gentleness, -as in Addison, it is as agreeable as it is piquant. We are charmed to -meet a lively man, who is yet master of himself. We are astonished to -see these contrary qualities together. Each heightens and modifies the -other. We are not repelled by venomous bitterness, as in Swift, or by -continuous buffoonery, as in Voltaire. We enjoy altogether the rare -union, which for the first time combines serious bearing and good humor. -Read this little satire against the bad taste of the stage and the -public: - - -"There is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of greater -amusement to the town than Signor Nicolini's combat with a lion in the -Haymarket, which has been very often exhibited to the general -satisfaction of most of the nobility and gentry in the kingdom of Great -Britain.... The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who being a fellow of a -testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself -to be killed so easily as he ought to have done.... The second lion was -a tailor by trade, who belonged to the playhouse, and had the character -of a mild and peaceable man in his profession. If the former was too -furious, this was too sheepish for his part; insomuch that, after a -short modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of -Hydaspes, without grappling with him, and giving him an opportunity of -shewing his variety of Italian trips. It is said, indeed, that he once -gave him a rip in his flesh-coloured doublet; but this was only to make -work for himself, in his private character of a tailor.... The acting -lion at present is as I am informed, a country gentleman, who does it -for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says, very -handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he -indulges an innocent pleasure in it; and that it is better to pass away -an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking.... This -gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and -the choleric, that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn -together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man. -... In the meantime I have related this combat of the lion, to show what -are at present the reigning entertainments of the politer part of Great -Britain."[640] - - -There is much originality in this grave gayety. As a rule, singularity -is in accordance with the taste of the nation; they like to be impressed -strongly by contrasts. French literature seems to them threadbare; and -the French find them often not very delicate. A number of the -"Spectator" which seemed pleasant to London ladies would have shocked -people in Paris. Thus, Addison relates in the form of a dream the -dissection of a beau's brain: - - -"The pineal gland, which many of our modern philosophers suppose to be -the seat of the soul, smelt very strongly of essence and orange-flower -water, and was encompassed with a kind of horny substance, cut into a -thousand little faces or mirrors, which were imperceptible to the naked -eye: insomuch that the soul, if there had been any here, must have been -always taken up in contemplating her own beauties. We observed a large -antrim or cavity in the sinciput, that was filled with ribbons, lace, -and embroidery.... We did not find anything very remarkable in the eye, -saving only, that the _musculi amatorii_, or, as we may translate it -into English, the ogling muscles, were very much worn, and decayed with -use; whereas on the contrary, the elevator, or the muscle which turns -the eye towards heaven, did not appear to have been used at all."[641] - - -These anatomical details, which would disgust the French, amuse a -matter-of-fact mind; harshness is for him only accuracy; accustomed to -precise images, he finds no objectionable odor in the medical style. -Addison does not share our repugnance. To rail at a vice, he becomes a -mathematician, an economist, a pedant, an apothecary. Technical terms -amuse him. He sets up a court to judge crinolines, and condemns -petticoats in legal formulas. He teaches how to handle a fan as if he -were teaching to prime and load muskets. He draws up a list of men dead -or injured by love, and the ridiculous causes which have reduced them to -such a condition: - - -"Will Simple, smitten at the Opera by the glance of an eye that was -aimed at one who stood by him. - -"Sir Christopher Crazy, Bart., hurt by the brush of a whalebone -petticoat. - -"Ned Courtly, presenting Flavia with her glove (which she had dropped on -purpose), she received it and took away his life with a curtsey. - -"John Gosselin, having received a slight hurt from a pair of blue eyes, -as he was making his escape, was dispatched by a smile."[642] - - -Other statistics, with recapitulations and tables of numbers, relate -the history of the Leucadian leap: - - -"Aridæus a beautiful youth of Epirus, in love with Praxinoe, the wife -of the Thespis, escaped without damage, saving only that two of his fore -teeth were struck out, and his nose a little flatted. - -"Hipparchus, being passionately fond of his own wife, who was enamoured -of Bathyllus, leaped and died of his fall; upon which his wife married -her gallant."[643] - - -We see this strange mode of painting human folly: in England it is -called humor. It consists of an incisive good sense, the habit of -restraint, business habits, but above all a fundamental energy of -invention. The race is less refined, but stronger than the French; and -the pleasures which content its mind and taste are like the liquors -which suit its palate and its stomach. - -This potent Germanic spirit breaks out even in Addison through his -classical and Latin exterior. Albeit he relishes art, he still loves -nature. His education, which loaded him with maxims, has not destroyed -his virgin sentiment of truth. In his travels in France he preferred the -wildness of Fontainebleau to the correctness of Versailles. He shakes -off worldly refinement to praise the simplicity of the old national -ballads. He explains to his public the sublime images, the vast -passions, the deep religion of "Paradise Lost." It is curious to see -him, compass in hand, kept back by Bossu, fettered in endless arguments -and academical phrases, attaining with one spring, through the strength -of natural emotion, the lofty unexplored regions to which Milton rose by -the inspiration of faith and genius. Addison does not say, as Voltaire -does, that the allegory of Sin and Death is enough to make people sick. -He has a foundation of grand imagination, which makes him indifferent to -the little refinements of social civilization. He sojourns willingly -amid the grandeur and marvels of the other world. He is penetrated by -the presence of the Invisible, he must escape from the interests and -hopes of the petty life in which we crawl.[644] This source of faith -gushes from him in all directions; in vain is it enclosed in the regular -channel of official dogma; the text and arguments with which it is -covered do not hide its true origin. It springs from the grave and -fertile imagination which can only be satisfied with a sight of what is -beyond. - -Such a faculty swallows a man up; and if we descend to the examination -of literary qualities, we find it at the bottom as well as at the top. -Nothing in Addison is more varied and rich than the changes and the -scenery. The driest morality is transformed under his hand into pictures -and stories. There are letters from all kinds of men, clergymen, common -people, men of fashion, who keep their own style, and disguise their -advice under the form of a little novel. An ambassador from Bantam -jests, like Montesquieu, at the lies of European politeness. Greek or -Oriental tales, imaginary travels, the vision of a Scottish seer, the -memoirs of a rebel, the history of ants, the transformations of an ape, -the journal of an idle man, a walk in Westminster, the genealogy of -humor, the laws of ridiculous clubs; in short, an inexhaustible mass of -pleasant or solid fictions. The allegories are most frequent. We feel -that the author delights in their magnificent and fantastic world; he is -acting for himself a sort of opera; his eyes must look on colors. Here -is a paper on religions, very Protestant, but as sparkling as it is -ingenious: relaxation in England does not consist, as in France, in the -vivacity and variety of tone, but in the splendor and correctness of -invention: - - -"The middle figure, which immediately attracted the eyes of the whole -company, and was much bigger than the rest, was formed like a matron, -dressed in the habit of an elderly woman of quality in Queen Elizabeth's -days. The most remarkable parts of her dress were the beaver with the -steeple crown, the scarf that was darker than sable, and the lawn apron -that was whiter than ermine. Her gown was of the richest black velvet, -and just upon her heart studded with large diamonds of an inestimable -value, disposed in the form of a cross. She bore an inexpressible -cheerfulness and dignity in her aspect; and though she seemed in years, -appeared with so much spirit and vivacity, as gave her at the same time -an air of old age and immortality. I found my heart touched with so much -love and reverence at the sight of her, that the tears ran down my face -as I looked upon her; and still the more I looked upon her, the more my -heart was melted with the sentiments of filial tenderness and duty. I -discovered every moment something so charming in this figure, that I -could scarce take my eyes off it. On its right hand there sat the figure -of a woman so covered, with ornaments, that her face, her body, and her -hands were almost entirely hid under them. The little you could see of -her face was painted, and what I thought very odd, had something in it -like artificial wrinkles; but I was the less surprised at it, when I saw -upon her forehead an old-fashioned tower of grey hairs. Her head-dress -rose very high by three several stories or degrees; her garments had a -thousand colours in them, and were embroidered with crosses in gold, -silver, and silk; she had nothing on, so much as a glove or a slipper, -which was not marked with this figure; nay, so superstitiously fond did -she appear of it, that she sat cross-legged.... The next to her was a -figure which somewhat puzzled me; it was that of a man looking with -horror in his eyes, upon a silver bason filled with water. Observing -something in his countenance that looked like lunacy, I fancied at first -that he was to express that kind of distraction which the physicians -call the Hydrophobia; but considering what the intention of the show -was, I immediately recollected myself, and concluded it to be -Anabaptism."[645] - - -The reader must guess what these two first figures mean. They will -please a member of the Episcopal Church more than a Roman Catholic; but -I think that a Roman Catholic himself cannot help recognizing the -fulness and freshness of the fiction. - -Genuine imagination naturally ends in the invention of characters. For, -if we clearly represent to ourselves a situation or an action, we will -see at the same time the whole network of its connection; the passion -and faculties, all the gestures and tones of voice, all details of -dress, dwelling, social intercourse, which flow from it, will be -connected in our mind, and bring their precedents and their -consequences; and this multitude of ideas, slowly organized, will at -last be concentrated in a single sentiment, from which, as from a deep -spring, will break forth the portrait and the history of a complete -character. There are several such in Addison; the quiet observer Will -Honeycomb, the country Tory Sir Roger de Coverley, which are not -satirical theses, like those of La Bruyère, but genuine individuals, -like, and sometimes equal to, the characters of the great contemporary -novels. In reality, he invents the novel without suspecting it, at the -same time, and in the same way as his most illustrious neighbors. His -characters are taken from life, from the manners and conditions of the -age, described at length and minutely in all the details of their -education and surroundings, with a precise and positive observation, -marvellously real and English. A masterpiece as well as an historical -record is Sir Roger de Coverley, the country gentleman, a loyal servant -of State and Church, a justice of the peace, with a chaplain of his own, -and whose estate shows on a small scale the structure of the English -nation. This domain is a little kingdom, paternally governed, but still -governed. Sir Roger rates his tenants, passes them in review in church, -knows their affairs, gives them advice, assistance, commands; he is -respected, obeyed, loved, because he lives with them, because the -simplicity of his tastes and education puts him almost on a level with -them; because as a magistrate, a landed proprietor of many years' -standing, a wealthy man, a benefactor and neighbor, he exercises a moral -and legal, a useful and respected authority. Addison at the same time -shows in him the solid and peculiar English character, built of heart of -oak, with all the ruggedness of the primitive bark, which can neither be -softened nor planed down, a great fund of kindness which extends even to -animals, a love for the country and for bodily exercises, an inclination -to command and discipline, a feeling of subordination and respect, much -common-sense and little finesse, a habit of displaying and practising in -public his singularities and oddities, careless of ridicule, without -thought of bravado, solely because these men acknowledge no judge but -themselves. A hundred traits depict the times; a lack of love for -reading, a lingering belief in witches, rustic and sporting manners, the -ignorances of an artless or backward mind. Sir Roger gives the children, -who answer their catechism well, a Bible for themselves, and half a -flitch of bacon for their mothers. When a verse pleases him, he sings it -for half a minute after the congregation has finished. He kills eight -fat pigs at Christmas, and sends a pudding and a pack of cards to each -poor family in the parish. When he goes to the theatre, he supplies his -servants with cudgels to protect themselves from the thieves which, he -says, infest London. Addison returns a score of times to the old knight, -always showing some new aspect of his character, a disinterested -observer of humanity, curiously assiduous and discerning, a true -creator, having but one step farther to go to enter, like Richardson and -Fielding, upon the great work of modern literature, the novel of manners -and customs. - -There is an undercurrent of poetry in all this. It has flowed through -his prose a thousand times more sincere and beautiful than in his -verses. Rich oriental fancies are displayed, not with a shower of sparks -as in Voltaire, but in a calm and abundant light, which makes the -regular folds of their purple and gold undulate.[646] The music of the -vast cadenced and tranquil phrases leads the mind gently amidst romantic -splendors and enchantments, and the deep sentiment of ever young nature -recalls the happy quietude of Spenser. Through gentle railleries or -moral essays we feel that the author's imagination is happy, delighted -in the contemplation of the swaying to and fro of the forest-tops which -clothe the mountains, the eternal verdure of the valleys, invigorated by -fresh springs, and the wide view undulating far away on the distant -horizon. Great and simple sentiments naturally join these noble images, -and their measured harmony creates a unique spectacle, worthy to -fascinate the heart of a good man by its gravity and sweetness. Such are -the visions of Mirza, which I will give almost entire: - - -"On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my -forefathers I always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered -up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdad, in order -to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here -airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound -contemplation of the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought -to another: Surely, said I, man is but a shadow and life a dream. Whilst -I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was -not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with -a musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him he applied it to -his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding -sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly -melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They -put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed -souls of good men upon their first arrival in Paradise, to wear out the -impressions of the last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of -that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures.... - -"He (the Genius) then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and -placing me on the top of it, Cast thy eyes eastward, said he, and tell -me what thou seest. I see, said I, a huge valley, and a prodigious tide -of water rolling through it. The valley that thou seest, said he, is the -vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the -great tide of Eternity. What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see -rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick -mist at the other? What thou seest, said he, is that portion of Eternity -which is called Time, measured out by the Sun, and reaching from the -beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now, said he, this -sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou -discoverest in it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in the midst of the -tide. The bridge thou seest, said he, is human life; consider it -attentively. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it -consisted of three score and ten entire arches, with several broken -arches, which added to those that were entire, made up the number about -an hundred. As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that this -bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood -swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now -beheld it. But tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I -see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud -hanging on each end of it. As I looked more attentively, I saw several -of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that -flowed underneath it; and upon further examination, perceived there were -innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the -passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the -tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very -thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner -broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew -thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together -towards the end of the arches that were entire. - -"There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that -continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell -through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a -walk. - -"I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, -and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled -with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst -of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them to -save themselves. Some were looking up towards the Heavens in a -thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a Speculation stumbled and fell -out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that -glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but often when they -thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed and -down they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with -scimitars in their hands, and others with urinals, who ran to and fro -upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap-doors which did not -seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped had they not -been thus forced upon them.... - -"I here fetched a deep sigh. Alas, said I, man was made in vain! How is -he given away to misery and mortality! tortured in life, and swallowed -up in death! The Genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bid me -quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, on man in the -first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast -thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several -generations of mortals that fall into it. I directed my sight as I was -ordered, and (whether or no the good Genius strengthened it with any -supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too -thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther -end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of -adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal -parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could -discover nothing in it: but the other appeared to me a vast ocean -planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and -flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran -among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits, with -garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the -sides of the fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a -confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and -musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so -delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly -away to those happy seas; but the Genius told me there was no passage to -them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment -upon the bridge. The islands, said he, that lie so fresh and green -before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted -as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the -sea-shore; there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here -discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination, -can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who -according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are -distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of -different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of -those who are settled in them: every island is a paradise accommodated -to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth -contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee -opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will -convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, -who has such an eternity reserved for him. I gazed with inexpressible -pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, shew me now, I -beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which -cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of Adamant. The Genius -making me no answer, I turned me about to address myself to him a second -time, but I found that he had left me; I then turned again to the vision -which I had been so long contemplating: but instead of the rolling tide, -the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long -hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the -sides of it."[647] - - -In this ornate moral sketch, this fine reasoning, so correct and so -eloquent, this ingenious and noble imagination, I find an epitome of all -Addison's characteristics. These are the English tints which distinguish -this classical age from that of the French: a narrower and more -practical argument, a more poetical and less eloquent urbanity, a -structure of mind more inventive and more rich, less sociable and less -refined. - - - - -[Footnote 593: Addison's Works, ed. Hurd, 6 vols. v. 151; Steele's Letter -to Mr. Congreve.] - -[Footnote 594: Ibid. VI. 729.] - -[Footnote 595: Addison's Works, 4 vols. 4 to, Tonson, 1721, vol. I. 43. A -letter to Lord Halifax (1701).] - -[Footnote 596: "Renowned in verse, each shady thicket grows, -And every stream in heavenly numbers flows.... -Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown, -And softened into flesh the rugged stone.... -Here pleasing airs my ravisht soul confound -With circling notes and labyrinths of sound."--Ibid.] - -[Footnote 597: Preface to "Remarks on Italy," II.] - -[Footnote 598: "Remarks on Italy."] - -[Footnote 599: "First Dialogue on Medals," I. 435.] - -[Footnote 600: On the victory of Blenheim, I. 63.] - -[Footnote 601: "With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell -The marshes stagnate and the rivers swell. -Mountains of slain, etc...... -Rows of hollow brass, -Tube behind tube the dreadful entrance keep, -Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep...." - -"... Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far -Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war; -Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs -Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes."--Vol. I. 63-82.] - -[Footnote 602: "Spectator," No. 169.] - -[Footnote 603: See, for instance, his chapter on the republic of San -Marino.] - -[Footnote 604: Letter from Italy to Lord Halifax: -"O Liberty, thou Goddess heavenly bright, -Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight; -Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, -And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train.... -'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, -And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile."--I. 53. - -About the republic of San Marino he writes: - -"Nothing can be a greater instance of the natural love that mankind has -for liberty, and of their aversion to an arbitrary government, than such -a savage mountain covered with people, and the Campagna of Rome, which -lies in the same country, almost destitute of inhabitants."--"Remarks on -Italy," II. 48.] - -[Footnote 605: Halifax, for instance.] - -[Footnote 606: "Of the Christian Religion."] - -[Footnote 607: Addison's Works, Hurd, VI. 525.] - -[Footnote 608: The Stamp Act (1712; 10 Anne, C. 19) put a duty of a -halfpenny on every printed half sheet or less, and a penny on a -whole sheet, besides twelve pence on every advertisement. This Act was -repealed in 1855. Swift writes to Stella (August 7, 1712), "Do you know -that all Grub Street is ruined by the Stamp Act."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 609: The sale of the "Spectator" was considerably diminished -through its forced increase of price, and it was discontinued in 1713, the -year after the Stamp Act was passed.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 610: "Spectator," No. 173.] - -[Footnote 611: "Tatler," No. 108.] - -[Footnote 612: "Guardian," No. 123.] - -[Footnote 613: "Spectator," No. 198.] - -[Footnote 614: "Guardian," No. 100.] - -[Footnote 615: "Spectator," No. 45.] - -[Footnote 616: Ibid. Nos. 317 and 323.] - -[Footnote 617: "Spectator," No. 399.] - -[Footnote 618: Ibid. No. 57.] - -[Footnote 619: "Freeholder," No. 1.] - -[Footnote 620: "Spectator," No. 500.] - -[Footnote 621: Ibid. Nos. 26 and 573.] - -[Footnote 622: The abbé Pluche (1688-1761) was the author of a "Système -de la Nature" and several other works.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 623: "Spectator," No. 580; see also No. 531.] - -[Footnote 624: Ibid. Nos. 237, 571, 600.] - -[Footnote 625: Ibid. No. 571; see also Nos. 237, 600.] - -[Footnote 626: "Tatler," No. 257.] - -[Footnote 627: "Spectator," No. 531.] - -[Footnote 628: "Spectator," No. 10.] - -[Footnote 629: "Spectator," No. 418.] - -[Footnote 630: "Spectator," Nos. 423, 265.] - -[Footnote 631: See, in the notes of No. 409 of the "Spectator," the -pretty minute analysis of Hurd, the decomposition of the period, the -proportion of long and short syllables, the study of the finals. A -musician could not have done better.] - -[Footnote 632: La Quintinie (1626-1688), a celebrated gardener under -Louis XIV, planned the gardens of Versailles.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 633: "Spectator," No. 164.] - -[Footnote 634: See Ibid. Nos. 411-421.] - -[Footnote 635: "Spectator," No. 327.] - -[Footnote 636: Ibid. No. 273.] - -[Footnote 637: Ibid. Nos. 39, 40, 58.] - -[Footnote 638: "Spectator," No. 265.] - -[Footnote 639: "Freeholder," No. 26.] - -[Footnote 640: "Spectator," No. 13.] - -[Footnote 641: "Spectator," No. 275.] - -[Footnote 642: Ibid. No. 377.] - -[Footnote 643: "Spectator," No. 233.] - -[Footnote 644: See the last thirty numbers of the "Spectator."] - -[Footnote 645: "Tatler," No. 257.] - -[Footnote 646: See the history of Alnaschar in the "Spectator," No. 535, -and also that of Hilpa in the same paper, Nos. 584, 585.] - -[Footnote 647: "Spectator," No. 159.] - - - - -CHAPTER FIFTH - - -Swift - - -In 1685, in the great hall of Dublin University, the professors engaged -in examining for the bachelor's degree beheld a singular spectacle: a -poor scholar, odd, awkward, with hard blue eyes, an orphan, friendless, -dependent on the precarious charity of an uncle, having failed once -before to take his degree on account of his ignorance of logic, had come -up again without having condescended to read logic. To no purpose his -tutor set before him the most respectable folios--Smiglecius, -Keckermannus, Burgerdiscius. He turned over a few pages, and shut them -directly. When the argumentation came on, the proctor was obliged to -"reduce his replies into syllogism." He was asked how he could reason -well without rules; he replied that he did reason pretty well without -them. This folly shocked them; yet he was received, though with some -difficulty, _speciali gratiâ_, says the college register, and the -professors went away, doubtless with pitying smiles, lamenting the -feeble brain of Jonathan Swift. - - - - -Section I.--Concerning Swift's Life and Character - - -This was his first humiliation and his first rebellion. His whole life -was like this moment, overwhelmed and made wretched by sorrow and -hatred. To what excess they rose, his portrait and his history alone can -show. He fostered an exaggerated and terrible pride, and made the -haughtiness of the most powerful ministers and greatest lords bend -beneath his arrogance. Though only a literary man, possessing nothing -but a small Irish living, he treated them on a footing of equality. -Harley, the Prime Minister, having sent him a bank-bill of fifty pounds -for his first articles, he was offended at being taken for a hack -writer, returned the money, demanded an apology, received it, and wrote -in his journal: "I have taken Mr. Harley into favour again."[648] On -another occasion, having observed that the Secretary of State, St. John, -looked upon him coldly, he rebuked him for it: - - -"One thing I warned him of, never to appear cold to me, for I would not -be treated like a school-boy; that I expected every great minister who -honoured me with his acquaintance, if he heard or saw anything to my -disadvantage, would let me know in plain words, and not put me in pain -to guess by the change or coldness of his countenance or behaviour; for -it was what I would hardly bear from a crowned head; and I thought no -subject's favour was worth it: and that I designed to let my Lord Keeper -and Mr. Harley know the same thing, that they might use me -accordingly."[649] - - -St. John, approved of this, made excuses, said that he had passed -several nights at "business, and one night at drinking," and that his -fatigue might have seemed like ill-humor. In the minister's drawing-room -Swift went up and spoke to some obscure person, and compelled the lords -to come and speak to him: - - -"Mr. Secretary told me the Duke of Buckingham had been talking to him -much about me, and desired my acquaintance. I answered, it could not be, -for he had not made sufficient advances. Then the Duke of Shrewsbury -said he thought the Duke was not used to make advances. I said I could -not help that; for I always expected advances in proportion to men's -quality, and more from a Duke than other men."[650] - -"Saw Lord Halifax at court, and we joined and talked, and the Duchess of -Shrewsbury came up and reproached me for not dining with her: I said -that was not so soon done; for I expected more advances from ladies, -especially duchesses: She promised to comply.... Lady Oglethorpe -brought me and the Duchess of Hamilton together to-day in the -drawing-room, and I have given her some encouragement, but not -much."[651] - - -He triumphed in his arrogance, and said with a restrained joy, full of -vengeance: "I generally am acquainted with about thirty in the -drawing-room, and am so proud that I make all the lords come up to me. -One passes half an hour pleasant enough." He carried his triumph to the -verge of brutality and tyranny; writing to the Duchess of Queensberry, -he says: "I am glad you know your duty; for it has been a known and -established rule above twenty years in England, that the first advances -have been constantly made me by all ladies who aspired to my -acquaintance, and the greater their quality, the greater were their -advances."[652] The famous General Webb, with his crutch and cane, -limped up two flights of stairs to congratulate him and invite him to -dinner; Swift accepted, then an hour later withdrew his consent, -preferring to dine elsewhere. He seemed to look upon himself as a -superior being, exempt from the necessity of showing his respects to -anyone, entitled to homage, caring neither for sex, rank, nor fame, -whose business it was to protect and destroy, distributing favors, -insults, and pardons. Addison, and after him Lady Gifford, a friend of -twenty years' standing, having offended him, he refused to take them -back into his favor until they had asked his pardon. Lord Lansdowne, -Secretary for War, being annoyed at an expression of the "Examiner," -Swift says: "This I resented highly that he should complain of me before -he spoke to me. I sent him a peppering letter, and would not summon him -by a note, as I did the rest; nor ever will have anything to say to him, -till he begs my pardon."[653] He treated art like man, writing a thing -off, scorning the wretched necessity of reading it over, putting his -name to nothing, letting every piece make its way on its own merits, -unassisted, without the prestige of his name, recommended by none. He -had the soul of a dictator, thirsting after power, and saying openly: -"All my endeavors, from a boy, to distinguish myself were only for want -of a great title and fortune, that I might be treated like a lord.... -whether right or wrong, it is no great matter; and so the reputation of -wit or great learning does the office of a blue ribbon, or of a coach -and six horses."[654] But he thought this power and rank due to him; he -did not ask, but expected them. "I will never beg for myself, though I -often do it for others." He desired ruling power, and acted as if he had -it. Hatred and misfortune find a congenial soil in these despotic minds. -They live like fallen kings, always insulting and offended, having all -the miseries but none of the consolations of pride, unable to relish -either society or solitude, too ambitious to be content with silence, -too haughty to use the world, born for rebellion and defeat, destined by -their passions and impotence to despair and to talent. - -Sensitiveness in Swift's case aggravated the stings of pride. Under this -outward calmness of countenance and style raged furious passions. There -was within him a ceaseless tempest of wrath and desire: "A person of -great honour in Ireland (who was pleased to stoop so low as to look into -my mind) used to tell me that my mind was like a conjured spirit, that -would do mischief, if I would not give it employment." Resentment sunk -deeper in him than in other men. Listen to the profound sigh of joyful -hatred with which he sees his enemies under his feet: "The Whigs were -ravished to see me, and would lay hold on me as a twig while they are -drowning; and the great men making me their clumsy apologies."[655] "It -is good to see what a lamentable confession the Whigs all make of my -ill-usage."[656] And soon after: "Rot them, for ungrateful dogs; I will -make them repent their usage before I leave this place."[657] He is -satiated and has glutted his appetite; like a wolf or a lion, he cares -for nothing else. - -This impetuosity led him to every sort of madness and violence. His -"Drapier's Letters" had roused Ireland against the government, and the -government had issued a proclamation offering a reward to anyone who -would denounce the Drapier. Swift came suddenly into the -reception-chamber, elbowed the groups, went up to the lord-lieutenant, -with indignation on his countenance, and in a thundering voice, said: -"So, my lord, this is a glorious exploit that you performed yesterday, -in suffering a proclamation against a poor shopkeeper, whose only crime -is an honest endeavor to save his country from ruin."[658] And he broke -out into railing amidst general silence and amazement. The -lord-lieutenant, a man of sense, answered calmly. Before such a torrent -men turned aside. This chaotic and self-devouring heart could not -understand the calmness of his friends; he asked them: "Do not the -corruptions and villanies of men eat your flesh, and exhaust your -spirits?"[659] - -Resignation was repulsive to him. His actions, abrupt and strange, broke -out amidst his silent moods like flashes of lightning. He was eccentric -and violent in everything, in his pleasantry, in his private affairs, -with his friends, with unknown people; he was often taken for a madman. -Addison and his friends had seen for several days at Button's -coffee-house a singular parson, who laid his hat on the table, walked -for half-an-hour backward and forward, paid his money, and left, having -attended to nothing and said nothing. They called him the mad parson. -One day this parson perceives a gentleman "just come out of the -country," went straight up to him, "and in a very abrupt manner, without -any previous salute, asked him, 'Pray sir, do you remember any good -weather in the world?' The country gentleman, after staring a little at -the singularity of his (Swift's) manner and the oddity of the question, -answered, 'Yes, sir, I thank God, I remember a great deal of good -weather in my time.' 'That is more,' said Swift, 'than I can say; I -never remember any weather that was not too hot or too cold, too wet or -too dry; but, however, God Almighty contrives it, at the end of the year -'tis all very well.'"[660] Another day, dining with the Earl of -Burlington, the Dean said to the mistress of the house, "Lady -Burlington, I hear you can sing; sing me a song." The lady looked on -this unceremonious manner of asking a favor with distaste, and -positively refused. He said, "she should sing, or he would make her. -Why, madam, I suppose you take me for one of your poor English -hedge-parsons; sing when I bid you!" As the earl did nothing but laugh -at this freedom, the lady was so vexed that she burst into tears, and -retired. His first compliment to her, when he saw her again, was, "Pray, -madam, are you as proud and as ill-natured now as when I saw you -last?"[661] People were astonished or amused at these outbursts; I see -in them sobs and cries, the explosion of long, overwhelming and bitter -thoughts; they are the starts of a mind unsubdued, shuddering, -rebelling, breaking the barriers, wounding, crushing, or bruising -everyone on its road, or those who wish to stop it. Swift became mad at -last; he felt this madness coming on, he has described it in a horrible -manner; beforehand he has tasted all the disgust and bitterness of it; -he showed it on his tragic face, in his terrible and wan eyes. This is -the powerful and mournful genius which nature gave up as a prey to -society and life; society and life poured all their poisons into him. - -He knew what poverty and scorn were, even at that age when the mind -expands, when the heart is full of pride,[662] when he was hardly -maintained by the alms of his family, gloomy and without hope, feeling -his strength and the dangers of his strength.[663] At twenty-one, as -secretary to Sir William Temple, he had twenty pounds a year salary, sat -at the same table with the upper servants,[664] wrote Pindaric odes in -honor of his master, spent ten years amidst the humiliations of -servitude and the familiarity of the servants' hall, obliged to adulate -a gouty and flattered courtier, to submit to my lady his sister, acutely -pained "when Sir William Temple would look cold and out of humor,"[665] -lured by false hopes, forced after an attempt at independence to resume -the livery which was choking him. "When you find years coming on, -without hopes of a place at court,... I directly advise you to go upon -the road, which is the only post of honour left you; there you will meet -many of your old comrades, and live a short life and a merry one."[666] -This is followed by instructions as to the conduct servants ought to -display when led to the gallows. Such are his "Directions to Servants"; -he was relating what he had suffered. At the age of thirty-one, -expecting a place from William III, he edited the works of his patron, -dedicating them to the sovereign, sent him a memorial, got nothing, and -fell back upon the post of chaplain and private secretary to the Earl of -Berkeley. He soon remained only chaplain to that nobleman, feeling all -the disgust which the part of ecclesiastical valet must inspire in a man -of feeling. - -Says the chambermaid in the well-known "Petition": - - -"You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a parson's wife.... And -over and above, that I may have your excellency's letter With an order -for the chaplain aforesaid, or instead of him a better."[667] - - -The earl, having promised him the deanery of Derry, gave it to another. -Driven to politics, he wrote a Whig pamphlet, "A Discourse on the -Contests and Dissensions in Athens and Rome," received from Lord Halifax -and the party leaders a score of fine promises, and was neglected. -Twenty years of insults without revenge, and humiliations without -respite; the inner tempest of fostered and crushed hopes, vivid and -brilliant dreams, suddenly withered by the necessity of a mechanical -duty; the habit of suffering and hatred, the necessity of concealing -these, the baneful consciousness of superiority, the isolation of genius -and pride, the bitterness of accumulated wrath and pent-up scorn--these -were the goads which pricked him like a bull. More than a thousand -pamphlets in four years, stung him still more, with such designations as -renegade, traitor, and atheist. He crushed them all, set his foot on the -Whig party, solaced himself with the poignant pleasure of victory. If -ever a soul was satiated with the joy of tearing, outraging, and -destroying, it was his. Excess of scorn, implacable irony, crushing -logic, the cruel smile of the foeman, who sees beforehand the spot where -he will wound his enemy mortally, advances towards him, tortures him -deliberately, eagerly, with enjoyment--such were the feelings which had -leavened him, and which broke from him with such harshness that he -hindered his own career;[668] and that of so many high places for which -he stretched out his hands, there remained for him only a deanery in -poor Ireland. The accession of George I exiled him thither; the -accession of George II, on which he had counted, confined him there. He -contended there first against popular hatred, then against the -victorious minister, then against entire humanity, in sanguinary -pamphlets, despairing satires;[669] he tasted there once more the -pleasure of fighting and wounding; he suffered there to the end, soured -by the advance of years, by the spectacle of oppression and misery, by -the feeling of his own impotence, enraged to have to live amongst "an -enslaved people," chained and vanquished. He says: "I find myself -disposed every year, or rather every month, to be more angry and -revengeful; and my rage is so ignoble, that it descends even to resent -the folly and baseness of the enslaved people among whom I live."[670] -This cry is the epitome of his public life; these feelings are the -materials which public life furnished to his talent. - -He experienced these feelings also in private life, more violent and -more inwardly. He had brought up and purely loved a charming, -well-informed, modest young girl, Esther Johnson, who from infancy had -loved and reverenced him alone. She lived with him, he had made her his -confidante. From London, during his political struggles, he sent her the -full journal of his slightest actions; he wrote to her twice a day, with -extreme ease and familiarity, with all the playfulness, vivacity, -petting and caressing names of the tenderest attachment. Yet another -girl, beautiful and rich, Miss Vanhomrigh, attached herself to him, -declared her passion, received from him several marks of his own, -followed him to Ireland, sometimes jealous, sometimes submissive, but so -impassioned, so unhappy, that her letters might have broken a harder -heart: "If you continue to treat me as you do, you will not be made -uneasy by me long.... I am sure I could have borne the rack much better, -than those killing, killing words of you.... Oh, that you may have but -so much regard for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul with -pity!"[671] She pined and died. Esther Johnson, who had so long -possessed Swift's whole heart, suffered still more. All was changed in -Swift's house. "At my first coming (at Laracor) I thought I should have -died with discontent, and was horribly melancholy while they were -installing me."[672] He found tears, distrust, resentment, cold silence, -in place of familiarity and tenderness. He married Miss Johnson from a -feeling of duty, but in secret, and on condition that she should only be -his wife in name. She was twelve years dying; Swift went away to England -as often as he could. His house was a hell to him; it is thought that -some secret physical cause had influenced his loves and his marriage. -Delany, his biographer, having once found him talking with Archbishop -King, saw the archbishop in tears, and Swift rushing by, with a -countenance full of grief, and a distracted air. "Sir," said the -prelate, "you have just met the most unhappy man upon earth; but on the -subject of his wretchedness you must never ask a question." Esther -Johnson died. Swift's anguish, the spectres by which he was haunted, the -remembrance of the two women, slowly ruined and killed by his fault, -continually encompassed him with such horrors, that only his end reveals -them. "It is time for me to have done with the world... and so I -would... and not die here in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a -hole."[673] Overwork and excess of emotion had made him ill from his -youth; he was subject to giddiness; he lost his hearing. He had long -felt that reason was deserting him. One day he was observed "gazing -intently at the top of a lofty elm, the head of which had been blasted. -Upon his friend's approach, he pointed to it, significantly adding, 'I -shall be like that tree, and die first at the top.'"[674] His memory -left him; he received the attentions of others with disgust, sometimes -with rage. He lived alone, gloomy, unable to read. It is said that he -passed a whole year without uttering a word, hating the sight of a human -being, walking ten hours a day, a maniac, then an idiot. A tumor came on -one of his eyes, so that he continued a month without sleeping, and five -men were needed to prevent his tearing out the eye with his nails. One -of his last words was, "I am a fool." When his will was opened, it was -found that he had left his whole fortune to build a mad-house. - - - - -Section II.--Swift's Prosaic and Positive Mind - - -These passions and these miseries were necessary to inspire "Gulliver's -Travels" and the "Tale of a Tub." - -A strange and powerful form of mind, too, was necessary, as English as -his pride and his passions. Swift has the style of a surgeon and a -judge, cold, grave, solid, unadorned, without vivacity or passion, manly -and practical. He desired neither to please, nor to divert, nor to carry -people away, nor to move the feelings; he never hesitated, nor was -redundant, nor was excited, nor made an effort. He expressed his -thoughts in a uniform tone, with exact, precise, often harsh terms, with -familiar comparisons, levelling all within reach of his hand, even the -loftiest things--especially the loftiest--with a brutal and always -haughty coolness. He knows life as a banker knows accounts; and his -total once made up, he scorns or knocks down the babblers who dispute it -in his presence. - -He knows the items as well as the sum total. He not only familiarly and -vigorously seized on every object, but he also decomposed it, and kept -an inventory of its details. His imagination was as minute as it was -energetic. He could give you a statement of dry facts on every event and -object, so connected and natural as to deceive any man. "Gulliver's -Travels" read like a log-book. Isaac Bickerstaff's predictions were -taken literally by the inquisition in Portugal. His account of M. du -Baudrier seems an authentic translation. He gives to an extravagant -romance the air of a genuine history. By this thorough knowledge of -details he imports into literature the positive spirit of men of -business and experience. Nothing could be more vigorous, narrow, -unhappy, for nothing could be more destructive. No greatness, false or -true, can stand before him; whatsoever he fathoms and takes in hand -loses at once its prestige and value. Whilst he decomposes he displays -the real ugliness, and removes the fictitious beauty of objects. Whilst -he brings them to the level of common things, he suppresses their real -beauty, and gives them a fictitious ugliness. He presents all their -gross features, and nothing but their gross features. Look with him into -the physical details of science, religion, state, and with him reduce -science, religion, state, to the low standing of every-day events; with -him you will see here a Bedlam of shrivelled-up dreamers, narrow and -chimerical brains, busy in contradicting each other, picking up -meaningless phrases in mouldy books, inventing conjectures, and crying -them up for truth; there, a band of enthusiasts, mumbling phrases which -they do not understand, adoring figures of rhetoric as mysteries, -attaching ideas of holiness or impiety to lawn-sleeves or postures, -spending in persecutions or genuflections the surplus of sheepish or -ferocious folly with which an evil fate has crammed their brains; there, -again, flocks of idiots pouring out their blood and treasure for the -whims or plots of a carriage-drawn aristocrat, out of respect for the -carriage which they themselves have given him. What part of human nature -or existence can continue great and beautiful, before a mind which, -penetrating all details, perceives men eating, sleeping, dressing, in -all mean and low actions, degrading everything to the level of vulgar -events, trivial circumstances of dress and cookery? It is not enough for -the positive mind to see the springs, pulleys, lamps, and whatever there -is objectionable in the opera at which he is present; he makes it more -objectionable by calling it a show. It is not enough not to ignore -anything; we must also refuse to admire. He treats things like domestic -utensils; after reckoning up their materials, he gives them a vile name. -Nature for him is but a caldron, and he knows the proportion and number -of the ingredients simmering in it. In this power and this weakness we -see beforehand the misanthropy and the talent of Swift. - -There are, indeed, but two modes of agreeing with the world: mediocrity -of mind and superiority of intelligence--the one for the public and the -fools, the other for artists and philosophers: the one consists in -seeing nothing, the other in seeing all. We will respect the -respectable, if we see only the surface--if we take them as they are, if -we let ourselves be duped by the fine show which they never fail to -present. We will revere the gold-embroidered garments with which our -masters bedizen themselves, and we will never dream of examining the -stains hidden under the embroidery. We will be moved by the big words -which they pronounce in a sublime voice, and we will never see in their -pockets the hereditary phrase-book from which they have taken them. We -will punctiliously bring them our money and our services; the custom -will seem to us just, and we will accept the goose-dogma, that a goose -is bound to be roasted. But, on the other hand, we will tolerate and -even love the world, if, penetrating to its nature, we take the trouble -to explain or imitate its mechanism. We will be interested in passions -by an artist's sympathy or a philosopher's comprehension; we will find -them natural whilst admitting their force, or we will find them -necessary whilst computing their connection; we will cease to be -indignant against the powers which produce fine spectacles, or will -cease to be roused by the rebounds which the law of cause and effect had -foretold. We will admire the world as a grand drama, or as an invincible -development; and we will be preserved by imagination or by logic from -slander or disgust. We will extract from religion the lofty truths which -dogmas hide, and the generous instincts which superstition conceals. We -will perceive in the state the infinite benefits which no tyranny -abolishes, and the sociable inclinations which no wickedness uproots. We -will distinguish in science the solid doctrines which discussion never -shakes, the liberal notions which the shock of systems purifies and -unfolds, the splendid promises which the progress of the present time -opens up to the ambition of the future. We can thus escape hatred by the -nullity or the greatness of the prospect, by the inability to discover -contrasts, or by the power to discover the harmony of contrasts. Raised -above the first, sunk beneath the last, seeing evil and disorder, -ignoring goodness and harmony, excluded from love and calmness, given up -to indignation and bitterness, Swift found neither a cause to cherish, -nor a doctrine to establish;[675] he employs the whole force of an -excellently armed mind and a thoroughly trained character in decrying -and destroying: all his works are pamphlets. - - - - -Section III.--Swift as a Political Pamphleteer - - -At this time, and in his hands, the newspaper in England attained its -proper character and its greatest force. Literature entered the sphere -of politics. To understand what the one became, we must understand what -the other was: art depended upon political business, and the spirit of -parties made the spirit of writers. - -In France a theory arises--eloquent, harmonious, and generous; the young -are enamored of it, wear a cap and sing songs in its honor: at night, -the citizens, while digesting their dinner, read it and delight in it; -some, hot-headed, accept it, and prove to themselves their strength of -mind by ridiculing those who are behind the times. On the other hand, -the established people, prudent and timid, are mistrustful: being well -off, they find that everything is well, and demand that things shall -continue as they are. Such are the two parties in France, very old, as -we all know; not very earnest, as everybody can see. They must talk, be -enthusiastic, reason on speculative opinions, glibly, about an hour a -day, indulging but outwardly in this taste; but these parties are so -equally levelled, that they are at bottom all the same; when we -understand them rightly, we will find in France only two parties, the -men of twenty and the men of forty. English parties, on the other hand, -were always compact and living bodies, united by interests of money, -rank, and conscience, receiving theories only as standards or as a -balance, a sort of secondary states, which, like the two old orders in -Rome, legally endeavor to monopolize the government. So, the English -constitution was never more than a transaction between distinct powers, -compelled to tolerate each other, disposed to encroach on each other, -occupied in treating with each other. Politics for them are a domestic -interest, for the French an occupation of the mind; Englishmen make them -a business, the French a discussion. - -Thus their pamphlets, notably Swift's, seem to us only half literary. -For an argument to be literary, it must not address itself to an -interest or a faction, but to the pure mind: it must be based on -universal truths, rest on absolute justice, be able to touch all human -reasons; otherwise, being local, it is simply useful; nothing is -beautiful but what is general. It must also be developed regularly by -analysis, and with exact divisions; its distribution must give a picture -of pure reason; the order of ideas must be inviolable; every mind must -be able to draw thence with ease a complete conviction; its method, its -principles, must be sensible throughout, in all places and at all times. -The desire to prove well must be added to the art of proving well; the -writer must announce his proof, recall it, present it under all its -faces, desire to penetrate minds, pursue them persistently in all their -retreats; but at the same time he must treat his hearers like men worthy -of comprehending and applying general truths; his discourse must be -lively, noble, polished, and fervid, so as to suit such subjects and -such minds. It is thus that classical prose and French prose are -eloquent, and that political dissertations or religious controversies -have endured as models of art. - -This good taste and philosophy are wanting in the positive mind; it -wishes to attain not eternal beauty, but present success. Swift does not -address men in general, but certain men. He does not speak to reasoners, -but to a party; he does not care to teach a truth, but to make an -impression; his aim is not to enlighten that isolated part of man, -called his mind, but to stir up the mass of feelings and prejudices -which constitute the actual man. Whilst he writes, his public is before -his eyes; fat squires, puffed out with port wine and beef, accustomed at -the end of their meals to bawl loyally for church and king; gentlemen -farmers, bitter against London luxury and the new importance of -merchants; clergymen bred on pedantic sermons, and old-established -hatred of dissenters and papists. These people have not mind enough to -pursue a fine deduction or understand an abstract principle. A writer -must calculate the facts they know, the ideas they have received, the -interests that move them, and recall only these facts, reason only from -these ideas, set in motion only these interests. It is thus Swift -speaks, without development, without logical hits, without rhetorical -effects, but with extraordinary force and success, in phrases whose -accuracy his contemporaries inwardly felt, and which they accepted at -once, because they simply told them in a clear form and openly, what -they murmured obscurely and to themselves. Such was the power of the -"Examiner," which in one year transformed the opinion of three kingdoms; -and particularly of the "Drapier's Letters," which made a government -withdraw one of its measures. - -Small change was lacking in Ireland, and the English ministers had given -a certain William Wood a patent to coin one hundred and eight thousand -pounds of copper money. A commission, of which Newton was a member, -verified the pieces made, found them good, and several competent judges -still think that the measure was loyal and serviceable to the land. -Swift roused the people against it, spoke to them in an intelligible -style, and triumphed over common-sense and the state.[676] - - -"Brethren, friends, countrymen, and fellow-subjects, what I intend now -to say to you is, next to your duty to God and the care of your -salvation, of the greatest concern to you and your children: your bread -and clothing, and every common necessary of life depend upon it. -Therefore I do most earnestly exhort you as men, as, Christians, as -parents, and as lovers of your country, to read this paper with the -utmost attention, or get it read to you by others; which that you may do -at the less expence, I have ordered the printer to sell it at the lowest -rate."[677] - - -We see popular distrust spring up at a glance; this is the style which -reaches workmen and peasants; this simplicity, these details, are -necessary to penetrate their belief. The author is like a draper, and -they trust only men of their own condition. Swift goes on to accuse -Wood, declaring that his copper pieces are not worth one-eighth of their -nominal value. There is no trace of proof: no proofs are required to -convince the people; it is enough to repeat the same accusation again -and again, to abound in intelligible examples, to strike eye and ear. -The imagination once gained, they will go on shouting, convincing -themselves by their own cries, and incapable of reasoning. Swift says to -his adversaries: - - -"Your paragraph relates further that Sir Isaac Newton reported an assay -taken at the Tower of Wood's metal; by which it appears that Wood had in -all respects performed his contract. His contract! With whom? Was it -with the Parliament or people of Ireland? Are not they to be the -purchasers? But they detest, abhor, and reject it as corrupt, -fraudulent, mingled with dirt and trash."[678] - - -And a little further on: - - -"His first proposal is, that he will be content to coin no more (than -forty thousand pounds), unless the exigencies of the trade require it, -although his patent empowers him to coin a far greater quantity.... To -which if I were to answer, it should be thus: let Mr. Wood and his crew -of founders and tinkers coin on, till there is not an old kettle left in -the kingdom; let them coin old leather, tobacco-pipe clay, or the dirt -in the street, and call their trumpery by what name they please from a -guinea to a farthing; we are not under any concern to know how he and -his tribe of accomplices think fit to employ themselves. But I hope, and -trust, that we are all, to a man, fully determined to have nothing to do -with him or his ware."[679] - - -Swift gets angry and does not answer. In fact, this is the best way to -answer; to move such hearers we must stir up their blood and their -passions; then shopkeepers and farmers will turn up their sleeves, -double their fists; and the good arguments of their opponents will only -increase their desire to knock them down. - -Now see how a mass of examples make a gratuitous assertion probable: - - -"Your Newsletter says that an assay was made of the coin. How impudent -and insupportable is this! Wood takes care to coin a dozen or two -halfpence of good metal, sends them to the Tower, and they are approved; -and these must answer all that he has already coined, or shall coin for -the future. It is true, indeed, that a gentleman often sends to my shop -for a pattern of stuff; I cut it fairly off, and if he likes it, he -comes or sends and compares the pattern with the whole piece, and -probably we come to a bargain. But if I were to buy a hundred sheep, and -the grazier should bring me one single wether, fat and well fleeced, by -way of pattern, and expect the same price round for the whole hundred, -without suffering me to see them before he was paid, or giving me good -security to restore my money for those that were lean, or shorn, or -scabby, I would be none of his customer. I have heard of a man who had a -mind to sell his house, and therefore carried a piece of brick in his -pocket, which he showed as a pattern to encourage purchasers; and this -is directly the case in point with Mr. Wood's assay."[680] - - -A burst of laughter follows; butchers and bricklayers were gained over. -As a finish, Swift showed them a practical expedient, suited to their -understanding and their rank in life: - - -"The common soldier, when he goes to the market or ale-house, will offer -his money; and if it be refused, perhaps he will swagger and hector, and -threaten to beat the butcher or alewife, or take the goods by force, and -throw them the bad halfpence. In this and the like cases, the shopkeeper -or victualler, or any other tradesman, has no more to do than to demand -ten times the price of his goods, if it is to be paid in Wood's money; -for example, twenty-pence of that money for a quart of ale, and so in -all things else, and never part with his goods till he gets the -money."[681] - - -Public clamor overcame the English government; they withdrew the money -and paid Wood a large indemnity. Such is the merit of Swift's arguments; -good tools, trenchant and handy, neither elegant nor bright, but whose -value is proved by their effect. - -The whole beauty of these pamphlets is in their tone. They have neither -the generous fire of Pascal, nor the bewildering gayety of Beaumarchais, -nor the chiselled delicacy of Paul Louis Courier, but an overwhelming -air of superiority and a bitter and terrible rancor. Vast passion and -pride, like the positive "Drapier's" mind just now described, have given -all the blows their force. We should read his "Public Spirit of the -Whigs," against Steele. Page by page Steele is torn to pieces with a -calmness and scorn never equalled. Swift approaches regularly, leaving -no part untouched, heaping wound on wound, every blow sure, knowing -beforehand their reach and depth. Poor Steele, a vain, thoughtless -fellow, is in his hands like Gulliver amongst the giants; it is a pity -to see a contest so unequal; and this contest is pitiless. Swift crushes -him carefully and easily, like an obnoxious animal. The unfortunate man, -formerly an officer and a semi-literary man, had make awkward use of -constitutional words: - - -"Upon this rock the author... is perpetually splitting, as often as he -ventures out beyond the narrow bounds of his literature. He has a -confused remembrance of words since he left the university, but has lost -half their meaning, and puts them together with no regard, except to -their cadence; as I remember, a fellow nailed up maps in a gentleman's -closet, some sidelong, others upside down, the better to adjust them to -the pannels."[682] - - -When he judges he is worse than when he proves; witness his "Short -Character of Thomas Earl of Wharton." He pierces him with the formulas -of official politeness; only an Englishman is capable of such phlegm and -such haughtiness: - - -"I have had the honour of much conversation with his lordship, and am -thoroughly convinced how indifferent he is to applause, and how -insensible of reproach.... He is without the sense of shame, or glory, -as some men are without the sense of smelling; and therefore, a good -name to him is no more than a precious ointment would be to these. -Whoever, for the sake of others, were to describe the nature of a -serpent, a wolf, a crocodile or a fox, must be understood to do it -without any personal love or hatred for the animals themselves. In the -same manner his excellency is one whom I neither personally love nor -hate. I see him at court, at his own house, and sometimes at mine, for I -have the honour of his visits; and when these papers are public, it is -odds but he will tell me, as he once did upon a like occasion, 'that he -is damnably mauled,' and then, with the easiest transition in the world, -ask about the weather, or time of the day; so that I enter on the work -with more cheerfulness, because I am sure neither to make him angry, nor -any way hurt his reputation; a pitch of happiness and security to which -his excellency has arrived, and which no philosopher before him could -reach. Thomas, Earl of Wharton, lord-lieutenant of Ireland, by the force -of a wonderful constitution, has some years passed his grand climacteric -without any visible effects of old age, either on his body or his mind; -and in spite of a continual prostitution to those vices which usually -wear out both.... Whether he walks or whistles, or swears, or talks -bawdy, or calls names, he acquits himself in each, beyond a templar of -three years' standing. With the same grace, and in the same style, he -will rattle his coachman in the midst of the street, where he is -governor of the kingdom; and all this is without consequence, because it -is in his character, and what everybody expects.... The ends he has -gained by lying, appear to be more owing to the frequency, than the art -of them; his lies being sometimes detected in an hour, often in a day, -and always in a week.... He swears solemnly he loves and will serve you; -and your back is no sooner turned, but he tells those about him, you are -a dog and a rascal. He goes constantly to prayers in the forms of his -place, and will talk bawdy and blasphemy at the chapel door. He is a -presbyterian in politics, and an atheist in religion; but he chooses at -present to whore with a papist. In his commerce with mankind, his -general rule is, to endeavour to impose on their understandings, for -which he has but one receipt, a composition of lies and oaths.... He -bears the gallantries of his lady with the indifference of a stoick; and -thinks them well recompensed, by a return of children to support his -family, without the fatigues of being a father.... He was never yet -known to refuse or keep a promise, as I remember he told a lady, but -with an exception to the promise he then made (which was to get her a -pension), yet he broke even that, and, I confess, deceived us both. But -here I desire to distinguish between a promise and a bargain; for he -will be sure to keep the latter, when he has the fairest offer.... But -here I must desire the reader's pardon, if I cannot digest the following -facts in so good a manner as I intended; because it is thought -expedient, for some reasons, that the world should be informed of his -excellency's merits as soon as possible. ... As they are, they may serve -for hints to any person who may hereafter have a mind to write memoirs -of his excellency's life."[683] - - -Throughout this piece Swift's voice has remained calm; not a muscle of -his face has moved; we perceive neither smile, flash of the eye, nor -gesture; he speaks like a statue; but his anger grows by constraint, and -burns the more that it shines the less. - -This is why his ordinary style is grave irony. It is the weapon of -pride, meditation, and force. The man who employs it is self-contained -whilst a storm is raging within him; he is too proud to make a show of -his passion; he does not take the public into his confidence; he elects -to be solitary in his soul; he would be ashamed to confide in any man; -he means and knows how to keep absolute possession of himself. Thus -collected, he understands better and suffers more; no fit of passion -relieves his wrath or draws away his attention; he feels all the points -and penetrates to the depths of the opinion which he detests; he -multiplies his pain and his knowledge, and spares himself neither wound -nor reflection. We must see Swift in this attitude, impassive in -appearance, but with stiffening muscles, a heart scorched with hatred, -writing with a terrible smile such pamphlets as this: - - -"It may perhaps be neither safe nor prudent, to argue against the -abolishing of Christianity, at a juncture, when all parties appear so -unanimously determined upon the point.... However, I know not how, -whether from the affectation of singularity, or the perverseness of -human nature, but so it unhappily falls out, that I cannot be entirely -of this opinion. Nay, though I were sure an order were issued for my -immediate prosecution by the attorney-general, I should still confess, -that in the present posture of our affairs, at home or abroad, I do not -yet see the absolute necessity of extirpating the Christian religion -from among us. This perhaps may appear too great a paradox, even for our -wise and paradoxical age to endure; therefore I shall handle it with all -tenderness, and with the utmost deference to that great and profound -majority, which is of another sentiment.... I hope no reader imagines me -so weak to stand up in the defence of real Christianity, such as used, -in primitive times (if we may believe the authors of those ages), to -have an influence upon men's belief and actions; to offer at the -restoring of that, would indeed be a wild project; it would be to dig up -foundations; to destroy at one blow all the wit, and half the learning -of the kingdom.... Every candid reader will easily understand my -discourse to be intended only in defence of nominal Christianity; the -other having been for some time wholly laid aside by general consent, as -utterly inconsistent with our present schemes of wealth and power."[684] - - -Let us then examine the advantages which this abolition of the title and -name of Christian might have: - - -"It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom -above ten thousand parsons, whose revenues, added to those of my lords -the bishops, would suffice to maintain at least two hundred young -gentlemen of wit and pleasure, and free-thinking, enemies to -priestcraft, narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices, who might be -an ornament to the court and town."[685] - -"It is likewise proposed as a great advantage to the public that if we -once discard the system of the gospel, all religion will of course be -banished for ever; and consequently along with it, those grievous -prejudices of education, which under the names of virtue, conscience, -honour, justice, and the like, are so apt to disturb the peace of human -minds, and the notions whereof are so hard to be eradicated, by right -reason, or free-thinking."[686] - - -Then he concludes by doubling the insult: - - -"I am very sensible how much the gentlemen of wit and pleasure are apt -to murmur, and be choked at the sight of so many daggled-tail parsons, -who happen to fall in their way, and offend their eyes; but at the same -time, these wise reformers do not consider what an advantage and -felicity it is for great wits to be always provided with objects of -scorn and contempt, in order to exercise and improve their talents, and -divert their spleen from falling on each other, or on themselves; -especially when all this may be done, without the least imaginable -danger to their persons. And to urge another argument of a parallel -nature: if Christianity were once abolished, how could the -free-thinkers, the strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning, -be able to find another subject, so calculated in all points whereon to -display their abilities? what wonderful productions of wit should we be -deprived of, from those, whose genius, by continual practice, has been -wholly turned upon raillery and invectives, against religion, and would, -therefore, never be able to shine or distinguish themselves upon any -other subject! we are daily complaining of the great decline of wit -among us, and would we take away the greatest, perhaps the only topic we -have left?"[687] - -"I do very much apprehend, that in six months time after the act is -passed for the extirpation of the gospel, the Bank and East India Stock -may fall at least one per cent. And since that is fifty times more, than -ever the wisdom of our age thought fit to venture, for the preservation -of Christianity, there is no reason we should be at so great a loss, -merely for the sake of destroying it."[688] - - -Swift is only a combatant, I admit; but when we glance at this -common-sense and this pride, this empire over the passions of others, -and this empire over himself; this force and this employment of hatred, -we judge that there have rarely been such combatants. He is a -pamphleteer as Hannibal was a _condottiere._ - - - - -Section IV.--Swift as a Humorist.--As a Poet - - -On the night after the battle we usually unbend; we sport, we make fun, -we talk in prose and verse; but with Swift this night is a continuation -of the day, and the mind which leaves its trace in matters of business -leaves also its trace in amusements. - -What is gayer than Voltaire's _soirées?_ He rails; but do we find any -murderous intention in his railleries? He gets angry; but do we perceive -a malignant or evil character in his passions? In him all is amiable. In -an instant, through the necessity of action, he strikes, caresses, -changes a hundred times his tone, his face, with abrupt movements, -impetuous sallies, sometimes as a child, always as a man of the world, -of taste and conversation. He wishes to entertain us; he conducts us at -once through a thousand ideas, without effort, to amuse himself, to -amuse us. What an agreeable host is this Voltaire, who desires to please -and who knows how to please, who only dreads ennui, who does not -distrust us, who is not constrained, who is always himself, who is -brimful of ideas, naturalness, liveliness! If we were with him, and he -rallied us, we should not be angry; we should adopt his style, we should -laugh at ourselves, we should feel that he only wished to pass an -agreeable hour, that he was not angry with us, that he treated us as -equals and guests, that he broke out into pleasantries as a winter fire -into sparks, and that he was none the less pleasant, wholesome, amusing. - -Heaven grant that Swift may never jest at our expense. The positive mind -is too solid and too cold to be gay and amiable. When such mind takes to -ridicule, it does not sport with it superficially, but studies it, goes -into it gravely, masters it, knows all its subdivisions and its proofs. -This profound knowledge can only produce a withering pleasantry. -Swift's, at bottom, is but a _reductio ad absurdum_, altogether -scientific. For instance, "The Art of Political Lying"[689] is a -didactic treatise, whose plan might serve for a model. "In the first -chapter of this excellent treatise he (the author) reasons -philosophically concerning the nature of the soul of man, and those -qualities which render it susceptible of lies. He supposes the soul to -be of the nature of a piano-cylindrical speculum, or looking-glass.... -The plane side represents objects just as they are; and the cylindrical -side, by the rules of catoptrics, must needs represent true objects -false, and false objects true. In his second chapter he treats of the -nature of political lying; in the third of the lawfulness of political -lying. The fourth chapter is wholly employed in this question, 'Whether -the right of coinage of political lies be wholly in the government.'" -Again, nothing could be stranger, more worthy of an archaeological -society, than the argument in which he proves that a humorous piece of -Pope's[690] is an insidious pamphlet against the religion of the state. -His "Art of Sinking in Poetry"[691] has all the appearance of good -rhetoric; the principles are laid down, the divisions justified; the -examples chosen with extraordinary precision and method; it is perfect -reason employed in the service of folly. - -His passions, like his mind, were too strong. If he wishes to scratch, -he tears; his pleasantry is gloomy; by way of a joke, he drags his -reader through all the disgusting details of sickness and death. -Partridge, formerly a shoemaker, had turned astrologer, Swift, -imperturbably cool, assumes an astrologer's title, writes maxims on the -duties of the profession, and to inspire confidence, begins to predict: - - -"My first prediction is but a trifle; yet I will mention it to show how -ignorant those sottish pretenders to astrology are in their own -concerns: it relates to Partridge the almanack-maker; I have consulted -the star of his nativity by my own rules, and find he will infallibly -die upon the 29th of March next, about eleven at night, of a raging -fever; therefore I advise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs -in time."[692] - - -The twenty-ninth of March being past, he relates how the undertaker came -to hang Partridge's rooms "in close mourning"; then Ned, the sexton, -asking "whether the grave is to be plain or bricked"; then Mr. White, -the carpenter, to screw down the coffin; then the stone-cutter with his -monument. Lastly, a successor comes and sets up in the neighborhood, -saying in his printed directions, "that he lives in the house of the -late ingenious Mr. John Partridge, an eminent practitioner in leather, -physic, and astrology."[693] We can tell beforehand the protestations of -poor Partridge. Swift in his reply proves that he is dead, and is -astonished at his hard words: - - -"To call a man a fool and villain, an impudent fellow, only for -differing from him in a point merely speculative, is, in my humble -opinion, a very improper style for a person of his education.... I will -appeal to Mr. Partridge himself, whether it be probable I could have -been so indiscreet, to begin my predictions, with the only falsehood -that ever was pretended to be in them? and this in an affair at home, -where I had so many opportunities to be exact."[694] - - -Mr. Partridge is mistaken, or deceives the public, or would cheat -his heirs. - -This gloomy pleasantry becomes elsewhere still more gloomy. Swift -pretends that his enemy, the bookseller Curll, has just been poisoned, -and relates his agony. A house-surgeon of a hospital would not write a -more repulsive diary more coldly. The details, worked out with the -completeness of a Hogarth, are admirably minute, but disgusting. We -laugh, or rather we grin, as before the vagaries of a madman in an -asylum, but in reality we feel sick at heart. Swift in his gayety is -always tragical; nothing unbends him; even when he serves, he pains you. -In his "Journal to Stella" there is a sort of imperious austerity; his -condescension is that of a master to a child. The charm and happiness of -a young girl of sixteen cannot soften him. She has just married him, and -he tells her that love is a "ridiculous passion, which has no being but -in playbooks and romances"; then he adds, with perfect brutality: - - -"I never yet knew a tolerable woman to be fond of her sex;... your sex -employ more thought, memory, and application to be fools than would -serve to make them wise and useful.... When I reflect on this, I cannot -conceive you to be human creatures, but a sort of species hardly a -degree above a monkey; who has more diverting tricks than any of you, is -an animal less mischievous and expensive, might in time be a tolerable -critic in velvet and brocade, and, for aught I know, would equally -become them."[695] - - -Will poetry calm such a mind? Here, as elsewhere, he is most -unfortunate. He is excluded from great transports of imagination, as -well as from the lively digressions of conversation. He can attain -neither the sublime nor the agreeable; he has neither the artist's -rapture, nor the entertainment of the man of the world. Two similar -sounds at the end of two equal lines have always consoled the greatest -troubles: the old muse, after three thousand years, is a young and -divine nurse; and her song lulls the sickly nations whom she still -visits, as well as the young, flourishing races amongst whom she has -appeared. The involuntary music, in which thought wraps itself, hides -ugliness and unveils beauty. Feverish man, after the labors of the -evening and the anguish of the night, sees at morning the beaming -whiteness of the opening heaven; he gets rid of himself, and the joy of -nature from all sides enters with oblivion into his heart. If misery -pursues him, the poetic afflatus, unable to wipe it out, transforms it; -it becomes ennobled, he loves it, and thenceforth he bears it; for the -only thing to which he cannot resign himself is littleness. Neither -Faust nor Manfred have exhausted human grief; they drank from the cruel -cup a generous wine, they did not reach the dregs. They enjoyed -themselves, and nature; they tasted the greatness which was in them, and -the beauty of creation; they pressed with their bruised hands all the -thorns with which necessity has made our way thorny, but they saw them -blossom with roses, fostered by the purest of their noble blood. There -is nothing of the sort in Swift: what is wanting most in his verses is -poetry. The positive mind can neither love nor understand it; it sees -therein only a kind of mechanism or a fashion, and employs it only for -vanity and conventionality. When in his youth Swift attempted Pindaric -odes, he failed lamentably. I cannot remember a line of his which -indicates a genuine sentiment of nature: he saw in the forests only logs -of wood, and in the fields only sacks of corn. He employed mythology, as -we put on a wig, ill-timed, wearily and scornfully. His best piece, -"Cadenus and Vanessa,"[696] is a poor, threadbare allegory. To praise -Vanessa, he supposes that the nymphs and shepherds pleaded before Venus, -the first against men, the second against women; and that Venus, wishing -to end the debates, made in Vanesso a model of perfection. What can such -a conception furnish but flat apostrophes and pedantic comparisons? -Swift, who elsewhere gives a recipe for an epic poem, is here the first -to make use of it. And even his rude prosaic freaks tear this Greek -frippery at every turn. He puts a legal procedure into heaven; he makes -Venus use all kinds of technical terms. He introduces witnesses, -"questions on the fact, bill with costs dismissed," etc. They talk so -loud that the goddess fears to lose her influence, to be driven from -Olympus, or else - - -"Shut out from heaven and earth, -Fly to the sea, my place of birth: -There live with daggled mermaids pent, -And keep on fish perpetual Lent."[697] - - -When he relates the touching history of "Baucis and Philemon," he -degrades it by a travesty. He does not love the ancient nobleness and -beauty; the two gods become in his hands begging friars, Philemon and -Baucis Kentish peasants. For a recompense, their house becomes a church, -and Philemon a parson: - - -"His talk was now of tithes and dues; -He smoked his pipe and read the news.... -Against dissenters would repine, -And stood up firm for 'right divine.'"[698] - - -Wit luxuriates, incisive, in little compact verses, vigorously coined, -of extreme conciseness, facility, precision; but compared to La -Fontaine, it is wine turned into vinegar. Even when he comes to the -charming Vanessa, his vein is still the same: to praise her childhood, -he puts her name first on the list, as a little model girl, just like a -schoolmaster: - - -"And all their conduct would be tried -By her, as an unerring guide: -Offending daughters oft would hear -Vanessa's praise rung in their ear: -Miss Betty, when she does a fault, -Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt, -Will thus be by her mother chid: -'Tis what Vanessa never did!'"[699] - - -A strange way of admiring Vanessa, and of proving his admiration for -her. He calls her a nymph, and treats her like a schoolgirl! Cadenus -"now could praise, esteem, approve, but understood not what was love!" -Nothing could be truer, and Stella felt it, like others. The verses' -which he writes every year on her birthday, are a pedagogue's censures -and praises; if he gives her any good marks, it is with restrictions. -Once he inflicts on her a little sermon on want of patience; again, by -way of compliment, he concocts this delicate warning: - - -"Stella, this day is thirty-four -(We shan't dispute a year or more). -However, Stella, be not troubled, -Although thy size and years are doubled -Since first I saw thee at sixteen, -The brightest virgin on the green; -So little is thy form declin'd, -Made up so largely in thy mind." - - -And he insists with exquisite taste: - - -"O, would it please the gods to split -Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit! -No age could furnish out a pair -Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair."[700] - - -Decidedly this man is an artisan, strong of arm, terrible at his work -and in a fray, but narrow of soul, treating a woman as if she were a log -of wood. Rhyme and rhythm are only businesslike tools, which have served -him to press and launch his thought; he has put nothing but prose into -them: poetry was too fine to be grasped by those coarse hands. - -But in prosaic subjects, what truth and force! How this masculine -nakedness crushes the affected elegance and artificial poetry of Addison -and Pope! There are no epithets; he leaves his thought as he conceived -it, valuing it for and by itself, needing neither ornaments, nor -preparation, nor extension; above the tricks of the profession, -scholastic conventionalisms, the vanity of the rhymester, the -difficulties of the art; master of his subject and of himself. This -simplicity and naturalness astonish us in verse. Here, as elsewhere, his -originality is entire, and his genius creative; he surpasses his -classical and timid age; he tyrannizes over form, breaks it, dare utter -anything, spares himself no strong word. Acknowledge the greatness of -this invention and audacity; he alone is a superior being, who finds -everything and copies nothing. What a biting comicality in the "Grand -Question Debated "! He has to represent the entrance of a captain into a -castle, his airs, his insolence, his folly, and the admiration caused by -these qualities! The lady serves him first; the servants stare at him: - - -"The parsons for envy are ready to burst; -The servants amazed are scarce ever able -To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table; -And Molly and I have thrust in our nose -To peep at the captain in all his fine clo'es. -Dear madam, be sure he's a fine spoken man, -Do but hear on the clergy how glib his tongue ran: -'And madam,' says he, 'if such dinners you give, -You'll ne'er want for parsons as long as you live. -I ne'er knew a parson without a good nose: -But the devil's as welcome wherever he goes; -G--d--n me! they bid us reform and repent, -But, z--s! by their looks they never keep Lent: -Mister curate, for all your grave looks, I'm afraid -You cast a sheep's eye on her ladyship's maid: -I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand -In mending your cassock, and smoothing your band' -(For the dean was so shabby, and look'd like a ninny, -That the captain suppos'd he was curate to Jinny). -Whenever you see a cassock and gown, -A hundred to one but it covers a clown. -Observe how a parson comes into a room, -G--d--n me, he hobbles as bad as my groom; -A scholard, when just from his college broke loose, -Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goose; -Your Noveds and Bluturks and Omurs,[701] and stuff, -By G--, they don't signify this pinch of snuff; -To give a young gentleman right education, -The army's the only good school in the nation."[702] - - -This has been _seen_, and herein lies the beauty of Swift's verses: they -are personal; they are not developed themes, but impressions felt and -observations collected. Read "The Journal of a Modern Lady, The -Furniture of a Woman's Mind," and other pieces by the dozen: they are -dialogues transcribed or opinions put on paper after quitting a -drawing-room. "The Progress of Marriage" represents a dean of fifty-two -married to a young worldly coquette; do we not see in this title alone -all the fears of the bachelor of St. Patrick's? What diary is more -familiar and more pungent than his verses on his own death? - - -"'He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead.' -Before the passing bell begun, -The news through half the town has run; -'O may we all for death prepare! -What has he left? and who's his heir?' -'I know no more than what the news is; -'Tis all bequeathed to public uses.' -'To public uses! there's a whim! -What had the public done for him? -Mere envy, avarice, and pride: -He gave it all--but first he died. -And had the Dean in all the nation -No worthy friend, no poor relation? -So ready to do strangers good, -Forgetting his own flesh and blood!'... -Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay -A week, and Arbuthnot a day.... -My female friends, whose tender hearts -Have better learn'd to act their parts, -Receive the news in doleful dumps: -The Dean is dead (pray what is trumps?) -Then, Lord, have mercy on his soul! -(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.) -Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall. -(I wish I knew what king to call.) -Madam, your husband will attend -The funeral of so good a friend? -No, madam, 'tis a shocking sight, -And he's engaged to-morrow night: -My Lady Club will take it ill, -If he should fail her at quadrille. -He lov'd the Dean--(I lead a heart), -But dearest friends they say must part. -His time was come: he ran his race; -We hope he's in a better place."[703] - - -Such is the inventory of human friendships. All poetry exalts the mind, -but this depresses it; instead of concealing reality, it unveils it; -instead of creating illusions, it removes them. When he wishes to give a -description of the morning,[704] he shows us the street-sweepers, the -"watchful bailiffs," and imitates the different street cries. When he -wishes to paint the rain,[705] he describes "filth of all hues and -odors," the "swelling kennels," the "dead cats, turnip-tops, stinking -sprats," which "come tumbling down the flood." His long verses whirl all -this filth in their eddies. We smile to see poetry degraded to this use; -we seem to be at a masquerade; it is a queen travestied into a rough -country girl. We stop, we look on, with the sort of pleasure we feel in -drinking a bitter draught. Truth is always good to know, and in the -splendid piece which artists show us we need a manager to tell us the -number of the hired applauders and of the supernumeraries. It would be -well if he only drew up such a list! Numbers look ugly, but they only -affect the mind; other things, the oil of the lamps, the odors of the -side scenes, all that we cannot name, remains to be told. I cannot do -more than hint at the length to which Swift carries us; but this I must -do, for these extremes are the supreme effort of his despair and his -genius: we must touch upon them in order to measure and know him. He -drags poetry not only through the mud, but into the filth; he rolls in -it like a raging madman, he enthrones himself in it, and bespatters all -passers-by. Compared with his, all foul words are decent and agreeable. -In Aretin and Brantôme, in La Fontaine and Voltaire, there is a -_soupçon_ of pleasure. With the first, unchecked sensuality, with the -others, malicious gayety, are excuses; we are scandalized, not -disgusted; we do not like to see in a man a bull's fury or an ape's -buffoonery; but the bull is so eager and strong, the ape so funny and -smart, that we end by looking on or being amused. Then, again, however -coarse their pictures may be, they speak of the accompaniments of love: -Swift touches only upon the results of digestion, and that merely with -disgust and revenge; he pours them out with horror and sneering at the -wretches whom he describes. He must not in this be compared to Rabelais; -that good giant, that drunken doctor, rolls himself joyously about on -his dunghill, thinking no evil; the dunghill is warm, convenient, a fine -place to philosophize and sleep off one's wine. Raised to this enormity, -and enjoyed with this heedlessness, the bodily functions become -poetical. When the casks are emptied down the giant's throat, and the -viands are gorged, we sympathize with so much bodily comfort; in the -heavings of this colossal belly and the laughter of this Homeric mouth, -we see as through a mist, the relics of bacchanal religions, the -fecundity, the monstrous joy of nature; these are the splendors and -disorders of its first births. The cruel positive mind, on the contrary, -clings only to vileness; it will only see what is behind things; armed -with sorrow and boldness, it spares no ignoble detail, no obscene word. -Swift enters the dressing-room,[706] relates the disenchantments of -love,[707] dishonors it by a medley of drugs and physic,[708] describes -the cosmetics and a great many more things.[709] He takes his evening -walk by solitary walls,[710] and in these pitiable pryings has his -microscope ever in his hand. Judge what he sees and suffers; this is his -ideal beauty and his jesting conversation, and we may fancy that he has -for philosophy, as for poetry and politics, execration and disgust. - - - - -Section V.--Swift as a Narrator and Philosopher - - -Swift wrote the "Tale of a Tub" at Sir William Templet, amidst all kind -of reading, as an abstract of truth and science. Hence this tale is the -satire of all science and all truth. - -Of religion first. He seems here to defend the Church of England; but -what church and what creed are not involved in his attack? To enliven -his subject, he profanes and reduces questions of dogma to a question of -clothes. A father had three sons, Peter, Martin, and Jack; he left each -of them a coat at his death,[711] warning them to wear it clean and -brush it often. The three brothers obeyed for some time and travelled -sensibly, slaying "a reasonable quantity of giants and dragons."[712] -Unfortunately, having come up to town, they adopted its manners, fell in -love with several fashionable ladies, the Duchess d'Argent, Mme de -Grands Titres, and the Countess d'Orgueil,[713] and to gain their favors -began to live as gallants, taking snuff, swearing, rhyming, and -contracting debts, keeping horses, fighting duels, whoring, killing -bailiffs. A sect was established who - - -"Held the universe to be a large suit of clothes, which invests -everything: that the earth is invested by the air; the air is invested -by the stars, and the stars are invested by the primum mobile.... What -is that which some call land, but a fine coat faced with green? or the -sea, but a waistcoat of water-tabby?... You will find how curious -journeyman Nature has been, to trim up the vegetable beaux: observe how -sparkish a periwig adorns the head of a beech, and what a fine doublet -of white sattin is worn by the birch.... Is not religion a cloak; -honesty a pair of shoes worn out in the dirt; self-love a surtout; -vanity a shirt; and conscience a pair of breeches; which, though a cover -for lewdness as well as nastiness, is easily slipt down for the service -of both?... If certain ermines and furs be placed in a certain position, -we style them a judge; and so an apt conjunction of lawn and black -sattin, we entitle a bishop."[714] - - -Others held also "that the soul was the outward, and the body the inward -clothing.... This last they proved by Scripture, because in them we -live, and move, and have our being." Thus our three brothers, having -only very simple clothes, were embarrassed. For instance, the fashion at -this time was for shoulder-knots,[715] and their father's will expressly -forbade them to "add to or diminish from their coats one thread": - - -"In this unhappy case they went immediately to consult their father's -will, read it over and over, but not a word of the Shoulder-knot.... -After much thought, one of the brothers, who happened to be more -book-learned than the other two, said, he had found an expedient. 'It is -true,' said he, 'there is nothing in this will, _totidem verbis_, making -mention of Shoulder-Knots; but I dare conjecture, we may find them -inclusive, or _totidem syllabis._' This distinction was immediately -approved by all; and so they fell again to examine;[716] but their evil -star had so directed the matter, that the first syllable was not to be -found in the whole writings. Upon which disappointment, he, who found -the former evasion, took heart and said: 'Brothers, there are yet hopes, -for though we cannot find them _totidem verbis_, nor _totidem syllabis_, -I dare engage we shall make them out _tertio modo_ or _totidem -litteris._' This discovery was also highly commended; upon which they -fell once more to the scrutiny, and picked out S, H, O, U, L, D, E, R, -when the same planet, enemy to their repose, had wonderfully contrived -that a K was not to be found. Here was a weighty difficulty; but the -distinguishing brother... now his hand was in, proved by a very good -argument, that K was a modern illegitimate letter, unknown to the -learned ages, nor anywhere to be found in ancient manuscripts.... Upon -this all farther difficulty vanished; shoulder-knots were made clearly -out to be _jure paterno_, and our three gentlemen swaggered with as -large and flaunting ones as the best."[717] - - -Other interpretations admitted gold lace, and a codicil authorized -flame colored satin linings:[718] - - -"Next winter a player, hired for the purpose by the corporation of -fringe-makers, acted his part in a new comedy, all covered with silver -fringe, and according to the laudable custom gave rise to that fashion. -Upon which the brothers consulting their father's will, to their great -astonishment found these words: 'Item, I charge and command my said -three sons to wear no sort of silver fringe upon or about their said -coats,' etc.... However, after some pause, the brother so often -mentioned for his erudition, who was well skilled in criticisms, had -found in a certain author, which he said should be nameless, that the -same word, which in the will is called fringe, does also signify a -broomstick: and doubtless ought to have the same interpretation in this -paragraph. This another of the brothers disliked, because of that -epithet silver, which could not, he humbly conceived, in propriety of -speech, be reasonably applied to a broomstick; but it was replied upon -him that this epithet was understood in a mythological and allegorical -sense. However, he objected again, why their father should forbid them -to wear a broomstick on their coats, a caution that seemed unnatural and -impertinent; upon which he was taken up short, as one who spoke -irreverently of a mystery, which doubtless was very useful and -significant, but ought not to be over-curiously pried into, or nicely -reasoned upon."[719] - - -In the end the scholastic brother grew weary of searching further -"evasions," locked up the old will in a strong box,[720] authorized by -tradition the fashions which became him, and having contrived to be left -a legacy, styled himself My Lord Peter. His brothers, treated like -servants, were discarded from his house; they reopened the will of their -father, and began to understand it. Martin (Luther), to reduce his -clothes to the primitive simplicity, brought off a large handful of -points, stripped away ten dozen yards of fringe, rid his coat of a huge -quantity of gold-lace, but kept a few embroideries, which could not "be -got away without damaging the cloth." Jack (Calvin) tore off all in his -enthusiasm, and was found in tatters, besides being envious of Martin, -and half mad. He then joined the Æolists, or inspired admirers of the -wind, who pretend that the spirit, or breath, or wind, is heavenly, and -contains all knowledge: - - -"First, it is generally affirmed or confessed that learning puffeth men -up; and secondly they proved it by the following syllogism: words are -but wind; and learning is nothing but words; ergo learning is nothing -but wind.... This, when blown up to its perfection, ought not to be -covetously hoarded up, stifled, or hid under a bushel, but freely -communicated to mankind. Upon these reasons, and others of equal weight, -the wise Æolists affirm the gift of belching to be the noblest act of a -rational creature.... At certain seasons of the year, you might behold -the priests among them in vast number... linked together in a circular -chain, with every man a pair of bellows applied to his neighbour's -breech, by which they blew each other to the shape and size of a tun; -and for that reason with great propriety of speech, did usually call -their bodies their vessels."[721] - - -After this explanation of theology, religious quarrels, and mystical -inspirations, what is left, even of the Anglican Church? She is a -sensible, useful, political cloak, but what else? Like a stiff brush -used with too strong a hand, the buffoonery has carried away the cloth -as well as the stain. Swift has put out a fire, I allow; but, like -Gulliver at Liliput, the people saved by him must hold their nose, to -admire the right application of the liquid, and the energy of the engine -that saves them. - -Religion being drowned, Swift turns against science; for the digressions -with which he interrupts his story to imitate and mock the modern sages -are most closely connected with his tale. The book opens with -introductions, prefaces, dedications, and other appendices generally -applied to swell books--violent caricatures heaped up against the vanity -and prolixity of authors. He professes himself one of them, and -announces their discoveries. Admirable discoveries! The first of their -commentaries will be on - - -"'Tom Thumb,' whose author was a Pythagorean philosopher. This dark -treatise contains the whole scheme of the Metempsychosis, deducing the -progress of the soul through all her stages. 'Whittington and his Cat' -is the work of that mysterious rabbi Jehuda Hannasi, containing a -defence of the gemara of the Jerusalem misna, and its just preference to -that of Babylon, contrary to the vulgar opinion."[722] - - -He himself announces that he is going to publish "A Panegyrical Essay -upon the Number Three"; a "General History of Ears"; a "Modest Defence -of the Proceedings of the Rabble in all Ages"; an "Essay on the Art of -Canting, Philosophically, Physically, and Musically Considered"; and he -engages his readers to try by their entreaties to get from him these -treatises, which will change the appearance of the world. Then, turning -against the philosophers and the critics, sifters of texts, he proves to -them, according to their own fashion, that the ancients mentioned them. -Can we find anywhere a more biting parody on forced interpretations: - - - - -[Illustration: CHOICE EXAMPLES OF EARLY PRINTING AND ENGRAVING. - -Fac-similes from Rare and Curious Books. - -_PAGE FROM THE CHRONICLES OF HUNGARY._ - -This fine work was printed by Ratdolt after his return from Venice to -his native Augsburg in 1488. The page before us is not only beautiful, -but highly original in conception. The infantry fight, which is the -subject of the illustration, shows how a master's hand can, by the -simplest means, produce an effect full of life and expression. The form -of the type is bold and clear. Our illustration is from the unique copy -in the British Museum.] - - - - -"The types are so apposite and the applications so necessary and -natural, that it is not easy to conceive how any reader of a modern eye -or taste could overlook them.... For first; Pausanias is of opinion, -that the perfection of writing correct was entirely owing to the -institution of critics; and, that he can possibly mean no other than the -true critic, is, I think, manifest enough from the following -description. He says, they were a race of men, who delighted to nibble -at the superfluities and excrescences of books; which the learned at -length observing, took warning, of their own accord, to lop the -luxuriant, the rotten, the dead, the sapless, and the overgrown branches -from their works. But now, all this he cunningly shades under the -following allegory; that the Nauplians in Argos learned the art of -pruning their vines, by observing that when an _ass_ had browsed upon -one of them, it thrived the better and bore fairer fruits. But -Herodotus, holding the very same hieroglyph, speaks much plainer, and -almost in _terminis._ He has been so bold as to tax the true critics of -ignorance and malice; telling us openly, for I think nothing can be -plainer, that in the western part of Libya there were asses with -horns."[723] - - -Then follow a multitude of pitiless sarcasms. Swift has the genius of -insult; he is an inventor of irony, as Shakespeare of poetry; and as -beseems an extreme force, he goes to extremes in his thought and art. He -lashes reason after science, and leaves nothing of the whole human mind. -With a medical seriousness he establishes that vapors are exhaled from -the whole body, which, "getting possession of the brain," leave it -healthy if they are not abundant, but excite it if they are; that in the -first case they make peaceful individuals, in the second great -politicians, founders of religions, and deep philosophers, that is, -madmen, so that madness is the source of all human genius and all the -institutions of the universe. This is why it is very wrong to keep men -shut up in Bedlam, and a commission appointed to examine them would find -in this academy many imprisoned geniuses "which might produce admirable -instruments for the several offices in a state ecclesiastical, civil, -and military." - - -"Is any student tearing his straw in piece-meal, swearing and -blaspheming, biting his grate, foaming at the mouth?... let the right -worshipful commissioners of inspection give him a regiment of dragoons, -and send him into Flanders among the rest.... You will find a third -gravely taking the dimensions of his kennel; a person of foresight and -insight, though kept quite in the dark.... He walks duly in one pace... -talks much of hard times and taxes and the whore of Babylon; bars up the -wooden window of his cell constantly at eight o'clock, dreams of -fire.... Now what a figure would all those acquirements amount to if the -owner were sent into the city among his brethren?... Now is it not -amazing to think the society of Warwick-lane should have no more concern -for the recovery of so useful a member?... I shall not descend so -minutely, as to insist upon the vast number of beaux, fiddlers, poets, -and politicians that the world might recover by such a reformation.... -Even I myself, the author of these momentous truths, am a person whose -imaginations are hard-mouthed, and exceedingly disposed to run away with -his reason, which I have observed, from long experience, to be a very -light rider, and easily shaken off; upon which account my friends will -never trust me alone, without a solemn promise to vent my speculations -in this, or the like manner, for the universal benefit of mankind."[724] - - -What a wretched man is he who knows himself and mocks himself! What -madman's laughter, and what a sob in this hoarse gayety! What remains -for him but to slaughter the remainder of human invention? Who does not -see here the despair from which sprang the academy of Lagado? Is there -not here a foretaste of madness in this intense meditation of absurdity? -His mathematician, who, to teach geometry, makes his pupils swallow -wafers on which he writes his theorems; his moralist, who, to reconcile -political parties, proposes to saw off the occiputs and brain of each -"opposite party-man," and "to let the occiputs thus cut off be -interchanged"; his economist again, who tries "to reduce human excrement -to its original food." Swift is akin to these, and is the most wretched -of all, because he nourishes his mind, like them, on filth and folly, -and because he possesses what they have not, knowledge and disgust. - -It is sad to exhibit human folly, it is sadder to exhibit human -perversity: the heart is more a part of ourselves than reason: we suffer -less in seeing extravagance and folly than wickedness or baseness, and I -find Swift more agreeable in his "Tale of a Tub" than in "Gulliver." - -All his talent and all his passions are assembled in this book; the -positive mind has impressed upon it its form and force. There is nothing -agreeable in the fiction or the style. It is the diary of an ordinary -man, a surgeon, then a captain, who describes coolly and sensibly the -events and objects which he has just seen, but who has no feeling for -the beautiful, no appearance of admiration or passion, no delivery. Sir -Joseph Banks and Captain Cook relate thus. Swift only seeks the natural, -and he attains it. His art consists in taking an absurd supposition, and -deducing seriously the effects which it produces. It is the logical and -technical mind of a mechanician, who, imagining the decrease or increase -in a wheelwork, perceives the result of the changes, and writes down the -record. His whole pleasure is in seeing these results clearly, and by a -solid reasoning. He marks the dimensions, and so forth, like a good -engineer and a statistician, omitting no trivial and positive detail, -explaining cookery, stabling, politics: in this he has no equal but De -Foe. The lodestone machine which sustains the flying island, the -entrance of Gulliver into Liliput, and the inventory of his property, -his arrival and maintenance among the Yahoos, carry us with them; no -mind knew better the ordinary laws of nature and human life; no mind -shut itself up, more strictly in this knowledge; none was ever more -exact or more limited. - -But what a vehemence underneath this aridity! How ridiculous our -interests and passions seem, degraded to the littleness of Liliput, or -compared to the vastness of Brobdignag? What is beauty, when the -handsomest body, seen with piercing eyes, seems horrible? What is our -power, when an insect, king of an ant-hill, can be called, like our -princes, "sublime majesty, delight and terror of the universe"? What is -our homage worth, when a pygmy "is taller, by almost the breadth of a -nail, than any of his court, which alone is enough to strike an awe into -his beholders"? Three-fourths of our sentiment are follies, and the -weakness of our organs is the only cause of our veneration or love. - -Society repels us still more than man. At Laputa, at Liliput, amongst -the horses and giants, Swift rages against it, and is never tired of -abusing and reviling it. In his eyes, "ignorance, idleness, and vice are -the proper ingredients for qualifying a legislator; laws are best -explained, interpreted, and applied by those whose interest and -abilities lie in perverting, confounding, and eluding them."[725] A -noble is a wretch, corrupted body and soul, "combining in himself all -the diseases and vices transmitted by ten generations of rakes and -rascals. A lawyer is a hired liar, wont by twenty years of roguery to -pervert the truth if he is an advocate, and to sell it if he is a judge. -A minister of state is a go-between, who, having disposed of his wife," -or brawled for the public good, is master of all offices; and who, in -order better to rob the money of the nation, buys members of the House -of Commons with the same money. A king is a practiser of all the vices, -unable to employ or love an honest man, persuaded that "the royal throne -could not be supported without corruption, because that positive, -confident, restive temper, which virtue infused into a man, was a -perpetual clog to public business."[726] At Liliput the king chooses as -his ministers those who dance best upon the tight-rope. At Luggnagg he -compels all those, who are presented to him, to crawl on their bellies -and lick the dust. - - -"When the king has a mind to put any of his nobles to death in a gentle, -indulgent manner, he commands the floor to be strewed with a certain -brown powder of a deadly composition, which, being licked up, infallibly -kills him in twenty-four hours. But in justice to this prince's great -clemency, and the care he has of his subjects' lives (wherein it were -much to be wished that the monarchs of Europe would imitate him), it -must be mentioned for his honour, that strict orders are given to have -the infected parts of the floor well washed after every such -execution.... I myself heard him give directions that one of his pages -should be whipped, whose turn it was to give notice about washing the -floor after an execution, but maliciously had omitted it; by which -neglect, a young lord of great hopes coming to an audience, was -unfortunately poisoned, although the King at that time had no design -against his life. But this good prince was so gracious as to forgive the -poor page his whipping, upon promise that he would do so no more, -without special orders."[727] - - -All these fictions of giants, pygmies, flying islands, are means for -depriving human nature of the veils with which habit and imagination -cover it, to display it in its truth and its ugliness. There is still -one cloak to remove, the most deceitful and familiar. Swift must take -away that appearance of reason in which we deck ourselves. He must -suppress the sciences, arts, combinations of society, inventions of -industries, whose brightness dazzles us. He must discover the Yahoo in -man. What a spectacle! - - -"At last I beheld several animals in a field, and one or two of the same -kind sitting in trees. Their shape was very singular and deformed.... -Their heads and breasts were covered with a thick hair, some frizzled, -and others lank; they had beards like goats, and a long ridge of hair -down their backs, and the forepart of their legs and feet; but the rest -of their bodies was bare, so that I might see their skins, which were of -a brown buff colour.... They climbed high trees as nimbly as a squirrel, -for they had strong extended claws before and behind, terminating in -sharp points and hooked.... The females... had long lank hair on their -head, but none on their faces, nor anything more than a sort of down on -the rest of their bodies. ... Upon the whole I never beheld in all my -travels so disagreeable an animal, or one against which I naturally -conceived so great an antipathy."[728] - - -According to Swift, such are our brothers. He finds in them all our -instincts. They hate each other, tear each other with their talons, with -hideous contortions and yells! such is the source of our quarrels. If -they find a dead cow, although they are but five, and there is enough -for fifty, they strangle and wound each other: such is a picture of our -greed and our wars. They dig up precious stones and hide them in their -kennels, and watch them "with great caution," pining and howling when -robbed: such is the origin of our love of gold. They devour -indifferently "herbs, berries, roots, the corrupted flesh of animals," -preferring "what they could get by rapine or stealth," gorging -themselves till they vomit or burst: such is the portrait of our -gluttony and injustice. They have a kind of juicy and unwholesome root, -which they "would suck with great delight," till they "howl, and grin, -and chatter," embracing or scratching each other, then reeling, -hiccoughing, wallowing in the mud: such is a picture of our drunkenness. - - -"In most herds there was a sort of ruling Yahoo, who was always more -deformed in body, and mischievous in disposition, than any of the rest: -that this leader had usually a favourite as like himself as he could -get, whose employment was to lick his master's feet,... and drive the -female Yahoos to his kennel; for which he was now and then rewarded with -a piece of ass's flesh.... He usually continues in office till a worse -can be found."[729] - - -Such is an abstract of our government. And yet he gives preference to -the Yahoos over men, saying that our wretched reason has aggravated and -multiplied these vices, and concluding with the king of Brobdignag that -our species is "the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that -nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the earth."[730] - -Five years after this treatise on man, he wrote in favor of unhappy -Ireland a pamphlet which is like the last effort of his despair and his -genius.[731] I give it almost whole; it deserves it. I know nothing like -it in any literature: - - -"It is a melancholy object to those who walk through this great town, or -travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads, and -cabin-doors crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three, -four, or six children, all in rags, and importuning every passenger for -an alms.... I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious -number of children... is, in the present deplorable state of the -kingdom, a very great additional grievance; and therefore, whoever could -find out a fair, cheap, and easy method of making these children sound, -useful members of the Commonwealth, would deserve so well of the public, -as to have his statue set up for a preserver of the nation. . . I shall -now, therefore, humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be -liable to the least objection."[732] - - -When we know Swift, such a beginning frightens us: - - -"I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in -London, that a young healthy child, well nursed, is, at a year old, a -most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, -baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a -fricassee or a ragout. - -"I do therefore humbly offer it to public consideration, that of the -hundred and twenty thousand children already computed, twenty thousand -may be reserved for breed, whereof only one-fourth part to be males;... -that the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in -sale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always -advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so -as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two -dishes at an entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, -the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with -a little pepper or salt, will be very good boiled on the fourth day, -especially in winter." - -"I have reckoned, upon a medium, that a child just born will weigh -twelve pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, will increase -to twenty-eight pounds. - -"I have already computed the charge of nursing a beggar's child (in -which list I reckon all cottagers, labourers, and four-fifths of the -farmers), to be about two shillings per annum, rags included; and I -believe no gentleman would repine to give ten shillings for the carcass -of a good fat child, which, as I have said, will make four dishes of -excellent nutritive meat. - -"Those who are more thrifty (as I must confess the times require), may -flay the carcass; the skin of which, artificially dressed, will make -admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine gentlemen. - -"As to our city of Dublin, shambles may be appointed for this purpose in -the most convenient parts of it; and butchers we may be assured will not -be wanting; although I rather recommend buying the children alive, than -dressing them hot from the knife, as we do roasting pigs.... - -"I think the advantages by the proposal which I have made, are obvious -and many, as well as of the highest importance. For first, as I have -already observed, it would greatly lessen the number of Papists, with -whom we are yearly overrun, being the principal breeders of the nation, -as well as our most dangerous enemies.... Thirdly, whereas the -maintenance of a hundred thousand children, from two years old and -upward, cannot be computed at less than ten shillings a piece per annum, -the nation's stock will be thereby increased fifty thousand pounds per -annum, beside the profit of a new dish introduced to the tables of all -gentlemen of fortune in the kingdom, who have any refinement in taste. -And the money will circulate among ourselves, the goods being entirely -of our own growth and manufacture.... Sixthly, this would be a great -inducement to marriage, which all wise nations have either encouraged by -rewards, or enforced by laws and penalties. It would increase the care -and tenderness of mothers toward their children, when they were sure of -a settlement for life to the poor babes, provided in some sort by the -public, to their annual profit or expense. ... Many other advantages -might be enumerated, for instance, the addition of some thousand -carcasses in our exportation of barrelled beef; the propagation of -swine's flesh, and the improvement in the art of making good bacon.... -But this, and many others, I omit, being studious of brevity. - -"Some persons of desponding spirit are in great concern about that vast -number of poor people who are aged, diseased, or maimed; and I have been -desired to employ my thoughts, what course may be taken to ease the -nation of so grievous an encumbrance. But I am not in the least pain -upon that matter; because it is very well known, that they are every day -dying and rotting, by cold and famine, and filth and vermin, as fast as -can be reasonably expected. And as to the young labourers, they are now -in almost as hopeful a condition; they cannot get work, and consequently -pine away for want of nourishment, to a degree, that, if at any time -they are accidentally hired to common labour, they have not strength to -perform it; and thus the country and themselves are happily delivered -from the evils to come."[733] - - -Swift ends with the following ironic lines, worthy of a cannibal: - - -"I profess, in the sincerity of my heart that I have not the least -personal interest in endeavouring to promote this necessary work, having -no other motive than the public good of my country, by advancing our -trade, providing for infants, relieving the poor, and giving some -pleasure to the rich. I have no children by which I can propose to get a -single penny; the youngest being nine years old and my wife past -child-bearing."[734] - - -Much has been said of unhappy great men, Pascal, for instance. I think -that his cries and his anguish are faint compared to this calm treatise. - -Such was this great and unhappy genius, the greatest of the classical -age, the most unhappy in history, English throughout, whom the excess of -his English qualities inspired and consumed, having this intensity of -desires, which is the main feature of the race, the enormity of pride -which the habit of liberty, command, and success has impressed upon the -nation, the solidity of the positive mind which habits of business have -established in the country; precluded from power and action by his -unchecked passions and his intractable pride; excluded from poetry and -philosophy by the clear-sightedness and narrowness of his common-sense; -deprived of the consolations offered by contemplative life, and the -occupation furnished by practical life; too superior to embrace heartily -a religious sect or a political party, too narrow-minded to rest in the -lofty doctrines which conciliate all beliefs, or in the wide sympathies -which embrace all parties; condemned by his nature and surroundings to -fight without loving a cause, to write without taking a liking to -literature, to think without feeling the truth of any dogma, warring as -a _condottiere_ against all parties, a misanthrope disliking all men, a -sceptic denying all beauty and truth. But these very surroundings, and -this very nature, which expelled him from happiness, love, power, and -science, raised him, in this age of French imitation and classical -moderation, to a wonderful height, where, by the originality and power -of his inventions, he is the equal of Byron, Milton, and Shakespeare, -and shows pre-eminently the character and mind of his nation. -Sensibility, a positive mind, and pride, forged for him a unique style, -of terrible vehemence, withering calmness, practical effectiveness, -hardened by scorn, truth and hatred, a weapon of vengeance and war which -made his enemies cry out and die under its point and its poison. A -pamphleteer against opposition and government, he tore or crushed his -adversaries with his irony or his sentences, with the tone of a judge, a -sovereign, and a hangman. A man of the world and a poet, he invented a -cruel pleasantry, funereal laughter, a convulsive gayety of bitter -contrasts; and whilst dragging the mythological trappings, as if it were -rags he was obliged to wear, he created a personal poetry by painting -the crude details of trivial life, by the energy of a painful -grotesqueness, by the merciless revelation of the filth we conceal. A -philosopher against all philosophy, he created a realistic poem, a grave -parody, deduced like geometry, absurd as a dream, credible as a law -report, attractive as a tale, degrading as a dishclout placed like a -crown on the head of a divinity. These were his miseries and his -strength: we quit such a spectacle with a sad heart, but full of -admiration; and we say that a palace is beautiful even when it is on -fire. Artists will add: especially when it is on fire. - - - - -[Footnote 648: In Swift's Works, ed. W. Scott, 19 vols. 1814; "Journal to -Stella," II. February 13 (1710-11). He says also (February 6 and 7): "I -will not see him (Mr. Harley) till he makes amends.... I was deaf to all -entreaties, and have desired Lewis to go to him, and let him know that I -expect farther satisfaction. If we let these great ministers pretend too -much, there will be no governing them."] - -[Footnote 649: Ibid. April 3, 1711.] - -[Footnote 650: Ibid. May 19, 1711.] - -[Footnote 651: Ibid. October 7, 1711.] - -[Footnote 652: "Journal to Stella," XVII. p. 352.] - -[Footnote 653: Ibid. III. March 27, 1711-12.] - -[Footnote 654: Letter to Bolingbroke, Dublin, April 5, 1729.] - -[Footnote 655: "Journal to Stella," II. September 9, 1710.] - -[Footnote 656: Ibid. September 30, 1710.] - -[Footnote 657: Ibid. November 8, 1710.] - -[Footnote 658: "Swift's Life," by Roscoe, I. 56.] - -[Footnote 659: "Swift's Life," by W. Scott, I. 379.] - -[Footnote 660: Sheridan's "Life of Swift."] - -[Footnote 661: W. Scott's "Life of Swift," I. 477.] - -[Footnote 662: At that time he had already begun the "Tale of a Tub."] - -[Footnote 663: He addresses his muse thus, in "Verses occasioned by Sir -William Temple's late illness and recovery," XIV. 45: -"Wert thou right woman, thou should'st -scorn to look -On an abandoned wretch by hopes -forsook; -Forsook by hopes, ill fortune's last -relief. -Assign'd for life to unremitting grief; - -"To thee I owe that fatal bent of mind -Still to unhappy restless thoughts -inclined; -To thee, what oft I vainly strive to -hide, -That scorn of fools, by fools mistook -for pride."] - -[Footnote 664: These assertions have been denied. See Roscoe's "Life of -Swift," I. 14.—-Tr.] - -[Footnote 665: "Don't you remember how I used to be in pain when Sir -William Temple would look cold and out of humour for three or four days, -and I used to suspect a hundred reasons? I have plucked up my spirit -since then, faith; he spoiled a fine gentleman."--"Journal to Stella," -April 4, 1710-11.] - -[Footnote 666: "Directions to Servants," XII. ch. III. 434.] - -[Footnote 667: "Mrs. Harris's Petition," XIV. 52.] - -[Footnote 668: By the "Tale of a Tub" with the clergy, and by the -"Prophecy of Windsor" with the Queen.] - -[Footnote 669: "The Drapier's Letters, Gulliver's Travels, Rhapsody on -Poetry, A modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of poor People in -Ireland from being a Burden to their Parents or Country, and for Making -them beneficial to the Public," and several pamphlets on Ireland.] - -[Footnote 670: Letter to Lord Bolingbroke, Dublin. March 21, 1728. XVII. -274.] - -[Footnote 671: Letter of Miss Vanhomrigh, Dublin, 1714, XIX. 421.] - -[Footnote 672: These words are taken from a letter to Miss Vanhomrigh, -July 8, 1713, and cannot refer to her death, which took place in -1721.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 673: Letter to Bolingbroke, Dublin, March 21, 1728, XVII. 276.] - -[Footnote 674: Roscoe's "Life of Swift," I. 80.] - -[Footnote 675: In his "Thoughts on Religion" (VIII. 173) he says: "The -want of belief is a defect that ought to be concealed, when it cannot be -overcome. I look upon myself, in the capacity of a clergyman, to be one -appointed by Providence for defending a post assigned me, and for gaining -over as many enemies as I can."] - -[Footnote 676: Whatever has been said, I do not think that he wrote the -"Drapier's Letters," whilst thinking the introduction of small copper -coin an advantage for Ireland. It was possible, for Swift more than for -another, to believe in a ministerial job. He seems to me to have been at -bottom an honest man.] - -[Footnote 677: "Drapier's Letters," VII; Letter I, 97.] - -[Footnote 678: Ibid. VII; Letter 2, 114.] - -[Footnote 679: Ibid, VII; Letter 2, 115.] - -[Footnote 680: "Drapier's Letters," VII; Letter 2, 114.] - -[Footnote 681: Ibid. VII; Letter 1, 101.] - -[Footnote 682: "The Public Spirit of the Whigs," IV. 405. See also in -the "Examiner" the pamphlet against Marlborough under the name of Crassus, -and the comparison between Roman generosity and English meanness.] - -[Footnote 683: Swift's Works, IV. 148.] - -[Footnote 684: "An Argument to prove that the Abolishing of Christianity -might be attended with some Inconveniences," VIII. 184. The Whigs were -herein attacked as the friends of freethinkers.] - -[Footnote 685: Ibid. 188.] - -[Footnote 686: "An Argument," etc., VIII. 192.] - -[Footnote 687: Ibid. 196.] - -[Footnote 688: Ibid. 200; final words of the Argument.] - -[Footnote 689: VI. 415.--Arbuthnot is said to have written the whole or at -least part of it.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 690: "The Rape of the Lock."] - -[Footnote 691: XIII. 17.--Pope, Arbuthnot, and Swift wrote it, together.] - -[Footnote 692: "Predictions for the Year 1708 by Isaac Bickerstaff," IX. -156.] - -[Footnote 693: These quotations are taken from a humorous pamphlet, -"Squire Bickerstaff Detected," written by Dr. Yalden. See Swift's Works, -IX. 176.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 694: "A Vindication of Isaac Bickerstaff," IX. 186.] - -[Footnote 695: "Letter to a Very Young Lady on her Marriage," IX. -420-422.] - -[Footnote 696: "Cadenus and Vanessa," XIV. 441.] - -[Footnote 697: "Cadenus and Vanessa," XIV. 441.] - -[Footnote 698: "Baucis and Philemon," XIV. 83.] - -[Footnote 699: "Cadenus and Vanessa," XIV. 448.] - -[Footnote 700: "Verses on Stella's Birthday," March 13, 1718-19, XIV. -469.] - -[Footnote 701: Ovids, Plutarchs, Homers.] - -[Footnote 702: "The Grand Question Debated," XV. 153.] - -[Footnote 703: "On the Death of Dr. Swift," XIV. 331.] - -[Footnote 704: Swift's Works, XIV. 93.] - -[Footnote 705: "A Description of a City Shower," XIV. 94.] - -[Footnote 706: "The Lady's Dressing-room."] - -[Footnote 707: "Strephon and Chloe."] - -[Footnote 708: "A Love Poem from a Physician."] - -[Footnote 709: "The Progress of Beauty."] - -[Footnote 710: "The Problem," and "The Examination of Certain Abuses."] - -[Footnote 711: Christian truth.] - -[Footnote 712: Persecutions and contests of the primitive church.] - -[Footnote 713: Covetousness, ambition, and pride; the three vices that -the ancient fathers inveighed against.] - -[Footnote 714: "A Tale of a Tub," IX. sec. 2, 79, 81.] - -[Footnote 715: Innovations.] - -[Footnote 716: The Will.] - -[Footnote 717: "A Tale of a Tub," XI. sec. 2, 83.] - -[Footnote 718: Purgatory.] - -[Footnote 719: "A Tale of a Tub," 88.] - -[Footnote 720: The prohibition of the laity's reading the Scriptures.] - -[Footnote 721: "A Tale of a Tub," sec. 8, 146.] - -[Footnote 722: Ibid. Introduction, 72.] - -[Footnote 723: "A Tale of a Tub," sec. 3; "A Digression concerning -Critics," 97.] - -[Footnote 724: "A Tale of a Tub; A Digression concerning Madness," -sec. 2, 167.] - -[Footnote 725: Swift's Works, XII. "Gulliver's Travels," Part 2, ch. 6, -p. 171.] - -[Footnote 726: "Gulliver's Travels," Part 3, ch. 8, p. 258.] - -[Footnote 727: Ibid. Part 3, ch. 9, p. 264.] - -[Footnote 728: "Gulliver's Travels," Part 4, ch. 1, p. 286.] - -[Footnote 729: Ibid. Part 4, ch. 7, p. 337.] - -[Footnote 730: "Gulliver's Travels," Part 2, ch. 6, p. 172.] - -[Footnote 731: "A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of the -poor People in Ireland from being a Burden to their Parents or Country, -and for Making them Beneficial to the Public," 1729.] - -[Footnote 732: Ibid. VII. 454.] - -[Footnote 733: "A Modest Proposal," etc., 461.] - -[Footnote 734: "A Modest Proposal," etc., 466.] - - - - -CHAPTER SIXTH - - -The Novelists - - -Section I.--The Anti-Romantic Novel - - -Amidst these finished and perfect writings a new kind makes its -appearance, suited to the public tendencies and circumstances of the -time, the anti-romantic novel, the work and the reading of positive -minds, observers and moralists, not intended to exalt and amuse the -imagination, like the novels of Spain and the Middle Ages, not to -reproduce or embellish conversation, like the novels of France and the -seventeenth century, but to depict real life, to describe characters, to -suggest plans of conduct, and judge motives of action. It was a strange -apparition, and like the voice of a people buried underground, when, -amidst the splendid corruption of high life, this severe emanation of -the middle class welled up, and when the obscenities of Mrs Aphra Behn, -still the diversion of ladies of fashion, were found on the same table -with De Foe's "Robinson Crusoe." - - - - -Section II.--Daniel De Foe - - -De Foe, a dissenter, a pamphleteer, a journalist, a novel-writer, -successively a hosier, a tile-maker, an accountant, was one of those -indefatigable laborers and obstinate combatants, who, ill-treated, -calumniated, imprisoned, succeeded by their uprightness, common-sense, -and energy, in gaining England over to their side. At twenty-three, -having taken arms for Monmouth, he was fortunate in not being hung or -sent out of the country. Seven years later he was ruined and obliged to -hide. In 1702, for a pamphlet not rightly understood, he was condemned -to pay a fine, was set in the pillory, imprisoned two years in Newgate, -and only the charity of Godolphin prevented his wife and six children -from dying of hunger. Being released and sent as a commissioner to -Scotland to treat about the union of the two countries, he narrowly -escaped being stoned. Another pamphlet, which was again misconstrued, -sent him to prison, compelled him to pay a fine of eight hundred pounds, -and only just in time he received the Queen's pardon. His works were -copied, he was robbed, and slandered. He was obliged to protest against -the plagiarists, who printed and altered his works for their benefit; -against the neglect of the Whigs, who did not find him tractable enough; -against the animosity of the Tories, who saw in him the chief champion -of the Whigs. In the midst of his self-defence he was struck with -apoplexy, and continued to defend himself from his bed. Yet he lived on, -but with great difficulty; poor and burdened with a family, he turned, -at fifty-five, to fiction, and wrote successively "Moll Flanders," -"Captain Singleton, Duncan Campbell, Colonel Jack," the "History of -the Great Plague in London," and many others. This vein exhausted, he -diverged and tried another--the "Complete English Tradesman, A Tour -through Great Britain." Death came; poverty remained. In vain had he -written in prose, in verse, on all subjects political and religious, -accidental or moral, satires and novels, histories and poems, travels -and pamphlets, commercial essays and statistical information, in all two -hundred and ten works, not of verbiage, but of arguments, documents, and -facts crowded and piled one upon another with such prodigality, that the -memory, thought, and application of one man seemed too small for such a -labor; he died penniless, in debt. However we regard his life, we see -only prolonged efforts and persecutions. Joy seems to be wanting; the -idea of the beautiful never enters. When he comes to fiction, it is like -a Presbyterian and a plebeian, with low subjects and moral aims, to -treat of the adventures, and reform the conduct of thieves and -prostitutes, workmen and sailors. His whole delight was to think that he -had a service to perform and that he was performing it: "He that opposes -his own judgment against the current of the times ought to be backed -with unanswerable truth; and he that has truth on his side is a fool as -well as a coward if he is afraid to own it, because of the multitude of -other men's opinions. 'Tis hard for a man to say, all the world is -mistaken but himself. But if it be so, who can help it?" Nobody can help -it, but then a man must walk straight ahead, and alone, amidst blows and -throwing of mud. De Foe is like one of those brave, obscure, and useful -soldiers who, with empty belly and burdened shoulders, go through their -duties with their feet in the mud, pocket blows, receive the whole day -long the fire of the enemy, and sometimes that of their friends into the -bargain, and die sergeants, happy if it has been their good fortune to -get hold of the Legion of Honor. - -De Foe had the kind of mind suitable to such a hard service, solid, -exact, entirely destitute of refinement, enthusiasm, agreeableness.[735] -His imagination was that of a man of business, not of an artist, crammed -and, as it were, jammed down with facts. He tells them as they come to -him, without arrangement or style, like a conversation, without dreaming -of producing an effect, or composing a phrase, employing technical terms -and vulgar forms, repeating himself at need, using the same thing two or -three times, not seeming to imagine that there are methods of amusing, -touching, engrossing, or pleasing, with no desire but to pour out on -paper the fulness of the information with which he is charged. Even in -fiction his information is as precise as in history. He gives dates, -year, month, and day; notes the wind, north-east, south-west, -north-west; he writes a logbook, an invoice, attorneys' and shopkeepers' -bills, the number of moidores, interest, specie payments, payments in -kind, cost and sale prices, the share of the king, of religious houses, -partners, brokers, net totals, statistics, the geography and hydrography -of the island, so that the reader is tempted to take an atlas and draw -for himself a little map of the place, to enter into all the details of -the history, and to see the objects as clearly and fully as the author. -It seems as though our author had performed all Crusoe's labors, so -exactly does he describe them, with numbers, quantities, dimensions, -like a carpenter, potter, or an old tar. Never was such a sense of the -real before or since. Our realists of to-day, painters, anatomists, who -enter deliberately on their business, are very far from this -naturalness; art and calculation crop out amidst their too minute -descriptions. De Foe creates illusion; for it is not the eye which -deceives us, but the mind, and that literally: his account of the great -plague has more than once passed for true; and Lord Chatham mistook his -"Memoirs of a Cavalier" for an authentic narrative. This was his aim. In -the preface to the old edition of "Robinson Crusoe" it is said: "The -story is told... to the instruction of others by this example, and to -justify and honour the wisdom of Providence. The editor believes the -thing to be a just history of facts; neither is there any appearance of -fiction in it." All his talents lie in this, and thus even his -imperfections aid him; his lack of art becomes a profound art; his -negligence, repetitions, prolixity, contribute to the illusion: we -cannot imagine that such and such a detail, so minute, so dull, is -invented; an inventor would have suppressed it; it is too tedious to -have been put in on purpose; art chooses, embellishes, interests; art, -therefore, cannot have piled up this heap of dull and vulgar accidents; -it is the truth. - -Read, for instance, "A True Relation of the Apparition of one Mrs Veal, -the next Day after her Death, to one Mrs Bargrave, at Canterbury, the -8th of September 1705; which Apparition recommends the perusal of -Drelincourt's Book of Consolation against the Fear of Death."[736] The -old little chap books, read by aged needlewomen, are not more -monotonous. There is such an array of circumstantial and guaranteed -details, such a file of witnesses quoted, referred to, registered, -compared, such a perfect appearance of tradesman-like honesty, plain, -vulgar common-sense, that a man would take the author for an honest -retired hosier, with too little brains to invent a story; no writer -careful of his reputation would have printed such nonsense. In fact, it -was not his reputation that De Foe cared for; he had other motives in -his head; we literary men of the present time cannot guess them, being -literary men only. But he wanted to sell a pious book of Drelincourt, -which would not sell of itself, and in addition, to confirm people in -their religious belief by advocating the appearance of ghosts. It was -the grand proof then brought to bear on sceptics. Grave Dr Johnson -himself tried to see a ghost, and no event of that time was more suited -to the belief of the middle class. Here, as elsewhere, De Foe, like -Swift, is a man of action; effect, not noise touches him; he composed -"Robinson Crusoe" to warn the impious, as Swift wrote the life of the -last man hung to inspire thieves with terror! In that positive and -religious age, amidst these political and puritanic citizens, practice -was of such importance as to reduce art to the condition of its tool. - -Never was art the tool of a more moral or more thoroughly English work. -Robinson Crusoe is quite a man of his race, and might instruct it even -in the present day. He has that force of will, inner enthusiasm, hidden -ferment of a violent imagination; which formerly produced the sea-kings, -and now produces emigrants and squatters. The misfortunes of his two -brothers, the tears of his relatives, the advice of his friends, the -remonstrances of his reason, the remorse of his conscience, are all -unable to restrain him: there was "a something fatal in his nature"; he -had conceived the idea, he must go to sea. To no purpose is he seized -with repentance during the first storm; he drowns in punch these "fits" -of conscience. To no purpose is he warned by shipwreck and a narrow -escape from death; he is hardened, and grows obstinate. To no purpose -captivity among the Moors and the possession of a fruitful plantation -invite repose; the indomitable instinct returns; he was born to be his -own destroyer, and embarks again. The ship goes down; he is cast alone -on a desert island; then his native energy found its vent and its -employment; like his descendants, the pioneers of Australia and America, -he must recreate and remaster one by one the inventions and acquisitions -of human industry; one by one he does so. Nothing represses his effort; -neither possession nor weariness: - - -"I had the biggest magazine of all kinds now that ever was laid up, I -believe, for one man; but I was not satisfied still; for, while the ship -sat upright in that posture, I thought I ought to get everything out of -her that I could.... I got most of the pieces of cable ashore, and some -of the iron, though with infinite labour; for I was fain to dip for it -into the water; a work which fatigued me very much.... I believe, -verily, had the calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole -ship, piece by piece."[737] - - -In his eyes, work is natural. When, in order "to barricade himself, he -goes to cut the piles in the woods, and drives them into the earth, -which cost a great deal of time and labour," he says: - -"A very laborious and tedious work. But what need I have been concerned -at the tediousness of anything I had to do, seeing I had time enough to -do it in?... My time or labor was little worth, and so it was as well -employed one way as another."[738] Application and fatigue of head and -arms give occupation to his superfluous activity and force; the -mill-stone must find grist to grind, without which, turning round empty, -it would wear itself away. He works, therefore, all day and night, at -once carpenter, oarsman, porter, hunter, tiller of the ground, potter, -tailor, milkman, basketmaker, grinder, baker, invincible in -difficulties, disappointments, expenditure of time and toil. Having but -a hatchet and an adze, it took him forty-two days to make a board. He -occupied two months in making his first two jars; five months in making -his first boat; then, "by dint of hard labour," he levelled the ground -from his timber-yard to the sea, then, not being able to bring his boat -to the sea, he tried to bring the sea up to his boat, and began to dig a -canal; then, reckoning that he would require ten or twelve years to -finish the task, he builds another boat at another place, with another -canal half a mile long, four feet deep, six wide. He spends two years -over it; "I bore with this.... I went through that by dint of hard -labour.... Many a weary stroke it had cost.... This will testify that I -was not idle.... As I had learned not to despair of anything I never -grudged my labour." These strong expressions of indomitable patience are -ever recurring. These stout-hearted men are framed for labor, as their -sheep are for slaughter and their horses for racing. Even now we may -hear their mighty hatchet and pickaxe sounding in the claims of -Melbourne and in the log-houses of the Salt Lake. The reason of their -success is the same there as here; they do everything with calculation -and method; they rationalize their energy, which is like a torrent they -make a canal for. Crusoe sets to work only after deliberate calculation -and reflection. When he seeks a spot for his tent, he enumerates the -four conditions of the place he requires. When he wishes to escape -despair, he draws up impartially, "like debtor and creditor," the list -of his advantages and disadvantages, putting them in two columns, active -and passive, item for item, so that the balance is in his favor. His -courage is only the servant of his common-sense: "By stating and -squaring everything by reason, and by making the most rational judgment -of things, every man may be in time master of every mechanic art. I had -never handled a tool in my life, and yet in time, by labour, -application, and contrivance, I found at last that I wanted nothing but -I could have made, especially if I had had tools."[739] There is a grave -and deep pleasure in this painful success, and in this personal -acquisition. The squatter, like Crusoe, takes pleasure in things, not -only because they are useful, but because they are his work. He feels -himself a man, whilst finding everywhere about him the sign of his labor -and thought; he is pleased: "I had everything so ready at my hand, that -it was a great pleasure to me to see all my goods in such order, and -especially to find my stock of all necessaries so great."[740] He -returns to his home willingly, because he is there a master and creator -of all the comforts he has around him; he takes his meals there gravely -and "like a king." - -Such are the pleasures of home. A guest enters there to fortify these -natural inclinations by the ascendancy of duty. Religion appears, as it -must, in emotions and visions: for this is not a calm soul; imagination -breaks out into it at the least shock, and carries it to the threshold -of madness. On the day when Robinson Crusoe saw the "print of a man's -naked foot on the shore," he stood "like one thunderstruck," and fled -"like a hare to cover"; his ideas are in a whirl, he is no longer master -of them; though he is hidden and barricaded, he thinks himself -discovered; he intends "to throw down the enclosures, turn all the tame -cattle wild into the woods, dig up the corn-fields." He has all kinds of -fancies; he asks himself if it is not the devil who has left this -footmark; and reasons upon it: - - -"I considered that the devil might have found out abundance of other -ways to have terrified me;... that, as I lived quite on the other side -of the island, he would never have been so simple to leave a mark in a -place, where it was ten thousand to one whether I should ever see it or -not, and in the sand too, which the first surge of the sea upon a high -wind would have defaced entirely. All this seemed inconsistent with the -thing itself, and with all notions we usually entertain of the subtlety -of the devil."[741] - - -In this impassioned and uncultivated mind, which for eight years had -continued without a thought, and as it were stupid, engrossed in manual -labor and bodily wants, belief took root, fostered by anxiety and -solitude. Amidst the risks of all-powerful nature, in this great -uncertain upheaving, a Frenchman, a man bred as we are, would cross his -arms gloomily, like a Stoic, or would wait like an Epicurean for the -return of physical cheerfulness. As for Crusoe, at the sight of the ears -of barley which have suddenly made their appearance, he weeps, and -thinks at first "that God had miraculously caused this grain to grow." -Another day he has a terrible vision: in a fever of excitement he -repents of his sins; he opens the Bible, and finds these words, which -"were very apt to his case": "Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will -deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me."[742] Prayer then rises to his -lips, true prayer, the converse of the heart with a God who answers, and -to whom we listen. He also read the words: "I will never leave thee nor -forsake thee."[743] "Immediately it occurred that these words were to -me. Why else should they be directed in such a manner, just at the -moment when I was mourning over my condition, as one forsaken of God and -man?"[744] Thenceforth spiritual life begins for him. To reach its very -foundation, the squatter needs only his Bible; with it he carries about -his faith, his theology, his worship; every evening he finds in it some -application to his present condition: he is no longer alone: God speaks -to him, and provides for his energy matter for a second labor to sustain -and complete the first. For he now undertakes against his heart the -combat which he has maintained against nature; he wants to conquer, -transform, ameliorate, pacify the one as he has done with the other. -Robinson Crusoe fasts, observes the Sabbath, three times a day he reads -the Scripture, and says: "I gave humble and hearty thanks... that he -(God) could fully make up to me the deficiencies of my solitary state, -and the want of human society by his presence, and the communication of -his grace to my soul, supporting, comforting, and encouraging me to -depend upon his providence, and hope for his eternal presence -hereafter."[745] In this disposition of mind there is nothing a man -cannot endure or do; heart and hand come to the assistance of the arms; -religion consecrates labor, piety feeds patience; and man, supported on -one side by his instincts, on the other by his belief, finds himself -able to clear the land, to people, to organize and civilize continents. - - - - -Section III--The Evolution of the Eighteenth Century Novel - - -It was by chance that De Foe, like Cervantes, lighted on a novel of -character: as a rule, like Cervantes, he only wrote novels of adventure; -he knew life better than the soul, and the general course of the world -better than the idiosyncrasies of an individual. But the impulse was -given, nevertheless, and now the rest followed. Chivalrous manners had -been blotted out, carrying with them the poetical and picturesque drama. -Monarchical manners had been blotted out, carrying with them the witty -and licentious drama. Citizen manners had been established, bringing -with them domestic and practical reading. Like society, literature -changed its course. Books were needed to read by the fireside, in the -country, amongst the family: invention and genius turn to this kind of -writing. The sap of human thought, abandoning the old dried-up branches, -flowed into the unseen boughs, which it suddenly made to grow and turn -green, and the fruits which it produced bear witness at the same time to -the surrounding temperature and the native stock. Two features are -common and proper to them. All these novels are character novels. -Englishmen, more reflective than others, more inclined to the melancholy -pleasure of concentrated attention and inner examination, find around -them human medals more vigorously struck, less worn by friction with the -world, whose uninjured face is more visible than that of others. All -these novels are works of observation, and spring from a moral design. -The men of this time, having fallen away from lofty imagination, and -being immersed in active life, desire to cull from books solid -instruction, just examples, powerful emotions, feelings of practical -admiration, and motives of action. - -We have but to look around; the same inclination begins on all sides the -same task. The novel springs up everywhere, and shows the same spirit -under all forms. At this time[746] appear the "Tatler, Spectator, -Guardian," and all those agreeable and serious essays which, like the -novel, look for readers at home, to supply them with examples and -provide them with counsels; which, like the novel, describe manners, -paint characters, and try to correct the public which, finally, like the -novel, turn spontaneously to fiction and portraiture. Addison, like a -delicate amateur of moral curiosities, complacently follows the amiable -oddities of his darling Sir Roger de Coverley, smiles, and with discreet -hand guides the excellent knight through all the awkward predicaments -which may bring out his rural prejudices and his innate generosity; -whilst by his side the unhappy Swift, degrading man to the instincts of -the beast of prey and beast of burden, tortures humanity by forcing it -to recognize itself in the execrable portrait of the Yahoo. Although -they differ, both authors are working at the same task. They only employ -imagination in order to study characters, and to suggest plans of -conduct. They bring down philosophy to observation and application. They -only dream of reforming or chastising vice. They are only moralists and -psychologists. They both confine themselves to the consideration of vice -and virtue; the one with calm benevolence, the other with savage -indignation. The same point of view produces the graceful portraits of -Addison and the slanderous pictures of Swift. Their successors do the -like, and all diversities of mood and talent do not hinder their works -from acknowledging a similar source, and concurring in the same effect. - -Two principal ideas can rule, and have ruled, morality in England. Now -it is conscience which is accepted as a sovereign; now it is instinct -which is taken for a guide. Now they have recourse to grace; now they -rely on nature. Now they wholly enslave everything to rule; now they -give everything up to liberty. The two opinions have successively -reigned in England; and the human frame, at once too vigorous and too -unyielding, successively justifies their ruin and their success. Some, -alarmed by the fire of an over-fed temperament, and by the energy of -unsocial passions, have regarded nature as a dangerous beast, and placed -conscience with all its auxiliaries, religion, law, education, -proprieties, as so many armed sentinels to repress its least outbreaks. -Others, repelled by the harshness of an incessant constraint, and by the -minuteness of a morose discipline, have overturned guards and barriers, -and let loose captive nature to enjoy the free air and sun, deprived of -which it was being choked. Both by their excesses have deserved their -defeats and raised up their adversaries. From Shakespeare to the -Puritans, from Milton to Wycherley, from Congreve to De Foe, from -Sheridan to Burke, from Wilberforce to Lord Byron, irregularity has -provoked constraint and tyranny revolt. This great contest of rule and -nature is developed again in the writings of Fielding and Richardson. - - - - -Section IV.--Samuel Richardson - - -"Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded: in a series of familiar letters from a -beautiful young damsel to her parents, published in order to cultivate -the principles of virtue and religion in the minds of the youth of both -sexes; a narrative which has its foundation in truth and at the same -time that it agreeably entertains by a variety of curious and affecting -incidents, is entirely divested of all those images which, in too many -pieces calculated for amusement only, tend to inflame the minds they -should instruct."[747] We can make no mistake, the title is clear. The -preachers rejoiced to see assistance coming to them from the very spot -where there was danger; and Dr. Sherlock, from his pulpit, recommended -the book. Men inquired about the author. He was a printer and -bookseller, a joiner's son, who, at the age of fifty, and in his leisure -moments, wrote in his shop parlor: a laborious man, who, by work and -good conduct, had raised himself to a competency and had educated -himself; delicate moreover, gentle, nervous, often ill, with a taste for -the society of women, accustomed to correspond for and with them, of -reserved and retired habits, whose only fault was a timid vanity. He was -severe in principles, and had acquired perspicacity by his rigor. In -reality, conscience is a lamp; a moralist is a psychologist; Christian -casuistry is a sort of natural history of the soul. He who through -anxiety of conscience busies himself in drawing out the good or evil -motives of his manifest actions, who sees vices and virtues at their -birth, who follows the gradual progress of culpable thoughts, and the -secret confirmation of good resolves, who can mark the force, nature, -and moment of temptation and resistance, 'holds in his hand almost all -the moving strings of humanity, and has only to make them vibrate -regularly to draw from them the most powerful harmonies. In this -consists the art of Richardson; he combines whilst he observes; his -meditation develops the ideas of the moralist. No one in this age has -equalled him in these detailed and comprehensive conceptions, which, -grouping to a single end the passions of thirty characters, twine and -color the innumerable threads of the whole canvas, to bring out a -figure, an action, or a lesson. - -This first novel is a flower--one of those flowers which only bloom in -a virgin imagination, at the dawn of original invention, whose charm and -freshness surpass all that the maturity of art and genius can afterwards -cultivate or arrange. Pamela is a child of fifteen, brought up by an old -lady, half servant and half favorite, who, after the death of her -mistress, finds herself exposed to the growing seductions and -persecutions of the young master of the house. She is a genuine child, -frank and artless as Goethe's Margaret, and of the same family. After -twenty pages, we involuntarily see this fresh rosy face, always -blushing, and her laughing eyes, so ready with tears. At the smallest -kindness she is confused; she knows not what to say; she changes color, -casts down her eyes, as she makes a curtsy; the poor innocent heart is -troubled or melts.[748] No trace of the bold vivacity, the nervous -coolness, which are the elements of the French girl. She is "a lambkin," -loved, loving, without pride, vanity, bitterness; timid, always humble. -When her master tries forcibly to kiss her, she is astonished; she will -not believe that the world is so wicked. "This gentleman has degraded -himself to offer freedoms to his poor servant."[749] She is afraid of -being too free with him; reproaches herself, when she writes to her -relatives, with saying too often _he_ and _him_ instead of His Honor; -"but it is his fault if I do, for why did he lose all his dignity with -me?"[750] No outrage exhausts her submissiveness: he has kissed her, and -took hold of her arm so rudely that it was "black and blue"; he has -tried worse, he has behaved like a ruffian and a knave. To cap all, he -slanders her circumstantially before the servants; he insults her -repeatedly, and provokes her to speak; she does not speak, will not fail -in her duty to her master. "It is for you, sir, to say what you please, -and for me only to say, God bless your honor!"[751] She falls on her -knees, and thanks him for sending her away. But in so much submission -what resistance! Everything is against her; he is her master; he is a -justice of the peace, secure against all intervention--a sort of -divinity to her, with all the superiority and authority of a feudal -prince. Moreover, he has the brutality of the times; he rates her, -speaks to her like a slave, and yet thinks himself very kind. He shuts -her up alone for several months, with "a wicked creature," his -housekeeper, who beats and threatens her. He tries on her influence of -fear, loneliness, surprise, money, gentleness. And what is more -terrible, her own heart is against her: she loves him secretly; her -virtues injure her; she dare not lie, when she most needs it;[752] and -piety keeps her from suicide, when that seems her only resource. One by -one the issues close around her, so that she loses hope, and the readers -of her adventures think her lost and ruined. But this native innocence -has been strengthened by Puritanic faith. She sees temptations in her -weaknesses; she knows that "Lucifer always is ready to promote his own -work and workmen";[753] she is penetrated by the great Christian idea, -which makes all souls equal before the common salvation and the final -judgment. She says: "My soul is of equal importance to the soul of a -princess, though my quality is inferior to that of the meanest -slave."[754] Wounded, stricken, abandoned, betrayed, still the knowledge -and thought of a happy or unhappy eternity are two defences which no -assault can carry. She knows it well; she has no other means of -explaining vice than to suppose them absent. She considers that wicked -Mrs Jewkes is an atheist. Belief in God, the heart's belief--not the -wording of the catechism, but the inner feeling, the habit of picturing -justice as ever living and ever present--this is the fresh blood which -the Reformation caused to flow into the veins of the old world, and -which alone could give it a new life and a new youth. - -She is, as it were, animated by this feeling; in the most perilous as in -the sweetest moments, this grand sentiment returns to her, so much is it -entwined with all the rest, so much has it multiplied its tendrils and -buried its roots in the innermost folds of her heart. Her young master -thinks of marrying her now, and wishes to be sure that she loves him. -She dares not say so, being afraid to give him a hold upon her. She is -greatly troubled by his kindness, and yet she must answer. Religion -comes to veil love in a sublime half-confession: "I fear not, sir, the -grace of God supporting me, that any acts of kindness would make me -forget what I owe to my virtue; but... my nature is too frank and open -to make me wish to be ungrateful; and if I should be taught a lesson I -never yet learnt, with what regret should I descend to the grave, to -think that I could not hate my undoer; and that, at the last great day, -I must stand up as an accuser of the poor unhappy soul, that I could -wish it in my power to save!"[755] He is softened and vanquished, -descends from that vast height where aristocratic customs placed him, -and thenceforth, day by day, the letters of the happy child record the -preparations for their marriage. Amidst this triumph and happiness she -continues humble, devoted, and tender; her heart is full, and gratitude -fills it from every source: "This foolish girl must be, after twelve -o'clock this day, as much his wife as if he were to marry a -duchess."[756] She "had the boldness to kiss his hand."[757] "My heart -is so wholly yours, that I am afraid of nothing but that I may be -forwarder than you wish."[758] Shall the marriage take place Monday, or -Tuesday, or Wednesday? She dare not say yes; she blushes and trembles: -there is a delightful charm in this timid modesty, these restrained -effusions. For a wedding present she obtains the pardon of the wicked -creatures who have ill-treated her: "I clasped my arms about his neck, -and was not ashamed to kiss him once, and twice, and three times, once -for each forgiven person."[759] Then they talk over their plans: she -shall remain at home; she will not frequent grand parties; she is not -fond of cards; she will keep the "family accounts," and distribute her -husband's charities; she will help the housekeeper in "the making -jellies, comfits, sweetmeats, marmalades, cordials, and to pot, and -candy, and preserve,"[760] to get up the linen; she will look after the -breakfast and dinner, especially when there are guests; she knows how to -carve; she will wait for her husband, who perhaps will be so good as now -and then to give her an hour or two of his "agreeable conversation," -"and will be indulgent to the impertinent overflowings of my grateful -heart."[761] In his absence she will read--"that will help to polish my -mind, and make me worthier of your company and conversation";[762] and -she will pray to God, she says, in order "that I may be enabled to -discharge my duty to my husband."[763] Richardson has sketched here the -portrait of the English wife--a good housekeeper and sedentary, studious -and obedient, loving and pious--and Fielding will finish it in his -"Amelia." - -Pamela's adventures describe a contest: the novel of Clarissa Harlowe -represents one still greater. Virtue, like force of every kind, is -proportioned according to its power of resistance; and we have only to -subject it to more violent tests, to give it its greatest prominence. -Let us look in passions of the English for foes capable of assailing -virtue, calling it forth, and strengthening it. The evil and the good of -the English character is a too strong will.[764] When tenderness and -lofty reason fail, the native energy becomes sternness, obstinacy, -inflexible tyranny, and the heart a den of malevolent passions, eager to -rave and tear each other. Against a family, having such passions, -Clarissa Harlowe has to struggle. Her father never would be "controlled, -nor yet persuaded."[765] He never "did give up one point he thought he -had a right to carry."[766] He has broken down the will of his wife, and -degraded her to the part of a dumb servant: he wishes to break down the -will of his daughter, and to give her for a husband a coarse and -heartless fool. He is the head of the family, master of all his people, -despotic and ambitious as a Roman patrician, and he wishes to found a -house. He is stern in these two harsh resolves, and inveighs against the -rebellious daughter. Above the outbursts of his voice we hear the loud -wrath of his son, a sort of plethoric, over-fed bull-dog, excited by his -greed, his youth, his fiery temper, and his premature authority; the -shrill outcry of the eldest daughter, a coarse, plain-looking girl, with -"a plump, high-fed face," exactingly jealous, prone to hate, who, being -neglected by Lovelace, revenges herself on her beautiful sister; the -churlish growling of the two uncles, narrow-minded old bachelors, -vulgar, pigheaded, through their notions of male authority; the grievous -importunities of the mother, the aunt, the old nurse, poor timid slaves, -reduced one by one to become instruments of persecution. The whole -family have bound themselves to favor Mr. Solmes's proposal to marry -Clarissa. They do not reason, they simply express their will. By dint of -repetition, only one idea has fixed itself in their brain, and they -become furious when anyone endeavors to oppose it. "Who at the long run -must submit?" asks her mother; "all of us to you, or you to all of -us?"[767] Clarissa offers to remain single, never to marry at all; she -consents to give up her property. But her family answered: "They had a -right to her obedience upon their own terms; her proposal was an -artifice, only to gain time; nothing but marrying Mr. Solmes should -do;... they should not be at rest till it was done."[768] It must be -done, they have promised it; it is a point of honor with them. A girl, a -young, inexperienced, insignificant girl, to resist men, old men, people -of position and consideration, nay, her whole family--monstrous! So they -persist, like brutes as they are, blindly, putting on the screw with all -their stupid hands together, not seeing that at every turn they bring -the child nearer to madness, dishonor, or death. She begs them, implores -them, one by one, with every argument and prayer; racks herself to -discover concessions, goes on her knees, faints, makes them weep. It is -all useless. The indomitable, crushing will oppresses her with its daily -increasing mass. There is no example of such a varied moral torture, so -incessant, so obstinate. They persist in it, as if it were a task, and -are vexed to find that she makes their task so long. They refuse to see -her, forbid her to write, are afraid of her tears. Her sister Arabella, -with the venomous bitterness of an offended, ugly woman, tries to make -her insults more stinging: - - -"'The _witty_, the _prudent_, nay the _dutiful_ and pious (so she -sneeringly pronounced the word) Clarissa Harlowe, should be so strangely -fond of a profligate man, that her parents were forced to lock her up, -in order to hinder her from running into his arms.' 'Let me ask you, my -dear,' said she, 'how you now keep your account of the disposition of -your time? How many hours in the twenty-four do you devote to your -needle? How many to your prayers? How many to letter-writing? And how -many to love? I doubt, I doubt, my little dear, the latter article is -like Aaron's rod, and swallows up all the rest.... You must therefore -bend or break, that is all, child.'[769]... - -"'What, not speak yet? Come, my sullen, silent dear, speak one word to -me. You must say two very soon to Mr. Solmes, I can tell you that.... -Well, well (insultingly wiping my averted face with her handkerchief)... -Then you think you may be brought to speak the two words.'"[770] - - -She continues thus: - - -"'_This_, Clary, is a pretty pattern enough. But _this_ is quite -charming?--And _this_, were I you, should be my wedding nightgown. But, -Clary, won't you have a velvet suit? It would cut a great figure in a -country church, you know. Crimson velvet, suppose! Such a fine -complexion as yours, how it would be set off by it!--And do you sigh, -love? Black velvet, so fair as you are, with those charming eyes, -gleaming through a wintry cloud, like an April sun. Does not Lovelace -tell you they are charming eyes?'"[771] - - -Then, when Arabella is reminded that, three months ago, she did not find -Lovelace so worthy of scorn, she nearly chokes with passion; she wants -to beat her sister, cannot speak, and says to her aunt, "with great -violence": "Let us go, madam; let us leave the creature so swell till she -burst with her own poison."[772] It reminds us of a pack of hounds in -full cry after a deer, which is caught, and wounded; whilst the pack -grow more eager and more ferocious, because they have tasted blood. - -At the last moment, when she thinks to escape them, a new chase begins, -more dangerous than the other. Lovelace has all the evil passions of -Harlowe, and in addition a genius which sharpens and aggravates them. -What; a character! How English! how different from the Don Juan of -Mozart or of Molière! Before everything he wishes to have the cruel -fair one in his power: then come the desire to bend others, a combative -spirit, a craving for triumph; only after all these come the senses. He -spares an innocent, young girl, because he knows she is easy to conquer, -and the grandmother "has besought him to be merciful to her. The -_Debellare superbos_ should be my motto,"[773] he writes to his friend -Belford; and in another letter he says, "I always considered opposition -and resistance as a challenge to do my worst."[774] At bottom, pride', -infinite, insatiable, senseless, is the mainspring, the only motive of -all his actions. He acknowledges "that he only wanted Cæsar's -outsetting to make a figure among his contemporaries,"[775] and that he -only stoops to private conquests out of mere whim. He declares that he -would not marry the first princess on earth, if he but thought she -balanced a minute in her choice of him or of an emperor. He is held to -be gay, brilliant, conversational; but this petulance of animal vigor is -only external; he is cruel, jests savagely, in cool blood, like a -hangman, about the harm which he has done or means to do. He reassures a -poor servant who is troubled at having given up Clarissa to him in the -following words: "The affair of Miss Betterton was a youthful -frolick.... I went into mourning for her, though abroad at the time--a -distinction I have ever paid to those worthy creatures who died in -child-bed by me.... Why this squeamishness, then, honest Joseph?"[776] -The English roisterers of those days threw the human body in the sewers. -One gentleman, a friend of Lovelace, "tricked a farmer's daughter, a -pretty girl, up to town,... drank her light-hearted,... then to the -play... then to the bagnio, ruined her; kept her on a fortnight or three -weeks; then left her to the mercy of the people of the bagnio (never -paying for anything), who stript her of all her cloaths, and because she -would not take on, threw her into prison, where she died in want and in -despair."[777] The rakes in France were only rascals,[778] here they -were villains; wickedness with them poisoned love. Lovelace hates -Clarissa even more than he loves her. He has a book in which he sets -down, he says, "all the family faults and the infinite trouble she -herself has given me. When my heart is soft, and all her own, I can but -turn to memoranda, and harden myself at once."[779] He is angry because -she dares to defend herself, says that he'll teach her to vie with him -in inventions, to make plots against and for her conqueror. It is a -struggle between them without truce or halting. Lovelace says of -himself: "What an industrious spirit have I! Nobody can say that I eat -the bread of idleness;... certainly, with this active soul, I should -have made a very great figure in whatever station I had filled."[780] He -assaults and besieges her, spends whole nights outside her house, gives -the Harlowes servants of his own, invents stories, introduces personages -under a false name, forges letters. There is no expense, fatigue, plot, -treachery which he will not undertake. All weapons are the same to him. -He digs and plans even when away, ten, twenty, fifty saps, which all -meet in the same mine. He provides against everything; he is ready for -everything; divines, dares everything, against all duty, humanity, -common-sense, in spite of the prayers of his friends, the entreaties of -Clarissa, his own remorse. Excessive will, here as with the Harlowes, -becomes an iron wheel, which twists out of shape and breaks to pieces -what it ought to bend, so that at last, by blind impetuosity, it is -broken by its own impetus, over the ruins it has made. - -Against such assaults what resources has Clarissa? A will as determined -as Lovelace's. She also is armed for war, and admits that she has as -much of her father's spirit as of her mother's gentleness. Though -gentle, though readily driven into Christian humility, she has pride; -she "had hoped to be an example to young persons" of her sex; she -possesses the firmness of a man, and above all a masculine -reflection.[781] What self-scrutiny! what vigilance! what minute and -indefatigable observation of her conduct, and that of others![782] No -action, or word, involuntary or other gesture of Lovelace is unobserved -by her, uninterpreted, unjudged, with the perspicacity and clearness of -mind of a diplomatist and a moralist! We must read these long -conversations, in which no word is used without calculation, genuine -duels daily renewed, with death, nay, with dishonor before her. She -knows it, is not disturbed, remains ever mistress of herself, never -exposes herself, is not dazed, defends every inch of ground, feeling -that all the world is on his side, no one for her, that she loses -ground, and will lose more, that she will fall, that she is falling. And -yet she bends not. What a change since Shakespeare! Whence comes this -new and original idea of woman? Who has encased these yielding and -tender innocents with such heroism and calculation? Puritanism -transferred to the laity. Clarissa "never looked upon any duty, much -less a voluntary vowed one, with indifference." She has passed her whole -life in looking at these duties. She has placed certain principles -before her, has reasoned upon them, applied them to the various -circumstances of life, has fortified herself on every point with maxims, -distinctions, and arguments. She has set round her, like bristling and -multiplied ramparts, a numberless army of inflexible precepts. We can -only reach her by turning over her whole mind and her whole past. This -is her force, and also her weakness; for she is so carefully defended by -her fortifications, that she is a prisoner; her principles are a snare -to her, and her virtue destroys her. She wishes to preserve too much -decorum. She refuses to apply to a magistrate, for it would make public -the family quarrels. She does not resist her father openly; that would -be against filial humility. She does not repel Solmes violently, like a -hound, as he is; it would be contrary to feminine delicacy. She will not -leave home with Miss Howe; that might injure the character of her -friend. She reproves Lovelace when he swears,[783] a good Christian -ought to protest against scandal. She is argumentative and pedantic, a -politician and a preacher; she wearies us, she does not act like a -woman. When a room is on fire, a young girl flies barefooted, and does -not do what Miss Clarissa does--ask for her slippers. I am very sorry -for it, but I say it with bated breath, the sublime Clarissa had a -little mind; her virtue is like the piety of devotees, literal and -over-nice. She does not carry us away, she has always her guide of -deportment in her hand; she does not discover her duties, but follows -instructions; she has not the audacity of great resolutions, she -possesses more conscience and firmness than enthusiasm and genius.[784] -This is the advantage of morality pushed to an extreme, no matter what -the school or the aim is. By dint of regulating man, we narrow him. - -Poor Richardson, unsuspiciously, has been at pains to set the thing -forth in broad light, and has created Sir Charles Grandison "a man of -true honor." I cannot say whether this model has converted many. There -is nothing so insipid as an edifying hero. This Sir Charles is as -correct as an automaton; he passes his life in weighing his duties, and -"with an air of gallantry."[785] When he goes to visit a sick person, he -has scruples about going on a Sunday, but reassures his conscience by -saying; "I am afraid I must borrow of the Sunday some hours on my -journey; but visiting the sick is an act of mercy."[786] Would anyone -believe that such a man could fall in love? Such is the case, however, -but in a manner of his own. Thus he writes to his betrothed: "And now, -loveliest and dearest of women, allow me to expect the honour of a line, -to let me know how much of the tedious month from last Thursday you will -be so good to abate.... My utmost gratitude will ever be engaged by the -condescension, whenever you shall distinguish the day of the year, -distinguished as it will be to the end of my life that shall give me the -greatest blessing of it and confirm me--forever yours, Charles -Grandison."[787] A wax figure could not be more proper. All is in the -same taste. There are eight wedding-coaches, each with four horses; Sir -Charles is attentive to old people; at table, the gentlemen, each with a -napkin under his arm, wait upon the ladies; the bride is ever on the -point of fainting; he throws himself at her feet with the utmost -politeness: "What, my love! In compliment to the best of parents resume -your usual presence of mind. I, else, who shall glory before a thousand -witnesses in receiving the honor of your hand, shall be ready to regret -that I acquiesced so cheerfully with the wishes of those parental -friends for a public celebration."[788] Courtesies begin, compliments -fly about; a swarm of proprieties flutters around, like a troop of -little love-cherubs, and their devout wings serve to sanctify the -blessed tendernesses of the happy couple. Tears abound; Harriet bemoans -the fate of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, whilst Sir Charles, "in a soothing, -tender, and respectful manner, put his arm round me, and taking my own -handkerchief, unresisted, wiped away the tears as they fell on my cheek. -Sweet humanity! Charming sensibility! Check not the kindly gush. -Dewdrops of heaven! (wiping away my tears, and kissing the -handkerchief), dewdrops of heaven, from a mind like that heaven mild and -gracious!"[789] It is too much; we are surfeited, we say to ourselves -that these phrases should be accompanied by a mandoline. The most -patient of mortals feels himself sick at heart when he has swallowed a -thousand pages of his sentimental twaddle, and all the milk and water of -love. To crown all, Sir Charles, seeing Harriet embrace her rival, -sketches the plan of a little temple, dedicated to Friendship, to be -built on the very spot; it is the triumph of mythological bad taste. At -the end, bouquets shower down as at the opera; all the characters sing -in unison a chorus in praise of Sir Charles, and his wife says: "But -could he be otherwise than the best of husbands, who was the most -dutiful of sons, who is the most affectionate of brothers; the most -faithful of friends: who is good upon principle in every relation of -life!"[790] He is great, he is generous, delicate, pious, -irreproachable; he has never done a mean action, nor made a wrong -gesture. His conscience and his wig are unsullied. Amen! Let us canonize -him, and stuff him with straw. - -Nor, my dear Richardson, have you, great as you are, exactly all the wit -which is necessary in order to have enough. By seeking to serve -morality, you prejudice it. Do you know the effect of these edifying -advertisements which you stick on at the beginning or end of your books? -We are repelled, feel our emotion diminish, see the black-gowned -preacher come snuffling out of the worldly dress which he had assumed -for an hour; we are annoyed by the deceit. Insinuate morality, but do -not inflict it. Remember there is a substratum of rebellion in the human -heart, and that if we too openly set ourselves to wall it up with -discipline, it escapes and looks for free air outside. You print at the -end of "Pamela" the catalogue of the virtues of which she is an example; -the reader yawns, forgets his pleasure, ceases to believe, and asks -himself if the heavenly heroine was not an ecclesiastical puppet, -trotted out to give him a lesson. You relate at the end of "Clarissa -Harlowe" the punishment of all the wicked, great and small, sparing -none; the reader laughs, says that things happen otherwise in this -world, and bids you put in here like Arnolphe,[791] a description "of -the cauldrons in which the souls of those who have led evil lives are to -boil in the infernal regions. We are not such fools as you take us for. -There is no need that you should shout to make us afraid; that you -should write out the lesson by itself, and in capitals, in order to -distinguish it. We love art, and you have a scant amount of it; we want -to be pleased, and you don't care to please us. You copy all the -letters, detail the conversations, tell everything, prune nothing; your -novels fill many volumes; spare us, use the scissors; be a skilled -literary workman, not a registrar of the Rolls office. Do not pour out -your library of documents on the high-road. Art is different from -nature; the latter draws out, the first condenses. Twenty letters of -twenty pages do not display a character; but one brilliant saying does. -You are weighed down by your conscience, which compels you to move step -by step and slow; you are afraid of your genius; you rein it in; you -dare not use loud cries and free speech at the very moment when passion -is most virulent; you flounder into emphatic and well-written -phrases;[792] you will not show nature as it is, as Shakespeare shows -it, when, stung by passion as by a hot iron, it cries out, rears, and -bounds over your barriers. You cannot love it, and your punishment is -that you cannot see it."[793] - - - - -Section V.--Henry Fielding - - -Fielding protests on behalf of nature; and certainly, to see his actions -and his persons, we think him made expressly for that purpose, a robust, -strongly built man, above six feet high, sanguine, with an excess of -good humor and animal spirits, loyal, generous, affectionate, and brave, -but imprudent, extravagant, a drinker, a roisterer, ruined as his father -was before him, having seen the ups and downs of life, not always clean, -but always jolly. Lady Wortley Montague says of him: "His happy -constitution made him forget everything when he was before a venison -pasty, or over a flask of champagne."[794] Natural impulse, somewhat -coarse but generous, sways him. It does not restrain itself, it flows -freely, it follows its own bent, not choice in its course, not confining -itself to banks, miry but copious, and in a broad channel. From the -outset an abundance of health and physical impetuosity plunges Fielding -into gross jovial excess, and the immoderate sap of youth bubbles up in -him until he marries and becomes ripe in years. He is gay, and seeks -gayety; he is careless, and has not even literary vanity. One day -Garrick begged him to cut down an awkward scene, and told him "that a -repulse would flurry him so much, he should not be able to do justice to -the part. If the scene is not a good one, let them find that out," -said Fielding; just as was foreseen, the house made a violent uproar, -and the performer tried to quell it by retiring to the green-room, where -the author was supporting his spirits with a bottle of champagne. "What -is the matter, Garrick? are they hissing me now? Yes, just the same -passage that I wanted you to retrench. Oh," replied the author, "I did -not give them credit for it: they have found it out, have they?"[795] In -this easy manner he took all mischances. He went ahead without feeling -the bruises much, like a confident man, whose heart expands and whose -skin is thick. When he inherited some money he feasted, gave dinners to -his neighbors, kept a pack of hounds and a lot of magnificent lackeys in -yellow livery. In three years he had spent it all; but courage remained, -he finished his law studies, prepared a voluminous Digest of the -Statutes at Large, in two folio volumes, which remained unpublished, -became a magistrate, destroyed bands of robbers, and earned in the most -insipid of labors "the dirtiest money upon earth." Disgust, weariness -did not affect him; he was too solidly made to have the nerves of a -woman. Force, activity, invention, tenderness, all overflowed in him. He -had a mother's fondness for his children, adored his wife, became almost -mad when he lost her, found no other consolation than to weep with his -maid-servant, and ended by marrying that good and honest girl, that he -might give a mother to his children; the last trait in the portrait of -this valiant plebeian heart, quick in telling all, having no dislikes, -but all the best parts of man except delicacy. We read his books as we -drink a pure, wholesome, and rough wine, which cheers and fortifies us, -and which wants nothing but bouquet. - -Such a man was sure to dislike Richardson. He who loves expansive and -liberal nature, drives from him like foes the solemnity, sadness, and -pruderies of the Puritans. His first literary work was to caricature -Richardson. His first hero, Joseph, is the brother of Pamela, and -resists the proposals of his mistress, as Pamela does those of her -master. The temptation, touching in the case of a girl, becomes comical -in that of a young man, and the tragic turns into the grotesque. -Fielding laughs heartily, like Rabelais, or Scarron. He imitates the -emphatic style; ruffles the petticoats and bobs the wigs; upsets with -his rude jests all the seriousness of conventionality. If we are -refined, or simply well dressed, don't let us go along with him. He will -take us to prisons, inns, dunghills, the mud of the roadside; he will -make us flounder among rollicking, scandalous, vulgar adventures, and -crude pictures. He has plenty of words at command, and his sense of -smell is not delicate. Mr. Joseph Andrews, after leaving Lady Booby, is -felled to the ground, left naked, in a ditch, for dead; a stage-coach -came by; a lady objects to receive a naked man inside; and the -gentlemen, "though there were several greatcoats about the coach," could -not spare them; the coachman, who had two greatcoats spread under him, -refused to lend either, lest they should be made bloody.[796] This is -but the outset, judge of the rest. Joseph and his friend, the good -Parson Adams, give and receive a vast number of cuffs; blows resound; -cans of pig's blood are thrown at their heads; dogs tear their clothes -to pieces; they lose their horse. Joseph is so good-looking, that he is -assailed by the maid-servant, "obliged to take her in his arms and to -shut her out of the room";[797] they have never any money; they are -threatened with being sent to prison. Yet they go on in a merry fashion, -like their brothers in Fielding's other novels, Captain Booth and Tom -Jones. These hailstorms of blows, these tavern brawls, this noise of -broken warming-pans and basins flung at heads, this medley of incidents -and down-pouring of mishaps, combine to make the most joyous music. All -these honest folk fight well, walk well, eat well, drink still better. -It is a pleasure to observe these potent stomachs; roast-beef goes down -into them as to its natural place. Let us not say that these good arms -practise too much on their neighbors' skins: the neighbors' hides are -tough, and always heal quickly. Decidedly life is a good thing, and we -will go along with Fielding, smiling by the way, with a broken head and -a bellyful. - -Shall we merely laugh? There are many things to be seen on our journey: -the sentiment of nature is a talent, like the understanding of certain -rules; and Fielding, turning his back on Richardson, opens up a domain -as wide as that of his rival. What we call nature is this brood of -secret passions, often malicious, generally vulgar, always blind, which -tremble and fret within us, ill-covered by the cloak of decency and -reason under which we try to disguise them; we think we lead them, and -they lead us; we think our actions our own, they are theirs. They are so -many, so strong, so interwoven, so ready to rise, break forth, be -carried away, that their movements elude all our reasoning and our -grasp. This is Fielding's domain; his art and pleasure, like Molière's -are in lifting a corner of the cloak; his characters parade with a -rational air, and suddenly, through a vista, the reader perceives the -inner turmoil of vanities, follies, lusts, and secret rancors which make -them move. Thus, when Tom Jones's arm is broken, philosopher Square -comes to console him by an application of stoical maxims; but in proving -to him that "pain was the most contemptible thing in the world," he -bites his tongue, and lets slip an oath or two; whereupon Parson -Thwackum, his opponent and rival, assures him that his mishap is a -warning of Providence, and both in consequence are nearly coming to -blows.[798] In the "Life of Mr. Jonathan Wild," the prison chaplain -having aired his eloquence, and entreated the condemned man to repent, -accepts from him a bowl of punch, because "it is nowhere spoken against -in Scripture"; and after drinking, repeats his last sermon against the -pagan philosophers. Thus unveiled, natural impulse has a grotesque -appearance; the people advance gravely, cane in hand, but in our eyes -they are all naked. Understand, they are every whit naked; and some of -their attitudes are very lively. Ladies will do well not to enter here. -This powerful genius, frank and joyous, loves boorish feasts like -Rubens; the red faces, beaming with good humor, sensuality, and energy, -move about his pages, flutter hither and thither, and jostle each other, -and their overflowing instincts break forth in violent actions. Out of -such he creates his chief characters. He has none more lifelike than -these, more broadly sketched in bold and dashing outline, with a more -wholesome color. If sober people like Allworthy remain in a corner of -his vast canvas, characters full of natural impulse, like Western, stand -out with a relief and brightness, never seen since Falstaff. Western is -a country squire, a good fellow in the main, but a drunkard, always in -the saddle, full of oaths, ready with coarse language, blows, a sort of -dull carter, hardened and excited by the brutality of the race, the -wildness of a country life, by violent exercise, by abuse of coarse food -and strong drink, full of English and rustic pride and prejudice, having -never been disciplined by the constraint of the world, because he lives -in the country; nor by that of education, since he can hardly read; nor -of reflection, since he cannot put two ideas together; nor of authority, -because he is rich and a justice of the peace, and given up, like a -noisy and creaking weathercock, to every gust of passion. When -contradicted, he grows red, foams at the mouth, wishes to thrash -someone. "Doff thy clothes." They are even obliged to stop him by main -force. He hastens to go to Allworthy to complain of Tom Jones, who has -dared to faff in love with his daughter: "It's well for un I could not -get at un: I'd a licked un; I'd a spoiled his caterwauling; I'd a taught -the son of a whore to meddle with meat for his master. He shan't ever -have a morsel of meat of mine, or a varden to buy it. If she will ha un, -one smock shall be her portion. I'd sooner give my estate to the sinking -fund, that it may be sent to Hanover, to corrupt our nation with."[799] -Allworthy says he is very sorry for it: "Pox o' your sorrow. It will do -me abundance of good, when I have lost my only child, my poor Sophy that -was the joy of my heart, and all the hope and comfort of my age. But I -am resolved I will turn her out o' doors; she shall beg, and starve, and -rot in the streets. Not one hapenny, not a hapenny shall she ever hae o' -mine. The son of a bitch was always good at finding a hare sitting and -be rotted to'n; I little thought what puss he was looking after. But it -shall be the worst he ever vound in his life. She shall be no better -than carrion; the skin o'er it is all he shall ha, and zu you may tell -un."[800] His daughter tries to reason with him; he storms. Then she -speaks of tenderness and obedience; he leaps about the room for joy, and -tears come to his eyes. Then she recommences her prayers; he grinds his -teeth, clenches his fist, stamps his feet; "I am determined upon this -match, and ha him[801] you shall, damn me, if shat unt. Damn me, if shat -unt, though dost hang thyself the next morning."[802] He can find no -reason; he can only tell her to be a good girl. He contradicts himself, -defeats his own plans; is like a blind bull, which butts to right and -left, doubles on his path, touches no one, and paws the ground. At the -least sound he rushes head foremost, offensively, not knowing why. His -ideas are only starts or transports of flesh and blood. Never has the -animal so completely covered and absorbed the man. It makes him -grotesque; he is so natural and so brute-like: he allows himself to be -led, and speaks like a child. He Says: "I don't know how 'tis, but, -Allworthy, you make me do always just as you please; and yet I have as -good an estate as you, and am in the commission of the peace just as -yourself."[803] Nothing holds or lasts with him; he is impulsive in -everything; he lives but for the moment. Rancor, interest, no passions -of long continuance affect him. He embraces people whom he just before -wanted to knock down. Everything with him disappears in the fire of the -momentary passion, which floods his brain, as it were, in sudden waves, -and drowns the rest. Now that he is reconciled to Tom Jones, he cannot -rest until Tom marries his daughter: "To her, boy, to her, go to her. -That's it, little honeys, O that's it. Well, what, is it all over? Hath -she appointed the day, boy? What, shall it be to-morrow or next day? I -shan't be put off a minute longer than next day; I am resolved.... I -tell thee it is all flimflam. Zoodikers! she'd have the wedding to-night -with all her heart. Would'st not, Sophy?... Where the devil is -Allworthy;... Harkee, Allworthy, I'll bet thee five pounds to a crown, -we have a boy to-morrow nine months. But prithee, tell me what wut ha? -Burgundy, champagne, or what? For please Jupiter, we'll make a night -on't."[804] And when he becomes a grandfather, he spends his time in the -nursery, "where he declares the tattling of his little granddaughter, -who is above a year and a half old, is sweeter music than the finest cry -of dogs in England."[805] This is pure nature, and no one has displayed -it more free, more impetuous, ignoring all rule, more abandoned to -physical passions than Fielding. - -It is not because he loves it like the great impartial artists, -Shakespeare and Goethe; on the contrary, he is eminently a moralist; and -it is one of the great marks of the age, that reformatory designs are as -decided with him as with others. He gives his fictions a practical aim, -and commends them by saying that the serious and tragic tone sours, -whilst the comic style disposes men to be "more full of good humour and -benevolence."[806] Moreover, he satirizes vice; he looks upon the -passions not as simple forces, but as objects of approbation or blame. -At every step he suggests moral conclusions; he wants us to take sides; -he discusses, excuses, or condemns. He writes an entire novel in an -ironical style,[807] to attack and destroy rascality and treason. He is -more than a painter, he is a judge, and the two parts agree in him. For -a psychology produces a morality: where there is an idea of man, there -is an ideal of man; and Fielding, who has seen in man nature as opposed -to rule, praises in man nature as opposed to rule; so that, according to -him, virtue is but an instinct. Generosity in his eyes is, like all -sources of action, a primitive inclination; like all sources of action, -it flows on receiving no good from catechisms and phrases; like all -sources of action, it flows at times too copious and quick. Take it as -it is, and do not try to oppress it under a discipline, or to replace it -by an argument. Mr. Richardson, your heroes, so correct, constrained, so -carefully made up with their impedimenta of maxims, are cathedral -vergers, of use but to drone in a procession. Square or Thwackum, your -tirades on philosophical or Christian virtue are mere words, only fit to -be heard after dinner. Virtue is in the mood and the blood; a gossipy -education and cloistral severity do not assist it. Give me a man, not a -show-manikin or a mere machine, to spout phrases. My hero is the man who -is born generous, as a dog is born affectionate, and a horse brave. I -want a living heart, full of warmth and force, not a dry pedant, bent on -squaring all his actions. This ardent and impulsive character will -perhaps carry the hero too far; I pardon his escapades. He will get -drunk unawares; he will pick up a girl on his way; he will hit out with -a zest; he will not refuse a duel; he will suffer a fine lady to -appreciate him, and will accept her purse; he will be imprudent, will -injure his reputation, like Tom Jones; he will be a bad manager, and -will get into debt, like Captain Booth. Pardon him for having muscles, -nerves, senses, and that overflow of anger or ardor which urges forward -animals of a noble breed. But he will let himself be beaten till the -blood flows, before he betrays a poor gamekeeper. He will pardon his -mortal enemy readily, from sheer kindness, and will send him money -secretly. He will be loyal to his mistress, and will be faithful to her, -spite of all offers, in the worst destitution, and without the least -hope of winning her. He will be liberal with his purse, his trouble, his -sufferings, his blood; he will not boast of it; he will have neither -pride, vanity, affectation, nor dissimulation; bravery and kindness will -abound in his heart, as good water in a good spring. He may be stupid -like Captain Booth, a gambler even, extravagant, unable to manage his -affairs, liable one day through temptation to be unfaithful to his wife; -but he will be so sincere in his repentance, his error will be so -involuntary, he will be so carefully, genuinely tender, that she will -love him exceedingly,[808] and in good truth he will deserve it. He will -be a nurse to her when she is ill, behave as a mother to her; he will -himself see to her lying-in; he will feel towards her the adoration of a -lover, always, before all the world, even before Miss Matthews, who -seduced him. He says, "If I had the world, I was ready to lay it at my -Amelia's feet; and so, heaven knows, I would ten thousand worlds."[809] -He weeps like a child on thinking of her; he listens to her like a -little child. "I believe I am able to recollect much the greatest part -(of what she uttered); for the impression is never to be effaced from my -memory."[810] He dressed himself "with all the expedition imaginable, -singing, whistling, hurrying, attempting by every method to banish -thought,"[811] and galloped away, whilst his wife was asleep, because he -cannot endure her tears. In this soldier's body, under this brawler's -thick breastplate, there is a true woman's heart, which melts, which a -trifle disturbs, when she whom he loves is in question; timid in its -tenderness, inexhaustible in devotion, in trust, in self-denial, in the -communication of its feelings. When a man possesses this, overlook the -rest; with all his excesses and his follies, he is better than your -well-dressed devotees. - -To this we reply: You do well to defend nature, but let it be on -condition that you suppress nothing. One thing is wanting in your -strongly built folks--refinement; delicate dreams, enthusiastic -elevation, and trembling delicacy exist in nature equally with coarse -vigor, noisy hilarity, and frank kindness. Poetry is true, like prose; -and if there are eaters and boxers, there are also knights and artists. -Cervantes, whom you imitate, and Shakespeare, whom you recall, had this -refinement, and they have painted it; in this abundant harvest, which -you have gathered so plentifully, you have forgotten the flowers. We -tire at last of your fisticuffs and tavern bills. You flounder too -readily in cow-houses, among the ecclesiastical pigs of Parson -Trulliber. We would fain see you have more regard for the modesty of -your heroines; wayside accidents raise their tuckers too often; and -Fanny, Sophia, Mrs. Heartfree, may continue pure, yet we cannot help -remembering the assaults which have lifted their petticoats. You are so -coarse yourself, that you are insensible to what is atrocious. You -persuade Tom Jones falsely, yet for an instant, that Mrs. Waters, whom -he has made his mistress, is his own mother, and you leave the reader -during a long time buried in the shame of this supposition. And then you -are obliged to become unnatural in order to depict love; you can give -but constrained letters; the transports of your Tom Jones are only the -author's phrases. For want of ideas he declaims odes. You are only aware -of the impetuosity of the senses, the upwelling of the blood, the -effusion of tenderness, but you are unacquainted with nervous exaltation -and poetic rapture. Man, such as you conceive him, is a good buffalo; -and perhaps he is the hero required by a people which gives itself the -nickname "John Bull." - - - - -Section VI.--Tobias Smollett - - -At all events this hero is powerful and formidable; and if at this -period we collect in our mind the scattered features of the faces which -the novel-writers have made pass before us, we will feel ourselves -transported into a half-barbarous world, and to a race whose energy must -terrify or revolt all our gentleness. Now let us open a more literal -copyist of life: they are doubtless all such, and declare--Fielding -amongst them--that if they imagine a feature, it is because they have -seen it; but Smollett has this advantage, that, being mediocre, he -chalks out the figures tamely, prosaically, without transforming them by -the illumination of genius: the joviality of Fielding and the rigor of -Richardson are not there to light up or ennoble the pictures. Let us -observe carefully Smollett's manners; let us listen to the confessions -of this imitator of Le Sage, who reproaches that author with being gay, -and jesting with the mishaps of his hero. He says: "The disgraces of Gil -Blas are, for the most part, such as rather excite mirth than -compassion: he himself laughs at them, and his transitions from distress -to happiness, or at least ease, are so sudden that neither the reader -has time to pity him, nor himself to be acquainted with affliction. This -conduct... prevents that generous indignation which ought to animate the -reader against the sordid and vicious disposition of the world. I have -attempted to represent modest merit struggling with every difficulty to -which a friendless orphan is exposed from his own want of experience as -well as from the selfishness, envy, malice, and base indifference of -mankind."[812] We hear no longer merely showers of blows, but also knife -and sword thrusts, as well as pistol shots. In such a world, when a girl -goes out she runs the risk of coming back a woman; and when a man goes -out, he runs the risk of not coming back at all. The women bury their -nails in the faces of the men; the well-bred gentlemen, like Peregrine -Pickle, whip other gentlemen soundly, Having deceived a husband, who -refuses to demand satisfaction, Peregrine calls his two servants, "and -ordered them to duck him in the canal."[813] Misrepresented by a curate, -whom he has horsewhipped, he gets an innkeeper "to rain a shower of -blows upon his (the parson's) carcase," who also "laid hold of one of -his ears with his teeth, and bit it unmercifully."[814] I could quote -from memory a score more of outrages begun or completed. Savage insults; -broken jaws, men on the ground beaten with sticks, the churlish sourness -of conversations, the coarse brutality of jests, give an idea of a pack -of bull-dogs eager to fight each other, who, when they begin to get -lively, still amuse themselves by tearing away pieces of flesh. A -Frenchman can hardly endure the story of "Roderick Random," or rather -that of Smollett, when he is on board a man-of-war. He is pressed, that -is to say, carried off by force, knocked down, attacked with "cudgels -and drawn cutlasses, pinioned like a malefactor," and rolled on board, -covered with blood, before the sailors, who laugh at his wounds; and one -of them, "seeing my hair clotted together with blood, as it were, into -distinct cords, took notice that my bows were manned with the red ropes, -instead of my side."[815] Roderick "desired one of his fellow-captives, -who was unfettered, to take a handkerchief out of his pocket, and tie it -round his head to stop the bleeding; he (the fellow) pulled out my -handkerchief, 'tis true, but sold it before my face to a bum-boat woman -for a quart of gin." Captain Oakum declares he will have no more sick in -his ship, ordered them to be brought on the quarterdeck, commanded that -some should receive a round dozen; some spitting blood, others fainting -from weakness, whilst not a few became delirious; many died, and of the -sixty-one sick, only a dozen remained alive.[816] To get into this dark, -suffocating hospital, swarming with vermin, it is necessary to creep -under the close hammocks, and forcibly separate them with the shoulders, -before the doctor can reach his patients. Read the story of Miss -Williams, a wealthy young girl, of good family, reduced to become a -prostitute, robbed, hungry, sick, shivering, strolling about the streets -in the long winter nights, amongst "a number of naked wretches reduced -to rags and filth, huddled together like swine, in the corner of a dark -alley," who depend "upon the addresses of the lowest class, and are fain -to allay the rage of hunger and cold with gin; degenerate into a brutal -insensibility, rot and die upon a dunghill."[817] She was thrown into -Bridewell, where, she says, "in the midst of a hellish crew I was -subjected to the tyranny of a barbarian, who imposed upon me tasks that -I could not possibly perform, and then punished my incapacity with the -utmost rigour and inhumanity. I was often whipped into a swoon, and -lashed out of it, during which miserable intervals I was robbed by my -fellow-prisoners of everything about me, even to my cap, shoes, and -stockings: I was not only destitute of necessaries, but even of food, so -that my wretchedness was extreme." One night she tried to hang herself. -Two of her fellow-prisoners, who watched her, prevented her. "In the -morning my attempt was published among the prisoners, and punished with -thirty stripes, the pain of which co-operating with my disappointment -and disgrace, bereft me of my senses, and threw me into an ectasy of -madness, during which I tore the flesh from my bones with my teeth, and -dashed my head against the pavement."[818] In vain we turn our eyes on -the hero of the novel, Roderick Random, to repose a little after such a -spectacle. He is sensual and coarse, like Fielding's heroes, but not -good and jovial as these. Pride and resentment are the two principal -points in his character. The generous wine of Fielding, in Smollett's -hands becomes common brandy. His heroes are selfish; they revenge -themselves barbarously. Roderick oppresses the faithful Strap, and ends -by marrying him to a prostitute. Peregrine Pickle attacks by a most -brutal and cowardly plot the honor of a young girl, whom he wants to -marry, and who is the sister of his best friend. We get to hate his -rancorous, concentrated, obstinate character, which is at once that of -an absolute king accustomed to please himself at the expense of others' -happiness, and that of a boor with only the varnish of education. We -should be uneasy at living near him; he is good for nothing but to shock -or tyrannize over others. We avoid him as we would a dangerous beast; -the sudden rush of animal passion and the force of his firm will are so -overpowering in him, that when he fails he becomes outrageous. He draws -his sword against an innkeeper; he must bleed him, grows mad. -Everything, even to his generosities, is spoilt by pride; all, even to -his gayeties, is clouded by harshness. Peregrine's amusements are -barbarous, and those of Smollett are after the same style. He -exaggerates caricature; he thinks to amuse us by showing up mouths -gaping to the ears, and noses half a foot long; he magnifies a national -prejudice or a professional trick until it absorbs the whole character; -he jumbles together the most repulsive oddities--a Lieutenant Lismahago -half roasted by Red Indians; old jacktars who pass their life in -shouting and travestying all sorts of ideas into their nautical jargon; -old maids as ugly as monkeys, as fleshless as skeletons, and as sour as -vinegar; eccentric people steeped in pedantry, hypochondria, -misanthropy, and silence. Far from sketching them slightly, as Le Sage -does in "Gil Bias," he brings into prominent relief each disagreeable -feature, overloads it with details, without considering whether they are -too numerous, without recognizing that they are excessive, without -feeling that they are odious, without perceiving that they are -disgusting. The public whom he addresses is on a level with his energy -and his coarseness; and in order to move such nerves, a writer cannot -strike too hard.[819] - -But, at the same time, to civilize this barbarity and to control this -violence, a faculty appears, common to all, authors and public: serious -reflection intent to observe character. Their eyes are turned toward the -inner man. They note exactly the individual peculiarities, and stamp -them with such a precise mark that their personage becomes a type, which -cannot be forgotten. They are psychologists. The title of a comedy of -old Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," indicates how old and -national this taste is amongst them. Smollett writes a whole novel, -"Humphrey Clinker," on this idea. There is no action in it; the book is -a collection of letters written during a tour in Scotland and England. -Each of the travellers, after his bent of mind, judges variously of the -same objects. A generous, grumbling old gentleman, who employs his spare -time by thinking himself ill, a crabbed old maid in search of a husband; -a lady's maid, simple and vain, who bravely bungles her spelling; a -series of eccentric people, who one after another bring their oddities -on the scene--such are the characters: the pleasure of the reader -consists in recognizing their humor in their style, in foreseeing their -follies, in perceiving the thread which pulls each of their motions, in -verifying the connection between their ideas and their actions. When we -push this study of human peculiarities to excess we will come upon the -origin of Sterne's talent. - - - - -Section VII.--Laurence Sterne - - -Let us figure to ourselves a man who goes on a journey, with a pair of -marvellously magnifying spectacles on his eyes. A hair on his hand, a -speck on a table-cloth, a fold of a moving garment, will interest him: -at this rate he will not go very far; he will go six steps in a day, and -will not quit his room. So Sterne writes four volumes to record the -birth of his hero. He perceives the infinitely little, and describes the -imperceptible. A man parts his hair on one side; this, according to -Sterne, depends on his whole character, which is of a piece with that of -his father, his mother, his uncle, and his whole ancestry; it depends on -the structure of his brain, which depends on the circumstances of his -conception and his birth, and these on the hobbies of his parents, the -humor of the moment, the talk of the preceding hour, the difficulties of -the parson, a cut thumb, twenty knots made on a bag; I know not how many -things besides. The six or eight volumes of "Tristram Shandy" are -employed in summing them up; for the smallest and dullest incident, a -sneeze, a badly shaven beard, drags after it an inextricable network of -inter-involved causes, which from above, below, right and left, by -invisible prolongations and ramifications, sink into the depths of a -character and in the remote vistas of events. Instead of extracting, -like the novel-writers, the principal root, Sterne, with marvellous -devices and success, devotes himself to drawing out the tangled skein of -numberless threads, which are sinuously immersed and dispersed, so as to -suck in from all sides the sap and the life. Slender, intertwined, -buried as they are, he finds them; he extricates them without breaking, -brings them to the light; and there, where we fancied but a stalk, we -see with wonder the underground mass and vegetation of the multiplied -fibres and fibrils, by which the visible plant grows and is supported. - -This is truly a strange talent, made up of blindness and insight, which -resembles those diseases of the retina in which the over-excited nerve -becomes at once dull and penetrating, incapable of seeing what the most -ordinary eyes perceive, capable of observing what the most piercing -sight misses. In fact, Sterne is a sickly and eccentric humorist, a -clergyman and a libertine, a fiddler and a philosopher, who preferred -"whining over a dead ass to relieving a living mother,"[820] selfish in -act, selfish in word, who in everything takes a contrary view of himself -and of others. His book is like a great storehouse of articles of _vertu_, -where curiosities of all ages, kinds, and countries lie jumbled in a -heap; forms of excommunication, medical consultations, passages of -unknown or imaginary authors, scraps of scholastic erudition, strings of -absurd histories, dissertations, addresses to the reader. His pen leads -him; he has neither sequence nor plan; nay, when he lights upon anything -orderly, he purposely contorts it; with a kick he sends the pile of -folios next to him over the history he has commenced, and dances on the -top of them. He delights in disappointing us, in sending us astray by -interruptions and delays.[821] Gravity displeases him, he treats it as a -hypocrite: to his liking folly is better, and he paints himself in -Yorick. In a well-constituted mind ideas march one after another, with -uniform motion or acceleration; in this odd brain they jump about like a -rout of masks at a carnival, in troops, each dragging his neighbor by -the feet, head, coat, amidst the most general and unforeseen hubbub. All -his little lopped phrases are somersaults; we pant as we read. The tone -is never for two minutes the same; laughter comes, then the beginning of -emotion, then scandal, then wonder, then sensibility, then laughter -again. The mischievous joker pulls and entangles the threads of all our -feelings, and makes us go higher, thither, in a whimsical manner, like -puppets. Amongst these various threads there are two which he pulls more -willingly than the rest. Like all men who have nerves, he is subject to -sensibility; not that he is really kindly and tender-hearted; on the -contrary, his life is that of an egotist; but on certain days he must -needs weep, and he makes us weep with him. He is moved on behalf of a -captive bird, of a poor ass, which, accustomed to blows, "looked up -pensive," and seemed to say, "Don't thrash me with it (the halter); but -if you will, you may."[822] He will write a couple of pages on the -attitude of this donkey, and Priam at the feet of Achilles was not more -touching. Thus in a silence, in an oath, in the most trifling domestic -action, he hits upon exquisite refinements and little heroisms, a -variety of charming flowers, invisible to everybody else, which grow in -the dust of the driest road. One day Uncle Toby, the invalided captain, -catches, after "infinite attempts," a big buzzing fly, who has cruelly -tormented him all dinner-time; he gets up, crosses the room on his -suffering leg, and opening the window, cries: "Go, poor devil, get thee -gone; why should I hurt thee? This world surely is wide enough to hold -both thee and me."[823] This womanish sensibility is too fine to be -described; we should have to give a whole story--that of Lefèvre, for -instance--that the perfume might be inhaled; this perfume evaporates as -soon as we touch it, and is like the weak fleeting odor of flowers, -brought for one moment into a sick-chamber. What still more increases -this sad sweetness is the contrast of the free and easy waggeries which, -like a hedge of nettles, encircle them on all sides. Sterne, like all -men whose mechanism is over-excited, has odd desires. He loves the nude, -not from a feeling of the beautiful, and in the manner of painters, not -from sensuality and frankness like Fielding, not from a search after -pleasure like Dorat, Boufflers, and all those refined epicures, who at -that time were rhyming and enjoying themselves in France. If he goes -into dirty places, it is because they are forbidden and not frequented. -What he seeks there is singularity and scandal. The allurement of this -forbidden fruit is not the fruit, but the prohibition; for he bites by -preference where the fruit is half rotten or worm-eaten. That an -epicurean delights in detailing the pretty sins of a pretty woman is -nothing wonderful; but that a novelist takes pleasure in watching the -bedroom of a musty, fusty old couple, in observing the consequences of -the fall of a burning chestnut in a pair of breeches,[824] in detailing -the questions of Mrs. Wadman on the consequences of wounds in the -groin,[825] can only be explained by the aberration of a perverted -fancy, which finds its amusement in repugnant ideas, as spoiled palates -are pleased by the pungent flavor of decayed cheese.[826] Thus, to read -Sterne we should wait for days when we are in a peculiar kind of humor, -days of spleen, rain, or when through nervous irritation we are -disgusted with rationality. In fact his characters are as unreasonable -as himself. He sees in man nothing but fancy, and what he calls the -hobby-horse--Uncle Toby's taste for fortifications, Mr. Shandy's fancy -for oratorical tirades and philosophical systems. This hobby-horse, -according to him, is like a wart, so small at first that we hardly -perceive it, and only when it is in a strong light; but it gradually -increases, becomes covered with hairs, grows red, and buds out all -around: its possessor, who is pleased with and admires it, nourishes it, -until at last it is changed into a vast wen, and the whole face -disappears under the invasion of the parasite excrescence. No one has -equalled Sterne in the history of these human hypertrophies; he puts -down the seed, feeds it gradually, makes the propagating threads creep -round about, shows the little veins and microscopic arteries which -inosculate within, counts the palpitations of the blood which passes -through them, explains their changes of color and increase of bulk. -Psychological observation attains here one of its extreme developments. -A far advanced art is necessary to describe, beyond the confines of -regularity and health, the exception or the degeneration; and the -English novel is completed here by adding to the representation of form -the picture of malformations. - - - - -Section VIII.--Oliver Goldsmith - - -The moment approaches when purified manners will, by purifying the -novel, give it its final impress and character. Of the two great -tendencies manifested by it, native brutality and intense reflection, -one at last conquers the other; when literature became severe it -expelled from fiction the coarseness of Smollett and the indecencies of -Sterne; and the novel, in every respect moral, before falling into the -most prudish hands of Miss Burney, passes into the noble hands of -Goldsmith. His "Vicar of Wakefield" is "a prose idyl," somewhat spoilt -by phrases too rhetorical, but at bottom as homely as a Flemish picture. -Observe in Terburg's or Mieris's paintings a woman at market or a -burgomaster emptying his long glass of beer: the faces are vulgar, the -ingenuousness is comical, the cookery occupies the place of honor; yet -these good folks are so peaceful, so contented with their small ordinary -happiness, that we envy them. The impression left by Goldsmith's book is -pretty much the same. The excellent Dr. Primrose is a country clergyman, -the whole of whose adventures have for a long time consisted in -"migrations from the blue bed to the brown." He has cousins, "even to -the fortieth remove," who come to eat his dinner and sometimes to borrow -a pair of boots. His wife, who has all the education of the time, is a -perfect cook, can almost read, excels in pickling and preserving, and at -dinner gives the history of every dish. His daughters aspire to -elegance, and even "make a wash for the face over the fire." His son -Moses gets cheated at the fair, and sells a colt for a gross of green -spectacles. Dr. Primrose himself writes pamphlets, which no one buys, -against second marriages of the clergy; writes beforehand in his wife's -epitaph, though she was still living, that she was "the only wife of Dr. -Primrose," and by way of encouragement, places this piece of eloquence -in an elegant frame over the chimney-piece. But the household continues -the even tenor of its way; the daughters and the mother slightly -domineer over the father of the family; he lets them do so, because he -is an easy-going man; now and again fires off an innocent jest, and -busies himself in his new farm, with his two horses, wall-eyed -Blackberry and the other without a tail: "nothing could exceed the -neatness of my enclosures, the elms and hedge-rows appearing with -inexpressible beauty ... Our little habitation was situated at the foot -of a sloping hill, sheltered with a beautiful underwood behind, and a -prattling river before; on one side a meadow, on the other a green.... -(It) consisted but of one story, and was covered with thatch, which gave -it an air of great snugness: the walls on the inside were nicely -whitewashed.... Though the same room served us for parlour and kitchen, -that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it was kept with the utmost -neatness, the dishes, plates, and coppers, being well scoured, and all -disposed in bright rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably relieved, -and did not want richer furniture."[827] They make hay all together, sit -under the honeysuckle to drink a bottle of gooseberry wine; the girls -sing, the two little ones read; and the parents "would stroll down the -sloping field, that was embellished with blue bells and centaury": "But -let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life, and Moses, gives us a -good song. What thanks do we not owe to heaven for thus bestowing -tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself happier now than -the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fireside, nor such -pleasant faces about it."[828] - -Such is moral happiness. Their misfortune is no less moral. The poor -vicar has lost his fortune, and, removing to a small living, turns -farmer. The squire of the neighborhood seduces and carries off his -eldest daughter; his house takes fire; his arm was burnt in a terrible -manner in saving his two little children. He is put in prison for debt, -amongst wretches and rogues, who swear and blaspheme, in a vile -atmosphere, sleeping on straw, feeling that his illness increases, -foreseeing that his family will soon be without bread, learning that his -daughter is dying. Yet he does not give way: he remains a priest and the -head of a family, prescribes to each of them his duty; encourages, -consoles, provides for, orders, preaches to the prisoners, endures their -coarse jests, reforms them; establishes in the prison useful work, and -"institutes fines for punishment and rewards for industry." It is not -hardness of heart nor a morose temperament which gives him strength; he -has the most paternal soul, the most sociable, humane, open to gentle -emotions and familiar tenderness. He says: "I have no resentment now; -and though he (the squire) has taken from me what I held dearer than all -his treasures, though he has wrung my heart (for I am sick almost to -fainting, very sick, my fellow-prisoner), yet that shall never inspire -me with vengeance.... If this (my) submission can do him any pleasure, -let him know, that if I have done him any injury, I am sorry for it.... -I should detest my own heart, if I saw either pride or resentment -lurking there. On the contrary, as my oppressor has been once my -parishioner, I hope one day to present him up an unpolluted soul at the -eternal tribunal."[829] But the hard-hearted squire haughtily repulses -the noble application of the vicar, and in addition causes his second -daughter to be carried off, and the eldest son to be thrown into prison -under a false accusation of murder. At this moment all the affections of -the father are wounded, all his consolations lost, all his hopes ruined. -"His heart weeps to behold" all this misery, he was going to curse the -cause of it all; but soon, returning to his profession and his duty, he -thinks how he will prepare to fit his son and himself for eternity, and -by way of being useful to as many people as he can, he wishes at the -same time to exhort his fellow-prisoners. He "made an effort to rise on -the straw, but wanted strength, and was able only to recline against the -wall; my son and his mother supported me on either side."[830] In this -condition he speaks, and his sermon, contrasting with his condition, is -the more moving. It is a dissertation in the English style, made up of -close reasoning, seeking only to establish that "Providence has given to -the wretched two advantages over the happy in this life," greater -felicity in dying; and in heaven all that superiority of pleasure which -arises from contrasted enjoyments.[831] We see the sources of this -virtue, born of Christianity and natural kindness, but long nourished by -inner reflection. Meditation, which usually produces only phrases, -results with Dr. Primrose in actions. Verily reason has here taken the -helm, and it has taken it without oppressing other feelings; a rare and -eloquent spectacle, which, uniting and harmonizing in one character the -best features of the manners and morals of that time and country, -creates an admiration and love for pious and orderly, domestic and -disciplined, laborious and rural life. Protestant and English virtue has -not a more approved and amiable exemplar. Religious, affectionate, -rational, the Vicar unites predilections which seemed irreconcilable; a -clergyman, a farmer, a head of a family, he enhances those characters -which appeared fit only for comic or homely parts. - - - - -Section IX.--Samuel Johnson - - -We now come upon a strange character, the most esteemed of his time, a -sort of literary dictator. Richardson was his friend, and gave him -essays for his paper; Goldsmith, with an artless vanity, admires him, -whilst suffering to be continually outshone by him; Miss Burney imitates -his style, and reveres him as a father. Gibbon the historian, Reynolds -the painter, Garrick the actor, Burke the orator, Sir William Jones the -Orientalist, come to his club to converse with him. Lord Chesterfield, -who had lost his favor, vainly tried to regain it, by proposing to -assign to him, on every word in the language, the authority of a -dictator.[832] Boswell dogs his steps, sets down his opinions, and at -night fills quartos with them. His criticism becomes law; men crowd to -hear him talk; he is the arbiter of style. Let us transport in -imagination this ruler of mind, Dr. Samuel Johnson, into France, among -the pretty drawing-rooms, full of elegant philosophers and epicurean -manners; the violence of the contrast will mark better than all argument -the bent and predilections of the English mind. - -There appears then before us a man whose "person was large, robust, -approaching to the gigantic, and grown unwieldy from corpulency,"[833] -with a gloomy and unpolished air, "his countenance disfigured by the -king's evil," and blinking with one of his eyes, "in a full suit of -plain brown clothes," and with not overclean linen, suffering from -morbid melancholy since his birth, and moreover a hypochondriac.[834] In -company he would sometimes retire to a window or corner of a room, and -mutter a Latin verse or a prayer.[835] At other times, in a recess, he -would roll his head, sway his body backward and forward, stretch out and -then convulsively draw back his leg. His biographer relates that it "was -his constant anxious care to go out or in at a door or passage,... so as -that either his right or his left foot should constantly make the first -actual movement; ... when he had neglected or gone wrong in this sort of -magical movement, I have seen him go back again, put himself in the -proper posture to begin the ceremony, and having gone through it, walk -briskly on and join his companion."[836] People are sitting at table, -when suddenly, in a moment of abstraction, he stoops, and clenching hold -of the foot of a lady, draws off her shoe.[837] Hardly is the dinner -served when he darts on the food; "his looks seemed rivetted to his -plate; nor would he, unless when in very high company, say one word, or -even pay the least attention to what was said by others; (he) indulged -with such intenseness, that, while in the act of eating, the veins of -his forehead swelled, and generally a strong perspiration was -visible."[838] If by chance the hare was high, or the pie had been made -with rancid butter, he no longer ate, but devoured. When at last his -appetite was satisfied, and he consented to speak, he disputed, shouted, -made a sparring-match of his conversation, triumphed no matter how, laid -down his opinion dogmatically, and ill-treated those whom he was -refuting. "Sir, I perceive you are a vile Whig."[839] "My dear lady (to -Mrs. Thrale), talk no more of this; nonsense can be defended but by -nonsense."[840] "One thing I know, which you don't seem to know, that -you are very uncivil."[841] In the intervals of articulating he made -various sounds with his mouth, sometimes as if ruminating,... sometimes -giving a half whistle, sometimes making his tongue play backwards from -the roof of his mouth, as if clucking like a hen.... Generally, when he -had concluded a period, in the course of a dispute,... he used to blow -out his breath like a whale,[842] and swallow several cups of tea. - -Then in a low voice, cautiously, men would ask Garrick or Boswell the -history and habits of this strange being. He had lived like a cynic and -an eccentric, having passed his youth reading miscellaneously, -especially Latin folios, even those least known, such as Macrobius; he -had found on a shelf in his father's shop the Latin works of Petrarch, -whilst he was looking for apples, and had read them;[843] "he published -proposals for printing by subscription the Latin poems of -Politian."[844] At twenty-five he had married for love a woman of about -fifty, "very fat, with swelled cheeks, of a florid red, produced by -thick painting, flaring and fantastic in her dress,"[845] and who had -children as old as himself. Having come to London to earn his bread, -some people, seeing his convulsive grimaces, took him for an idiot; -others, seeing his robust frame, advised him to buy a porter's -knot.[846] For thirty years he worked like a hack for the publishers, -whom he used to thrash when they became impertinent;[847] always shabby, -having once fasted two days;[848] content when he could dine on "a cut -of meat for sixpence, and bread for a penny";[849] having written -"Rasselas" in eight nights, to pay for his mother's funeral. Now -pensioned[850] by the king, freed from his daily labors, he gave way to -his natural indolence, lying in bed often till midday and after. He is -visited at that hour. We mount the stairs of a gloomy house on the north -side of Fleet Street, the busy quarter of London, in a narrow and -obscure court; and as we enter, we hear the scoldings of four old women -and an old quack doctor, poor penniless creatures, bad in health and in -disposition, whom he has rescued, whom he supports, who vex or insult -him. We ask for the Doctor, a negro opens the door; we gather round the -master's bed: there are always many distinguished people at his levee, -including even ladies. Thus surrounded, "he declaims, then went to -dinner at a tavern, where he commonly stays late,"[851] talks all the -evening, goes out to enjoy in the streets the London mud and fog, picks -up a friend to talk again, and is busy pronouncing oracles and -maintaining his opinion till four in the morning. - -Whereupon we ask if it is the freedom of his opinions which is -fascinating. His friends answer, that there is no more indomitable -partisan of order. He is called the Hercules of Toryism. From infancy he -detested the Whigs, and he never spoke of them but as public -malefactors. He insults them even in his Dictionary. He exalts Charles -II and James II as two of the best kings who have ever reigned.[852] He -justifies the arbitrary taxes which Government presumes to levy on the -Americans.[853] He declares that "Whigism is a negation of all -principle";[854] that "the first Whig was the devil";[855] that "the -Crown has not power enough";[856] that "mankind are happier in a state -of inequality and subordination."[857] Frenchmen of the present time, -admirers of the "Contrat Social," soon feel, on reading or hearing all -this, that they are no longer in France. And what must they feel when, a -few moments later, the Doctor says: "I think him (Rousseau) one of the -worst of men; a rascal who ought to be hunted out of society, as he has -been. ... I would sooner sign a sentence for his transportation, than -that of any felon who has gone from the Old Bailey these many years. -Yes, I should like to have him work in the plantations."[858].... - -It seems that in England people do not like philosophical innovators. -Let us see if Voltaire will be treated better: "It is difficult to -settle the proportion of iniquity between them (Rousseau and -Voltaire)."[859] In good sooth, this is clear. But can we not look for -truth outside an Established Church? No; "no honest man could be a -Deist; for no man could be so after a fair examination of the proofs of -Christianity."[860] Here is a peremptory Christian; there are scarcely -any in France so decisive. Moreover, he is an Anglican, with a passion -for the hierarchy, an admirer of established order, an enemy of -Dissenters. We see him bow to an archbishop with peculiar -veneration.[861] We hear him reprove one of his friends "for saying -grace without mention of the name of our Lord Jesus Christ."[862] If we -speak to him of a Quakers' meeting, and of a woman preaching, he will -tell us that "a woman preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind -legs; it is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at -all."[863] He is a Conservative, and does not fear being considered -antiquated. He went at one o'clock in the morning into St. John's -Church, Clerkenwell, to interrogate a tormented spirit, which had -promised to "give a token of her presence there by a knock upon her -coffin."[864] If we look at Boswell's life of him, we will find there -fervent prayers, examinations of conscience, and rules of conduct. -Amidst prejudices and ridicule he has a deep conviction, an active -faith, a severe moral piety. He is a Christian from his heart and -conscience, reason and practice. The thought of God, the fear of the -last judgment, engross and reform him. He said one day to Garrick: "I'll -come no more behind your scenes, David, for the silk stockings and white -bosoms of your actresses excite my amorous propensities." He reproaches -himself with his indolence, implores God's pardon, is humble, has -scruples. All this is very strange. We ask men what can please them in -this grumbling bear, with the manners of a beadle and the inclinations -of a constable? They answer, that in London people are less exacting -than in Paris, as to manners and politeness; that in England they allow -energy to be rude and virtue odd; that they put up with a combative -conversation; that public opinion is all on the side of the constitution -and Christianity; and that society was right to take for its master a -man who, by his style and precepts, best suited its bent. - -We now send for his books, and after an hour we observe, that whatever -the work be, tragedy or dictionary, biography or essay, he always writes -in the same style. "Dr. Johnson," Goldsmith said one day to him, "if you -were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales."[865] In -fact, his phraseology rolls ever in solemn and majestic periods, in -which every substantive marches ceremoniously, accompanied by its -epithet; grand, pompous words peal like an organ; every proposition is -set forth balanced by a proposition of equal length; thought is -developed with the compassed regularity and official splendor of a -procession. Classical prose attains its perfection in him, as classical -poetry in Pope. Art cannot be more finished, or nature more forced. No -one has confined ideas in more strait compartments; none has given -stronger relief to dissertation and proof; none has imposed more -despotically on story and dialogue the forms of argumentation and -violent declamation; none has more generally mutilated the flowing -liberty of conversation and life by antitheses and technical words. It -is the completion and the excess, the triumph and the tyranny of -oratorical style.[866] We understand now that an oratorical age would -recognize him as a master, and attribute to him in eloquence the mastery -which it attributed to Pope in verse. - -We wish to know what ideas have made him popular. Here the astonishment -of a Frenchman redoubles. We vainly turn over the pages of his -Dictionary, his eight volumes of essays, his many volumes of -biographies, his numberless articles, his conversation so carefully -collected; we yawn. His truths are too true; we already know his -precepts by heart. We learn from him that life is short, and we ought to -improve the few moments granted to us;[867] that a mother ought not to -bring up her son as a fop; that a man ought to repent of his faults, and -yet avoid superstition; that in everything we ought to be active, and -not hurried. We thank him for these sage counsels, but we mutter to -ourselves that we could have done very well without them. We should like -to know who could have been the lovers of ennui who have bought up -thirteen thousand copies of his works. We then remember that sermons are -liked in England, and that these essays are sermons. We discover that -men of reflection do not need bold or striking ideas, but palpable and -profitable truths. They desire to be furnished with a useful provision -of authentic examples on man and his existence, and demand nothing more. -No matter if the idea is vulgar; meat and bread are vulgar too, and are -no less good. They wish to be taught the kinds and degrees of happiness -and unhappiness, the varieties and results of character and condition, -the advantages and inconveniences of town and country, knowledge and -ignorance, wealth and moderate circumstances, because they are moralists -and utilitarians; because they look in a book for the knowledge to turn -them from folly, and motives to confirm them in uprightness; because -they cultivate in themselves sense, that is common, practical reason. A -little fiction, a few portraits, the least amount of amusement, will -suffice to adorn it. This substantial food only needs a very simple -seasoning. It is not the novelty of the dishes, nor dainty cookery, but -solidity and wholesomeness, which they seek. For this reason essays are -Johnson's national food. It is because they are insipid and dull for -Frenchmen that they suit the taste of an Englishman. We understand now -why they take for a favorite the respectable, the tiresome Dr. Samuel -Johnson. - - - - -Section X.--William Hogarth - - -I would fain bring together all these features, see these figures; only -colors and forms complete an idea; in order to know, we must see. Let us -go to the picture-gallery. Hogarth, the national painter, the friend of -Fielding, the contemporary of Johnson, the exact imitator of manners, -will show us the outward, as these authors have shown us the inward. - -We enter these great galleries of art. Painting is a noble thing! It -embellishes all, even vice. On the four walls, under transparent and -brilliant glass, the torsos rise, flesh palpitates, the blood's warm -current circulates under the veined skin, speaking likenesses stand out -in the light; it seems that the ugly, the vulgar, the odious, have -disappeared from the world. I no more criticise characters; I have done -with moral rules. I am no longer tempted to approve or to hate. A man -here is but a smudge of color, at most a handful of muscles; I know no -longer if he be a murderer. - -Life, the happy, complete, overflowing display, the expansion of natural -and corporal powers; this from all sides floods and rejoices our eyes. -Our limbs instinctively move by contagious imitation of movements and -forms. Before these lions of Rubens, whose deep growls rise like thunder -to the mouth of the cave, before these colossal writhing torsos, these -snouts which grope about skulls, the animal within us quivers through -sympathy, and it seems as if we were about to emit from our chests a -roar to equal their own. - -What though art has degenerated even among Frenchmen, epigrammatists, -the bepowdered abbés of the eighteenth century, it is art still. Beauty -is gone, elegance remains. These pretty arch faces, these slender -waspish waists, these delicate arms buried in a nest of lace, these -careless wanderings among thickets and warbling fountains, these gallant -dreams in a lofty chamber festooned with garlands, all this refined and -coquettish society is charming. The artist, then as always, gathers the -flowers of things, and cares not for the rest. - -But what was Hogarth's aim? who ever saw such a painter? Is he a -painter? Others make us wish to see what they represent; he makes us -wish not to see it. - -Is there anything more agreeable to paint than a drunken debauch by -night? the jolly, careless faces; the rich light, drowned in shadows -which flicker over rumpled garments and weighed-down bodies. With -Hogarth, on the other hand, what figures! Wickedness, stupidity, all the -vile poison of the vilest human passions, drops and distils from them. -One is shaking on his legs as he stands, sick, whilst a hiccup half -opens his belching lips; another howls hoarsely, like a wretched cur; -another, with bald and broken head, patched up in places, falls forward -on his chest, with the smile of a sick idiot. We turn over the leaves of -Hogarth's works, and the train of odious or bestial faces appears to be -inexhaustible; features distorted or deformed, foreheads lumpy or puffed -out with perspiring flesh; hideous grins distended by ferocious -laughter: one has had his nose bitten off; the next, one-eyed, -square-headed, spotted over with bleeding warts, whose red face looks -redder under the dazzling white wig, smokes silently, full of rancor and -spleen; another, an old man with a crutch, scarlet and bloated, his chin -falling on his breast, gazes with the fixed and starting eyes of a crab. -Hogarth shows the beast in man, and worse, a mad and murderous, a feeble -or enraged beast. Look at this murderer standing over the body of his -butchered mistress, with squinting eyes, distorted mouth, grinding his -teeth at the thought of the blood which stains and denounces him; or -this ruined gambler, who has torn off his wig and kerchief, and is -crying on his knees, with closed teeth, and fist raised against heaven. -Look again at this madhouse: the dirty idiot, with muddy face, filthy -hair, stained claws, who thinks he is playing on the violin, and has a -sheet of music for a cap; the religious madman, who writhes convulsively -on his straw, with clasped hands, feeling the claws of the devil in his -bowels; the naked and haggard raving lunatic whom they are chaining up, -and who is tearing out his flesh with his nails. Detestable Yahoos who -presume to usurp the blessed light of heaven, in what brain can you have -arisen, and why did a painter sully our eyes with your picture? - -It is because his eyes were English, and because the senses in England -are barbarous. Let us leave our repugnance behind us, and look at things -as Englishmen do, not from without, but from within. The whole current -of public thought tends here towards observation of the soul, and -painting is dragged along with literature in the same course. Forget -then the forms, they are but lines; the body is here only to translate -the mind.[868] This twisted nose, these pimples on a vinous cheek, these -stupefied gestures of a drowsy brute, these wrinkled features, these -degraded forms, only make the character, the trade, the whim, the habit -stand out more clearly. The artist shows us no longer limbs and heads, -but debauchery, drunkenness, brutality, hatred, despair, all the -diseases and deformities of these too harsh and unbending wills, the mad -menagerie of all the passions. Not that he lets them loose; this rude, -dogmatic, and Christian citizen handles more vigorously than any of his -brethren the heavy club of morality. He is a beef-eating policeman -charged with instructing and correcting drunken pugilists. From such a -man to such men ceremony would be superfluous. At the bottom of every -cage where he imprisons a vice, he writes its name and adds the -condemnation pronounced by Scripture; he displays that vice in its -ugliness, buries it in its filth, drags it to its punishment, so that -there is no conscience so perverted as not to recognize it, none so -hardened as not to be horrified at it. - -Let us look well, these are lessons which bear fruit. This one is -against gin: on a step, in the open street, lies a drunken woman, half -naked, with hanging breasts, scrofulous legs; she smiles idiotically, -and her child, which she lets fall on the pavement, breaks its skull. -Underneath, a pale skeleton, with closed eyes, sinks down with a glass -in his hand. Round about, dissipation and frenzy drive the tattered -spectres one against another. A wretch who has hung himself sways to and -fro in a garret. Gravediggers are putting a naked woman into a coffin. A -starveling is gnawing a bare bone side by side with a dog. By his side -little girls are drinking with one another, and a young woman is making -her suckling swallow gin. A madman pitchforks his child, and raises it -aloft; he dances and laughs, and the mother sees it. - -Another picture and lesson, this time against cruelty. A young murderer -has been hung, and is being dissected. He is there, on a table, and the -lecturer calmly points out with his wand the places where the students -are to work. At this sign the dissectors cut the flesh and pull. One is -at the feet; the second man of science, a sardonic old butcher, seizes a -knife with a hand that looks as if it would do its duty, and thrusts the -other hand into the entrails, which, lower down, are being taken out to -be put into a bucket. The last medical student takes out the eye, and -the distorted mouth seems to howl under his hand. Meanwhile a dog seizes -the heart, which is trailing on the ground; thigh-bones and skull boil, -by way of concert, in a copper; and the doctors around coolly exchange -surgical jokes on the subject which, piecemeal, is passing away under -their scalpels. - -Frenchmen will say that such lessons are good for barbarians, and that -they only half like these official or lay preachers, De Foe, Hogarth, -Smollett, Richardson, Johnson, and the rest. I reply that moralists are -useful, and that these have changed a state of barbarism into one of -civilization. - - - -[Footnote 735: See his dull poems, amongst others "Jure divino," a poem -in twelve books, in defence of every man's birthright by nature.] - -[Footnote 736: Compare another story of an apparition, Edgar Poe's -"Case of M. Waldemar." The American is a suffering artist; De Foe a -citizen, who has common-sense.] - -[Footnote 737: De Foe's Works, 20 vols. 1819-21. "The Life and Adventures -of Robinson Crusoe," I. ch. IV. 65.] - -[Footnote 738: "Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe," I. ch. IV. 76.] - -[Footnote 739: "Robinson Crusoe," ch. IV. 79.] - -[Footnote 740: Ibid. 80.] - -[Footnote 741: Ibid. ch. XI. 184.] - -[Footnote 742: "Robinson Crusoe," 187, Ps. 1. 15.] - -[Footnote 743: Heb. XIII. 5.] - -[Footnote 744: "Robinson Crusoe," ch. VIII. 134.] - -[Footnote 745: Ibid. ch. VIII. 133.] - -[Footnote 746: 1709, 1711, 1713.] - -[Footnote 747: 1741. The translator has consulted the tenth edition, 1775, -4 vols.] - -[Footnote 748: "To be sure I did nothing but curt'sy and cry, and was all -in confusion at his goodness." - -"I was so confounded at these words, you might have beat me down with a -feather.... So, like a fool, I was ready to cry, and went away curt'sying, -and blushing, I am sure, up to the ears."] - -[Footnote 749: Pamela, vol. 1. Letter X.] - -[Footnote 750: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 751: Ibid. Letter XXVII.] - -[Footnote 752: "I dare not tell a wilful lie."] - -[Footnote 753: "Pamela," I. Letter XXV.] - -[Footnote 754: Ibid. Letter to Mr. Williams, I. 208.] - -[Footnote 755: "Pamela," I. 290.] - -[Footnote 756: Ibid. II. 167.] - -[Footnote 757: Ibid. II. 78.] - -[Footnote 758: Ibid. II. 148.] - -[Footnote 759: Ibid. II. 194.] - -[Footnote 760: Ibid. II. 62.] - -[Footnote 761: "Pamela," II. 62.] - -[Footnote 762: Ibid. II. 63.] - -[Footnote 763: Ibid.] - -[Footnote 764: See in "Pamela" the characters of Squire B. and Lady -Davers.] - -[Footnote 765: "Clarissa Harlowe," 4th ed. 1751, 7 vols. I, 92.] - -[Footnote 766: Ibid. I. 105.] - -[Footnote 767: "Clarissa Harlowe," I. Letter XX. 125.] - -[Footnote 768: Ibid. I. Letter XXXIX. 253.] - -[Footnote 769: Ibid. I. Letter XLII. 278.] - -[Footnote 770: "Clarissa Harlowe," I. Letter XLIII. 295.] - -[Footnote 771: Ibid. I. Letter XLV. 308.] - -[Footnote 772: Ibid. I. Letter XLV. 309.] - -[Footnote 773: Ibid. Letter XXXIV. 223.] - -[Footnote 774: Ibid. II. Letter XLIII. 315.] - -[Footnote 775: "Clarissa Harlowe," I. Letter XII. 65.] - -[Footnote 776: Ibid. III. Letter XVIII. 89.] - -[Footnote 777: Ibid. VII. Letter XXXVIII. 122.] - -[Footnote 778: See the Mémoirs of the Marshal de Richelieu.] - -[Footnote 779: "Clarissa Harlowe," II. Letter XXXIX. 294.] - -[Footnote 780: Ibid, IV, XXXIII. 232.] - -[Footnote 781: See ("Clarissa Harlowe," vol. VII. Letter XLIX.) among -other things her last will.] - -[Footnote 782: She makes out statistics and a classification of -Lovelace's merits and faults, with subdivisions and numbers. Take an -example of this positive and practical English logic: "That such a -husband might unsettle me in all my own principles, and hazard my future -hopes. That he has a very immoral character to women. That knowing this, -it is a high degree of impurity to think of joining in wedlock with such -a man." She keeps all her writings, her memorandums, summaries or -analyses of her own letters.] - -[Footnote 783: "Swearing is a most unmanly vice, and cursing as poor and -low a one, since it proclaims the profligate's want of power and his -wickedness at the same time; for could such a one punish as he speaks, he -would be a fiend."--Vol. II. Letter XXXVIII. 282.] - -[Footnote 784: The contrary is the case with the heroines of George Sand's -novels.] - -[Footnote 785: See "Sir Charles Grandison," 7 vols. 1811, III. Letter XVI. -142: "He received the letters, standing up, bowing; and kissed the papers -with an air of gallantry, that I thought greatly became him."] - -[Footnote 786: "Sir Charles Grandison," VI. Letter XXXI. 236.] - -[Footnote 787: Ibid. VI. Letter XXXIII. 252.] - -[Footnote 788: Ibid. VI. Letter LII. 358.] - -[Footnote 789: Ibid. VI. Letter XXXI. 233.] - -[Footnote 790: "Sir Charles Grandison," VII. Letter LXI. 336.] - -[Footnote 791: A selfish and misanthropical cynic in Molière's -"École des Femmes."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 792: Clarissa and Pamela employ too many.] - -[Footnote 793: In "Novels and Novelists," by W. Forsyth, 1871, it is -said, ch. VII: "To me, I confess, 'Clarissa Harlowe' is an unpleasant, -not to say odious book.... If any book deserved the charge of sickly -sentimentality, it is this; and that it should have once been so widely -popular, and thought admirably adapted to instruct young women in -lessons of virtue and religion, shows a strange and perverted state of -the public taste, not to say public morals." Mrs. Oliphant, in her -"Historical Sketches of the Reign of George Second," 1869, says of the -same novel (II. X. 264): "Richardson was a respectable tradesman,... a -good printer,... a comfortable soul,... never owing a guinea nor -transgressing a rule of morality; and yet so much a poet, that he has -added at least one character (Clarissa Harlowe) to the inheritance of -the world, of which Shakespeare need not have been ashamed--the most -celestial thing, the highest effort of his generation."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 794: "Lady Montague's Letters," ed. Lord Wharncliffe, 2d ed. -3 vols. 1837; Letter to the Countess of Bute, III. 120.] - -[Footnote 795: Roscoe's "Life of Fielding," p. XXV.] - -[Footnote 796: "The Adventures of Joseph Andrews," bk. I. ch. XII.] - -[Footnote 797: Ibid. I. ch. XVIII.] - -[Footnote 798: "History of a Foundling," bk. V. ch. II.] - -[Footnote 799: "History of a Foundling," bk. VI. ch. X.] - -[Footnote 800: Ibid. bk. VI. ch. X.] - -[Footnote 801: Blifil.] - -[Footnote 802: "History of a Foundling," XVI. ch. II.] - -[Footnote 803: Ibid, XVIII. ch. IX.] - -[Footnote 804: Ibid, XVIII. ch. XII.] - -[Footnote 805: Last chapter of the "History of a Foundling."] - -[Footnote 806: Preface to "Joseph Andrews."] - -[Footnote 807: "Jonathan Wild."] - -[Footnote 808: Amelia is the perfect English wife, an excellent cook, so -devoted as to pardon her husband his accidental infidelities, always -looking forward to the accoucheur. She says ever (bk. IV. ch. VI.), "Dear -Billy, though my understanding be much inferior to yours." She is -excessively modest, always blushing and tender. Bagillard having written -her some love-letters, she throws them away, and says (bk. III. ch. IX.): -"I would not have such a letter in my possession for the universe; I -thought my eyes contaminated with reading it."] - -[Footnote 809: "Amelia," bk. II. ch. VIII.] - -[Footnote 810: Ibid. bk. III. ch. I.] - -[Footnote 811: Ibid, bk. III. ch. II.] - -[Footnote 812: Preface to "Roderick Random."] - -[Footnote 813: "Peregrine Pickle," ch. LX.] - -[Footnote 814: "Peregrine Pickle," ch. XXIX.] - -[Footnote 815: Ibid. ch. XXIV.] - -[Footnote 816: Ibid. ch. XXVII.] - -[Footnote 817: Ibid. ch. XXIII.] - -[Footnote 818: "Peregrine Pickle," ch. XXIII.] - -[Footnote 819: In "Novels and Novelists," by W. Forsyth, the author -says, ch. V. 159: "What is the character of most of these books (novels) -which were to correct follies and regulate morality? Of a great many of -them, and especially those of Fielding and Smollett, the prevailing -features are grossness and licentiousness. Love degenerates into a mere -animal passion.... The language of the characters abounds in oaths and -gross expressions.... The heroines allow themselves to take part in -conversations which no modest woman would have heard without a blush. -And yet these novels were the delight of a bygone generation, and were -greedily devoured by women as well as men. Are we therefore to conclude -that our great-great-grandmothers... were less chaste and moral than -their female posterity? I answer, certainly not; but we must infer that -they were inferior to them in delicacy and refinement. They were -accustomed to hear a spade called a spade, and words which would shock -the more fastidious ear in the reign of Queen Victoria were then in -common and daily use."--Tr.] - -[Footnote 820: Byron's Works, ed. Moore, 17 vols. 1832; "Life," III. 127, -note.] - -[Footnote 821: There is a distinct trace of a spirit similar to that -which is here sketched, in a select few of the English writers. -Pultcck's "Peter Wilkins the Flying Man," Amory's "Life of John Buncle," -and Southey's "Doctor," are instances of this. Rabelais is probably their -prototype.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 822: Sterne's Works, 7 vols. 1783, 3; "The Life and Opinions -of Tristram Shandy," VII. ch. XXXII.] - -[Footnote 823: "Tristram Shandy," I, 2. ch. XII.] - -[Footnote 824: "Tristram Shandy," 2, IV. ch. XXVII.] - -[Footnote 825: Ibid. 3, IX. ch. XX.] - -[Footnote 826: Sterne, Goldsmith, Burke, Sheridan Moore, have a tone -of their own, which comes from their blood, or from their proximate or -distant parentage--the Irish tone. So Hume, Robertson, Smollett, Scott, -Burns, Beattie, Reid, D. Stewart, and others, have the Scottish tone. In -the Irish or Celtic tone we find an excess of chivalry, sensuality, -expansion; in short, a mind less equally balanced, more sympathetic and -less practical. The Scotsman, on the other hand, is an Englishman, either -slightly refined or narrowed, because he has suffered more and fasted -more.] - -[Footnote 827: "The Vicar of Wakefield," ch. IV.] - -[Footnote 828: Ibid. ch. XVII.] - -[Footnote 829: "The Vicar of Wakefield," ch. XXVIII.] - -[Footnote 830: Ibid. ch. XXVIII.] - -[Footnote 831: Ibid. ch. XXIX.] - -[Footnote 832: See, in Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ed. Croker, 1853, -ch. XI. p. 85, Chesterfield's complimentary paper on Johnson's -Dictionary, printed in the "World."] - -[Footnote 833: Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ed. Croker, ch. XXX. 269.] - -[Footnote 834: Ibid. ch. III. 14 and 15.] - -[Footnote 835: Ibid. ch. XVIII. 165, n. 4.] - -[Footnote 836: Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ch. XVIII. 166.] - -[Footnote 837: Ibid. ch. XLVIII. 439, n. 3.] - -[Footnote 838: Ibid. ch. XVII. 159.] - -[Footnote 839: Ibid. ch. XXVI. 236.] - -[Footnote 840: Ibid. ch. XXII. 201.] - -[Footnote 841: Ibid. ch. XLVIII. 628.] - -[Footnote 842: Ibid. ch. XVIII. 166.] - -[Footnote 843: Ibid. ch. II. 12.] - -[Footnote 844: Ibid. ch. IV. 22.] - -[Footnote 845: Ibid. ch. IV. 26.] - -[Footnote 846: Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ch. V. 28, note 2.] - -[Footnote 847: Ibid. ch. VII. 46.] - -[Footnote 848: Ibid. ch. XVII. 159.] - -[Footnote 849: Ibid. ch. V. 28.] - -[Footnote 850: He had formerly put in his Dictionary the following -definition of the word pension: "Pension: an allowance made to any one -without an equivalent. In England it is generally understood to mean -pay given to a state-hireling for treason to his country." This drew of -course afterward all the sarcasms of his adversaries upon himself.] - -[Footnote 851: Boswell's "Life," ch. XXIV. 216.] - -[Footnote 852: Ibid. ch. XLIX. 444.] - -[Footnote 853: Ibid. ch. XLVIII. 435.] - -[Footnote 854: Ibid. ch. XVI. 148.] - -[Footnote 855: Ibid. ch. LXVI. 606.] - -[Footnote 856: Boswell's "Life." ch. XXVI. 236.] - -[Footnote 857: Ibid. ch. XXVIII. 252.] - -[Footnote 858: Ibid. ch. XIX. 175.] - -[Footnote 859: Ibid. ch. XIX. 176.] - -[Footnote 860: Ibid. ch. XIX. 174.] - -[Footnote 861: Ibid. ch. LXXV. 723.] - -[Footnote 862: Ibid. ch. XXIV. 218.] - -[Footnote 863: Ibid. ch. XVII. 157.] - -[Footnote 864: Ibid. ch. XV. 138, note 3.] - -[Footnote 865: Boswell's "Life," ch. XXVIII. 256.] - -[Footnote 866: Here is a celebrated phrase, which will give some idea of -his style (Boswell's "Journal," ch. XLIII. 381): "We are now treading -that illustrious island, which was once the luminary of the Caledonian -regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits -of knowledge and the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from -all local emotion would be impossible if it were endeavoured, and would -be foolish if it were possible.... Far from me and from my friends be -such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over -any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That -man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon -the plain of Marathon or whose piety would not grow warmer among the -ruins of Iona."] - -[Footnote 867: "Rambler," 108, 109, 110, 111.] - -[Footnote 868: When a character is strongly marked in the living face, -it may be considered as an index to the mind, to express which with any -degree of justness in painting, requires the utmost efforts of a great -master.--"Analysis of Beauty."] - - - -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, see footnote 539, 311; -his life and writings, 327; III. 83, -95, 259, 272, 2.80, 306 -Adholm, I. 64, 69, 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, 22 -Alfred the Great, I. 64, 69 -Alison, Sir Archibald, III. 44 -Amory, Thomas, II. see footnote 438 -Angelo, Michael, I. 183, 366; III. 27 -Anglo-Saxon poetry, I. 53 seq. -Ann of Cleaves, I. 186 -Anselm, I. 76 -Anthology the, I. 209, 240 -Arbuthnot, Dr. John, II. see footnote 689, see footnote 691 -Architecture, Norman, I. 75, 127; the -Tudor style, 174 -Ariosto, I. 185, 222; 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; II. 3 -Athelstan, I. 36, 54 -Augier, Emile, III. 208 -Austen, Jane, III. 85 - -Bacon, Francis, Lord, I. 245, 255-263; 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, see footnote 524, see footnote 526, - see footnote 527, see footnote 537 -Baxter, Richard, I. 268; II. 56, 292 -Bayly's (Lewis) Practice of Piety, II. 62 -Beattie, Tames, II. see footnote 826; III. 36 -Beauclerk, Henry, I. 76 -Beaumont, Francis, I. 291, 307-317; II. -41, see footnote 60, 100 -Becket, Thomas à, I. 97 -Beckford, W., III. 77 -Bede, the Venerable, I. 64 -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. -49-53 -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. 64-67 -Boileau, II. 144, 184, 224, 262, 284; III. 7, -4, 345 -Boleyn, Ann, I. 276 -Bolingbroke, Lord (Henry St. John), II. -275, 303, see footnote 654, see footnote 670, see footnote 673; 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, see footnote 542; III. 25, 306 -Boswell, James, II. 444 , see footnote 846, see footnote 851 -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; 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, see footnote 94, 133 -Burke, Edmund, II. see footnote 536, 317, see footnote 570, 444; III. -286, 306 -Burleigh, Lord (William Cecil), I. 273; -III. 286 -Burnet, Bishop, II. 202 -Burney, Francisca (Madame D'Arblay), -II. see footnote 508, 320, 444; III. 275 -Burns, Robert, II. see footnote 434, see footnote 826; Sketch of his life -and works, III. 48-65 -Burton, Robert, I. 175, 248-252; II. 34, see footnote 68, 100 -Busby, Dr. Richard, II. 256 -Bute, Lord, II. 273, 310 -Butler, Bishop, II. 320 -Butler, Samuel, II. 137, 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, -61-64, 185 -Calamy, Edmund, II. 58 -Calderon, I. 161, 279; II. 155 -Calvin, John, II. see footnote 9, 45, see footnote 534 -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. 319 -Catherine, St., play of, I. 76 -Cellini, Benvenuto, I. 26, 114, 184 -Cervantes, I. 100, 151, 222; II. 410 -Chalmers, George, I. 72 -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 -Chateaubriand, I. 4; II. 346 -Chatham. See Pitt -Chaucer, I. 106, 126, 157; II. 265 -Chesterfield, Lord, II. 278, see footnote 497, 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 -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 -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, see footnote 466, see footnote 508 -Conybeare, J. J., I. 54 seq. -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. 242-244; 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. 13 -Davie, Adam, I. 93 -Davies, Sir John, II. 34 -Daye, John, II. 47 -Decker, Thomas, I. 281 -De Foe, II. see footnote 549, 402, see footnote 737; III. 169 -Delille, James, III. 21 -Denham, Sir John, II. 185 -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. 72, 78, 104 -Donne, John, I. 240, 241; II. 35 -Dorat, C. J., III. 16, 140 -Dorset, Earl of (Charles Sackville), II. -179, 180 -Drake, Admiral, I. 173 -Drake, Dr. Nathan, I. 173, 271 -Drama, formation of the, I. 291 seq. -Drayton, Michael, I. 205; II. 34 -Drummond, William, II. 100 -Dryden, John, I. 18; II. 100; his comedies, -153, 184; his life and writings, -II. 222, 332; III. 5, 329 -Dudevant, Madame (George Sand), III. -207 -Dunstan, St., I. 36 seq. -Durer, Albert, II. 9, 10 -Dyer, Sir Edward, I. 203 - -Earle, John, I. 246 -Eddas, the Scandinavian, I. 42-46; III. -123, 124 -Edgeworth, Maria, III. 253 -Edward VI, II. 28 -Edwy and Elgiva, story of, I. 38 -Eliot, George. See Evans, Mary A. -England, climate of, I. 33 -English Constitution, formation of the, -I. 105 -Elizabeth, Queen, I. 175-177, 245, 270 -Elwin, Whitwell, III. 5 seq. -Erigena, John Scotus, I. 64, 69 -Esménard, Joseph Alphonse, I. 163 -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, see footnote 290, see footnote 324, 209 -Faust, III. 47 -Feltham, Owen, I. 246 -Fenn, Sir John, I. 172 -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. see footnote 224, 434, -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, 307-317; II. see footnote 60, 100 -Ford, John, I. 291, 297 seq., 312; II. 248 -Fortescue, Sir John, I. 113 seq. -Fox, Charles James, II. 276, 311, 315 -Fox, George, II. 52, 58, 133 -Fox, John, II. 13 -Francis of Assisi, I. 161 -Freeman, Edward A., I. 74 -Frisians, the, I. 32, 33 -Froissart, I. 83, 102, 126, 127, 132 -Froude, J. A., I. 104; II. 15 -Fuller, Thomas, I. 318 - -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. 134 -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; II. 111, 118, 430; III. 48, -74, 125-131, 327 seq. -Goldsmith, Oliver, II. 211, see footnote 555, 440 -Goltzius, I. 196 -Gower, John, I. 90, 163 -Grammont, Count de, II. 135, see footnote 288, 170 -Gray, Thomas, III. 36 -Greene, Robert, I. 206, 210, 281, 283, 364 -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. 107; III. 276, 282, 305 -Guy of Warwick, I. 77 - -Habington, William, I. 240 -Hakluyt, Richard, I. 246 -Hale, Sir Matthew, II. 16 -Hales, John, I. 245; II. 35, 37, see footnote 533, see footnote 534 -Halifax, Charles, Montague, Earl of, II. -see footnote 595, see footnote 604, 361, 366 -Hall, Bishop, Joseph, I. 246; II. 35 -Hallam, Henry, I. 118; III. 276 -Hamilton, Anthony, II. 136 -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 seq. -Hastings, Warren, II. 317; III. 272, 285 -seq., 291 -Hawes, Stephen, I. 165 -Hegel, I. 18, 22, 159; II. 271, 331 -Heine, I. 2, 32, 360; III. 39, 48, 74, 87 -Hemling, Hans, I. 170 -Henry Beauclerk, I. 76 -Henry of Huntingdon, I. 39, 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. 238, 239 -Hertford, Earl of, I. 270 -Hervey, Lord, III. 26 -Heywood, Mrs. Eliza, III. 18 -Heywood, John, I. 186, 280 -Hill, Aaron, III. 8 -History, philosophy of. See the Introduction, -passim. -Hobbes, Thomas, II. 147, 250 -Hogarth, William, II. 450; III. 18 -Holinslied's Chronicles, I. 176, 246, 275 -Holland, I. 31 seq. -Homer and Spenser, I. 217 -Hooker, Richard, I. 245; II. 35 -Horn, Ring, romance of, I. 77, 100 -Hoveden, John, I. 90 -Howard, John, II. 320 -Howe, John, III. 299 -Hugo, Victor, I. 2, 165; 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, 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 - -James I and his Court, I. 237 seq. -James II, III. 282 -Jewell, Bishop, I. 277 -Johnson, Samuel, I. 319; II. 303, 321, 444; -III. 10, 38, 345 -Joinville, Sire de, I. 83 -Jones, Inigo, I. 174, 321 -Jones, Sir William, II. 444 -Jonson, Ben, I. 208, 265, 280; II. 100; III. -155; sketch of his life, I. 318-321; his -learning, style, etc., 321-327; his -dramas, 327-333; his comedies, 333-345; -compared with Molière, 345; fanciful -comedies and smaller poems, 345-350 -Jordaens, Jacob, I. 178 -Jowett, Benjamin, III. 100, 334 -Judith, poem of, I. 60, 61 -Junius, Letters of, II. 311; III. 106 -Jutes, the, and their country, I. 31 seq. - -Keats, John, III. 130 -Kemble, John M., I. 37, 49 -Knighton, Henry, I. 123 -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 -Lanfranc, first Norman Archbishop of -Canterbury, I. 76 -Langtoft, Peter, I. 90 -Laud, Archbishop, II. 38; III. 287 -Lavergne, Léonce de, I. 33 -Law, William, II. 303 -Layamon, I. 92 -Lebrun, Ponce Denis Econchard, I. 163 -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. 34, 35 -Locke, John, II. 71, 300, 303, see footnote 539, 320 -Lockhart, John Gibson, III. 78 seq. -Lodge, Thomas, I. 204, 280 -Lombard, Peter, I. 157, 160 -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; and the -Reformation, 7 -Lydgate, John, I. 164, 165 -Lyly, John, I. 192 -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. 31 -Mandeville, Bernard, II. 303 -Manners of the people in the sixteenth -century, I. 178 seq. -Marguerite of Navarre, I. 132 -Marlborough, Duchess of, III. 26 -Marlborough, Duke of, II. 275, 307; III. -259 -Marlowe, Christopher, I. 211, 280; III. 73; -his dramas, I. 282-291 -Marston, John, I. 320 -Martyr, Peter, II. 23 -Martyrs in the reign of Mary, II. 30 -Marvell, Andrew, II. 254 -Masques, under James I, I. 177, 348 -Massillon, II. 28 -Massinger, Philip, I. 280, 281, 297 seq. -Maundeville, Sir John, I. 91, 102 -May, Thomas, II. 57 -Medici, Lorenzo de, I. 182 -Melanchthon, Philip, II. 13, 23 -Merlin, I. 77 -Meung, Jean de, I. 93, 162 -Michelet, Jules, I. 4, 57; III. 325 -Middleton, Thomas, I. 291 -Mill, John Stuart, III. 100, 176, 360-408 -Milton, John, I. 62, 215, 245; II. 71; his -prose writings, 84; his poetry, 100, -347, 348; III. 272 -Molière, I. 213, 359, 361; II. 188, 418; -III. 214 -Mommsen, Theodor, I. 19 -Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, II. 424; -III. 8, 15 -Montesquieu, Ch., I. 21, 25 -Moore, Thomas, II. 440; III. 75 seq., 138 -More, Sir Thomas, I. 246, 276 -Müller, Max, III. 361 -Muller, Ottfried, I. 6 -Murray, John, III. 78, 138, 140 -Musset, Alfred de, I. 2, 199, 282, 324, 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 seq., 123-125; III. 151 -Normans, the character of, I. 74; how -they became French, 75; their taste -and architecture, 75; their literature, -chivalry, and success, 76-80; their position -and tyranny in England, 87-90; III. -152 -Nott, Dr. John, I. 191 -Novel, the English--its characteristics, -II. 402; the modern school of novelists, -III. 185 seq. -Nut-brown Maid, the--an ancient ballad, -190 - -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. 246 -Owen, John, II. 58 - -Paganism of poetry and painting in -Italy in the sixteenth century, I. 181 -seq. -Paley, William, II. 300 -Palgrave, Sir Francis, I. 33 -Parnell, Dr. Thomas, III. 4 -Pascal, II. 300, 400; III. 25, 306 -Pastoral poetry, I. 204 seq. -Peele, George, I. 280 -Penn, William, II. 288; III. 299 -Pepys, Samuel, II. 142, 143, 146 -Percy, Thomas, III. 73 -Petrarch, I. 126, 185, 190 -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 seq., -185 -Pitt, William, first Earl of Chatham, II. -276, 267; III. 275 -Pitt, William (second son of the preceding), -II. 311, 217; 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 -Preaching at the Reformation period, -II. 27 -Presbyterians and Independents in the -sixteenth century, II. 49, 90 -Price, Dr. Richard, II. 304, 321; III. 271 -Priestly, Dr., III. 66 -Prior, Matthew, III. 4, 28 -Proclus, I. 159 -Prynne, William, II. 57 -Pulci, an Italian painter, I. 182 -Pultock, Robert, II. 438 -Purchas, Samuel, I. 246 -Puritans, the, II. 45, 132 -Puttenham, George, I. 185, 246 -Pym, John, III. 276 - -Quarles, Francis, I. 240 - -Rabelais, I. 149, 222, 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. 122-125, -165; II. 7 -Reid, Thomas, II. 304, 320, 440 -Renaissance, the English; manners of -the time, I. 169-185; the theatre its -original product, 264 seq. -Renan, Ernest, I. 19, 127 -Restoration, period of the, in England, -II. 131, 209 -Revolution, period of the, in England, -II. 273 -Reynolds, Sir Joshua, II. 220, 320, 444 -Richard Cœur de Lion, I. 101 -Richardson, Samuel, II. 135, 303, 412, -444; III. 8, 35 -Ridley, Nicholas, II. 30 -Ritson, Joseph, I. 108 seq. -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 seq., 178, 185 -Rochester, Earl of (John Wilmot), II. -143, 184, 337; III. 28, 140 -Rogers, John, martyrdom of, II. 31 -Rogers, Samuel, III. 112 -Roland, Song of, I. 77, 81 seq. -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, 172, 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 seq.; characteristics of -the race, 71; contrast with the Normans, -74, 75; their endurance, 103 seq.; -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, -440; III. 74, 105, 107, 260; his novels and -poems, 78-85 -Scotus, Duns, I. 159 seq. -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. 186, 206, 245, -280; II. 230, 238; III. 155; general -idea of, I. 350-353; his life and character, -354-366; his style, 366-371, and manners, -372-377; his dramatis personæ, -377-382; his men of wit, 382-386, and -women, 386-391; his villains, 391, 392; -the principal characters in his plays, -393-407; fancy, imagination--ideas of -existence--love; harmony between the -artist and his work, 407-419 -Shelley, Percy Bysshe, III. 74, 95-100, 130 -Shenstone, William, III. 37 -Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, II. 212, -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, 194-204, 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, 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. 214-237; II. 236; III. 155, 424 -Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, III. 100, 334 -Steele, Sir Richard, II. 311, 327; III. 259 -Stendhal, Count de, I. 25, 74, 142 -Sterling, John, III. 309 seq. -Sterne, Laurence, II. 437; 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. 175, 180 -Suckling, Sir John, I. 238; II. 181 -Sue, Eugène, III. 220 -Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of, I. 185-192; -II. 16 -Swift, Jonathan, II. 135, 224, 303, 311, 327; -III. 259, 288; sketch of his life, II. -360; his wit, 368; his pamphlets, -371; his poetry, 380; his philosophy, -etc., 389 - -Taillefer, I. 79, 89 -Tasso, I. 222, 229 -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 seq.; after the Restoration, II. 153, -188, 226 -Thibaut of Champagne, I. 84 -Thierry, Augustin, I. 4, 35, 56, 88; III. 305 -Thiers, Louis Adolphe, III. 282, 305 -Thomson, James, III. 32-35 -Thorpe, John, I. 47, 55 -Tickell, Thomas, III. 4 -Tillotson, Archbishop, II. 292 -Tindal, Matthew, II. 303 -Titian, I. 236, 366 -Tocqueville, Alexis de, I. 19 -Toland, John, II. 303 -Toleration Act, the, III. 298, 299, 300 -Tomkins, Thomas, II. 32 -Townley, James, II. 220 -Turner, Sharon, I. 48, 54 seq. -Tutchin, John, III. 18 -Tyndale, William, II. 19, 28, 47 - -Urfé, Honoré d', I. 197, 315 -Usher, James, I. 246 - -Vanbrugh, Sir John, II. 187 -Vane, Sir Harry, II. 143 -Vega, Lope de, I. 161, 279; II. 155 -Village feasts of sixteenth century described, -I. 178-180 -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 seq., 89 -Waller, Edmund, I. 240; II. 71, 153, 181; -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. 72, 88, 95, 162; III. 73 -Watt, James, II. 320 -Watteau, Anthony, III. 14 -Watts, Isaac, III. 37 -Webster, John, 291, 297 seq.; II. 248 -Wesley, John, II. 280 -Wetherell, Elizabeth, III. 179 -Wharton, Lord, III. 26 -Whitfield, George, II. 289 -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 seq. -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, -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 2 -(of 3), by Hippolyte Taine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 61382-0.txt or 61382-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/3/8/61382/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (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 2 (of 3) - -Author: Hippolyte Taine - -Commentator: J. Scott Clark - -Translator: Henry Van Laun - -Release Date: February 11, 2020 [EBook #61382] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 2 *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by The Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - -<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 -COMMITTEE</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> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration1"></a> -<img src="images/illustration1.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center">LONDON BRIDGE.<br /> - -<i>After an etching by Edwin Edwards.</i></p> - -<p>The artist has chosen for his masterly work the moment when the sun, -long before toiling London is awake, rises amid vapors from the eastern -horizon. The river reflects the dawn,</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"All bright and glittering in the smokeless air."</span></p> - -<p>In the placid stream are mirrored the shadows of the bridge; to the west -of which appear the façades of Fishmonger's Hall, and Billingsgate -market, radiant with morning. To appreciate the full charm and fidelity -to nature of this etching one should read Wordsworth's sonnet written on -Westminster bridge, beginning "Earth has not anything to show more -fair," and ending with the words</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"The river glideth at his own sweet will:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And all that mighty heart is lying still."</span></p></div> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/taine02_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 II</h5> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - - -<h3><a href="#BOOK_II_THE_RENAISSANCE">BOOK II—THE RENAISSANCE</a></h3> -<h3>(<i>CONTINUED</i>)</h3> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FIFTH_II">CHAPTER FIFTH</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Christian_Renaissance">The Christian Renaissance</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Decay_of_The_Southern_Civilizations">SECTION I.—Decay of The Southern Civilizations</a><span class="linenum"> 3</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Luther_and_the_Reformation_in_Germany">SECTION II.—Luther and the Reformation in Germany</a><span class="linenum"> 7</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--The_Reformation_in_England">SECTION III.—The Reformation in England</a><span class="linenum"> 14</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--The_Anglicans">SECTION IV.—The Anglicans</a><span class="linenum"> 34</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--The_Puritans">SECTION V.—The Puritans</a><span class="linenum"> 45</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--John_Bunyan">SECTION VI.—John Bunyan</a><span class="linenum"> 58</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_SIXTH_II">CHAPTER SIXTH</a><br /> -<a href="#Milton">Milton</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Miltons_Family_and_Education">SECTION I.—Milton's Family and Education</a><span class="linenum"> 72</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Miltons_Unhappy_Domestic_Life">SECTION II.—Milton's Unhappy Domestic Life</a><span class="linenum"> 76</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Miltons_Combative_Energy">SECTION III.—Milton's Combative Energy</a><span class="linenum"> 78</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Miltons_Personal_Appearance">SECTION IV.—Milton's Personal Appearance</a><span class="linenum"> 83</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Milton_as_a_Prose_Writer">SECTION V.—Milton as a Prose Writer</a><span class="linenum"> 84</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Milton_as_a_Poet">SECTION VI.—Milton as a Poet</a><span class="linenum"> 100</span></p> - - -<h3><a href="#BOOK_III.--THE_CLASSIC_AGE">BOOK III.—THE CLASSIC AGE</a></h3> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FIRST_III">CHAPTER FIRST</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Restoration">The Restoration</a></h4> - -<h5><a href="#Part_I.--The_Roisterers"><i>Part I.—The Roisterers</i></a></h5> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Excesses_of_Puritanism">SECTION I.—The Excesses of Puritanism</a><span class="linenum"> 132</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--A_Frenchmans_View_of_the_Manners_of_the_Time">SECTION II.—A Frenchman's View of the Manners of the Time</a><span class="linenum"> 135</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Butlers_Hudibras">SECTION III.—Butler's Hudibras</a><span class="linenum"> 137</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Morals_of_the_Court">SECTION IV.—Morals of the Court</a><span class="linenum"> 140</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Method_and_Style_of_Hobbes">SECTION V.—Method and Style of Hobbes</a><span class="linenum"> 147</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--The_Theatre">SECTION VI.—The Theatre</a><span class="linenum"> 153</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Dryden_and_the_Drama">SECTION VII.—Dryden and the Drama</a><span class="linenum"> 155</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Wycherley">SECTION VIII.—Wycherley</a><span class="linenum"> 157</span></p> - -<h5><a href="#PART_II.--The_Worldlings"><i>PART II.—The Worldlings</i></a></h5> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Court_Life_in_Europe">SECTION I.—Court Life in Europe</a><span class="linenum"> 168</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Dawn_of_the_Classic_Spirit">SECTION II.—Dawn of the Classic Spirit</a><span class="linenum"> 170</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Sir_William_Temple">SECTION III.—Sir William Temple</a><span class="linenum"> 173</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Writers_a_la_Mode">SECTION IV.—Writers à la Mode</a><span class="linenum"> 178</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Sir_John_Denham">SECTION V.—Sir John Denham</a><span class="linenum"> 185</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Wycherley_Congreve_Vanbrugh_and_Farquhar">SECTION VI.—Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar</a><span class="linenum"> 188</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Superficiality_of_English_Comedy">SECTION VII.—Superficiality of English Comedy</a><span class="linenum"> 195</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Natural_Characters">SECTION VIII.—Natural Characters</a><span class="linenum"> 198</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX.--Artificial_Characters">SECTION IX.—Artificial Characters</a><span class="linenum"> 202</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_X.--Sheridan.--Decadence_of_the_Theatre">SECTION X.—Sheridan.—Decadence of the Theatre</a><span class="linenum"> 211</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_SECOND_III">CHAPTER SECOND</a><br /> -<a href="#Dryden">Dryden</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Drydens_Debut">SECTION I.—Dryden's Début</a><span class="linenum"> 222</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Drydens_Family_and_Education">SECTION II.—Dryden's Family and Education</a><span class="linenum"> 223</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Dramatic_Theories_of_Dryden">SECTION III.—Dramatic Theories of Dryden</a><span class="linenum"> 226</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--The_Style_of_Drydens_Plays">SECTION IV.—The Style of Dryden's Plays</a><span class="linenum"> 236</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--His_Merit_as_a_Dramatist">SECTION V.—His Merit as a Dramatist</a><span class="linenum"> 242</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--His_Prose_Style">SECTION VI.—His Prose Style</a><span class="linenum"> 252</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--How_Literature_in_England_is_Occupied_with_Politics_and_Religion">SECTION VII.—How Literature in England is Occupied with Politics and -Religion</a><span class="linenum"> 257</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Development_of_the_Art_of_Writing">SECTION VIII.—Development of the Art of Writing</a><span class="linenum"> 263</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX.--Drydens_Translations_and_Adaptations.--His_Occasional_Soul--Stirring_Verses">SECTION IX.—Dryden's Translations and Adaptations.—His Occasional -Soul—Stirring Verses</a><span class="linenum"> 265</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_X.--Misfortunes_of_Drydens_Old_Age">SECTION X.—Misfortunes Of Dryden's Old Age</a><span class="linenum"> 271</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRD_III">CHAPTER THIRD</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Revolution">The Revolution</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Moral_Revolution">SECTION I.—The Moral Revolution</a><span class="linenum"> 273</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Brutality_of_The_People.--Private_Morals.--Chesterfield_and_Gay">SECTION II.—Brutality Of The People.—Private Morals.—Chesterfield -and Gay</a><span class="linenum"> 273</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Principles_of_Civilization_in_France_and_England">SECTION III.—Principles of Civilization in France and England</a><span class="linenum"> 281</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Religion">SECTION IV.—Religion</a><span class="linenum"> 286</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--The_Pulpit">SECTION V.—The Pulpit</a><span class="linenum"> 292</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Theology">SECTION VI.—Theology</a><span class="linenum"> 300</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--The_Constitution.--Lockes_Theory_of_Government">SECTION VII.—The Constitution.—Locke's Theory of Government</a><span class="linenum"> 305</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Parliamentary_Orators">SECTION VIII.—Parliamentary Orators</a><span class="linenum"> 311</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX.--Doctrines_of_the_French_Revolution_Contrasted_with_the_Conservative_Tendencies_of_the_English_People">SECTION IX.—Doctrines of the French Revolution Contrasted with the Conservative<br /> -Tendencies of the English People</a><span class="linenum"> 320</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FOURTH_III">CHAPTER FOURTH</a><br /> -<a href="#Addison">Addison</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Significance_of_the_Writings_of_Addison_and_Swift">SECTION I.—The Significance of the Writings of Addison and Swift</a><span class="linenum"> 327</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Addisons_Character_and_Education">SECTION II.—Addison's Character and Education</a><span class="linenum"> 327</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Addisons_Seriousness.--His_Nobility_of_Character">SECTION III.—Addison's Seriousness.—His Nobility of Character</a><span class="linenum"> 333</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--The_Morality_of_Addisons_Essays">SECTION IV.—The Morality of Addison's Essays</a><span class="linenum"> 336</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--How_Addison_made_Morality_Fashionable.--Characteristics_of_his_Style">SECTION V.—How Addison made Morality Fashionable.—Characteristics -of his Style</a><span class="linenum"> 344</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Addisons_Gallantry.--His_Humor.--Sir_Roger_de_Coverley.--The_Vision_of_Mirza">SECTION VI.—Addison's Gallantry.—His Humor.—Sir Roger de Coverley.—The -Vision of Mirza</a><span class="linenum"> 349</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_FIFTH_III">CHAPTER FIFTH</a><br /> -<a href="#Swift">Swift</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--Concerning_Swifts_Life_and_Character">SECTION I.—Concerning Swift's Life and Character</a><span class="linenum"> 360</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Swifts_Prosaic_and_Positive_Mind">SECTION II.—Swift's Prosaic and Positive Mind</a><span class="linenum"> 368</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--Swift_as_a_Political_Pamphleteer">SECTION III.—Swift as a Political Pamphleteer</a><span class="linenum"> 371</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Swift_as_a_Humorist.--As_a_Poet">SECTION IV.—Swift as a Humorist.—As a Poet</a><span class="linenum"> 380</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Swift_as_a_Narrator_and_Philosopher">SECTION V.—Swift as a Narrator and Philosopher</a><span class="linenum"> 389</span></p> - -<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_SIXTH_III">CHAPTER SIXTH</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Novelists">The Novelists</a></h4> - -<p><a href="#SECTION_I.--The_Anti-Romantic_Novel">SECTION I.—The Anti-Romantic Novel</a><span class="linenum"> 402</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II.--Daniel_De_Foe">SECTION II.—Daniel De Foe</a><span class="linenum"> 402</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III.--The_Evolution_of_the_Eighteenth_Century_Novel">SECTION III.—The Evolution of the Eighteenth Century Novel</a><span class="linenum"> 410</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV.--Samuel_Richardson">SECTION IV.—Samuel Richardson</a><span class="linenum"> 412</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V.--Henry_Fielding">SECTION V.—Henry Fielding</a><span class="linenum"> 424</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI.--Tobias_Smollett">SECTION VI.—Tobias Smollett</a><span class="linenum"> 433</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII.--Laurence_Sterne">SECTION VII.—Laurence Sterne</a><span class="linenum"> 437</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII.--Oliver_Goldsmith">SECTION VIII.—Oliver Goldsmith</a><span class="linenum"> 440</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX.--Samuel_Johnson">SECTION IX.—Samuel Johnson</a><span class="linenum"> 444</span><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_X.--William_Hogarth">SECTION X.—William Hogarth</a><span class="linenum"> 450</span></p> - -<p><a href="#INDEX">INDEX</a></p> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - - -<p>LONDON BRIDGE <span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Etching from an original by Edwin Edwards</span><br /> - -JOHN MILTON<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration2">84</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Photogravure from an etching</span><br /> - -INITIAL LETTER FROM THE GIFFORD PSALTER<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration3">152</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Fac-simile Book Illumination of the Thirteenth Century</span><br /> - -PRINTER'S MARK OF PHILIPPE LE NOIR<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration4">290</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Fifteenth Century</span><br /> - -PAGE FROM THE CHRONICLES OF HUNGARY<span class="imlist"></span> <span class="linenum"><a href="#illustration5">392</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5%;">Fac-simile example of Printing and Engraving in the Fifteenth Century</span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="BOOK_II_THE_RENAISSANCE">BOOK II.—THE RENAISSANCE</a><br /> -(<i>Continued</i>)</h4> - - - -<h3>HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE</h3> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FIFTH_II">CHAPTER FIFTH</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_Christian_Renaissance">The Christian Renaissance</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Decay_of_The_Southern_Civilizations">Section I.—Decay of the Southern Civilizations</a></h4> - - -<p>"I would have my reader fully understand," says Luther in the preface to -his complete works, "that I have been a monk and a bigoted Papist, so -intoxicated, or rather so swallowed up in papistical doctrines, that I -was quite ready, if I had been able, to kill or procure the death of -those who should have rejected obedience to the Pope by so much as a -syllable. I was not all cold or all ice in the Pope's defence, like -Eckius and his like, who veritably seemed to me to constitute themselves -his defenders rather for their belly's sake than because they looked at -the matter seriously. More, to this day they seem to mock at him, like -Epicureans. I for my part proceeded frankly, like a man who has horribly -feared the day of judgment, and who yet hoped to be saved with a shaking -of all his bones." Again, when he saw Rome for the first time, he -prostrated himself, saying, "I salute thee, holy Rome... bathed in the -blood of so many martyrs." Imagine, if you may, the effect which the -shameless paganism of the Italian Renaissance had upon such a mind, so -loyal, so Christian. The beauty of art, the charm of a refined and -sensuous, existence, had taken no hold upon him; he judged morals, and -he judged them with his conscience only. He regarded this southern -civilization with the eyes of a man of the north, and understood its -vices only, like Ascham, who said he had seen in Venice "more libertie -to sinne in IX dayes than ever I heard tell of in our noble Citie of -London in IX yeare."<a name="NoteRef_1_1" id="NoteRef_1_1"></a><a href="#Note_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Like Arnold and Channing in the present day, -like all the men <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> of Germanic<a name="NoteRef_2_2" id="NoteRef_2_2"></a><a href="#Note_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> race and education, he was horrified at -this voluptuous life, now reckless and now licentious, but always void -of moral principles, given up to passion, enlivened by irony, caring -only for the present, destitute of belief in the infinite, with no other -worship than that of visible beauty, no other object than the search -after pleasure, no other religion than the terrors of imagination and -the idolatry of the eyes.</p> - -<p>"I would not," said Luther afterwards, "for a hundred thousand florins -have gone without seeing Rome; I should always have doubted whether I -was not doing injustice to the Pope. The crimes of Rome are incredible; -no one will credit so great a perversity who has not the witness of his -eyes, ears, personal knowledge.... There reigned all the villanies and -infamies, all the atrocious crimes, in particular blind greed, contempt -of God, perjuries, sodomy.... We Germans swill liquor enough to split -us, whilst the Italians are sober. But they are the most impious of men; -they make a mock of true religion, they scorn the rest of us Christians, -because we believe everything in Scripture.... There is a saying in -Italy which they make use of when they go to church: 'Come and let us -conform to the popular error. If we were obliged,' they say again, 'to -believe in every word of God, we should be the most wretched of men, and -we should never be able to have a moment's cheerfulness; we must put a -good face on it, and not believe everything.' This is what Leo X did, -who, hearing a discussion as to the immortality or mortality of the -soul, took the latter side. 'For,' said he, 'it would be terrible to -believe in a future state. Conscience is an evil beast, who arms man -against himself.'... The Italians are either epicureans or -superstitious. The people fear St. Anthony and St. Sebastian more than -Christ, because of the plagues they send. This is why, when they want to -prevent the Italians from committing a nuisance anywhere, they paint up -St. Anthony with his fiery lance. Thus do they live in extreme -superstition, ignorant of God's word, not believing the resurrection of -the flesh, nor life everlasting, and fearing only temporal evils. Their -blasphemy also is frightful,... and the cruelty of their revenge is -atrocious. When they cannot get rid of their enemies in any other way, -they lay ambush for them in the churches, so that one man <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> cleft his -enemy's head before the altar.... There are often murders at funerals on -account of inheritances.... They celebrate the Carnival with extreme -impropriety and folly for several weeks, and they have made a custom of -various sins and extravagances at it, for they are men without -conscience, who live in open sin, and make light of the marriage tie.... -We Germans, and other simple nations, are like a bare clout; but the -Italians are painted and speckled with all sorts of false opinions, and -disposed still to embrace many worse.... Their fasts are more splendid -than our most sumptuous feasts. They dress extravagantly; where we spend -a florin on our clothes, they put down ten florins to have a silk -coat.... When they (the Italians) are chaste, it is sodomy with them. -There is no society amongst them. No one trusts another; they do not -come together freely, like us Germans; they do not allow strangers to -speak publicly with their wives: compared with the Germans, they are -altogether men of the cloister." These hard words are weak compared with -the facts.<a name="NoteRef_3_3" id="NoteRef_3_3"></a><a href="#Note_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Treasons, assassinations, tortures, open debauchery, the -practice of poisoning, the worst and most shameless outrages, are -unblushingly and publicly tolerated in the open light of heaven. In -1490, the Pope's vicar having forbidden clerics and laics to keep -concubines, the Pope revoked the decree, "saying that that was not -forbidden, because the life of priests and ecclesiastics was such that -hardly one was to be found who did not keep a concubine, or at least who -had not a courtesan." Cæsar Borgia at the capture of Capua "chose forty -of the most beautiful women, whom he kept for himself; and a pretty -large number of captives were sold at a low price at Rome." Under -Alexander VI, "all ecclesiastics, from the greatest to the least, have -concubines in the place of wives, and that publicly. If God hinder it -not," adds the historian, "this corruption will pass to the monks and -religious orders, although, to confess the truth, almost all the -monasteries of the town have become bawd-houses, without any one to -speak against it." With respect to Alexander VI, who loved his daughter -Lucretia, the reader may find in Burchard the description of the -marvellous orgies in which he joined with Lucretia and Cæsar, and the -enumeration of the prizes which he distributed. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> Let the reader also read -for himself the story of the bestiality of Pietro Luigi Farnese, the -Pope's son, how the young and upright Bishop of Fano died from his -outrage, and how the Pope, speaking of this crime as "a youthful -levity," gave him in this secret bull "the fullest absolution from all -the penalties which he might have incurred by human incontinence, in -whatever shape or with whatever cause." As to civil security, -Bentivoglio caused all the Marescotti to be put to death; Hippolyto -d'Este had his brother's eyes put out in his presence; Cæsar Borgia -killed his brother; murder is consonant with their public manners, and -excites no wonder. A fisherman was asked why he had not informed the -governor of the town that he had seen a body thrown into the water; "he -replied that he had seen about a hundred bodies thrown into the water -during his lifetime in the same place, and that no one had ever troubled -himself about it. In our town," says an old historian, "much murder -and pillage was done by day and night, and hardly a day passed but some -one was killed." Cæsar Borgia one day killed Peroso, the Pope's -favorite, between his arms and under his cloak, so that the blood -spurted up to the Pope's face. He caused his sister's husband to be -stabbed and then strangled in open day, on the steps of the palace; -count, if you can, his assassinations. Certainly he and his father, by -their character, morals, complete, open and systematic wickedness, have -presented to Europe the two most successful images of the devil. To sum -up in a word, it was on the model of this society, and for this society, -that Machiavelli wrote his "Prince." The complete development of all the -faculties and all the lusts of man, the complete destruction of all the -restraints and all the shame of man, are the two distinguishing marks of -this grand and perverse culture. To make man a strong being, endowed -with genius, audacity, presence of mind, astute policy, dissimulation, -patience, and to turn all this power to the acquisition of every kind of -pleasure, pleasures of the body, of luxury, arts, literature, authority; -that is, to form and to set free an admirable and formidable animal, -very lustful and well armed—such was his object; and the effect, after -a hundred years, is visible. They tore one another to pieces like -beautiful lions and superb panthers. In this society, which was turned -into an arena, amid so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> many hatreds, and when exhaustion was setting in, -the foreigner appeared: all bent beneath his lash; they were caged, and -thus they pine away, in dull pleasures, with low vices, bowing their -backs.<a name="NoteRef_4_4" id="NoteRef_4_4"></a><a href="#Note_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Despotism, the Inquisition, the Cicisbei, dense, ignorance, -and open knavery, the shamelessness and the smartness of harlequins and -rascals, misery and vermin—such is the issue of the Italian -Renaissance. Like the old civilizations of Greece and Rome,<a name="NoteRef_5_5" id="NoteRef_5_5"></a><a href="#Note_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> like the -modern civilizations of Provence and Spain, like all southern -civilizations, it bears in its bosom an irremediable vice, a bad and -false conception of man. The Germans of the sixteenth century, like the -Germans of the fourth century, have rightly judged it; with their simple -common-sense, with their fundamental honesty, they have, put their -fingers on the secret plague-spot. A society cannot be founded only on -the pursuit of pleasure and power; a society can only be founded on the -respect for liberty and justice. In order that the great human -renovation which in the sixteenth century raised the whole of Europe -might be perfected and endure, it was necessary that, meeting with -another race, it should develop another culture, and that from a more -wholesome conception of existence it might educe a better form of -civilization.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Luther_and_the_Reformation_in_Germany">Section II.—Luther and the Reformation in Germany</a></h4> - - -<p>Thus, side by side with the Renaissance, was born the Reformation. It -also was in fact a new birth, one in harmony with the genius of the -Germanic peoples. The distinction between this genius and others is its -moral principles. Grosser and heavier, more given to gluttony and -drunkenness,<a name="NoteRef_6_6" id="NoteRef_6_6"></a><a href="#Note_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> these nations <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> are at the same time more under the -influence of conscience, firmer in the observance of their word, more -disposed to self-denial and sacrifice. Such their climate has made them; -and such they have continued, from Tacitus to Luther, from Knox to -Gustavus Adolphus and Kant. In the course of time, and beneath the -incessant action of the ages, the phlegmatic body, fed on coarse food -and strong drink, had become rusty, the nerves less excitable, the -muscles less strung, the desires less seconded by action, the life more -dull and slow, the soul more hardened and indifferent to the shocks of -the body: mud, rain, snow, a profusion of unpleasing and gloomy sights, -the want of lively and delicate excitements of the senses, keep man in a -militant attitude. Heroes in the barbarous ages, workers to-day, they -endure weariness now as they courted wounds then; now, as then, nobility -of soul appeals to them; thrown back upon the enjoyments of the soul, -they find in these a world, the world of moral beauty. For them the -ideal is displaced; it is no longer amidst forms, made up of force and -joy, but it is transferred to sentiments, made up of truth, uprightness, -attachment to duty, observance of order. What matters it if the storm -rages and if it snows, if the wind blusters in the black pine-forests or -on the wan sea-surges where the sea-gulls scream, if a man, stiff and -blue with cold, shutting himself up in his cottage, have but a dish of -sourcrout or a piece of salt beef, under his smoky light and beside his -fire of turf; another kingdom opens to reward him, the kingdom of inward -contentment: his wife loves him and is faithful; his children round his -hearth spell out the old family Bible; he is the master in his home, the -protector, the benefactor, honored by others, honored by himself; and if -so be that he needs assistance, he knows that at the first appeal he -will see his neighbors stand faithfully and bravely by his side. The -reader need only compare the portraits of the time, those of Italy and -Germany; he will comprehend at a glance the two races and the two -civilizations, the Renaissance and the Reformation: on one side a -half-naked condottiere in Roman costume, a cardinal in his robes, amply -draped, in a rich arm-chair, carved and adorned with heads of lions, -foliage, dancing fauns, he himself full of irony, and voluptuous, with -the shrewd and dangerous look of a politician <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> and man of the world, -craftily poised and on his guard; on the other side, some honest doctor, -a theologian, a simple man, with badly combed locks, stiff as a post, in -his simple gown of coarse black serge, with big books of dogma -ponderously clasped, a conscientious worker, an exemplary father of a -family. See now the great artist of the age, a laborious and -conscientious workman, a follower of Luther's, a true Northman—Albert -Durer.<a name="NoteRef_7_7" id="NoteRef_7_7"></a><a href="#Note_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> He also, like Raphael and Titian, has his ideal of man, an -inexhaustible ideal, whence spring by hundreds living figures and the -representations of manners, but how national and original! He cares not -for expansive and happy beauty: to him nude bodies are but bodies -undressed: narrow shoulders, prominent stomachs, thin legs, feet weighed -down by shoes, his neighbor the carpenter's, or his gossip the -sausage-seller's. The heads stand out in his etchings, remorselessly -scraped and scooped away, savage or commonplace, often wrinkled by the -fatigues of trade, generally sad, anxious, and patient, harshly and -wretchedly transformed by the necessities of realistic life. Where is -the vista out of this minute copy of ugly truth? To what land will the -lofty and melancholy imagination betake itself? The land of dreams, -strange dreams swarming with deep thoughts, sad contemplation of human -destiny, a vague notion of the great enigma, groping reflection, which -in the dimness of the rough woodcuts, amidst obscure emblems and -fantastic figures, tries to seize upon truth and justice. There was no -need to search so far; Durer had grasped them at the first effort. If -there is any decency in the world, it is in the Madonnas which are -constantly springing to life under his pencil. He did not begin, like -Raphael, by making them nude; the most licentious hand would not venture -to disturb one stiff fold of their robes; with an infant in their arms, -they think but of him, and will never think of anybody else but him; not -only are they innocent, but they are virtuous. The good German -housewife, forever shut up, voluntarily and naturally, within her -domestic duties and contentment, breathes out in all the fundamental -sincerity, the seriousness, the unassailable loyalty of their attitudes -and looks. He has done more; with this peaceful virtue he has painted a -militant virtue. There at last is the genuine Christ, the man crucified, -lean and fleshless through his agony, whose blood <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> trickles minute by -minute, in rarer drops, as the feebler and feebler pulsations give -warning of the last throe of a dying life. We do not find here, as in -the Italian masters, a sight to charm the eyes, a mere flow of drapery, -a disposition of groups. The heart, the very heart is wounded by this -sight: it is the just man oppressed, who is dying because the world -hates justice. The mighty, the men of the age, are there, indifferent, -full of irony: a plumed knight, a big-bellied burgomaster, who, with -hands folded behind his back, looks on, kills an hour. But the rest -weep; above the fainting women, angels full of anguish catch in their -vessels the holy blood as it trickles down, and the stars of heaven veil -their face not to behold so tremendous an outrage. Other outrages will -also be represented; tortures manifold, and the true martyrs beside the -true Christ, resigned, silent, with the sweet expression of the earliest -believers. They are bound to an old tree, and the executioner tears them -with his iron-pointed lash. A bishop with clasped hands is praying, -lying down, whilst an auger is being screwed into his eye. Above, amid -the interlacing trees and gnarled roots, a band of men and women climb -under the lash the breast of a hill, and they are hurled from the crest -at the lance's point into the abyss; here and there roll heads, lifeless -bodies; and by the side of those who are being decapitated, the swollen -corpses, impaled, await the croaking ravens. All these sufferings must -be undergone for the confession of faith and the establishment of -justice. But above there is a guardian, an avenger, an all-powerful -Judge, whose day shall come. This day has come, and the piercing rays of -the last sun already flash, like a handful of darts, across the darkness -of the age. High up in the heavens appears the angel in his shining -robe, leading the ungovernable horsemen, the flashing swords, the -inevitable arrows of the avengers, who are to trample upon and punish -the earth; mankind falls down beneath their charge, and already the jaw -of the infernal monster grinds the head of the wicked prelates. This is -the popular poem of conscience, and from the days of the apostles man -has not had a more sublime and complete conception.<a name="NoteRef_8_8" id="NoteRef_8_8"></a><a href="#Note_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> - -<p>For conscience, like other things, has its poem; by a natural invasion -the all-powerful idea of justice overflows from the soul, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> covers heaven, -and enthrones there a new deity. A formidable deity, who is scarcely -like the calm intelligence which serves philosophers to explain the -order of things; nor to that tolerant deity, a kind of constitutional -king, whom Voltaire discovered at the end of a chain of argument, whom -Béranger sings of as of a comrade, and whom he salutes "<i>sans lui -demander rien.</i>" It is the just Judge, sinless and stern, who demands of -man a strict account of his visible actions and of all his invisible -feelings, who tolerates no forgetfulness, no dejection, no failing, -before whom every approach to weakness or error is an outrage and a -treason. What is our justice before this strict justice? People lived in -peace in the times of ignorance; at most, when they felt themselves -guilty, they went for absolution to a priest; all was ended by their -buying a big indulgence; there was a tariff, as there still is; Tetzel -the Dominican declares that all sins are blotted out "as soon as the -money chinks in the box." Whatever be the crime, there is a quittance: -even "<i>si Dei matrem vi olavisset</i>," he might go home clean and sure of -heaven. Unfortunately the venders of pardons did not know that all was -changed, and that the intellect was become manly, no longer gabbling -words mechanically like a catechism, but probing them anxiously like a -truth. In the universal Renaissance, and in the mighty growth of all -human ideas, the German idea of duty blooms like the rest. Now, when we -speak of justice, it is no longer a lifeless phrase which we repeat, but -a living idea which we produce; man sees the object which it represents, -and feels the emotion which summons it up; he no longer receives, but he -creates it; it is his work and his tyrant; he makes it, and submits to -it. "These words <i>justus</i> and <i>justitia Dei</i>," says Luther, "were a -thunder to my conscience. I shuddered to hear them; I told myself, if -God is just, He will punish me."<a name="NoteRef_9_9" id="NoteRef_9_9"></a><a href="#Note_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> For as soon as the conscience -discovers again the idea of the perfect model,<a name="NoteRef_10_10" id="NoteRef_10_10"></a><a href="#Note_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> the smallest failings <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -appeared to be crimes, and man, condemned by his own scruples, fell -prostrate, and, "as it were, swallowed up" with horror. "I, who lived -the life of a spotless monk" says Luther, "yet felt within me the -troubled conscience of a sinner, without managing to assure myself as to -the satisfaction which I owed to God.... Then I said to myself: Am I -then the only one who ought to be sad in my spirit?... Oh, what horrible -spectres and figures I used to see!" Thus alarmed, conscience believes -that the terrible day is at hand. "The end of the world is near.... Our -children will see it; perchance we ourselves." Once in this mood he had -terrible dreams for six months at a time. Like the Christians of the -Apocalypse, he fixes the moment when the world will be destroyed: it -will come at Easter, or at the conversion of Saint Paul. One theologian, -his friend, thought of giving all his goods to the poor; "but would they -receive it?" he said. "To-morrow night we shall be seated in heaven." -Under such anguish the body gives way. For fourteen days Luther was in -such a condition that he could neither drink, eat, nor sleep. "Day and -night," his eyes fixed on a text of Saint Paul, he saw the Judge, and -His inevitable hand. Such is the tragedy which is enacted in all -Protestant souls—the eternal tragedy of conscience; and its issue is a -new religion.</p> - -<p>For nature alone and unassisted cannot rise from this abyss. "By itself -it is so corrupted, that it does not feel the desire for heavenly -things.... There is in it before God nothing but lust." Good intentions -cannot spring from it. "For, terrified by the vision of his sin, man -could not resolve to do good, troubled and anxious as he is; on the -contrary, dejected and crushed by the weight of his sin, he falls into -despair and hatred of God, as it was with Cain, Saul, Judas;" so that, -abandoned to himself, he can find nothing within him but the rage and -the dejection of a despairing wretch or a devil. In vain he might try to -redeem himself by good works: our good deeds are not pure; even though -pure, they do not wipe out the stain of previous sins, and moreover they -do not take away the original corruption of the heart; they are only -boughs and blossoms, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> the inherited poison is in the sap. Man must -descend to the heart, underneath literal obedience and legal rule; from -the kingdom of law he must penetrate into that of grace; from forced -righteousness to spontaneous generosity; beneath his original nature, -which led him to selfishness and earthly things, a second nature must be -developed, leading him to sacrifice and heavenly things. Neither my -works, nor my justice, nor the works or justice of any creature or of -all creatures, could work in me this wonderful change. One alone can do -it, the pure God, the Just Victim, the Saviour, the Redeemer, Jesus, my -Christ, by imputing to me His justice, by pouring upon me His merits, by -drowning my sin under His sacrifice. The world is a "mass of -perdition,"<a name="NoteRef_11_11" id="NoteRef_11_11"></a><a href="#Note_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> predestined to hell. Lord Jesus, draw me back, select me -from this mass. I have no claim to it; there is nothing in me that is -not abominable; this very prayer is inspired and formed within me by -Thee. But I weep, and my breast heaves, and my heart is broken. Lord, -let me feel myself redeemed, pardoned, Thy elect one. Thy faithful one; -give me grace, and give me faith! "Then," says Luther, "I felt myself -born anew, and it seemed that I was entering the open gates of heaven."</p> - -<p>What remains to be done after this renovation of the heart? Nothing: all -religion is in that: the rest must be reduced or suppressed; it is a -personal affair, an inward dialogue between God and man, where there are -only two things at work—the very word of God as it is transmitted by -Scripture, and the emotions of the heart of man, as the word of God -excites and maintains them.<a name="NoteRef_12_12" id="NoteRef_12_12"></a><a href="#Note_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> Let us do away with the rites that -appeal to the senses, wherewith men wished to replace this intercourse -between the invisible soul and the visible judge—mortifications, fasts, -corporeal penance, Lent, vows of chastity and poverty, rosaries, -indulgences; rites serve only to smother living piety underneath -mechanical works. Away with the mediators by which men attempted to -impede the direct intercourse between God and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> man—namely, saints, the -Virgin, the Pope, the priests; whosoever adores or obeys them is an -idolater. Neither saints nor Virgin can convert or save us; God alone by -His Christ can convert and save. Neither Pope nor priest can fix our -faith or forgive our sins; God alone instructs us by His word, and -absolves us by His pardon. No more pilgrimages or relics; no more -traditions or auricular confessions. A new church appears, and therewith -a new worship; ministers of religion change their tone, the worship of -God its form; the authority of the clergy is diminished, and the pomp of -services is reduced: they are reduced and diminished the more, because -the primitive idea of the new theology is more absorbing; so much so, -that in certain sects they have disappeared altogether. The priest -descends from the lofty position in which the right of forgiving sins -and of regulating faith had raised him over the heads of the laity; he -returns to civil society, marries like the rest, aims to be once more an -equal, is merely a more learned and pious man than others, chosen by -themselves and their adviser. The church becomes a temple, void of -images, decorations, ceremonies, sometimes altogether bare; a simple -meeting-house, where, between whitewashed walls, from a plain pulpit, a -man in a black gown speaks without gesticulations, reads a passage from -the Bible, begins a hymn, which the congregation takes up. There is -another place of prayer, as little adorned and not less venerated, the -domestic hearth, where every night the father of the family, before his -servants and his children, prays aloud and reads the Scriptures. An -austere and free religion, purged from sensualism and obedience, inward -and personal, which, set on foot by the awakening of the conscience, -could only be established among races in which each man found within his -nature the conviction that he alone is responsible for his actions, and -always bound to the observance of his duty.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--The_Reformation_in_England">Section III.—The Reformation in England</a></h4> - - -<p>It must be admitted that the Reformation entered England by a side door; -but it is enough that it came in, whatever the manner: for great -revolutions are not introduced by court intrigues and official -cleverness, but by social conditions and popular instincts. When five -millions of men are converted, it is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> because five millions of men wish -to be converted. Let us therefore leave on one side the intrigues in -high places, the scruples and passions of Henry VIII,<a name="NoteRef_13_13" id="NoteRef_13_13"></a><a href="#Note_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> the pliability -and plausibility of Cranmer, the vacillations and basenesses of -Parliament, the oscillation and tardiness of the Reformation, begun, -then arrested, then pushed forward, then suddenly, violently pushed -back, then spread over the whole nation, and hedged in by a legal -establishment, built up from discordant materials, but yet solid and -durable. Every great change has its root in the soul, and we have only -to look close into this deep soil to discover the national inclinations -and the secular irritations from which Protestantism has issued.</p> - -<p>A hundred and fifty years before, it had been on the point of bursting -forth; Wyclif had appeared, the Lollards had sprung up, the Bible had -been translated; the Commons had proposed the confiscation of all -ecclesiastical property; then under the pressure of the Church, royalty -and aristocracy combined, the growing Reformation being crushed, -disappeared underground, only to reappear at distant intervals by the -sufferings of its martyrs. The bishops had received the right of -imprisoning without trial laymen suspected of heresy; they had burned -Lord Cobham alive; the kings chose their ministers from the episcopal -bench; settled in authority and pomp, they had made the nobility and -people bend under the secular sword which had been intrusted to them, -and in their hands the stern network of law, which from the Conquest had -compressed the nation in its iron meshes, had become still more -stringent and more offensive. Venial acts had been construed into -crimes, and the judicial repression, extended to sins as well as to -crimes, had changed the police into an inquisition. "'Offences against' -chastity, 'heresy,' or 'matter sounding thereunto, witchcraft, -drunkenness, scandal, defamation, impatient words, broken -promises, untruth, absence from church, speaking evil of saints, -non-payment of offerings, complaints against the constitutions of the -courts themselves';"<a name="NoteRef_14_14" id="NoteRef_14_14"></a><a href="#Note_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> all these transgressions, imputed or suspected, -brought folk before the ecclesiastical tribunals, at enormous expense, -with long delays, from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> great distances, under a captious procedure, -resulting in heavy fines, strict imprisonments, humiliating abjurations, -public penances, and the menace, often fulfilled, of torture and the -stake. Judge from a single fact: the Earl of Surrey, a relative of the -king, was accused before one of these tribunals of having neglected a -fast. Imagine, if you can, the minute and incessant oppressiveness of -such a code; how far the whole of human life, visible actions and -invisible thoughts, was surrounded and held down by it; how by enforced -accusations it penetrated to every hearth and into every conscience; -with what shamelessness it was transformed into a vehicle for -extortions; what secret anger it excited in these townsfolk, these -peasants, obliged sometimes to travel sixty miles and back to leave in -one or other of the numberless talons of the law<a name="NoteRef_15_15" id="NoteRef_15_15"></a><a href="#Note_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> a part of their -savings, sometimes their whole substance and that of their children. A -man begins to think when he is thus down-trodden; he asks himself -quietly if it is really by divine dispensation that mitred thieves thus -practise tyranny and pillage; he looks more closely into their lives; he -wants to know if they themselves practise the regularity which they -impose on others; and on a sudden he learns strange things. Cardinal -Wolsey writes to the Pope, that "both the secular and regular priests -were in the habit of committing atrocious crimes, for which, if not in -orders, they would have been promptly executed;<a name="NoteRef_16_16" id="NoteRef_16_16"></a><a href="#Note_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> and the laity were -scandalized to see such persons not only not degraded, but escaping with -complete impunity." A priest convicted of incest with the prioress of -Kilbourn was simply condemned to carry a cross in a procession, and to -pay three shillings and fourpence; at which rate, I fancy, he would -renew the practice. In the preceding reign (Henry VII) the gentlemen and -farmers of Carnarvonshire had laid a complaint accusing the clergy of -systematically seducing their wives and daughters. There were brothels -in London for the especial use of priests. As to the abuse of the -confessional, read in the original the familiarities to which it opened -the door.<a name="NoteRef_17_17" id="NoteRef_17_17"></a><a href="#Note_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> The bishops gave livings to their children whilst they -were still young. The holy father prior of Maiden Bradley hath but six -children, and but one daughter married yet of the goods of the -monastery; trusting shortly to marry the rest. In the convents <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> the monks -used to drink after supper till ten or twelve next morning, and came to -matins drunk. They played cards or dice. Some came to service in the -afternoons, and only then for fear of corporal punishments. The royal -"visitors" found concubines in the secret apartments of the abbots. At -the nunnery of Sion, the confessors seduced the nuns and absolved them -at the same time. There were convents, Burnet tells us, where all the -recluses were found pregnant. About "two-thirds" of the English monks -lived in such sort, that "when their enormities were first read in the -Parliament House, there was nothing but 'down with them'!"<a name="NoteRef_18_18" id="NoteRef_18_18"></a><a href="#Note_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> What a -spectacle for a nation in whom reason and conscience were awakening! -Long before the great outburst, public wrath muttered ominously, and was -accumulating for a revolt; priests were yelled at in the streets or -"thrown into the kennel"; women would not "receive the sacrament from -hands which they thought polluted."<a name="NoteRef_19_19" id="NoteRef_19_19"></a><a href="#Note_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> When the apparitor of the -ecclesiastical courts came to serve a process, he was driven away with -insults. "Go thy way, thou stynkyng knave, ye are but knaves and -brybours everych one of you." A mercer broke an apparitor's head with -his yard. "A waiter at the sign of the Cock" said "that the sight of a -priest did make him sick, and that he would go sixty miles to indict a -priest." Bishop Fitz-James wrote to Wolsey, that the juries in London -were "so maliciously set <i>in favorem hœreticæ pravitatis</i>, that they -will cast and condemn any clerk, though he were as innocent as -Abel."<a name="NoteRef_20_20" id="NoteRef_20_20"></a><a href="#Note_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> Wolsey himself spoke to the Pope of the "dangerous spirit" -which was spread abroad among the people, and planned a reformation. -When Henry VIII laid the axe to the tree, and slowly, with mistrust, -struck a blow, then a second lopping off the branches, there were a -thousand, nay, a hundred thousand hearts which approved of it, and would -themselves have struck the trunk.</p> - -<p>Consider the internal state of a diocese, that of Lincoln for -instance,<a name="NoteRef_21_21" id="NoteRef_21_21"></a><a href="#Note_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> at this period, about 1521, and judge by this example of -the manner in which the ecclesiastical machinery works throughout the -whole of England, multiplying martyrs, hatreds, and conversions. Bishop -Longland summons the relatives of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> the accused, brothers, women and -children, and administers the oath; as they have already been prosecuted -and have abjured, they must make oath, or they are relapsed, and the -fagots await them. Then they denounce their kinsman and themselves. One -has taught the other in English the Epistle of Saint James. This man, -having forgotten several words of the Pater and Credo in Latin, can only -repeat them in English. A woman turned her face from the cross which was -carried about on Easter morning. Several at church, especially at the -moment of the elevation, would not say their prayers, and remained -seated "dumb as beasts." Three men, including a carpenter, passed a -night together reading a book of the Scriptures. A pregnant woman went -to mass not fasting. A brazier denied the Real Presence. A brickmaker -kept the Apocalypse in his possession. A thresher said, as he pointed to -his work, that he was going to make God come out of his straw. Others -spoke lightly of pilgrimage, or of the Pope, or of relics, or of -confession. And then fifty of them were condemned the same year to -abjure, to promise to denounce each other, and to do penance all their -lives, on pain of being burnt, as relapsed heretics. They were shut up -in different "monasteries"; there they were to be maintained by alms, -and to work for their support; they were to appear with a fagot on their -shoulders at market, and in the procession on Sunday. Then in a general -procession, then at the punishment of a heretic; "they were to fast on -bread and ale only every Friday during their life, and every even of -Corpus Christy on bread and water, and carry a visible mark on their -cheek." Beyond that, six were burnt alive, and the children of one, John -Scrivener, were obliged themselves to set fire to their father's -wood-pile. Do you think that a man, burnt or shut up, was altogether -done with? He is silenced, I admit, or he is hidden; but long memories -and bitter resentments endure under a forced silence. People saw<a name="NoteRef_22_22" id="NoteRef_22_22"></a><a href="#Note_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> -their companion, relation, brother, bound by an iron chain, with clasped -hands, praying amid the smoke, whilst the flame blackened his skin and -destroyed his flesh. Such sights are not forgotten; the last words -uttered on the fagot, the last appeals to God and Christ, remain in -their hearts all-powerful and ineffaceable. They carry them <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> about with -them, and silently ponder over them in the fields, at their labor, when -they think themselves alone; and then, darkly, passionately, their -brains work. For, beyond this universal sympathy which gathers mankind -about the oppressed, there is the working of the religious sentiment. -The crisis of conscience has begun which is natural to this race; they -meditate on their salvation, they are alarmed at their condition: -terrified at the judgments of God, they ask themselves whether, living -under imposed obedience and ceremonies, they do not become culpable, and -merit damnation. Can this terror be stifled by prisons and torture? Fear -against fear, the only question is, which is the strongest! They will -soon know it: for the peculiarity of these inward anxieties is that they -grow beneath constraint and oppression; as a welling spring which we -vainly try to stamp out under stones, they bubble and leap up and swell, -until their surplus overflows, disjointing or bursting asunder the -regular masonry under which men endeavored to bury them. In the solitude -of the fields, or during the long winter nights, men dream; soon they -fear, and become gloomy. On Sunday at church, obliged to cross -themselves, to kneel before the cross, to receive the host, they -shudder, and think it is a mortal sin. They cease to talk to their -friends, remain for hours with bowed heads, sorrowful; at night their -wives hear them sigh; unable to sleep they rise from their beds. Picture -such a wan face, full of anguish, nourishing under its sternness and -calmness a secret ardor: it is still to be found in England in the poor -shabby dissenter, who, Bible in hand, stands up suddenly to preach at a -street corner; in those long-faced men who, after the service, not -having had enough of prayers, sing a hymn in the street. The sombre -imagination has started like a woman in labor, and its conception swells -day by day, tearing him who contains it. Through the long muddy winter -the howling of the wind sighing among the ill-fitting rafters, the -melancholy of the sky, continually flooded with rain or covered with -clouds, add to the gloom of the lugubrious dream. Thenceforth man has -made up his mind; he will be saved at all costs. At the peril of his -life, he obtains one of the books which teach the way of salvation, -Wyclif's "Wicket Gate, The Obedience of a Christian," or sometimes -Luther's "Revelation of Antichrist," but above all some portion of the -word of God, which Tyndale had just translated. One man hid <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> his books in -a hollow tree; another learned by heart an epistle or a gospel, so as to -be able to ponder it to himself even in the presence of his accusers. -When sure of his neighbor, he speaks with him in private; and peasant -talking to peasant, laborer to laborer—you know what the effect will -be. It was the yeomen's sons, as Latimer said, who more than all others -maintained the faith of Christ in England;<a name="NoteRef_23_23" id="NoteRef_23_23"></a><a href="#Note_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> and it was with the -yeomen's sons that Cromwell afterwards reaped his Puritan victories. -When such words are whispered through a nation, all official voices -clamor in vain: the nation has found its poem, it stops its ears to the -troublesome would-be distractors, and presently sings it out with a full -voice and from a full heart.</p> - -<p>But the contagion had even reached the men in office, and Henry VIII at -last permitted the English Bible to be published.<a name="NoteRef_24_24" id="NoteRef_24_24"></a><a href="#Note_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> England had her -book. Everyone, says Strype, who could buy this book either read it -assiduously, or had it read to him by others, and many well advanced in -years learned to read with the same object. On Sunday the poor folk -gathered at the bottom of the churches to hear it read. Maldon, a young -man, afterwards related that he had clubbed his savings with an -apprentice to buy a New Testament, and that for fear of his father they -had hidden it in their straw mattress. In vain the king in his -proclamation had ordered people not to rest too much upon their own -sense, ideas, or opinions; not to reason publicly about it in the public -taverns and alehouses, but to have recourse to learned and authorized -men; the seed sprouted, and they chose rather to take God's word in the -matter than men's. Maldon declared to his mother that he would not kneel -to the crucifix any longer, and his father in a rage beat him severely, -and was ready to hang him. The preface itself invited men to independent -study, saying that "the Bishop of Rome has studied long to keep the -Bible from the people, and specially from princes, lest they should find -out his tricks and his falsehoods;... knowing well enough, that if the -clear sun of God's word came over the heat of the day, it would drive -away the foul mist of his devilish doctrines."<a name="NoteRef_25_25" id="NoteRef_25_25"></a><a href="#Note_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> Even on the -admission, then, of official voices, they had there the pure and the -whole truth, not merely speculative <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> but moral truth, without which we -cannot live worthily or be saved. Tyndale, the translator, says:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The right waye (yea and the onely waye) to understand the Scripture -unto salvation, is that we ernestlye and above all thynge serche for the -profession of our baptisme or covenauntes made betwene God and us. As -for an example. Christe sayth, Mat. V., Happy are the mercyfull, for -they shall obtayne mercye. Lo, here God hath made a covenaunt wyth us, -to be mercyfull unto us, yf we wyll be mercyfull one to another."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>What an expression! and with what ardor men pricked by the ceaseless -reproaches of a scrupulous conscience, and the presentiment of the dark -future, will devote on these pages the whole attention of eyes and -heart!</p> - -<p>I have before me one of these great old folios,<a name="NoteRef_26_26" id="NoteRef_26_26"></a><a href="#Note_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> in black letter, in -which the pages, worn by horny fingers, have been patched together, in -which an old engraving figures forth to the poor folk the deeds and -menaces of the God of Israel, in which the preface and table of contents -point out to simple people the moral which is to be drawn from each -tragic history, and the application which is to be made of each -venerable precept. Hence have sprung much of the English language, and -half of the English manners; to this day the country is biblical;<a name="NoteRef_27_27" id="NoteRef_27_27"></a><a href="#Note_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> it -was these big books which had transformed Shakespeare's England. To -understand this great change, try to picture these yeomen, these -shopkeepers, who in the evening placed this Bible on their table, and -bareheaded, with veneration, heard or read one of its chapters. Think -that they have no other books, that theirs was a virgin mind, that every -impression would make a furrow, that the monotony of mechanical -existence rendered them entirely open to new emotions, that they opened -this book not for amusement, but to discover in it their doom of life -and death; in brief, that the sombre and impassioned imagination of the -race raised them to the level of the grandeurs and terrors which were to -pass before their eyes. Tyndale, the translator, wrote with such -sentiments, condemned, hunted, in concealment, his mind full of the idea -of a speedy death, and of the great God for whom at last he mounted the -funeral pyre; and the spectators who had seen <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> the remorse of -Macbeth,<a name="NoteRef_28_28" id="NoteRef_28_28"></a><a href="#Note_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> and the murders of Shakespeare can listen to the despair of -David, and the massacres accumulated in the books of Judges and Kings. -The short Hebrew verse-style took hold upon them by its uncultivated -austerity. They have no need, like the French, to have the ideas -developed, explained in fine clear language, to be modified or -connected.<a name="NoteRef_29_29" id="NoteRef_29_29"></a><a href="#Note_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> The serious and pulsating tone shakes them at once; they -understand it with the imagination and the heart; they are not, like -Frenchmen, enslaved to logical regularity; and the old text, so free, so -lofty and terrible, can retain in their language its wildness and its -majesty. More than any people in Europe, by their inner concentration -and rigidity, they realize the Semitic conception of the solitary and -almighty God; a strange conception, which we, with all our critical -methods, have hardly reconstructed within ourselves at the present day. -For the Jew, for the powerful minds who wrote the Pentateuch,<a name="NoteRef_30_30" id="NoteRef_30_30"></a><a href="#Note_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> for -the prophets and authors of the Psalms, life, as we conceive it, was -secluded from living things, plants, animals, firmament, sensible -objects, to be carried and concentrated entirely in the one Being of -whom they are the work and the puppets. Earth is the footstool of this -great God, heaven is His garment. He is in the world, amongst His -creatures, as an Oriental king in his tent, amidst his arms and his -carpets. If you enter this tent, all vanishes before the absorbing idea -of the master; you see but him; nothing has an individual and -independent existence: these arms are but made for his hands, these -carpets for his foot; you imagine them only as spread for him and -trodden by him. The awe-inspiring face and the menacing voice of the -irresistible lord appear behind his instruments. And in a similar -manner, for the Jew, nature and men are nothing of themselves; they are -for the service of God; they have no other reason for existence; no -other use; they vanish before the vast and solitary Being who, extended -and set high as a mountain before human thought, occupies and covers in -Himself the whole horizon. Vainly we attempt, we seed of the Aryan race, -to represent to ourselves this devouring God; we always leave some -beauty, some interest, some part of free <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> existence to nature; we but -half attain to the Creator, with difficulty, after a chain of reasoning, -like Voltaire and Kant; more readily we make Him into an architect; we -naturally believe in natural laws; we know that the order of the world -is fixed; we do not crush things and their relations under the burden of -an arbitrary sovereignty; we do not grasp the sublime sentiment of Job, -who sees the world trembling and swallowed up at the touch of the strong -hand; we cannot endure the intense emotion or repeat the marvellous -accent of the Psalms, in which, amid the silence of beings reduced to -atoms, nothing remains but the heart of man speaking to the eternal -Lord. These Englishmen, in the anguish of a troubled conscience, and the -oblivion of sensible nature, renew it in part. If the strong and harsh -cheer of the Arab, which breaks forth like the blast of a trumpet at the -sight of the rising sun and of the bare solitudes,<a name="NoteRef_31_31" id="NoteRef_31_31"></a><a href="#Note_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> if the mental -trances, the short visions of a luminous and grand landscape, if the -Semitic coloring are wanting, at least the seriousness and simplicity -have remained; and the Hebraic God brought into the modern conscience is -no less a sovereign in this narrow precinct than in the deserts and -mountains from which He sprang. His image is reduced, but His authority -is entire; if He is less poetical, He is more moral. Men read with awe -and trembling the history of His works, the tables of His law, the -archives of His vengeance, the proclamation of His promises and menaces; -they are filled with them. Never has a people been seen so deeply imbued -by a foreign book, has let it penetrate so far into its manners and -writings, its imagination and language. Thenceforth they have found -their King, and will follow Him; no word, lay or ecclesiastic, shall -prevail over His word; they have submitted their conduct to Him, they -will give body and life for Him; and if need be, a day will come when, -out of fidelity to Him, they will overthrow the State.</p> - -<p>It is not enough to hear this King, they must answer Him; and religion -is not complete until the prayer of the people is added to the -revelation of God. In 1548, at last, England received her -prayer-book<a name="NoteRef_32_32" id="NoteRef_32_32"></a><a href="#Note_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> from the hands of Cranmer, Peter Martyr, Bernard Ochin, -Melanchthon; the chief and most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> ardent reformers of Europe were invited -to compose a body of doctrines conformable to Scripture, and to express -a body of sentiments conformable to the true Christian faith. This -prayer-book is an admirable book, in which the full spirit of the -Reformation breathes out, where, beside the moving tenderness of the -gospel, and the manly accents of the Bible, throb the profound emotion, -the grave eloquence, the noble-mindedness, the restrained enthusiasm of -the heroic and poetic souls who had rediscovered Christianity, and had -passed near the fire of martyrdom.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Almighty and most merciful Father; We have erred, and strayed from Thy -ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires -of our own hearts. We have offended against Thy holy laws. We have left -undone those things which we ought to have done; And we have done those -things which we ought not to have done; And there is no health in us. -But Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders. Spare Thou -them, O God, which confess their faults. Restore Thou them that are -penitent; According to Thy promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesu -our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, for His sake; That we may -hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life."</p> - -<p>"Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that Thou hast made, -and dost forgive the sins of all them that are penitent; Create and make -in us new and contrite hearts, that we worthily lamenting our sins, and -acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of Thee, the God of all -mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>The same idea of sin, repentance, and moral renovation continually -recurs; the master-thought is always that of the heart humbled before -invisible justice, and only imploring His grace in order to obtain His -relief. Such a state of mind ennobles man, and introduces a sort of -impassioned gravity in all the important actions of his life. Listen to -the liturgy of the deathbed, of baptism, of marriage; the latter first:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after -God's ordinance, in the holy state of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, -comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, -forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall -live?"</p></blockquote> - - -<p>These are genuine, honest, and conscientious words. No mystic languor -here or elsewhere. This religion is not made for women who dream, yearn, -and sigh, but for men who examine <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> themselves, act and have confidence, -confidence in someone more just than themselves. When a man is sick, and -his flesh is weak, the priest comes to him, and says:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Dearly beloved, know this, that Almighty God is the Lord of life and -death, and of all things to them pertaining, as youth, strength, health, -age, weakness, and sickness. Wherefore, whatsoever your sickness is, -know you certainly, that it is God's visitation. And for what cause -soever this sickness is sent unto you; whether it be to try your -patience for the example of others,... or else it be sent unto you to -correct and amend in you whatsoever doth offend the eyes of your -heavenly Father; know you certainly, that if you truly repent you of -your sins, and bear your sickness patiently, trusting in God's mercy,... -submitting yourself wholly unto His will, it shall turn to your profit, -and help you forward in the right way that leadeth unto everlasting -life."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>A great mysterious sentiment, a sort of sublime epic, void of images, -shows darkly amid these probings of the conscience; I mean a glimpse of -the divine government and of the invisible world, the only existences, -the only realities, in spite of bodily appearances and of the brute -chance, which seems to jumble all things together. Man sees this beyond -at distant intervals, and raises himself out of his mire, as though he -had suddenly breathed a pure and strengthening atmosphere. Such are the -effects of public prayer restored to the people; for this had been taken -from the Latin and rendered into the vulgar tongue: there is a -revolution in this very word. Doubtless routine, here as with the -ancient missal, will gradually do its sad work; by repeating the same -words, man will often do nothing but repeat words; his lips will move -whilst his heart remains inert. But in great anguish, in the confused -agitation of a restless and hollow mind, at the funeral of his -relatives, the strong words of the book will find in him a mood to feel; -for they are living,<a name="NoteRef_33_33" id="NoteRef_33_33"></a><a href="#Note_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> and do not stay in the ears like those of a -dead language; they enter the soul, and as soon as the soul is stirred -and worked upon, they take root there. If you go and hear these words in -England itself, and if you listen to the deep and pulsating accent with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -which they are pronounced, you will see that they constitute there a -national poem, always understood and always efficacious. On Sunday, when -all business and pleasure is suspended, between the bare walls of the -village church, where no image, no <i>ex-voto</i>, no accessory worship -distracts the eyes, the seats are full; the powerful Hebraic verses -knock like the strokes of a battering-ram at the door of every soul; -then the liturgy unfolds its imposing supplications; and at intervals -the song of the congregation, combined with the organ, sustains the -people's devotion. There is nothing graver and more simple than this -singing by the people; no scales, no elaborate melody; it is not -calculated for the gratification of the ear, and yet it is free from the -sickly sadness, from the gloomy monotony which the Middle Ages has left -in the chanting in Roman Catholic churches; neither monkish nor pagan, -it rolls like a manly yet sweet melody, neither contrasting with nor -obscuring the words which accompany it; these words are Psalms -translated into verse, yet lofty; diluted, but not embellished. -Everything harmonizes—place, music, text, ceremony—to place every man, -personally and without a mediator, in presence of a just God, and to -form a moral poetry which shall sustain and develop the moral sense.<a name="NoteRef_34_34" id="NoteRef_34_34"></a><a href="#Note_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> - -<p>One detail is still needed to complete this manly religion—human -reason. The minister ascends the pulpit and speaks: he speaks coldly, I -admit, with literary comments and over-long demonstrations; but solidly, -seriously, like a man who desires to convince, and that by honest means, -who addresses only the reason, and discourses only of justice. With -Latimer and his contemporaries, preaching, like religion, changes its -object and character; like religion, it becomes popular and moral, and -appropriate to those who hear it, to recall them to their duties. Few -men have deserved better of their fellows, in life and word, than he. He -was a genuine Englishman, conscientious, courageous, a man of -common-sense and practical, sprung from the laboring and independent -class, the very heart and sinews of the nation. His father, a brave -yeoman, had a farm of about four pounds a year, on which he employed -half a dozen men, with thirty cows which his wife milked, a good soldier -of the king, keeping equipment for himself and his horse so as to join -the army if need were, training his son to use the bow, making him -buckle on his breastplate, and finding a few nobles at the bottom of his -purse wherewith to send him to school, and thence to the university. -Little Latimer studied eagerly, took his degrees, and continued long a -good Catholic, or, as he says, "in darckense and in the shadow of -death." At about thirty, having often heard Bilney the martyr, and -having, moreover, studied the world and thought for himself, he, as he -tells us, "began from that time forward to smell the word of God, and to -forsooke the Schoole Doctours, and such fooleries"; presently to preach, -and forthwith to pass for a seditious man, very troublesome to those men -in authority who did not act with justice. For this was in the first -place the salient feature of his eloquence: he spoke to people of their -duties, in exact terms. One day, when he preached before the university, -the Bishop of Ely came, curious to hear him. Immediately he changed his -subject, and drew the portrait of a perfect prelate, a portrait which -did not tally well with the bishop's character; and he was denounced for -the act. When he was made chaplain of Henry VIII, awe-inspiring as the -king was, little as he was himself, he dared to write to him <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> freely to -bid him stop the persecution which was set on foot, and to prevent the -interdiction of the Bible; verily he risked his life. He had done it -before, he did it again; like Tyndale, Knox, all the leaders of the -Reformation, he lived in almost ceaseless expectation of death, and in -contemplation of the stake. Sick, liable to racking headaches, stomach -aches, pleurisy, stone, he wrought a vast work, travelling, writing, -preaching, delivering at the age of sixty-seven two sermons every -Sunday, and generally rising at two in the morning, winter and summer, -to study. Nothing can be simpler or more effective than his eloquence; -and the reason is, that he never speaks for the sake of speaking, but of -doing work. His sermons, amongst others those which he preached before -the young king Edward VI, are not, like those of Massillon before the -youthful Louis XV, hung in the air, in the calm region of philosophical -amplifications: Latimer wishes to correct, and he attacks actual vices, -vices which he has seen, which everyone can point at with the finger; he -too points them out, calls things by their name, and people too, giving -facts and details, bravely; and sparing nobody, sets himself without -hesitation to denounce and reform iniquity. Universal as his morality -is, ancient as is his text, he applies it to his contemporaries, to his -audience, at times to the judges who are there "in velvet cotes," who -will not hear the poor, who give but a dog's hearing to such a woman in -a twelvemonth, and who leave another poor woman in the Fleet, refusing -to accept bail;<a name="NoteRef_35_35" id="NoteRef_35_35"></a><a href="#Note_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> at times to the king's officer, whose thefts he -enumerates, whom he sets between hell and restitution, and of whom he -obtains, nay extorts, pound for pound, the stolen money.<a name="NoteRef_36_36" id="NoteRef_36_36"></a><a href="#Note_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> From -abstract iniquity he proceeds always to special abuse; for it is abuse -which cries out and demands, not a discourser, but a champion. With him -theology holds but a secondary place; before all, practice: the true -offence against God in his eyes is a bad action, the true service, the -suppression of bad deeds. And see by what paths he reaches this. No -grand words, no show of style, no exhibition of dialectics. He relates -his life, the lives of others, giving dates, numbers, places; he abounds -in anecdotes, little obvious circumstances, fit to enter the imagination -and arouse the recollections of each hearer. He is familiar, at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> times -humorous, and always so precise, so impressed with real events and -particularities of English life, that we might glean from his sermons an -almost complete description of the manners of his age and country. To -reprove the great, who appropriate common lands by their enclosures, he -details the needs of the peasant, without the least care for -conventional proprieties; he is not working now for conventionalities, -but to produce convictions:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"A plough land must have sheep; yea, they must have sheep to dung their -ground for bearing of corn; for if they have no sheep to help to fat the -ground, they shall have but bare corn and thin. They must have swine for -their food, to make their veneries or bacon of: their bacon is their -venison, for they shall now have <i>hangum tuum</i>, if they get any other -venison; so that bacon is their necessary meat to feed on, which they -may not lack. They must have other cattle: as horses to draw their -plough, and for carriage of things to the markets; and kine for their -milk and cheese, which they must live upon and pay their rents. These -cattle must have pasture, which pasture if they lack, the rest must -needs fail them: and pasture they cannot have, if the land be taken in, -and enclosed from them."<a name="NoteRef_37_37" id="NoteRef_37_37"></a><a href="#Note_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Another time, to put his hearers on their guard against hasty judgments, -he relates that, having entered the gaol at Cambridge to exhort the -prisoners, he found a woman accused of having killed her child, who -would make no confession:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Which denying gave us occasion to search for the matter, and so we did. -And at length we found that her husband loved her not; and therefore he -sought means to make her out of the way. The matter was thus: 'A child -of hers had been sick by the space of a year, and so decayed as it were -in a consumption. At the length it died in harvest-time. She went to her -neighbors and other friends to desire their help, to prepare the child -to the burial: but there was nobody at home; every man was in the field. -The woman, in an heaviness and trouble of spirit, went, and being -herself alone, prepared the child to the burial. Her husband coming -home, not having great love towards her, accused her of the murder; and -so she was taken and brought to Cambridge. But as far forth as I could -learn through earnest inquisition, I thought in my conscience the woman -was not guilty, all the circumstances well considered. Immediately after -this I was called to preach before the king, which was my first sermon -that I made before his majesty, and it was done at Windsor; when his -majesty, after the sermon was done, did most familiarly talk with me in -the gallery. Now, when I saw my time, I kneeled down before his majesty, -opening the whole matter; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> and afterwards most humbly desired his majesty -to pardon that woman. For I thought in my conscience she was not guilty; -else I would not for all the world sue for a murderer. The king most -graciously heard my humble request, insomuch that I had a pardon ready -for her at my return homeward. In the mean season that same woman was -delivered of a child in the tower at Cambridge, whose godfather I was, -and Mistress Cheke was godmother. But all that time I hid my pardon, and -told her nothing of it, only exhorting her to confess the truth. At the -length the time came when she looked to suffer: I came, as I was wont to -do, to instruct her; she made great moan to me, and most earnestly -required me that I would find the means that she might be purified -before her suffering; for she thought she should have been damned, if -she should suffer without purification.... So we travailed with this -woman till we brought her to a good trade; and at the length shewed her -the king's pardon, and let her go.'</p> - -<p>"This tale I told you by this occasion, that though some women be very -unnatural, and forget their children, yet when we hear anybody so -report, we should not be too hasty in believing the tale, but rather -suspend our judgments till we know the truth."<a name="NoteRef_38_38" id="NoteRef_38_38"></a><a href="#Note_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>When a man preaches thus, he is believed; we are sure that he is not -reciting a lesson; we feel that he has seen, that he draws his moral not -from books, but from facts; that his counsels come from the solid basis -whence everything ought to come—I mean from manifold and personal -experience. Many a time have I listened to popular orators, who address -the pocket, and prove their talent by the money they have collected; it -is thus that they hold forth, with circumstantial, recent, proximate -examples, with conversational turns of speech, setting aside great -arguments and fine language. Imagine the ascendancy of the Scriptures -enlarged upon in such words; to what strata of the people it could -descend, what a hold it had upon sailors, workmen, servants! Consider, -again, how the authority of these words is doubled by the courage, -independence, integrity, unassailable and recognized virtue of him who -utters them. He spoke the truth to the king, unmasked robbers, incurred -all kind of hate, resigned his see rather than sign anything against his -conscience; and at eighty years, under Mary, refusing to recant, after -two years of prison and waiting—and what waiting! he was led to the -stake. His companion, Ridley, slept the night before as calmly, we are -told, as ever he did in his life; and when ready to be chained to the -post, said aloud, "O heavenly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> Father, I give Thee most hearty thanks, -for that Thou hast called me to be a professor of Thee, even unto -death." Latimer in his turn, when they brought the lighted fagots, -cried, "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man: we shall -this day light such a candle by God's grace, in England, as I trust -shall never be put out." He then bathed his hands in the flames, and -resigning his soul to God, he expired.</p> - -<p>He had judged rightly: it is by this supreme trial that a creed proves -its strength and gains its adherents; tortures are a sort of propaganda -as well as a testimony, and make converts whilst they make martyrs. All -the writings of the time, and all the commentaries which may be added to -them, are weak compared to the actions which, one after the other, shone -forth at that time from learned and unlearned, down to the most simple -and ignorant. In three years, under Mary, nearly three hundred persons, -men, women, old and young, some all but children, allowed themselves to -be burned alive rather than to abjure. The all-powerful idea of God, and -of the faith due to Him, made them resist all the protests of nature, -and all the trembling of the flesh. "No one will be crowned," said one -of them, "but they who fight like men; and he who endures to the end -shall be saved." Doctor Rogers was burned first, in presence of his wife -and ten children, one at the breast. He had not been told beforehand, -and was sleeping soundly. The wife of the keeper of Newgate woke him, -and told him that he must burn that day. "Then," said he, "I need not -truss my points." In the midst of the flames he did not seem to suffer. -"His children stood by consoling him, in such a way that he looked as if -they were conducting him to a merry marriage."<a name="NoteRef_39_39" id="NoteRef_39_39"></a><a href="#Note_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> A young man of -nineteen, William Hunter, apprenticed to a silk-weaver, was exhorted by -his parents to persevere to the end:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"In the mean time William's father and mother came to him, and desired -heartily of God that he might continue to the end in that good way which -he had begun: and his mother said to him, that she was glad that ever -she was so happy to bear such a child, which could find in his heart to -lose his life for Christ's name's sake.</p> - -<p>"Then William said to his mother, 'For my little pain which I shall <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> -suffer, which is but a short braid, Christ hath promised me, mother -(said he), a crown of joy: may you not be glad of that, mother?' With -that his mother kneeled down on her knees, saying, 'I pray God -strengthen thee, my son, to the end; yea, I think thee as well-bestowed -as any child that ever I bare.'...</p> - -<p>"Then William Hunter plucked up his gown, and stepped over the parlor -groundsel, and went forward cheerfully; the sheriff's servant taking him -by one arm, and I his brother by another. And thus going in the way, he -met with his father according to his dream, and he spake to his son -weeping, and saying, 'God be with thee, son William;' and William said, -'God be with you, good father, and be of good comfort; for I hope we -shall meet again, when we shall be merry.' His father said, 'I hope so, -William;' and so departed. So William went to the place where the stake -stood, even according to his dream, where all things were very unready. -Then William took a wet broom-faggot, and kneeled down thereon, and read -the fifty-first Psalm, till he came to these words, 'The sacrifice of -God is a contrite spirit; a contrite and a broken heart, O God, thou -wilt not despise.'...</p> - -<p>"Then said the sheriff, 'Here is a letter from the queen. If thou wilt -recant thou shalt live; if not, thou shalt be burned. No,' quoth -William, 'I will not recant, God willing.' Then William rose and went to -the stake, and stood upright to it. Then came one Richard Ponde, a -bailiff, and made fast the chain about William.</p> - -<p>"Then said master Brown, 'Here is not wood enough to burn a leg of him.' -Then said William, 'Good people! pray for me; and make speed and -despatch quickly: and pray for me while you see me alive, good people! -and I will pray for you likewise. Now?' quoth master Brown, 'pray for -thee! I will pray no more for thee, than I will pray for a dog.'...</p> - -<p>"Then was there a gentleman which said, 'I pray God have mercy upon his -soul.' The people said 'Amen, Amen.'</p> - -<p>"Immediately fire was made. When William cast his psalter right into his -brother's hand, who said, 'William! think on the holy passion of Christ, -and be not afraid of death.' And William answered, 'I am not afraid.' -Then lift he up his hands to heaven, and said, 'Lord, Lord, Lord, -receive my spirit;' and, casting down his head again into the -smothering smoke, he yielded up his life for the truth, sealing it with -his blood to the praise of God."<a name="NoteRef_40_40" id="NoteRef_40_40"></a><a href="#Note_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>When a passion is able thus to subdue the natural affections, it is able -also to subdue bodily pain; all the ferocity of the time labored in vain -against inward convictions. Thomas Tomkins, a weaver of Shoreditch, -being asked by Bonner is he could stand the fire well, bade him try it. -"Bonner took Tomkins by the fingers and held his hand directly over the -flame," to terrify him. But "he never shrank, till the veins shrank and -the sinews burst, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> and the water (blood) did spirt in Mr. Harpsfield's -face."<a name="NoteRef_41_41" id="NoteRef_41_41"></a><a href="#Note_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> "In the Isle of Guernsey, a woman with child being ordered to -the fire, was delivered in the flames, and the infant being taken from -her, was ordered by the magistrates to be thrown back into the -fire."<a name="NoteRef_42_42" id="NoteRef_42_42"></a><a href="#Note_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> Bishop Hooper was burned three times over in a small fire of -green wood. There was too little wood, and the wind turned aside the -smoke. He cried out, "For God's love, good people, let me have more -fire." His legs and thighs were roasted; one of his hands fell off -before he expired; he endured thus three-quarters of an hour; before him -in a box was his pardon, on condition that he would retract. Against -long sufferings in mephitic prisons, against everything which might -unnerve or seduce, these men were invincible: five died of hunger at -Canterbury; they were in irons night and day, with no covering but their -clothes, on rotten straw; yet there was an understanding amongst them, -that the "cross of persecution" was a blessing from God, "an inestimable -jewel, a sovereign antidote, well-approved, to cure love of self and -earthly affection." Before such examples the people were shaken. A woman -wrote to Bishop Bonner that there was not a child but called him Bonner -the hangman, and knew on his fingers, as well as he knew his Pater, the -exact number of those he had burned at the stake, or suffered to die of -hunger in prison these nine months. "You have lost the hearts of twenty -thousand persons who were inveterate Papists a year ago." The spectators -encouraged the martyrs, and cried out to them that their cause was just. -The Catholic envoy Renard wrote to Charles V that it was said that -several had desired to take their place at the stake, by the side of -those who were being burned. In vain the queen had forbidden, on pain of -death, all marks of approbation. "We know that they are men of God," -cried one of the spectators; "that is why we cannot help saying, God -strengthen them." And all the people answered, "Amen, Amen." What wonder -if, at the coming of Elizabeth, England cast in her lot with -Protestantism? The threats of the Armada urged her on still further; and -the Reformation became national under the pressure of foreign hostility, -at it had become popular through the triumph of its martyrs. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--The_Anglicans">Section IV.—The Anglicans</a></h4> - - -<p>Two distinct branches receive the common sap—one above, the other -beneath: one respected, flourishing, shooting forth in the open air; the -other despised, half buried in the ground, trodden under foot by those -who would crush it: both living, the Anglican as well as the Puritan, -the one in spite of the effort made to destroy it, the other in spite of -the care taken to develop it.</p> - -<p>The court has its religion, like the country—a sincere and winning -religion. Amid the pagan poetry which up to the Revolution always had -the ear of the world, we find gradually piercing through and rising -higher a grave and grand idea which sent its roots to the depth of the -public mind. Many poets, Drayton, Davies, Cowley, Giles Fletcher, -Quarles, Crashaw, wrote sacred histories, pious or moral verses, noble -stanzas on death and the immortality of the soul, on the frailty of -things human, and on the supreme providence in which alone man finds the -support of his weakness and the consolation of his sufferings. In the -greatest prose writers, Bacon, Burton, Sir Thomas Browne, Raleigh, we -see spring up the fruits of veneration, thoughts about the obscure -beyond; in short, faith and prayer. Several prayers written by Bacon are -amongst the finest known; and the courtier Raleigh, whilst writing of -the fall of empires, and how the barbarous nations had destroyed this -grand and magnificent Roman Empire, ended his book with the ideas and -tone of a Bossuet.<a name="NoteRef_43_43" id="NoteRef_43_43"></a><a href="#Note_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> Picture Saint Paul's in London, and the -fashionable people who used to meet there; the gentlemen who noisily -made the rowels of their spurs resound on entering, looked around and -carried on conversation during service, who swore by God's eyes, God's -eyelids, who amongst the vaults and chapels showed off their beribboned -shoes, their chains, scarfs, satin doublets, velvet cloaks, their -braggadocio manners and stage attitudes. All this was very free, very -loose, very far from our modern decency. But pass over youthful bluster; -take man in his great moments, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> in prison, in danger, or indeed when old -age arrives, when he has come to judge of life; take him, above all, in -the country, on his estate, far from any town, in the church of the -village where he is lord; or again, when he is alone in the evening, at -his table, listening to the prayer offered up by his chaplain, having no -books but some big folio of dramas, well dog's-eared; and his -prayer-book and Bible; you may then understand how the new religion -tightens its hold on these imaginative and serious minds. It does not -shock them by a narrow rigor; it does not fetter the flight of their -mind; it does not attempt to extinguish the buoyant flame of their mind; -it does not proscribe the beautiful: it preserves more than any reformed -church the noble pomp of the ancient worship, and rolls under the domes -of its cathedrals the rich modulations, the majestic harmonies of its -grave, organ-led music. It is its characteristic not to be in opposition -to the world, but, on the contrary, to draw it nearer to itself, by -bringing itself nearer to it. By its secular condition as well as by its -external worship, it is embraced by and it embraces it: its head is the -Queen, it is a part of the Constitution, its sends its dignitaries to -the House of Lords; it suffers its priests to marry; its benefices are -in the nomination of the great families; its chief members are the -younger sons of these same families: by all these channels it imbibes -the spirit of the age. In its hands, therefore, reformation cannot -become hostile to science, to poetry, to the liberal ideas of the -Renaissance. Nay, in the nobles of Elizabeth and James I, as in the -cavaliers of Charles I, it tolerates artistic tastes, philosophical -curiosity, the ways of the world, and the sentiment of the beautiful. -The alliance is so strong, that, under Cromwell, the ecclesiastics in a -mass were dismissed for their king's sake, and the cavaliers died -wholesale for the Church. The two societies mutually touch and are -confounded together. If several poets are pious, several ecclesiastics -are poetical—Bishop Hall, Bishop Corbet, Wither a rector, and the -preacher Donne. If several laymen rise to religious contemplations, -several theologians, Hooker, John Hales, Taylor, Chillingworth, set -philosophy and reason by the side of dogma. Accordingly we find a new -literature arising lofty and original, eloquent and moderate, armed at -the same time against the Puritans, who sacrifice freedom of intellect -to the tyranny of the text, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> against the Catholics, who sacrifice -independence of criticism to the tyranny of tradition; opposed equally -to the servility of literal interpretation, and the servility of a -prescribed interpretation. Opposed to the first appears the learned and -excellent Hooker, one of the gentlest and most conciliatory of men, the -most solid and persuasive of logicians, a comprehensive mind, who in -every question ascends to the principles,<a name="NoteRef_44_44" id="NoteRef_44_44"></a><a href="#Note_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> introduces into -controversy general conceptions, and the knowledge of human nature;<a name="NoteRef_45_45" id="NoteRef_45_45"></a><a href="#Note_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> -beyond this, a methodical writer, correct and always ample, worthy of -being regarded not only as one of the fathers of the English Church, but -as one of the founders of English prose. With a sustained gravity and -simplicity, he shows the Puritans that the laws of nature, reason, and -society, like the law of Scripture, are of divine institution, that all -are equally worthy of respect and obedience, that we must not sacrifice -the inner word, by which God reaches our intellect, to the outer word, -by which God reaches our senses; that thus the civil constitution of the -church, and the visible ordinance of ceremonies, may be conformable to -the will of God, even when they are not justified by a clear text of -Scripture; and that the authority of the magistrates, as well as the -reason of man, does not exceed its rights in establishing certain -uniformities and disciplines on which Scripture is silent, in order that -reason may decide: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"For if the natural strength of man's wit may by experience and study -attain unto such ripeness in the knowledge of things human, that men in -this respect may presume to build somewhat upon their judgment; what -reason have we to think but that even in matters divine, the like wits -furnished with necessary helps, exercised in Scripture with like -diligence, and assisted with the grace of Almighty God, may grow unto so -much perfection of knowledge, that men shall have just cause, when -anything pertinent unto faith and religion is doubted of, the more -willingly to incline their minds towards that which the sentence of so -grave, wise, and learned in that faculty shall judge most sound."<a name="NoteRef_46_46" id="NoteRef_46_46"></a><a href="#Note_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This "natural light" therefore must not be despised, but rather used so -as to augment the other, as we put torch to torch; above all, employed -that we may live in harmony with each other.<a name="NoteRef_47_47" id="NoteRef_47_47"></a><a href="#Note_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Far more comfort it were for us (so small is the joy we take in these -strifes) to labor under the same yoke, as men that look for the same -eternal reward of their labors, to be conjoined with you in bands of -indissoluble love and amity, to live as if our persons being many, our -souls were but one, rather than in such dismembered sort to spend our -few and wretched days in a tedious prosecuting of wearisome -contentions."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>In fact, the conclusions of the greatest theologians are for such -harmony: abandoning an oppressive practice they grasp a liberal spirit. -If by its political structure the English Church is persecuting, by its -doctrinal structure it is tolerant; it needs the reason of the laity too -much to refuse it liberty; it lives in a world too cultivated and -thoughtful to proscribe thought and culture. John Hales, its most -eminent doctor, declared several times that he would renounce the Church -of England to-morrow if she insisted on the doctrine that other -Christians would be damned; and that men believe other people to be -damned only when they desire them to be so.<a name="NoteRef_48_48" id="NoteRef_48_48"></a><a href="#Note_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> It was he again, a -theologian, a prebendary, who advises men to trust to themselves alone -in religious matters; to leave nothing to authority, or antiquity, or -the majority; to use their own reason in believing, as they use "their -own legs in walking"; to act and be men in mind as well as in the rest; -and to regard as cowardly and impious the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> borrowing of doctrine and -sloth of thought. So Chillingworth, a notably militant and loyal mind, -the most exact, the most penetrating, and the most convincing of -controversialists, first Protestant, then Catholic, then Protestant -again and forever, has the courage to say that these great changes, -wrought in himself and by himself, through study and research, are, of -all his actions, those which satisfy him most. He maintains that reason -alone applied to Scripture ought to persuade men; that authority has no -claim in it; that nothing is more against religion than to force -religion; that the great principle of the Reformation is liberty of -conscience; and that if the doctrines of the different Protestant sects -are not absolutely true, at least they are free from all impiety and -from all error damnable in itself, or destructive of salvation. Thus is -developed a new school of polemics, a theology, a solid and rational -apologetics, rigorous in its arguments, capable of expansion, confirmed -by science, and which authorizing independence of personal judgment at -the same time with the intervention of the natural reason, leaves -religion within reach of the world and the establishments of the past -struggling with the future.</p> - -<p>A writer of genius appears amongst these, a prose-poet, gifted with an -imagination like Spenser and Shakespeare—Jeremy Taylor, who, from the -bent of his mind as well as from circumstances, was destined to present -the alliance of the Renaissance with the Reformation, and to carry into -the pulpit the ornate style of the court. A preacher at St. Paul's, -appreciated and admired by men of fashion for his youthful and fresh -beauty and his graceful bearing, as also for his splendid diction; -patronized and promoted by Archbishop Laud, he wrote for the king a -defence of episcopacy; became chaplain to the king's army; was taken, -ruined, twice imprisoned by the Parliamentarians; married a natural -daughter of Charles I; then, after the Restoration, was loaded with -honors; became a bishop, member of the Privy Council, and -vice-chancellor of the university of Dublin. In every passage of his -life, fortunate or otherwise, private or public, we see that he is an -Anglican, a royalist, imbued with the spirit of the cavaliers and -courtiers, not with their vices. On the contrary, there was never a -better or more upright man, more zealous in his duties, more tolerant by -principle; so that, preserving a Christian gravity and purity, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> he -received from the Renaissance only its rich imagination, its classical -erudition, and its liberal spirit. But he had these gifts entire, as -they existed in the most brilliant and original of the men of the world, -in Sir Philip Sidney, Lord Bacon, Sir Thomas Browne, with the graces, -splendors, refinements which are characteristic of these sensitive and -creative geniuses, and yet with the redundancies, singularities, -incongruities inevitable in an age when excess of spirit prevented the -soundness of taste. Like all these writers, like Montaigne, he was -imbued with classic antiquity; in the pulpit he quotes Greek and Latin -anecdotes, passages from Seneca, verses of Lucretius and Euripides, and -this side by side with texts from the Bible, from the Gospels, and the -Fathers. Cant was not yet in vogue; the two great sources of teaching, -Christian and pagan, ran side by side; they were collected in the same -vessel, without imagining that the wisdom of reason and nature could mar -the wisdom of faith and revelation. Fancy these strange sermons in which -the two eruditions, Hellenic and evangelic, flow together with their -texts, and each text in its own language; in which, to prove that -fathers are often unfortunate in their children, the author brings -forward one after the other, Chabrias, Germanicus, Marcus Aurelius, -Hortensius, Quintus Fabius Maximus, Scipio Africanus, Moses, and Samuel; -where in the form of comparisons and illustrations it heaped up the -spoil of histories, and authorities on botany, astronomy, zoology, which -the cyclopædias and scientific fancies at that time poured into the -brain. Taylor will relate to you the history of the bears of Pannonia, -which, when wounded, will press the iron deeper home; or of the apples -of Sodom, which are beautiful to the gaze, but full within of rottenness -and worms; and many others of the same kind. For it was a characteristic -of men of this age and school, not to possess a mind swept, levelled, -regulated, laid out in straight paths, like the seventeenth-century -writers in France, and like the gardens at Versailles, but full, and -crowded with circumstantial facts, complete dramatic scenes, little -colored pictures, pell-mell and badly dusted; so that, lost in confusion -and dust, the modern spectator cries out at their pedantry and -coarseness. Metaphors swarm one above the other, jumbled, blocking each -other's path, as in Shakespeare. We think to follow one, and a second -begins, then a third cutting into the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> second, and so on, flower after -flower, firework after firework, so that the brightness becomes misty -with sparks, and the sight ends in a haze. On the other hand, and just -by virtue of this same turn of mind, Taylor imagines objects, not -vaguely and feebly, by some indistinct general conception, but -precisely, entire, as they are, with their visible color, their proper -form, the multitude of true and particular details which distinguish -them in their species. He is not acquainted with them by hearsay; he has -seen them. Better, he sees them now and makes them so be seen. Read the -following extract, and say if it does not seem to have been copied from -a hospital, or from a field of battle:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"And what can we complain of the weakness of our strengths, or the -pressures of diseases, when we see a poor soldier stand in a breach -almost starved with cold and hunger, and his cold apt to be relieved -only by the heats of anger, a fever, or a fired musket, and his hunger -slacked by a greater pain and a huge fear? This man shall stand in his -arms and wounds, <i>patiens luminis atque solis</i>, pale and faint, weary -and watchful; and at night shall have a bullet pulled out of his flesh, -and shivers from his bones, and endure his mouth to be sewed up from a -violent rent to its own dimensions; and all this for a man whom he never -saw, or, if he did, was not noted by him; but one that shall condemn him -to the gallows if he runs away from all this misery."<a name="NoteRef_49_49" id="NoteRef_49_49"></a><a href="#Note_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This is the advantage of a full imagination over ordinary reason. It -produces in a lump twenty or thirty ideas, and as many images, -exhausting the subject which the other only outlines and sketches. There -are a thousand circumstances and shades in every event, and they are all -grasped in living words like these:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"For so have I seen the little purls of a spring sweat through the -bottom of a bank, and intenerate the stubborn pavement, till it hath -made it fit for the impression of a child's foot; and it was despised, -like the descending pearls of a misty morning, till it had opened its -way and made a stream large enough to carry away the ruins of the -undermined strand, and to invade the neighboring gardens; but then the -despised drops were grown into an artificial river, and an intolerable -mischief. So are the first entrances of sin, stopped with the antidotes -of a hearty prayer, and checked into sobriety by the eye of a reverend -man, or the counsels of a single sermon; but when such beginnings are -neglected, and our religion hath not in it so much philosophy as to -think anything evil as long as we can endure it, they grow up to ulcers <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -and pestilential evils; they destroy the soul by their abode, who at -their first entry might have been killed with the pressure of a little -finger."<a name="NoteRef_50_50" id="NoteRef_50_50"></a><a href="#Note_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>All extremes meet in that imagination. The cavaliers who heard him, -found, as in Ford, Beaumont and Fletcher, the crude copy of the most -coarse and unclean truth, and the light music of the most graceful and -airy fancies; the smell and horrors of a dissecting-room,<a name="NoteRef_51_51" id="NoteRef_51_51"></a><a href="#Note_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> and all on -a sudden the freshness and cheerfulness of smiling dawn; the hateful -detail of leprosy, its white spots, its inner rottenness; and then this -lovely picture of a lark, rising amid the early perfumes of the fields:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"For so have I seen a lark arising from his bed of grass, and soaring -upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb -above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud -sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and -inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it -could recover by the vibration and frequent weighing of his wings, till -the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the -storm was over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and -sing, as if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed -sometimes through the air, about his ministries here below. So is the -prayer of a good man."<a name="NoteRef_52_52" id="NoteRef_52_52"></a><a href="#Note_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>And he continues with the charm, sometimes with the very words, of -Shakespeare. In the preacher, as well as in the poet, as well as in all -the cavaliers and all the artists of the time, the imagination is so -full, that it reaches the real, even to its filth, and the ideal as far -as its heaven.</p> - -<p>How could true religious sentiment thus accommodate itself to such a -frank and worldly gait? This, however, is what is has done; and -more—the latter has generated the former. With Taylor, as well as with -the others, bold poetry leads to profound faith. If this alliance -astonishes us to-day, it is because in this respect people have grown -pedantic. We take a formal man for a religious man. We are content to -see him stiff in his black coat, choked in a white neckerchief, with a -prayer-book in his hand. We confound piety with decency, propriety, -permanent and perfect regularity. We proscribe to a man of faith all -candid speech, all bold gesture, all fire and dash in word or act; we -are shocked by Luther's rude words, the bursts of laughter <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> which shook -his mighty paunch, his rages like a working-man, his plain free -speaking, the audacious familiarity with which he treats Christ and the -Deity.<a name="NoteRef_53_53" id="NoteRef_53_53"></a><a href="#Note_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> We do not perceive that these freedoms and this recklessness -are precisely signs of entire belief, that warm and immoderate -conviction is too sure of itself to be tied down to an irreproachable -style, that impulsive religion consists not of punctilios but of -emotions. It is a poem, the greatest of all, a poem believed in; this is -why these men found it at the end of their poesy: the way of looking at -the world, adopted by Shakespeare and all the tragic poets, led to it; -another step, and Jacques, Hamlet, would be there. That vast obscurity, -that black unexplored ocean, "the unknown country," which they saw on -the verge of our sad life, who knows whether it is not bounded by -another shore? The troubled notion of the shadowy beyond is national, -and this is why the national renaissance at this time became Christian. -When Taylor speaks of death he only takes up and works out a thought -which Shakespeare had already sketched:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"All the succession of time, all the changes in nature, all the -varieties of light and darkness, the thousand thousands of accidents in -the world, and every contingency to every man, and to every creature, -doth preach our funeral sermon, and calls us to look and see how the old -sexton Time throws up the earth, and digs a grave where we must lay our -sins or our sorrows, and sow our bodies, till they rise again in a fair -or in an intolerable eternity."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>For beside this final death, which swallows us whole, there are partial -deaths which devour us piecemeal:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Every revolution which the sun makes about the world, divides between -life and death; and death possesses both those portions by the next -morrow; and we are dead to all those months which we have already lived, -and we shall never live them over again: and still God makes little -periods of our age. First we change our world, when we come from the -womb to feel the warmth of the sun. Then we sleep and enter into the -image of death, in which state we are unconcerned in all the changes of -the world: and if our mothers or our nurses die, or a wild boar destroy -our vineyards, or our king be sick, we regard it not, but during that -state are as disinterest as if our eyes were closed with the clay that -weeps in the bowels of the earth. At the end of seven <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> years our teeth -fall and die before us, representing a formal prologue to the tragedy; -and still every seven years it is odds but we shall finish the last -scene: and when nature, or chance, or vice, takes our body in pieces, -weakening some parts and loosing others, we taste the grave and the -solemnities of our own funerals, first in those parts that ministered to -vice, and next in them that served for ornament, and in a short time -even they that served for necessity become useless, and entangled like -the wheels of a broken clock. Baldness is but a dressing to our -funerals, the proper ornament of mourning, and of a person entered very -far into the regions and possession of death: and we have many more of -the same signification; gray hairs, rotten teeth, dim eyes, trembling -joints, short breath, stiff limbs, wrinkled skin, short memory, decayed -appetite. Every day's necessity calls for a reparation of that portion -which death fed on all night, when we lay in his lap and slept in his -outer chambers. The very spirits of a man prey upon the daily portion of -bread and flesh, and every meal is a rescue from one death, and lays up -for another; and while we think a thought, we die; and the clock -strikes, and reckons on our portion of eternity: we form our words with -the breath of our nostrils, we have the less to live upon for every word -we speak."<a name="NoteRef_54_54" id="NoteRef_54_54"></a><a href="#Note_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Beyond all these destructions other destructions are at work; chance -mows us down as well as nature, and we are the prey of accident as well -as of necessity:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Thus nature calls us to meditate of death by those things which are the -instruments of acting it: and God by all the variety of His providence -makes us see death everywhere, in all variety of circumstances, and -dressed up for all the fancies, and the expectation of every single -person.<a name="NoteRef_55_55" id="NoteRef_55_55"></a><a href="#Note_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a>... And how many teeming mothers have rejoiced over their -swelling wombs, and pleased themselves in becoming the channels of -blessing to a family, and the midwife hath quickly bound their heads and -feet and carried them forth to burial?<a name="NoteRef_56_56" id="NoteRef_56_56"></a><a href="#Note_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a>... You can go no whither but -you tread upon a dead man's bones."<a name="NoteRef_57_57" id="NoteRef_57_57"></a><a href="#Note_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Thus these powerful words roll on, sublime as an organ motet; this -universal crushing out of human vanities has the funeral grandeur of a -tragedy; piety in this instance proceeds from eloquence, and genius -leads to faith. All the powers and all the tenderness of the soul are -moved. It is not a cold rigorist who speaks; it is a man, a moved man, -with senses and a heart, who has become a Christian not by -mortification, but by the development of his whole being:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Reckon but from the sprightfulness of youth, and the fair cheeks and -full eyes of childhood, from the vigorousness and strong flexture of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> the -joints of five and twenty, to the hollowness and dead paleness, to the -loathsomeness and horror of a three days' burial, and we shall perceive -the distance to be very great and very strange. But so have I seen a -rose newly springing from the clefts of its hood, and at first it was -fair as the morning, and full with the dew of heaven as a lamb's fleece; -but when a ruder breath had forced open its virgin modesty, and -dismantled its too youthful and unripe retirements, it began to put on -darkness, and to decline to softness and the symptoms of a sickly age; -it bowed the head, and broke its stalk, and at night having lost some of -its leaves and all its beauty, it fell into the portion of weeds and -outworn faces. The same is the portion of every man and every woman, the -heritage of worms and serpents, rottenness and cold dishonor, and our -beauty so changed, that our acquaintance quickly knew us not; and that -change mingled with so much horror, or else meets so with our fears and -weak discoursings, that they who six hours ago tended upon us either -with charitable or ambitious services, cannot without some regret stay -in the room alone where the body lies stripped of its life and honor. I -have read of a fair young German gentleman who living often refused to -be pictured, but put off the importunity of his friends' desire by -giving way that after a few days' burial they might send a painter to -his vault, and if they saw cause for it draw the image of his death unto -the life: they did so, and found his face half eaten, and his midriff -and backbone full of serpents; and so he stands pictured among his armed -ancestors. So does the fairest beauty change, and it will be as bad with -you as me; and then what servants shall we have to wait upon us in the -grave? what friends to visit us? what officious people to cleanse away -the moist and unwholesome cloud reflected upon our faces from the sides -of the weeping vaults, which are the longest weepers for our -funeral?"<a name="NoteRef_58_58" id="NoteRef_58_58"></a><a href="#Note_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Brought hither, like Hamlet to the burying-ground, amid the skulls which -he recognizes, and under the oppression of the death which he touches, -man needs but a slight effort to see a new world arise in his heart. He -seeks the remedy of his sadness in the idea of eternal justice, and -implores it with a breadth of words which makes the prayer a hymn in -prose, as beautiful as a work of art:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Eternal God, Almighty Father of men and angels, by whose care and -providence I am preserved and blessed, comforted and assisted, I humbly -beg of Thee to pardon the sins and follies of this day, the weakness of -my services, and the strengths of my passions, the rashness of my words, -and the vanity and evil of my actions. O just and dear God, how long -shall I confess my sins, and pray against them, and yet fall under them? -O let it be so no more; let me never return to the follies of which I am -ashamed, which bring sorrow and death, and Thy displeasure, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> worse than -death. Give me a command over my inclinations and a perfect hatred of -sin, and a love to Thee above all the desires of this world. Be pleased -to bless and preserve me this night from all sin and all violence of -chance, and the malice of the spirits of darkness: watch over me in my -sleep; and whether I sleep or wake, let me be Thy servant. Be Thou first -and last in all my thoughts, and the guide and continual assistance of -all my actions. Preserve my body, pardon the sin of my soul, and -sanctify my spirit. Let me always live holily and soberly; and when I -die receive my soul into Thy hands."<a name="NoteRef_59_59" id="NoteRef_59_59"></a><a href="#Note_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></p></blockquote> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--The_Puritans">Section V.—The Puritans</a></h4> - - -<p>This was, however, but an imperfect Reformation, and the official -religion was too closely bound up with the world to undertake to cleanse -it thoroughly; if it repressed the excesses of vice, it did not attack -its source; and the paganism of the Renaissance, following its bent, -already under James I issued in the corruption, orgies, disgusting, and -drunken habits, provoking and gross sensuality,<a name="NoteRef_60_60" id="NoteRef_60_60"></a><a href="#Note_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> which subsequently -under the Restoration stank like a sewer in the sun. But underneath the -established Protestantism was propagated the forbidden Protestantism: -the yeomen were settling their faith like the gentlemen, and already the -Puritans made headway under the Anglicans.</p> - -<p>No culture here, no philosophy, no sentiment of harmonious and pagan -beauty. Conscience alone spoke, and its restlessness had become a -terror. The sons of the shopkeeper, of the farmer, who read the Bible in -the barn or the counting-house, amid the barrels or the wool-bags, did -not take matters as a handsome cavalier bred up in the old mythology, -and refined by an elegant Italian education. They took them tragically, -sternly examined themselves, pricked their hearts with their scruples, -filled their imaginations with the vengeance of God and the terrors of -the Bible. A gloomy epic, terrible and grand as the Edda, was fermenting -in their melancholy imaginations. They steeped themselves in texts of -St. Paul, in the thundering menaces of the prophets; they burdened their -minds with the pitiless doctrines of Calvin; they admitted that the -majority of men were predestined <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> to eternal damnation:<a name="NoteRef_61_61" id="NoteRef_61_61"></a><a href="#Note_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> many believed -that this multitude were criminal before their birth; that God willed, -foresaw, provided for their ruin; that He designed their punishment from -all eternity; that He created them simply to give them up to it.<a name="NoteRef_62_62" id="NoteRef_62_62"></a><a href="#Note_62_62" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> -Nothing but grace can save the wretched creature, free grace, God's -sheer favor, which He only grants to a few, and which He distributes not -according to the struggles and works of men, but according to the -arbitrary choice of His single and absolute will. We are "children of -wrath," plague-stricken, and condemned from our birth; and wherever we -look in all the expanse of heaven, we find but thunderbolts flashing to -destroy us. Fancy, if you can, the effects of such an idea on solitary -and morose minds, such as this race and climate generate. Several -persons thought themselves damned, and went groaning about the streets; -others hardly ever slept. They were beside themselves, always imagining -that they felt the hand of God or the claw of the devil upon them. An -extraordinary power, immense means of action, were suddenly opened up in -the soul, and there was no barrier in the moral life, and no -establishment in civil society which their efforts could not upset.</p> - -<p>Forthwith private life was transformed. How could ordinary sentiments, -natural and everyday notions of happiness and pleasure, subsist before -such a conception? Suppose men condemned to death, not ordinary death, -but the rack, torture, an infinitely horrible and infinitely extended -torment, waiting for their sentence, and yet knowing that they had one -chance in a thousand, in a hundred thousand, of pardon; could they still -go on amusing themselves, taking an interest in the business or pleasure -of the time? The azure heaven shines not for them, the sun warms them -not, the beauty and sweetness of things have no attraction for them; -they have lost the wont of laughter; they fasten inwardly, pale and -silent, on their anguish and their expectation; they have but one -thought: "Will the Judge pardon me?" They anxiously probe the -involuntary motions of their heart, which alone can reply, and the inner -revelation, which alone can render them certain of pardon or ruin. They -think that any other condition of mind is unholy, that recklessness and -joy are monstrous, that every worldly recreation or preoccupation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> is an -act of paganism, and that the true mark of a Christian is trepidation at -the very idea of salvation. Thenceforth rigor and rigidity mark their -manners. The Puritan condemns the stage, the assemblies, the world's -pomps and gatherings, the court's gallantry and elegance, the poetical -and symbolical festivals of the country, the May-pole days, the merry -feasts, bell-ringings, all the outlets by which sensuous or instinctive -nature endeavored to relieve itself. He gives them up, abandons -recreations and ornaments, crops his hair closely, wears a simple -sombre-hued coat, speaks through his nose, walks stiffly, with his eyes -turned upwards, absorbed, indifferent to visible things. The external -and natural man is abolished; only the inner and spiritual man survives; -there remains of the soul only the ideas of God and conscience—a -conscience alarmed and diseased, but strict in every duty, attentive to -the least requirements, disdaining the caution of worldly morality, -inexhaustible in patience, courage, sacrifice, enthroning chastity on -the domestic hearth, truth before the tribunals, honesty in the -counting-house, labor in the workshop, everywhere a fixed determination -to bear all and do all rather than fail in the least injunction of moral -justice and Bible-law. The stoical energy, the fundamental honesty of -the race, were aroused at the appeal of an enthusiastic imagination; and -these unbending characteristics were displayed in their entirety in -conjunction with abnegation and virtue.</p> - -<p>Another step, and this great movement passed from within to without, -from individual manners to public institutions. Observe these people in -their reading of the Bible: they apply to themselves the commands -imposed on the Jews, and the prologues urge them to it. At the beginning -of their Bibles the translator<a name="NoteRef_63_63" id="NoteRef_63_63"></a><a href="#Note_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> places a table of the principal words -in the Scripture, each with its definition and text to support it. They -read and weigh these words: "<i>Abomination</i> before God are Idoles, -Images. Before whom the people do bow them selfes." Is this precept -observed? No doubt the images are taken away, but the queen has still a -crucifix in her chapel, and is it not a remnant of idolatry to kneel -down when taking the sacrament? "<i>Abrogacion</i>, that is to abolyshe, or -to make of none effecte: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> And so the lawe of the commandementes whiche -was in the decrees and ceremonies, is abolished. The sacrifices, festes, -meates, and al outwarde ceremonies are abrogated, and all the order of -priesthode is abrogated." Is this so, and how does it happen that the -bishops still take upon themselves the right of prescribing faith, -worship, and of tyrannizing over Christian consciences? And have they -not preserved in the organ-music, in the surplice of the priests, in the -sign of the cross, in a hundred other practices, all these visible rites -which God has declared profane? "<i>Abuses.</i> The abuses that be in the -church ought to be corrected by the prynces. The ministers ought to -preache against abuses. Any maner of mere tradicions of man are abuses." -What, meanwhile, is their prince doing, and why does he leave abuses in -the church? The Christian must rise and protest; we must purge the -church from the pagan crust with which tradition has covered it.<a name="NoteRef_64_64" id="NoteRef_64_64"></a><a href="#Note_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></p> - -<p>Such are the ideas conceived by these uncultivated minds. Fancy the -simple folk, more capable by their simplicity of a sturdy faith, these -freeholders, these big traders, who have sat on juries, voted at -elections, deliberated, discussed in common private and public business, -used to examine the law, the comparing of precedents, all the details of -juridical and legal procedure; bringing their lawyer's and pleader's -training to bear upon the interpretation of Scripture, who, having once -formed a conviction, employ for it the cold passion, the intractable -obstinacy, the heroic sternness of the English character. Their precise -and combative minds take the business in hand. Everyone holds himself -bound to be ready, strong, and well prepared to answer all such as shall -demand a reason of his faith. Each one has his difficulty and -conscientious scruple<a name="NoteRef_65_65" id="NoteRef_65_65"></a><a href="#Note_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> about some portion of the liturgy or the -official hierarchy; about the dignities of canons and archdeacons, or -certain passages of the funeral service; about the sacramental bread or -the reading of the apocryphal books in church; about plurality of -benefices <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> or the ecclesiastical square cap. They each oppose some point, -all together the episcopacy and the retention of Romish ceremonies.<a name="NoteRef_66_66" id="NoteRef_66_66"></a><a href="#Note_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> -Then they are imprisoned, fined, put in the pillory; they have their -ears cut off; their ministers are dismissed, hunted out, prosecuted.<a name="NoteRef_67_67" id="NoteRef_67_67"></a><a href="#Note_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> -The law declares that anyone above the age of sixteen who for the space -of a month shall refuse to attend the established worship, shall be -imprisoned until such time as he shall submit; and if he does not submit -at the end of three months, he shall be banished the kingdom; and if he -returns, put to death. They allow this to go on, and show as much -firmness in suffering as scruple in belief; for a tittle about receiving -of the communion, sitting rather than kneeling, or standing rather than -sitting, they give up their livings, their property, their liberty, -their country. One Dr. Leighton was imprisoned fifteen weeks in a dog's -kennel, without fire, roof, bed, and in irons: his hair and skin fell -off; he was set in the pillory during the November frosts, then whipped, -and branded on the forehead; his ears were cut off, his nose slit; he -was shut up eight years in the Fleet, and thence cast into the common -prison. Many went cheerfully to the stake. Religion with them was a -covenant, that is, a treaty made with God, which must be kept in spite -of everything, as a written engagement, to the letter, to the last -syllable. An admirable and deplorable stiffness of an over-scrupulous -conscience, which made cavillers at the same time with believers, which -was to make tyrants after it had made martyrs.</p> - -<p>Between the two, it made fighting men. These men had become wonderfully -wealthy and had increased in numbers in the course of eighty years, as -is always the case with men who labor, live honestly, and pass their -lives uprightly, sustained by a powerful source of action from within. -Thenceforth they are able to resist, and they do resist when driven to -extremities; they choose to have recourse to arms rather than be driven -back to idolatry and sin. The Long Parliament assembles, defeats the -king, purges religion; the dam is broken, the Independents are hurled -above the Presbyterians, the fanatics above the mere zealots; -irresistible and overwhelming faith, enthusiasm, grow into a torrent, -swallow up, or at least disturb the strongest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> minds, politicians, -lawyers, captains. The Commons occupy a day in every week in -deliberating on the progress of religion. As soon as they touch upon -doctrines they became furious. A poor man, Paul Best, being accused of -denying the Trinity, they demand the passing of a decree to punish him -with death; James Nayler having imagined that he was God, the Commons -devote themselves to a trial of eleven days, with a Hebraic animosity -and ferocity: "I think him worse than possessed with the devil. Our God -is here supplanted. My ears trembled, my heart shuddered, on hearing the -report. I will speak no more. Let us all stop our ears and stone -him."<a name="NoteRef_68_68" id="NoteRef_68_68"></a><a href="#Note_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> Before the House of Commons, publicly, the men in authority -had ecstasies. After the expulsion of the Presbyterians, the preacher -Hugh Peters started up in the middle of a sermon, and cried out: "Now I -have it by Revelation, now I shall tell you. This army must root up -Monarchy, not only here, but in France and other kingdoms round about; -this is to bring you out of Egypt: this Army is that corner-stone cut -out of the Mountaine, which must dash the powers of the earth to pieces. -But it is objected, the way we walk in is without president (<i>sic</i>); -what think you of the Virgin Mary? was there ever any president before, -that a Woman should conceive a Child without the company of a Man? This -is an Age to make examples and presidents in."<a name="NoteRef_69_69" id="NoteRef_69_69"></a><a href="#Note_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> Cromwell found -prophecies, counsels in the Bible for the present time, positive -justifications of his policy. "He looked upon the Design of the Lord in -this day to be the freeing of His People from every Burden, and that was -now accomplishing what was prophesied in the 110th Psalm; from the -Consideration of which he was often encouraged to attend the effecting -those ends, spending at least an hour in the Exposition of that -psalm."<a name="NoteRef_70_70" id="NoteRef_70_70"></a><a href="#Note_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> Granted that he was a schemer, above all ambitious, yet he -was truly fanatical and sincere. His doctor <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> related that he had been -very melancholy for years at a time, with strange hallucinations, and -the frequent fancy that he was at death's door. Two years before the -Revolution he wrote to his cousin: "Truly no poor creature hath more -cause to put himself forth in the cause of his God than I.... The Lord -accept me in His Son, and give me to walk in the light—and give us to -walk in the light, as He is the light!... blessed be His Name for -shining upon so dark a heart as mine!"<a name="NoteRef_71_71" id="NoteRef_71_71"></a><a href="#Note_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> Certainly he must have -dreamed of becoming a saint as well as a king, and aspired to salvation -as well as to a throne. At the moment when he was proceeding to Ireland, -and was about to massacre the Catholics there, he wrote to his -daughter-in-law a letter of advice which Baxter or Taylor might -willingly have subscribed. In the midst of pressing affairs, in 1651, he -thus exhorted his wife: "My dearest, I could not satisfy myself to omit -this post, although I have not much to write.... It joys me to hear thy -soul prospereth: the Lord increase His favors to thee more and more. The -great good thy soul can wish is, That the Lord lift upon thee the light -of His countenance, which is better than life. The Lord bless all thy -good counsel and example to all those about thee, and hear all thy -prayers, and accept thee always."<a name="NoteRef_72_72" id="NoteRef_72_72"></a><a href="#Note_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> Dying, he asked whether grace once -received could be lost, and was reassured to learn that it could not, -being, as he said, certain that he had once been in a state of grace. He -died with this prayer: "Lord, though I am a miserable and wretched -creature, I am in Covenant with Thee through grace. And I may, I will, -come to Thee, for Thy People. Thou hast made me, though very unworthy, a -mean instrument to do them some good, and Thee service.... Lord, however -Thou do dispose of me, continue and go on to do good for them... and go -on... with the work of reformation; and make the Name of Christ glorious -in the world."<a name="NoteRef_73_73" id="NoteRef_73_73"></a><a href="#Note_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> Underneath this practical, prudent, worldly spirit, -there was an English element of anxious and powerful imagination, -capable of engendering an impassioned Calvinism and mystic fears.<a name="NoteRef_74_74" id="NoteRef_74_74"></a><a href="#Note_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> -The same contrasts were jumbled <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> together and reconciled in the other -Independents. In 1648, after unsuccessful tactics, they were in danger -between the king and the Parliament; then they assembled for several -days together at Windsor to confess themselves to God, and seek His -assistance; and they discovered that all their evils came from the -conferences they had had the weakness to propose to the king. "And in -this path the Lord led us," said Adjutant Allen, "not only to see our -sin, but also our duty; and this so unanimously set with weight upon -each heart that none was able hardly to speak a word to each other for -bitter weeping, partly in the sense and shame of our iniquities; of our -unbelief, base fear of men, and carnal consultations (as the fruit -thereof) with our own wisdoms, and not with the Word of the Lord."<a name="NoteRef_75_75" id="NoteRef_75_75"></a><a href="#Note_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> -Thereupon they resolved to bring the king to judgment and death, and did -as they had resolved.</p> - -<p>Around them, fanaticism and folly gained ground. Independents, -Millenarians, Antinomians, Anabaptists, Libertines, Familists, Quakers, -Enthusiasts, Seekers, Perfectionists, Socinians, Arians, -anti-Trinitarians, anti-Scripturalists, Sceptics; the list of sects is -interminable. Women, soldiers, suddenly got up into the pulpit and -preached. The strangest ceremonies took place in public. In 1644, says -Dr. Featly, the Anabaptists rebaptized a hundred men and women together -at twilight, in streams, in branches of the Thames, and elsewhere, -plunging them in the water over head and ears. One Oates, in the county -of Essex, was brought before a jury for the murder of Anne Martin, who -died a few days after her baptism of a cold which had seized her. George -Fox the Quaker spoke with God, and witnessed with a loud voice, in the -streets and market-places, against the sins of the age. William Simpson, -one of his disciples, "was moved of the Lord to go, at several times, -for three years, naked and barefooted before them, as a sign unto them, -in the markets, courts, towns, cities, to priests' houses, and to great -men's houses, telling them, so shall they all be stripped naked, as he -was stripped naked. And sometimes he was moved to put on hair sackcloth -and to besmear his face, and to tell them, so would the Lord besmear all -their religion as he was besmeared.<a name="NoteRef_76_76" id="NoteRef_76_76"></a><a href="#Note_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>"A female came into Whitehall Chapel stark naked, in the midst of public -worship, the Lord Protector himself being present. A Quaker came to the -door of the Parliament House with a drawn sword, and wounded several who -were present, saying that he was inspired by the Holy Spirit to kill -every man that sat in the house." The Fifth Monarchy men believed that -Christ was about to descend to reign in person upon earth for a thousand -years, with the saints for His ministers. The Ranters looked upon -furious vociferations and contortions as the principal signs of faith. -The Seekers thought that religious truth could only be seized in a sort -of mystical fog, with doubt and fear. The Muggletonians decided that -"John Reeve and Ludovick Muggleton were the two last prophets and -messengers of God"; they declared the Quakers possessed of the devil, -exorcised him, and prophesied that William Penn would be damned. I have -before mentioned James Nayler, an old quartermaster of General Lambert, -adored as a god by his followers. Several women led his horse, others -cast before him their kerchiefs and scarfs, singing, Holy, holy, Lord -God. They called him "lovely among ten thousand, the only Son of God, -the prophet of the Most High, King of Israel, the eternal Son of -Justice, the Prince of Peace, Jesus, him in whom the hope of Israel -rests." One of them, Dorcas Erbury, declared that she had lain dead for -two whole days in her prison in Exeter Gaol, and that Nayler had -restored her to life by laying his hands upon her. Sarah Blackbury -finding him a prisoner, took him by the hand and said, "Rise up, my -love, my dove, my fairest one: why stayest thou among the pots?" Then -she kissed his hand and fell down before him. When he was put in the -pillory, some of his disciples began to sing, weep, smite their breasts; -others kissed his hands, rested on his bosom, and kissed his wounds.<a name="NoteRef_77_77" id="NoteRef_77_77"></a><a href="#Note_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> -Bedlam broken loose could not have surpassed them.</p> - -<p>Underneath the surface and these disorderly bubbles the wise and deep -strata of the nation had settled, and the new faith was doing its work -with them—a practical and positive, a political and moral work. Whilst -the German Reformation, after the German wont, resulted in great volumes -and a scholastic system, the English Reformation, after the English -wont, resulted <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> in action and establishment. "How the Church of Christ -shall be governed"; that was the great question which was discussed -among the sects. The House of Commons asked the Assembly of Divines: If -the classical, provincial, and local assemblies were <i>jure divino</i>, and -instituted by the will and appointment of Jesus Christ? If they were all -so? If only some were so, and which? If appeals carried by the elders of -a congregation to provincial, departmental, and national assemblies were -<i>jure divino</i>, and according to the will and appointment of Jesus -Christ? If some only were <i>jure divino?</i> And which? If the power of the -assemblies in such appeals was <i>jure divino</i>, and by the will and -appointment of Jesus Christ? and a hundred other questions of the same -kind. Parliament declared that, according to Scripture, the dignities of -priest and bishop were equal; it regulated ordinations, convocations, -excommunications, jurisdictions, elections; spent half its time and -exerted all its power in establishing the Presbyterian Church.<a name="NoteRef_78_78" id="NoteRef_78_78"></a><a href="#Note_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> So, -with the Independents, fervor engendered courage and discipline. -"Cromwell's regiment of horse were most of them freeholders' sons, who -engaged in the war upon principles of conscience; and that being well -armed within, by the satisfaction of their consciences, and without with -good iron arms, they would as one man stand firmly and charge -desperately."<a name="NoteRef_79_79" id="NoteRef_79_79"></a><a href="#Note_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> This army, in which inspired corporals preached to -lukewarm colonels, acted with the solidity and precision of a Russian -regiment: it was a duty, a duty towards God, to fire straight and march -in good order; and a perfect Christian made a perfect soldier. There was -no separation here between theory and practice, between private and -public life, between the spiritual and the temporal. They wished to -apply Scripture to "establish the kingdom of heaven upon earth," to -institute not only a Christian Church, but a Christian society, to -change the law into a guardian of morals, to compel men to piety and -virtue; and, for a while they succeeded in it. "Though the discipline of -the church was at an end, there was nevertheless an uncommon spirit of -devotion among people in the parliament quarters; the Lord's day was -observed with remarkable strictness, the churches being crowded with -numerous and attentive hearers three or four times in the day; the -officers of the peace patrolled <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> the streets, and shut up all public -houses; there was no travelling on the road, or walking in the fields, -except in cases of absolute necessity. Religious exercises were set up -in private families, as reading the Scriptures, family prayer, repeating -sermons, and singing of psalms, which was so universal, that you might -walk through the city of London on the evening of the Lord's day, -without seeing an idle person, or hearing anything but the voice of -prayer or praise from churches and private houses."<a name="NoteRef_80_80" id="NoteRef_80_80"></a><a href="#Note_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a> People would -rise before daybreak, and walk a great distance to be able to hear the -word of God. "There were no gaming houses, or houses of pleasure; no -profane swearing, drunkenness, or any kind of debauchery."<a name="NoteRef_81_81" id="NoteRef_81_81"></a><a href="#Note_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> The -Parliamentary soldiers came in great numbers to listen to sermons, spoke -of religion, prayed and sang psalms together, when on duty. In 1644 -Parliament forbade the sale of commodities on Sunday, and ordained "that -no person shall travel, or carry a burden, or do any worldly labour, -upon penalty of 10s. for the traveller, and 5s. for every burden. That -no person shall on the Lord's day use, or be present at, any wrestling, -shooting, fowling, ringing of bells for pleasure, markets, wakes, -church-ales, dancing, games or sports whatsoever, upon penalty of 5s. to -everyone above fourteen years of age. And if children are found -offending in the premises, their parents or guardians to forfeit 12d. -for every offence. If the several fines above mentioned cannot be -levied, the offending party shall be set in the stocks for the space of -three hours." When the Independents were in power, severity became still -greater. The officers in the army, having convicted one of their -quartermasters of blasphemy, condemned him to have his tongue bored with -a red-hot iron, his sword broken over his head, and himself to be -dismissed from the army. During Cromwell's expedition in Ireland, we -read that no blasphemy was heard in the camp; the soldiers spent their -leisure hours in reading the Bible, singing psalms, and holding -religious controversies. In 1650 the punishments inflicted on -Sabbath-breakers were doubled. Stern laws were passed against betting, -gallantry was reckoned a crime; the theatres were destroyed, the -spectators fined, the actors whipped at the cart's tail; adultery -punished with death: in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> order to reach crime more surely, they -persecuted pleasure. But if they were austere against others, they were -so against themselves, and practised the virtues they exacted. After the -Restoration, two thousand ministers, rather than conform to the new -liturgy, resigned their cures, though they and their families had to die -of hunger. Many of them, says Baxter, thinking that they were not -justified in quitting their ministry after being set apart for it by -ordination, preached to such as would hear them in the fields and in -certain houses, until they were seized and thrown into prisons, where a -great number of them perished. Cromwell's fifty thousand veterans, -suddenly disbanded and without resources, did not bring a single recruit -to the vagabonds and bandits. "The Royalists themselves confessed that, -in every department of honest industry, the discarded warriors prospered -beyond other men, that none was charged with any theft or robbery, that -none was heard to ask an alms, and that, if a baker, a mason, or a -waggoner, attracted notice by his diligence and sobriety, he was in all -probability one of Oliver's old soldiers."<a name="NoteRef_82_82" id="NoteRef_82_82"></a><a href="#Note_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> Purified by persecution -and ennobled by patience, they ended by winning the tolerance of the law -and the respect of the public, and raised national morality, as they had -saved national liberty. But others, exiles in America, pushed to the -extreme this great religious and stoical spirit, with its weaknesses and -its power, with its vices and its virtues. Their determination, -intensified by a fervent faith, employed in political and practical -pursuits, invented the science of emigration, made exile tolerable, -drove back the Indians, fertilized the desert, raised a rigid morality -into a civil law, founded and armed a church, and on the Bible as a -basis built up a new state.<a name="NoteRef_83_83" id="NoteRef_83_83"></a><a href="#Note_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a></p> - -<p>That was not a conception of life from which a genuine literature might -be expected to issue. The idea of the beautiful is wanting, and what is -a literature without that? The natural expression of the heart's -emotions is proscribed, and what is a literature without that? They -abolished as impious the free stage and the rich poesy which the -Renaissance had brought them. They rejected as profane the ornate style -and copious <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> eloquence which had been established around them by the -imitation of antiquity and of Italy. They, mistrusted reason, and were -incapable of philosophy. They ignored the divine languor of the -"Imitatio Christi" and the touching tenderness of the Gospel. Their -character exhibits only manliness, their conduct austerity, their mind -preciseness. We find amongst them only excited theologians, minute -controversialists, energetic men of action, narrow and patient minds, -engrossed in positive proofs and practical labors, void of general ideas -and refined tastes, dulled by texts, dry and obstinate reasoners, who -twisted the Scripture in order to extract from it a form of government -or a table of dogma. What could be narrower or more repulsive than these -pursuits and wrangles? A pamphlet of the time petitions for liberty of -conscience, and draws its arguments (1) from the parable of the wheat -and the tares which grow together till the harvest; (2) from this maxim -of the Apostles, Let every man be thoroughly persuaded in his own mind; -(3) from this text, Whatsoever is not of faith is sin; (4) from this -divine rule of our Saviour, Do to others what you would they should do -unto you. Later, when the angry Commons desired to pass judgment on -James Nayler, the trial became entangled in an endless juridical and -theological discussion, some declaring that the crime committed was -idolatry, others seduction, all emptying out before the House their -armory of commentaries and texts.<a name="NoteRef_84_84" id="NoteRef_84_84"></a><a href="#Note_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> Seldom has a generation been found -more mutilated in all the faculties which produce contemplation and -ornament, more reduced to the faculties which nourish discussion and -morality. Like a beautiful insect which has become transformed and has -lost its wings, so we see the poetic generation of Elizabeth disappear, -leaving in its place but a sluggish caterpillar, a stubborn and useful -spinner, armed with industrious feet and formidable jaws, spending its -existence in eating into old leaves and devouring its enemies. They are -without style; they speak like business men; at most, here and there, a -pamphlet of Prynne possesses a little vigor. Their histories, like May's -for instance, are flat and heavy. Their memoirs, even those of Ludlow -and Mrs. Hutchinson, are long, wearisome, mere statements, destitute of -personal <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> feelings, void of enthusiasm or entertaining matter; "they seem -to ignore themselves, and are engrossed by the general prospects of -their cause."<a name="NoteRef_85_85" id="NoteRef_85_85"></a><a href="#Note_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> Good works of piety, solid and convincing sermons; -sincere, edifying, exact, methodical books, like those of Baxter, -Barclay, Calamy, John Owen; personal narratives, like that of Baxter, -like Fox's journal, Bunyan's life, a large collection of documents and -arguments, conscientiously arranged—this is all they offer; the Puritan -destroys the artist, stiffens the man, fetters the writer; and leaves of -artist, man, writer, only a sort of abstract being, the slave of a -watchword. If a Milton springs up amongst them, it is because by his -great curiosity, his travels, his comprehensive education, above all by -his youth saturated in the grand poetry of the preceding age, and by his -independence of spirit, haughtily defended even against the sectarians, -Milton passes beyond sectarianism. Strictly speaking, the Puritans could -but have one poet, an involuntary poet, a madman, a martyr, a hero, and -a victim of grace; a genuine preacher, who attains the beautiful by -chance, whilst pursuing the useful on principle; a poor tinker, who, -employing images so as to be understood by mechanics, sailors, -servant-girls, attained, without pretending to it, eloquence and high -art.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--John_Bunyan">Section VI.—John Bunyan</a></h4> - - -<p>Next to the Bible, the book most widely read in England is the -"Pilgrim's Progress," by John Bunyan. The reason is, that the basis of -Protestantism is the doctrine of salvation by grace, and that no writer -has equalled Bunyan in making this doctrine understood.</p> - -<p>To treat well of supernatural impressions, a man must have been subject -to them. Bunyan had that kind of imagination which produces them. -Powerful as that of an artist, but more vehement, this imagination -worked in the man without his cooperation, and besieged him with visions -which he had neither willed nor foreseen. From that moment there was in -him as it were a second self, ruling the first, grand and terrible, -whose apparitions were sudden, its motions unknown, which redoubled or -crushed his faculties, prostrated or transported him, bathed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> him in the -sweat of agony, ravished him with trances of joy, and which by its -force, strangeness, independence, impressed upon him the presence and -the action of a foreign and superior master. Bunyan, like Saint Theresa, -was from infancy "greatly troubled with the thoughts of the fearful -torments of hell-fire," sad in the midst of pleasures, believing himself -damned, and so despairing, that he wished he was a devil, "supposing -they were only tormentors; that if it must needs be that I went thither, -I might be rather a tormentor, than be tormented myself."<a name="NoteRef_86_86" id="NoteRef_86_86"></a><a href="#Note_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> There -already was the assault of exact and bodily images. Under their -influence reflection ceased, and the man was suddenly spurred into -action. The first movement carried him with closed eyes, as down a steep -slope, into mad resolutions. One day, "being in the field, with my -companions, it chanced that an adder passed over the highway; so I, -having a stick, struck her over the back; and having stunned her, I -forced open her mouth with my stick, and plucked her sting out with my -fingers, by which act, had not God been merciful to me, I might, by my -desperateness, have brought myself to my end."<a name="NoteRef_87_87" id="NoteRef_87_87"></a><a href="#Note_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> In his first -approaches to conversion he was extreme in his emotions, and penetrated -to the heart by the sight of physical objects, "adoring" priests, -service, altar, vestment. "This conceit grew so strong upon my spirit, -that had I but seen a priest (though never so sordid and debauched in -his life), I should find my spirit fall under him, reverence him, and -knit unto him; yea, I thought, for the love I did bear unto them -(supposing they were the ministers of God), I could have laid down at -their feet, and have been trampled upon by them; their name, their garb, -and work did so intoxicate and bewitch me."<a name="NoteRef_88_88" id="NoteRef_88_88"></a><a href="#Note_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> Already his ideas clung -to him with that irresistible hold which constitutes monomania; no -matter how absurd they were, they ruled him, not by their truth, but by -their presence. The thought of an impossible danger terrified him just -as much as the sight of an imminent peril. As a man hung over an abyss -by a sound rope, he forgot that the rope was sound, and he became giddy. -After the fashion of English villagers, he loved bell-ringing; when he -became a Puritan, he considered the amusement profane, and gave it up; -yet, impelled by his desire, he would go into the belfry and watch <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> the -ringers. "But quickly after, I began to think, 'How if one of the bells -should fall?' Then I chose to stand under a main beam, that lay -overthwart the steeple, from side to side, thinking here I might stand -sure; but then I thought again, should the bell fall with a swing, it -might first hit the wall, and then rebounding upon me, might kill me for -all this beam. This made me stand in the steeple-door; and now, thought -I, I am safe enough, for if a bell should then fall, I can slip out -behind these thick walls, and so be preserved notwithstanding. So after -this I would yet go to see them ring, but would not go any farther than -the steeple-door; but then it came into my head, 'How if the steeple -itself should fall? And this thought (it may, for aught I know, when I -stood and looked on) did continually so shake my mind, that I durst not -stand at the steeple-door any longer, but was forced to flee, for fear -the steeple should fall upon my head.'"<a name="NoteRef_89_89" id="NoteRef_89_89"></a><a href="#Note_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> Frequently the mere -conception of a sin became for him a temptation so involuntary and so -strong, that he felt upon him the sharp claw of the devil. The fixed -idea swelled in his head like a painful abscess, full of all -sensitiveness and of all his life's blood. "Now no sin would serve but -that; if it were to be committed by speaking of such a word, then I have -been as if my mouth would have spoken that word whether I would or no; -and in so strong a measure was the temptation upon me, that often I have -been ready to clap my hands under my chin, to hold my mouth from -opening; at other times, to leap with my head downward into some -muckhill hole, to keep my mouth from speaking."<a name="NoteRef_90_90" id="NoteRef_90_90"></a><a href="#Note_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> Later, in the middle -of a sermon which he was preaching, he was assailed by blasphemous -thoughts; the word came to his lips, and all his power of resistance was -barely able to restrain the muscle excited by the tyrannous brain.</p> - -<p>Once the minister of the parish was preaching against the sin of -dancing, oaths, and games, when he was struck with the idea that the -sermon was for him, and returned home full of trouble. But he ate; his -stomach being charged, discharged his brain, and his remorse was -dispersed. Like a true child, entirely absorbed by the emotion of the -moment, he was transported, jumped out, and ran to the sports. He had -thrown his ball, and was about to begin again, when a voice from heaven -suddenly pierced his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> soul. "'Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, -or have thy sins and go to hell?' At this I was put to an exceeding -maze; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, -and was as if I had with the eyes of my understanding, seen the Lord -Jesus look down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as -if He did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these -and other ungodly practices."<a name="NoteRef_91_91" id="NoteRef_91_91"></a><a href="#Note_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> Suddenly reflecting that his sins were -very great, and that he would certainly be damned whatever he did, he -resolved to enjoy himself in the mean time, and to sin as much as he -could in this life. He took up his ball again, recommenced the game with -ardor, and swore louder and oftener than ever. A month afterwards, being -reproved by a woman, "I was silenced, and put to secret shame, and that -too, as I thought, before the God of heaven: wherefore, while I stood -there, hanging down my head, I wished that I might be a little child -again, and that my father might learn me to speak without this wicked -way of swearing; for, thought I, I am so accustomed to it, that it is in -vain to think of a reformation, for that could never be. But how it came -to pass I know not, I did from this time forward so leave my swearing, -that it was a great wonder to myself to observe it; and whereas before I -knew not how to speak unless I put an oath before, and another behind, -to make my words have authority, now I could without it speak better, -and with more pleasantness, than ever I could before."<a name="NoteRef_92_92" id="NoteRef_92_92"></a><a href="#Note_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> These sudden -alternations, these vehement resolutions, this unlooked-for renewal of -heart, are the products of an involuntary and impassioned imagination, -which by its hallucinations, its mastery, its fixed ideas, its mad -ideas, prepares the way for a poet, and announces an inspired man.</p> - -<p>In him circumstances develop character; his kind of life develops his -kind of mind. He was born in the lowest and most despised rank, a -tinker's son, himself a wandering tinker, with a wife as poor as -himself, so that they had not a spoon or a dish between them. He had -been taught in childhood to read and write, but he had since "almost -wholly lost what he had learned." Education diverts and disciplines a -man; fills him with varied and rational ideas; prevents him from sinking -into monomania or being excited by transport; gives him determinate -thoughts instead of eccentric fancies, pliable opinions <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> for fixed -convictions; replaces impetuous images by calm reasonings, sudden -resolves by carefully weighed decisions; furnishes us with the wisdom -and ideas of others; gives us conscience and self-command. Suppress this -reason and this discipline, and consider the poor ignorant working-man -at his toil; his head works while his hands work, not ably, with methods -acquired from any logic he might have mustered, but with dark emotions, -beneath a disorderly flow of confused images. Morning and evening, the -hammer which he uses in his trade, drives in with its deafening sounds -the same thought perpetually returning and self-communing. A troubled, -obstinate vision floats before him in the brightness of the hammered and -quivering metal. In the red furnace where the iron is glowing, in the -clang of the hammered brass, in the black corners where the damp shadow -creeps, he sees the flame and darkness of hell, and the rattling of -eternal chains. Next day he sees the same image, the day after, the -whole week, month, year. His brow wrinkles, his eyes grow sad, and his -wife hears him groan in the night-time. She remembers that she has two -volumes in an old bag. "The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven" and "The -Practice of Piety"; he spells them out to console himself; and the -printed thoughts, already sublime in themselves, made more so by the -slowness with which they are read, sink like an oracle into his subdued -faith. The braziers of the devils—the golden harps of heaven—the -bleeding Christ on the cross—each of these deep-rooted ideas sprouts -poisonously or wholesomely in his diseased brain, spreads, pushes out -and springs higher with a ramification of fresh visions, so crowded, -that in his encumbered mind he has no further place nor air for more -conceptions. Will he rest when he sets forth in the winter on his tramp? -During his long solitary wanderings, over wild heaths, in cursed and -haunted bogs, always abandoned to his own thoughts, the inevitable idea -pursues him. These neglected roads where he sticks in the mud, these -sluggish dirty rivers which he crosses on the cranky ferry-boat, these -threatening whispers of the woods at night, when in perilous places the -livid moon shadows out ambushed forms—all that he sees and hears falls -into an involuntary poem around the one absorbing idea; thus it changes -into a vast body of visible legends, and multiplies its power as it -multiplies its details. Having become a dissenter, Bunyan is shut up for -twelve years, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> having no other amusement but the "Book of Martyrs" and -the Bible, in one of those pestiferous prisons where the Puritans rotted -under the Restoration. There he is, still alone, thrown back upon -himself by the monotony of his dungeon, besieged by the terrors of the -Old Testament, by the vengeful out-pourings of the prophets, by the -thunder-striking words of Paul, by the spectacle of trances and of -martyrs, face to face with God, now in despair, now consoled, troubled -with involuntary images and unlooked-for emotions, seeing alternately -devil and angels, the actor and the witness of an internal drama whose -vicissitudes he is able to relate. He writes them: it is his book. You -see now the condition of this inflamed brain. Poor in ideas, full of -images, given up to a fixed and single thought, plunged into this -thought by his mechanical pursuit, by his prison and his readings, by -his knowledge and his ignorance, circumstances, like nature, make him a -visionary and an artist, furnish him with supernatural impressions and -visible images, teaching him the history of grace and the means of -expressing it.</p> - -<p>The "Pilgrim's Progress" is a manual of devotion for the use of simple -folk, whilst it is an allegorical poem of grace. In it we hear a man of -the people speaking to the people, who would render intelligible to all -the terrible doctrine of damnation and salvation.<a name="NoteRef_93_93" id="NoteRef_93_93"></a><a href="#Note_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> According to -Bunyan, we are "children of wrath," condemned from our birth, guilty by -nature, justly predestined to destruction. Beneath this formidable -thought <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> the heart gives way. The unhappy man relates how he trembled in -all his limbs, and in his fits it seemed to him as though the bones of -his chest would break. "One day," he tells us, "I walked to a -neighboring town, and sat down upon a settle in the street, and fell -into a very deep pause about the most fearful state my sin had brought -me to; and after long musing, I lifted up my head, but methought I saw, -as if the sun that shineth in the heavens did grudge to give light; and -as if the very stones in the street, and tiles upon the houses, did band -themselves against me. O how happy now was every creature over I was! -For they stood fast, and kept their station, but I was gone and -lost."<a name="NoteRef_94_94" id="NoteRef_94_94"></a><a href="#Note_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> The devils gathered together against the repentant sinner; -they choked his sight, besieged him with phantoms, yelled at his side to -drag him down their precipices; and the black valley into which the -pilgrim plunges, almost matches by the horror of its symbols the agony -of the terrors by which he is assailed:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I saw then in my Dream, so far as this Valley reached, there was on the -right hand a very deep Ditch; that Ditch is it into which the blind have -led the blind in all ages, and have both there miserably perished. -Again, behold on the left hand, there was a very dangerous Quag, into -which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot to -stand on....</p> - -<p>"The path-way was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore good -Christian was the more put to it; for when he sought in the dark to shun -the ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the -other; also when he sought to escape the mire, without great carefulness -he would be ready to fall into the ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard -him here sigh bitterly; for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the -pathway was here so dark, that ofttimes, when he lift up his foot to set -forward he knew not where, or upon what he should set it next.</p> - -<p>"About the midst of this Valley, I perceived the mouth of Hell to be, -and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, thought Christian, what -shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such -abundance, with sparks and hideous noises,... that he was forced to put -up his Sword, and betake himself to another weapon, called All-prayer. -So he cried in my hearing: 'O Lord, I beseech thee deliver my soul.' -Thus he went on a great while, yet still the flames would be reaching -toward him: Also he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro, so -that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down -like mire in the Streets."<a name="NoteRef_95_95" id="NoteRef_95_95"></a><a href="#Note_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Against this agony, neither his good deeds, nor his prayers, nor his -justice, nor all the justice and all the prayers of all other men, could -defend him. Grace alone justifies. God must impute to him the purity of -Christ, and save him by a free choice. What can be more full of passion -than the scene in which, under the name of his poor pilgrim, he relates -his own doubts, his conversion, his joy, and the sudden change of his -heart?</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Then the water stood in mine eyes, and I asked further, But, Lord, may -such a great sinner as I am be indeed accepted of thee, and be saved by -thee? And I heard him say, And him that cometh to me I will in no wise -cast out.... And now was my heart full of joy, mine eyes full of tears, -and mine affections running over with love to the Name, People, and Ways -of Jesus Christ....</p> - -<p>"It made me see that all the World, notwithstanding all the -righteousness thereof, is in a state of condemnation. It made me see -that God the Father, though he be just, can justly justify the coming -sinner. It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of my former life, -and confounded me with the sense of mine own ignorance; for there never -came thought into my heart before now, that shewed me so the beauty of -Jesus Christ. It made me love a holy life, and long to do something for -the Honour and Glory of the Name of the Lord Jesus; yea, I thought that -had I now a thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it all -for the sake of the Lord Jesus."<a name="NoteRef_96_96" id="NoteRef_96_96"></a><a href="#Note_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Such an emotion does not weigh literary calculations. Allegory, the most -artificial kind, is natural to Bunyan. If he employs it here, it is -because he does so throughout; if he employs it throughout, it is from -necessity, not choice. As children, countrymen, and all uncultivated -minds, he transforms arguments into parables; he only grasps truth when -it is clothed in images; abstract terms elude him; he must touch forms -and contemplate colors. Dry general truths are a sort of algebra, -acquired by the mind slowly and after much trouble, against our -primitive inclination, which is to observe detailed events and visible -objects; man being incapable of contemplating pure formulas until he is -transformed by ten years' reading and reflection. We understand at once -the term purification of heart; Bunyan understands it fully only, after -translating it by this fable:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Then the Interpreter took Christian by the hand, and led him into a -very large Parlour that was full of dust, because never swept; the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> which -after he had reviewed a little while, the Interpreter called for a man -to sweep. Now when he began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to -fly about, that Christian had almost therewith been choaked. Then said -the Interpreter to a Damsel that stood by, Bring hither the Water, and -sprinkle the Room; the which when she had done, it was swept and -cleansed with pleasure.</p> - -<p>"Then said Christian, What means this?</p> - -<p>"The Interpreter answered, This Parlour is the heart of a man that was -never sanctified by the sweet Grace of the Gospel: the dust is his -Original Sin, and inward Corruptions, that have defiled the whole man. -He that began to sweep at first, is the Law; but she that brought water, -and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel. Now, whereas thou sawest that so -soon as the first began to sweep, the dust did so fly about that the -Room by him could not be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choaked -there with; this to shew thee, that the Law, instead of cleansing the -heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive, put strength into and -increase it in the soul, even as it doth discover and forbid it for it -doth not give power to subdue.</p> - -<p>"Again, as thou sawest the Damsel sprinkle the room with Water, upon -which it was cleansed with pleasure; this is to shew thee that when the -Gospel comes in the sweet and precious influences thereof to the heart, -then I say, even as thou sawest the Damsel lay the dust by sprinkling -the floor with Water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the soul -made clean, through the faith of it, and consequently fit for the King -of Glory to inhabit."<a name="NoteRef_97_97" id="NoteRef_97_97"></a><a href="#Note_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>These repetitions, embarrassed phrases, familiar comparisons, this -artless style, whose awkwardness recalls the childish periods of -Herodotus, and whose simplicity recalls tales for children, prove that -if his work is allegorical, it is so in order that it may be -intelligible, and that Bunyan is a poet because he is a child.<a name="NoteRef_98_98" id="NoteRef_98_98"></a><a href="#Note_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a></p> - -<p>If you study him well, however, you will find power under his -simplicity, and in his puerility the vision. These allegories are -hallucinations as clear, complete, and sound as ordinary perceptions. No -one but Spenser is so lucid. Imaginary objects <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> rise of themselves before -him. He has no trouble in calling them up or forming them. They agree in -all their details with all the details of the precept which they -represent, as a pliant veil fits the body which it covers. He -distinguishes and arranges all the parts of the landscape—here the -river, on the right the castle, a flag on its left turret, the setting -sun three feet lower, an oval cloud in the front part of the sky—with -the preciseness of a land-surveyor. We fancy in reading him that we are -looking at the old maps of the time, in which the striking features of -the angular cities are marked on a copperplate by a tool as certain as a -pair of compasses.<a name="NoteRef_99_99" id="NoteRef_99_99"></a><a href="#Note_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a> Dialogues flow from his pen as in a dream. He -does not seem to be thinking; we should even say that he was not himself -there. Events and speeches seem to grow and dispose themselves with him, -independently of his will. Nothing, as a rule, is colder than the -characters in an allegory; his are living. Looking upon these details, -so small and familiar, illusion gains upon us. Giant Despair, a simple -abstraction, becomes as real in his hands as an English jailer or -farmer. He is heard talking by night in bed with his wife Diffidence, -who gives him good advice, because here, as in other households, the -strong and brutal animal is the least cunning of the two:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Then she counselled him that when he arose in the morning he should -(take the two prisoners and) beat them without mercy. So when he arose, -he getteth him a grievous Crab-tree Cudgel, and goes down into the -Dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of them as if they were -dogs, although they gave him never a word of distaste. Then he falls -upon them, and beats them fearfully, in such sort, that they were not -able to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor." <a name="NoteRef_100_100" id="NoteRef_100_100"></a><a href="#Note_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This stick, chosen with a forester's experience, this instinct of rating -first and storming to get one's self into trim for knocking down, are -traits which attest the sincerity of the narrator, and succeed in -persuading the reader. Bunyan has the copiousness, the tone, the ease, -and the clearness of Homer; he is as close to Homer as an Anabaptist -tinker could be to a heroic singer, a creator of gods.</p> - -<p>I err; he is nearer. Before the sentiment of the sublime, inequalities -are levelled. The depth of emotion raises peasant <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> and poet to the same -eminence; and here, also, allegory stands the peasant in stead. It -alone, in the absence of ecstasy, can paint heaven; for it does not -pretend to paint it: expressing it by a figure, it declares it -invisible, as a glowing sun at which we cannot look straight, and whose -image we observe in a mirror or a stream. The ineffable world thus -retains all its mystery; warned by the allegory, we imagine splendors -beyond all which it presents to us; we feel behind the beauties which -are opened to us, the infinite which is concealed; and the ideal city, -vanishing as soon as it appears, ceases to resemble the material -Whitehall imagined for Jehovah by Milton. Read the arrival of the -pilgrims in the celestial land. Saint Theresa has nothing more -beautiful:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Yea, here they heard continually the singing of Birds, and saw every -day the Flowers appear in the earth, and heard the voice of the Turtle -in the land. In this Country the Sun shineth night and day. ... Here -they were within sight of the City they were going to, also here met -them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the Shining Ones -commonly walked, because it was upon the borders of Heaven.... Here they -heard voices from out of the City, loud voices, saying, 'Say ye to the -daughter of Zion, Behold thy salvation cometh, behold his reward is with -him!' Here all the inhabitants of the Country called them 'The holy -People, The redeemed of the Lord, Sought out, etc.'</p> - -<p>"Now as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than in parts -more remote from the Kingdom to which they were bound; and drawing near -to the City, they had yet a more perfect view thereof. It was builded of -Pearls and Precious Stones, also the Street, thereof was paved with -gold; so that by reason of the natural glory of the City, and the -reflection of the Sun-beams upon it, Christian with desire fell sick; -Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease. Wherefore here they -lay by it awhile, crying out because of their pangs, 'If you see my -Beloved, tell him that I am sick of love.'<a name="NoteRef_101_101" id="NoteRef_101_101"></a><a href="#Note_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a>...</p> - -<p>"They therefore went up here with much agility and speed, though the -foundation upon which the City was framed was higher than the Clouds. -They therefore went up through the Regions of the Air, sweetly talking -as they went, being comforted, because they safely got over the River, -and had such glorious companions to attend them.</p> - -<p>"The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was about the glory of the -place, who told them that the beauty and glory of it was inexpressible. -There, said they, is the Mount Sion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the -innumerable company of Angels, and the Spirits of just men made perfect. -You are going now, said they, to the Paradise of God, wherein you shall -see the Tree of Life, and eat of the never-fading fruits thereof; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> and -when you come there, you shall have white Robes given you, and your walk -and talk shall be every day with the King, even all the days of -Eternity."<a name="NoteRef_102_102" id="NoteRef_102_102"></a><a href="#Note_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a></p> - -<p>"There came out also at this time to meet them, several of the King's -Trumpeters, cloathed in white and shining Raiment, who with melodious -noises and loud, made even the Heavens to echo with their sound. These -Trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes -from the World, and this they did with shouting and sound of Trumpet.</p> - -<p>"This done, they compassed them round on every side; some went before, -some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the left (as 't were to -guard them through the upper Regions), continually sounding as they went -with melodious noise, in notes on high; so that the very sight was to -them that could behold it, as if Heaven itself was come down to meet -them....</p> - -<p>"And now were these two men as 't were in Heaven before they came at it, -being swallowed up with the sight of Angels, and with hearing of their -melodious notes. Here also they had the City itself in view, and they -thought they heard all the Bells therein ring to welcome them thereto. -But above all the warm and joyful thoughts that they had about their own -dwelling there, with such company, and that for ever and ever. Oh, by -what tongue or pen can their glorious joy be expressed!..."<a name="NoteRef_103_103" id="NoteRef_103_103"></a><a href="#Note_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a></p> - -<p>"Now I saw in my Dream that these two men went in at the Gate; and lo, -as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had Raiment put on -that shone like Gold. There was also that met them with Harps and -Crowns, and gave them to them, the Harps to praise withal, and the -Crowns in token of honour. Then I heard in my Dream that all the Bells -in the City rang again for joy, and that it was said unto them, 'Enter -ye into the joy of your Lord.' I also heard the men themselves, that -they sang with a loud voice, saying, 'Blessing, Honour, Glory, and -Power, be to him that sitteth upon the Throne, and to the Lamb for ever -and ever.'</p> - -<p>"Now, just as the Gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after -them, and behold, the City shone like the Sun; the Streets also were -paved with Gold, and in them walked many men, with Crowns on their -heads, Palms in their hands, and golden Harps to sing praises withal.</p> - -<p>"There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another -without intermission, saying, 'Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord.' And after -that they shut up the Gates. Which when I had seen, I wished myself -among them."<a name="NoteRef_104_104" id="NoteRef_104_104"></a><a href="#Note_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He was imprisoned for twelve years and a half; in his dungeon he made -wire-snares to support himself and his family; he died at the age of -sixty in 1688. At the same time Milton <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> lingered obscure and blind. The -last two poets of the Reformation thus survived, amid the classical -coldness which then dried up English literature, and the social excess -which then corrupted English morals. "Shorn hypocrites, psalm-singers, -gloomy bigots," such were the names by which men who reformed the -manners and renewed the constitution of England were insulted. But -oppressed and insulted as they were, their work continued of itself and -without noise underground; for the ideal which they had raised was, -after all, that which the clime suggested and the race demanded. -Gradually Puritanism began to approach the world, and the world to -approach Puritanism. The Restoration was to fall into evil odor, the -Revolution was to come, and beneath the gradual progress of national -sympathy, as well as under the incessant effort of public reflection, -parties and doctrines were to rally around a free and moral -Protestantism. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</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>Roger Ascham, "The Scholemaster" (1570), ed. Arber, 1870, -book I., p. 83.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_2_2" id="Note_2_2"></a><a href="#NoteRef_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>See, in "Corinne," Lord Nevil's judgment on the Italians.</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>See "Corpus historicorum medii ævi," G. Eccard, vol. II; -Joh. Burchardi, high chamberlain to Alexander VI, "Diarium," p. 2134. -Guicciardini, "Dell'istoria d'Italia," p. 211, ed. Panthéon Littéraire.</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>See, in Casanova's "Mémoires," the picture of this -degradation. See also the "Mémoires" of Scipione Rossi, on the convents of -Tuscany at the close of the eighteenth century.</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>From Homer to Constantine, the ancient city was an association -of freemen, whose aim was the conquest and destruction of other freemen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_6_6" id="Note_6_6"></a><a href="#NoteRef_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>"Mémoires de la Margrave de Baireuth." See also Misson, -"Voyage en Italie," 1700. Compare the manners of the students at the -present day. "The Germans are, as you know, wonderful drinkers: no people -in the world are more flattering, more civil, more officious; but yet they -have terrible customs in the matter of drinking. With them everything is -done drinking; they drink in doing everything. There was not time during -a visit to say three words before you were astonished to see the collation -arrive, or at least a few jugs of wine, accompanied by a plate of crusts -of bread, dished up with pepper and salt, a fatal preparation for bad -drinkers. Then you must become acquainted with the laws which are -afterwards observed, sacred and inviolable laws. You must never drink -without drinking to some one's health; also, after drinking, you must -offer the wine to him whose health you have drunk. You must never refuse -the glass which is offered to you, and you must naturally drain it to its -last drop. Reflect a little, I beseech you, on these customs, and see -how it is possible to cease drinking; accordingly, they never cease. In -Germany it is a perpetual drinking-bout; to drink in Germany is to drink -forever."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_7_7" id="Note_7_7"></a><a href="#NoteRef_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>See his letters, and the sympathy expressed for Luther.</p></div> - -<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>See a collection of Albert Durer's wood-carvings. Remark -the resemblance of his "Apocalypse" to Luther's "Table Talk."</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>Calvin, the logician of the Reformation, well explains the -dependence of all the Protestant ideas in his "Institutes of the Christian -Religion," I. (1) The idea of the perfect God, the stern Judge. (2) The -alarm of conscience (3) The impotence and corruption of nature. (4) The -advent of free grace. (5) The rejection of rites and ceremonies.</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>"In the measure in which pride is rooted within us, it -always appears to us as though we were just and whole, good and holy, -unless we are convinced by manifest arguments of out injustice, -uncleanness, folly, and impurity. For we are not convinced of it if we -turn our eyes to our own persons merely, and if we do not think also of -God, who is the only rule by which we must shape and regulate this -judgment.... And then that which had a fair appearance of virtue will be -found to be nothing but weakness.</p> - -<p>"This is the source of that horror and wonder by which the Scriptures -tell us the saints were afflicted and cast down, when and as often as they -felt the presence of God. For we see those who were as it might be far -from God, and who were confident and went about with head erect, as soon -as He displayed His glory to them, they were shaken and terrified, so much -so that they were overwhelmed, nay swallowed up in the horror of death, -and that they fainted away."—Calvin's "Institutes," I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_11_11" id="Note_11_11"></a><a href="#NoteRef_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Saint Augustine.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_12_12" id="Note_12_12"></a><a href="#NoteRef_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>Melanchthon, preface to Luther's works: "It is clear that -the works of Thomas, Scotus, and the like, are utterly silent about the -element of justification by faith, and contain many errors concerning the -most important questions relating to the church. It is clear that, the -discourses of the monks in their churches almost throughout the world were -either fables about purgatory and the saints or else some kind of dogma of -law or discipline, without a word of the gospel concerning Christ, or else -were vain trifles about distinctions in the matter of food, about feasts, -and other human traditions.... The gospel is pure, incorruptible, and not -diluted with Gentile opinions." See also Fox, "Acts and Monuments," 8 vols. -ed. Townsend, 1843, II. 42.</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>See Froude, "History of England," I. VI. The conduct of -Henry VIII is there presented in a new light.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_14_14" id="Note_14_14"></a><a href="#NoteRef_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>Froude, I. 191. "Petition of Commons." This public and -authentic protest shows up all the details of clerical organization and -oppression.</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>Froude, I. 26; II. 192.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_16_16" id="Note_16_16"></a><a href="#NoteRef_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>In May, 1528. Froude, I. 194.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_17_17" id="Note_17_17"></a><a href="#NoteRef_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>Hale, "Criminal Causes. Suppression of the Monasteries," -Camden Society Publications. Froude, I. 194-201.</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>Latimer's Sermons.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_19_19" id="Note_19_19"></a><a href="#NoteRef_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>They called them "horsyn prestes, horson," or "whorson -knaves." Hale, p. 99, quoted by Froude, I. 199.</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>Froude, I. 101 (1514).</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>Fox, "Acts and Monuments," IV. 221.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_22_22" id="Note_22_22"></a><a href="#NoteRef_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>See, passim, the prints of Fox. All the details which -follow are from biographies. See those of Cromwell, by Carlyle, of Fox -the Quaker, of Bunyan, and the trials reported at length by Fox.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_23_23" id="Note_23_23"></a><a href="#NoteRef_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>Froude, II. 33: "The bishops said in 1529, 'In the crime of -heresy, thanked be God there hath no notable person fallen in our time.'"</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>In 1536. Strype's "Memorials," appendix. Froude, III. ch. -12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_25_25" id="Note_25_25"></a><a href="#NoteRef_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a>Coverdale. Froude, III. 81.</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>1549. Tyndale's translation.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_27_27" id="Note_27_27"></a><a href="#NoteRef_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>An expression of Stendhal's; it was his general impression.</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>The time of which M. Taine speaks and the translation of -Tyndale precede by at least fifty years the appearance of "Macbeth" (1606). -Shakespeare's audience read the present authorized translation.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_29_29" id="Note_29_29"></a><a href="#NoteRef_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a>See Lemaistre de Sacy's French translation of the Bible, so -slightly biblical.</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>See Ewald, "Geschichte des Volks Israel," his apostrophe to -the third writer of the Pentateuch, "Erhabener Geist," etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_31_31" id="Note_31_31"></a><a href="#NoteRef_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a>See Psalm CIV. in Luther's admirable translation and in the -English translation.</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>The first Primer of note was in 1545; Froude, V. 141. The -Prayer-book underwent several changes in 1552, others under Elizabeth, -and a few, lastly, at the Restoration.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_33_33" id="Note_33_33"></a><a href="#NoteRef_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a>"To make use of words in a foreign language, merely with a -sentiment of devotion, the mind taking no fruit, could be neither pleasing -to God, nor beneficial to man. The party that understood not the pith or -effectualness of the talk that he made with God, might be as a harp or -pipe, having a sound, but not understanding the noise that itself had -made; a Christian man was more than an instrument; and he had therefore -provided a determinate form of supplication in the English tongue, that -his subjects might be able to pray like reasonable beings in their own -language."—"Letter of Henry VIII to Cranmer," Froude, IV. 486.</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>Bishop John Fisher's "Funeral Oration of the Countess of -Richmond" (ed. 1711) shows to what practices this religion succeeded. -The Countess was the mother of Henry VII, and translated the "Myrroure of -Golde," and "The Forthe Boke of the Followinge Jesus Chryst":</p> - -<p>"As for fastynge, for age, and feebleness, albeit she were not bound yet -those days that by the Church were appointed, she kept them diligently and -seriously, and in especial the holy Lent, throughout that she restrained -her appetite till one meal of fish on the day; besides her other peculiar -fasts of devotion, as St. Anthony, St. Mary Magdalene, St. Catherine, with -other; and throughout all the year the Friday and Saturday she full truly -observed. As to hard clothes wearing, she had her shirts and girdles of -hair, which, when she was in health, every week she failed not certain -days to wear, sometime the one, sometime the other, that full often her -skin, as I heard say, was pierced therewith.</p> - -<p>"In prayer, every day at her uprising, which commonly was not long after -five of the clock, she began certain devotions, and so after them, with -one of her gentlewomen, the matins of our Lady; which kept her to then, -she came into her closet, where then with her chaplain she said also -matins of the day; and after that, daily heard four or five masses upon -her knees; so continuing in her prayers and devotions unto the hour of -dinner which of the eating day was ten of the clocks, and upon the fasting -day eleven. After dinner full truly she would go her stations to three -altars daily; daily her dirges and commendations she would say, and her -even songs before supper, both of the day and of our Lady, beside many -other prayers and psalters of David throughout the year; and at night -before she went to bed, she failed not to resort unto her chapel, and -there a large quarter of an hour to occupy her devotions. No marvel, -though all this long time her kneeling was to her painful, and so painful -that many times it caused in her back pain and disease. And yet, -nevertheless, daily, when she was in health, she failed not to say the -crown of our lady, which, after the manner of Rome, containeth sixty and -three aves, and at every ave, to make a kneeling. As for meditation, she -had divers books in French, wherewith she would occupy herself when she -was weary of prayer. Wherefore divers she did translate out of the French -into English. Her marvellous weeping they can bear witness of, which here -before have heard her confession, which be divers and many, and at many -seasons in the year, lightly every third day. Can also record the same -those that were present at any time when she was houshylde, which was -full nigh a dozen times every year, what floods of tears there issued -forth of her eyes!"</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>Latimer's "Seven Sermons before Edward VI," ed. Edward -Arber, 1869. Second sermon, pp. 73 and 74.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_36_36" id="Note_36_36"></a><a href="#NoteRef_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a>Latimer's Sermons. Fifth sermon, ed. Arber, p. 147.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_37_37" id="Note_37_37"></a><a href="#NoteRef_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>Latimer's Sermons, ed. Corrie, 1844, 2 vols., "Last Sermon -preached before Edward VI," I. 249.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_38_38" id="Note_38_38"></a><a href="#NoteRef_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a>Latimer's Sermons, ed. Corrie, "First Sermon on the Lord's -Prayer."</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>Noailles, the French (and Catholic) Ambassador. Piet. Hist. -II. 523. John Fox, "History of the Acts and Monuments of the Church," ed. -Townsend, 1843, 8 vols. VI. 612, says: "His wife and children, being -eleven in number, and ten able to go, and one sucking on her breast, met -him by the way, as he went towards Smithfield."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_40_40" id="Note_40_40"></a><a href="#NoteRef_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a>Fox, "History of the Acts," etc., VI. 727.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_41_41" id="Note_41_41"></a><a href="#NoteRef_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a>Fox, "History of the Acts," etc., VI. 719.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_42_42" id="Note_42_42"></a><a href="#NoteRef_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a>Neal, "History of the Puritans," ed. Toulmin, 5 vols. -1793, I. 96.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_43_43" id="Note_43_43"></a><a href="#NoteRef_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a>"O eloquent, just and mightie Death! whom none could -advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; -and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out -of the world and despised; thou hast drawne together all the farre -stretched greatnesse, all the pride, crueltie, and ambition of man, -and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_44_44" id="Note_44_44"></a><a href="#NoteRef_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a>Hooker's Works, ed. Keble, 1836, 3 -vols., "The Ecclesiastical Polity."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_45_45" id="Note_45_45"></a><a href="#NoteRef_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a>Ibid. I. book I. 249, 258, 312: -"That which doth assign unto each thing the kind, that which doth moderate -the force and power, that which doth appoint the form and measure of -working, the same we term a Law....</p> - -<p>"Now if nature should intermit her course, and leave altogether, though it -were but for a while, the observation of her own laws; if those principal -and mother elements of the world, whereof all things in this lower world -are made, should lose the qualities which now they have; if the frame of -that heavenly arch erected over our heads should loosen and dissolve -itself; if celestial spheres should forget their wonted motions,... if -the prince of the lights of heaven, which now as a giant doth run his -unwearied course, should as it were through a languishing faintness, -begin to stand and to rest himself:... what would become of man himself, -whom these things now do all serve? See we not plainly that obedience of -creatures unto the law of nature is the stay of the whole world?...</p> - -<p>"Between men and beasts there is no possibility of sociable communion -because the well-spring of that communion is a natural delight which man -hath to transfuse from himself into others, and to receive from others -into himself, especially those things wherein the excellency of his kind -doth most consist. The chiefest instrument of human communion therefore -is speech, because thereby we impart mutually one to another the conceits -of our reasonable understanding. And for that cause, seeing beasts are not -hereof capable, forasmuch as with them we can use no such conference, they -being in degree, although above other creatures on earth to whom nature -hath denied sense, yet lower than to be sociable companions of man to -whom nature hath given reason; it is of Adam said, that amongst the beasts -'he found not for himself any meet companion.' Civil society doth more -content the nature of man than any private kind of solitary living, -because in society this good of mutual participation is so much larger -than otherwise. Herewith notwithstanding we are not satisfied, but we -covet (if it might be) to have a kind of society and fellowship even -with all mankind."</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>"Ecclesiastical Polity," I. book II. ch. VII. 4, p. 405.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_47_47" id="Note_47_47"></a><a href="#NoteRef_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a>See the "Dialogues of Galileo." The same idea which is -persecuted by the church at Rome is at the same time defended by the -church in England. See also "Ecclesiastical Polity," I. book III. -461-481.</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>Clarendon. See the same doctrines in Jeremy Taylor, "Liberty -of Prophesying," 1647.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_49_49" id="Note_49_49"></a><a href="#NoteRef_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a>Jeremy Taylor's Works, ed. Eden, 1840, 10 vols., "Holy -Dying," ch. III. sec. 4, § 3, p. 315.</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>"Sermon XVI, Of Growth in Sin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_51_51" id="Note_51_51"></a><a href="#NoteRef_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a>"We have already opened up this dunghill covered with snow, -which was indeed on the outside white as the spots of leprosy."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_52_52" id="Note_52_52"></a><a href="#NoteRef_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a>"Golden Grove Sermons:" V. "The Return of Prayers."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_53_53" id="Note_53_53"></a><a href="#NoteRef_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a>Luther's "Table Talk," ed. Hazlitt, No. 187, p. 30: "When -Jesus Christ was born, he doubtless cried and wept like other children, -and his mother tended him as other mothers tend their children. As he grew -up he was submissive to his parents, and waited on them, and carried his -supposed father's dinner to him; and when he came back, Mary no doubt often -said, 'My dear little Jesus, where hast thou been?'"</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_54_54" id="Note_54_54"></a><a href="#NoteRef_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a>"Holy Dying," ed. Eden, ch. I. sec. 1. p. 267.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_55_55" id="Note_55_55"></a><a href="#NoteRef_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a>Ibid. 267.</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>Ibid. 268.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_57_57" id="Note_57_57"></a><a href="#NoteRef_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a>Ibid. 269.</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>"Holy Dying," ch. I. sec. II. p. 270.</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>"The Golden Grove."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_60_60" id="Note_60_60"></a><a href="#NoteRef_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a>See in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Thierry and Theodoret" the -characters of Bawder, Protalyce, and Brunhalt. In "The Custom of the -Country," by the same authors, several scenes represent the inside of an -infamous house—a frequent thing, by the way, in the dramas of that time; -but here the boarders in the house are men. See also their "Rule a Wife -and Have a Wife."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_61_61" id="Note_61_61"></a><a href="#NoteRef_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a>Calvin, quoted by Haag, II. 216, "Histoire des Dogmes -Chrétiens."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_62_62" id="Note_62_62"></a><a href="#NoteRef_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a>These were the Supralapsarians.</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>"The Byble, nowe lately with greate industry and Diligece -recognised" (by Edm. Becke), London, by John Daye and William Seres, 1549, -with Tyndale's "Prologues."</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>Examination of Mr. Axton: "I can't consent to wear the -surplice, it is against my conscience; I trust, by the help of God, I shall -never put on that sleeve, which is a mark of the beast."—Examination of -Mr. White, "a substantial citizen of London" (1572), accused of not going -to the parish church: "The whole Scriptures are for destroying idolatry, -and everything that belongs to it."—"Where is the place where these are -forbidden?—In Deuteronomy and other places;... and God by Isaiah -commandeth not to pollute ourselves with the garments of the image."</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>These expressions continually occur: "Tenderness of -conscience"—"a squeamish stomach"—"our weaker brethren."</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 separation of the Anglicans and dissenters may be -dated from 1564.</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>1592.</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>Burton's "Parliamentary Diary," ed. by Rutt, 1828, 4 vols. -I. 54.</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>Walker's "History of Independency," 1648, part II. p. 49.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_70_70" id="Note_70_70"></a><a href="#NoteRef_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a>This passage may serve as an example of the difficulties -and perplexities to which a translator of a history of literature must -always be exposed, and this without any fault of the original author. Ab -uno disce omnes. M. taine says that cromwell found justification for his -policy in Psalm CXIII., which, on looking out, I found to be "an -exhortation to praise god for his excellency and for his mercy"—a psalm -by which Cromwell's conduct could nowise be justified. I opened then -Carlyle's "Cromwell's letters," etc., and saw, in vol. II. part VI. p. -157, the same fact stated, but Psalm CX. mentioned and given—a far more -likely psalm to have influenced Cromwell. Carlyle refers to "Ludlow," I. -319, Taine to Guizot, "Portraits Politiques," p. 63, and to Carlyle. In -looking in Guizot's volume, 5th ed., 1862, I find that this writer also -mentions Psalm CXIII; but on referring finally to the "Memoirs of -Edmund Ludlow," printed at Vivay (_sic_) in the canton of Bern, 1698, I -read, in Vol. I. p. 319, the sentence, as given above; therefore Carlyle -was right.—Tr.</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>"Cromwell's Letters and Speeches," ed. Carlyle, 1866, -3 vols. I. 79.</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>Idem. II. 273.</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>Ibid. III. 373.</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>See his speeches. The style is disjointed, obscure, -impassioned, out of the common, like that of a man who is not master of -his wits, and who yet sees straight by a sort of intuition.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_75_75" id="Note_75_75"></a><a href="#NoteRef_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a>"Cromwell's Letters," I. 265.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_76_76" id="Note_76_76"></a><a href="#NoteRef_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a>"A Journal of the Life, etc., of that Ancient, Eminent, and -Faithful Servant of Jesus Christ, George Fox," 6th edition, 1836.</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>Burton's "Parliamentary Diary," I. 46-173. Neal, "History of -the Puritans," III.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_78_78" id="Note_78_78"></a><a href="#NoteRef_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a>See Neal, "History of the Puritans," II. 418-450.</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>Whitelock's "Memorials," I. 68.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_80_80" id="Note_80_80"></a><a href="#NoteRef_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a>Neal, II. 553. Compare with the French Revolution. When -the Bastille was demolished, they wrote on the ruins these words: "Ici -l'on danse." From this contrast we see the difference between the two -systems and the two nations.</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>Neal, "History of the Puritans," II, 555.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_82_82" id="Note_82_82"></a><a href="#NoteRef_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a>Macaulay, "History of England," ed. Lady Trevelyan, I. 121.</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>A certain John Denis was publicly whipped for having sung -a profane song. Mathias, a little girl, having given some roasted -chestnuts to Jeremiah Boosy, and told him ironically that he might give -them back to her in Paradise, was ordered to ask pardon three times in -church, and to be three days on bread and water in prison. 1660-1670; -records of Massachusetts.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_84_84" id="Note_84_84"></a><a href="#NoteRef_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a>"Upon the common sense of Scripture," said Major-General -Disbrowe, "there are few but do commit blasphemy, as our Saviour puts it -in Mark: 'sins, blasphemies; it so, then none without blasphemy.' It was -charged upon David and Eli's son, 'thou hast blasphemed, or caused others -to blaspheme.'"—Burton's Diary, I. 54.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_85_85" id="Note_85_85"></a><a href="#NoteRef_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a>Guizot, "Portraits Politiques," 5th ed. 1862.</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>"Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners."</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>Ibid. sec. 12.</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>Ibid. sec. 17.</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>"Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," secs. 33, 34.</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>Ibid. sec. 103.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_91_91" id="Note_91_91"></a><a href="#NoteRef_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a>"Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," sec. 22.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_92_92" id="Note_92_92"></a><a href="#NoteRef_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a>Ibid. secs. 27 and 28.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_93_93" id="Note_93_93"></a><a href="#NoteRef_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a>This is an abstract of the events: from highest heaven a -voice has proclaimed vengeance against the city of destruction, where -lives a sinner of the name of christian. Terrified, he rises up amid the -jeers of his neighbors, and departs, for fear of being devoured by the -fire which is to consume the criminals. A helpful man, evangelist, shows -him the right road. A treacherous man, worldlywise, tries to turn him -aside. His companion, pliable, who had followed him at first, gets stuck -in the slough of despond, and leaves him. He advances bravely across the -dirty water and the slippery mud, and reaches the strait gate, where a -wise interpreter instructs him by visible shows, and points out the way -to the heavenly city. He passes before a cross, and the heavy burden of -sins, which he carried on his back, is loosened and falls off. He -painfully climbs the steep hill of difficulty, and reaches a great -castle, where watchful, the guardian, gives him in charge to his good -daughters piety and prudence, who warn him and arm him against the -monsters of hell. He finds his road barred by one of these demons, -apollyon, who bids him abjure obedience to the heavenly king. After a -long fight he conquers him. Yet the way grows narrow, the shades fall -thicker, sulphurous flames rise along the road: it is the valley of the -shadow of death. He passes it and arrives at the town of vanity, a vast -fair of business, deceits, and shows, which he walks by with lowered -eyes, not wishing to take part in its festivities or falsehoods. The -people of the place beat him, throw him into prison, condemn him as a -traitor and rebel, burn his companion, faithful. Escaped from their -hands, he falls into those of giant despair, who beats him, leaves him -in a poisonous dungeon without food, and giving him daggers and cords, -advises him to rid himself from so many misfortunes. At last he reaches -the delectable mountains, whence he sees the holy city. To enter it he -has only to cross a deep river, where there is no foothold, where the -water dims the sight, and which is called the river of death.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_94_94" id="Note_94_94"></a><a href="#NoteRef_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a>Bunyan's "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," sec. -187.</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>"Pilgrim's Progress," Cambridge, 1862, First Part, p. 64.</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>"Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 160.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_97_97" id="Note_97_97"></a><a href="#NoteRef_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a>"Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 26.</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>Here is another of his allegories, almost witty, so just -and simple it is. See "Pilgrim's Progress," first part, p. 68: "now I -saw in my dream, that at the end of this valley lay blood, bones, ashes, -and mangled bodies of men, even of pilgrims that had gone this way -formerly; and while I was musing what should be the reason, I espied a -little before me a cave, where two giants, pope and pagan, dwelt in old -time; by whose power and tyranny the men whose bones, blood, ashes, -etc., lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this place christian -went without much danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learnt -since, that pagan has been dead many a day; and as for the other, though -he be yet alive, he is by reason of age, and also of the many shrewd -brushes that he met with in his younger days, grown so crazy, and stiff -in his joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his cave's -mouth, grinning at pilgrims as they go by, and biting his nails, because -he cannot come at them."</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 instance, Hollar's work, "Cities of Germany."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_100_100" id="Note_100_100"></a><a href="#NoteRef_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a>"Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 126.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_101_101" id="Note_101_101"></a><a href="#NoteRef_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a>"Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 174.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_102_102" id="Note_102_102"></a><a href="#NoteRef_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a>"Pilgrim's Progress," First Part, p. 179.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_103_103" id="Note_103_103"></a><a href="#NoteRef_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a>Ibid. p. 182.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_104_104" id="Note_104_104"></a><a href="#NoteRef_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a>Ibid. p. 183, etc.</p></div> - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_SIXTH_II">CHAPTER SIXTH</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="Milton">Milton</a></h4> - - -<p>On the borders of the licentious Renaissance which was drawing to a -close, and of the exact school of poetry which was springing up, between -the monotonous conceits of Cowley and the correct gallantries of Waller, -appeared a mighty and superb mind, prepared by logic and enthusiasm for -eloquence and the epic style; liberal, Protestant, a moralist and a -poet, adorning the cause of Algernon Sidney and Locke with the -inspiration of Spenser and Shakespeare; the heir of a poetical age, the -precursor of an austere age, holding his place between the epoch of -unselfish dreaming and the epoch of practical action; like his own Adam, -who, taking his way to an unfriendly land, heard behind him, in the -closed Eden, the dying strains of heaven.</p> - -<p>John Milton was not one of those fevered souls void of self-command, -whose rapture takes them by fits, whom a sickly sensibility drives -forever to the extreme of sorrow or joy, whose pliability prepares them -to produce a variety of characters, whose inquietude condemns them to -paint the madness and contradictions of passion. Vast knowledge, close -logic, and grand passion; these were his marks. His mind was lucid, his -imagination limited. He was incapable of "bating one jot of heart or -hope," or of being transformed. He conceived the loftiest of ideal -beauties, but he conceived only one. He was not born for the drama, but -for the ode. He does not create souls, but constructs arguments, and -experiences emotions. Emotions and arguments, all the forces and actions -of his soul, assemble and are arranged beneath a unique sentiment, that -of the sublime; and the broad river of lyric poetry streams from him -impetuous, with even flow, splendid as a cloth of gold. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Miltons_Family_and_Education">Section I.—Milton's Family and Education</a></h4> - - -<p>This dominant sense constituted the greatness and the firmness of his -character. Against external fluctuations he found a refuge in himself; -and the ideal city which he had built in his soul, endured impregnable -to all assaults. It is too beautiful, this inner city, for him to wish -to leave it; it was too solid to be destroyed. He believed in the -sublime with the whole force of his nature, and the whole authority of -his logic; and with him, cultivated reason strengthened by its tests the -suggestions of primitive instinct. With this double armor, man can -advance firmly through life. He who is always feeding himself with -demonstrations is capable of believing, willing, persevering in belief -and will; he does not change with every event and every passion, as that -fickle and pliable being whom we call a poet; he remains at rest in -fixed principles. He is capable of embracing a cause, and of continuing -attached to it, whatever may happen, spite of all, to the end. No -seduction, no emotion, no accident, no change alters the stability of -his conviction or the lucidity of his knowledge. On the first day, on -the last day, during the whole time, he preserves intact the entire -system of his clear ideas, and the logical vigor of his brain sustains -the manly vigor of his heart. When at length, as here, this close logic -is employed in the service of noble ideas, enthusiasm is added to -constancy. The man holds his opinions not only as true, but as sacred. -He fights for them, not only as a soldier, but as a priest. He is -impassioned, devoted, religious, heroic. Rarely is such a mixture seen; -but it was fully seen in Milton.</p> - -<p>He was of a family in which courage, moral nobility, the love of art, -were present to whisper the most beautiful and eloquent words around his -cradle. His mother was a most exemplary woman, well known through all -the neighborhood for her benevolence.<a name="NoteRef_105_105" id="NoteRef_105_105"></a><a href="#Note_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> His father, a student of -Christ Church, and disinherited as a Protestant, had made his fortune by -his own energies, and, amidst his occupations as a scrivener or writer, -had preserved the taste for letters, being unwilling to give up "his -liberal and intelligent tastes to the extent of becoming <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> altogether a -slave to the world"; he wrote verses, was an excellent musician, one of -the best composers of his time; he chose Cornelius Jansen to paint his -son's portrait when in his tenth year, and gave his child the widest and -fullest literary education.<a name="NoteRef_106_106" id="NoteRef_106_106"></a><a href="#Note_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> Let the reader try to picture this -child, in the street (Bread Street) inhabited by merchants, in this -citizen-like and scholarly, religious and poetical family, whose manners -were regular and their aspirations lofty, where they set the Psalms to -music, and wrote madrigals in honor of Oriana the queen,<a name="NoteRef_107_107" id="NoteRef_107_107"></a><a href="#Note_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> where -vocal music, letters, painting, all the adornments of the beautiful -Renaissance, decked the sustained gravity, the hardworking honesty, the -deep Christianity of the Reformation. All Milton's genius springs from -this; he carried the splendor of the Renaissance into the earnestness of -the Reformation, the magnificence of Spenser into the severity of -Calvin, and, with his family, found himself at the confluence of the two -civilizations which he combined. Before he was ten years old he had a -learned tutor, "a Puritan, who cut his hair short"; after that he went -to Saint Paul's school, then to the University of Cambridge, that he -might be instructed in "polite literature"; and at the age of twelve he -worked, in spite of his weak eyes and headaches, until midnight and even -later. His John the Baptist, a character resembling himself, says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When I was yet a child, no childish play</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To me was pleasing; all my mind was set</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Serious to learn and know, and thence to do,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What might be public good; myself I thought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Born to that end, born to promote all truth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All righteous things."<a name="NoteRef_108_108" id="NoteRef_108_108"></a><a href="#Note_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At school, afterwards at Cambridge, then with his father, he was -strengthening and preparing himself with all his power, free from all -blame, and loved by all good men; traversing the vast fields of Greek -and Latin literature, not only the great writers, but all the writers, -down to the half of the Middle Ages; and studying simultaneously ancient -Hebrew, Syriac, and rabbinical Hebrew, French and Spanish, old English -literature, all the Italian literature, with such zeal and profit that -he wrote <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> Italian and Latin verse and prose like an Italian or a Roman; -in addition to this, music, mathematics, theology, and much besides. A -serious thought regulated this great toil. "The church, to whose -service, by the intentions of my parents and friends, I was destined of -a child, and in mine own resolutions: till coming to some maturity of -years, and perceiving what tyranny had invaded the church, that he who -would take orders must subscribe slave and take an oath withal, which -unless he took with a conscience that would retch, he must either -straight perjure, or split his faith; I thought it better to prefer a -blameless silence before the sacred office of speaking bought, and begun -with servitude and forswearing."<a name="NoteRef_109_109" id="NoteRef_109_109"></a><a href="#Note_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a></p> - -<p>He refused to be a clergyman from the same feelings that he had wished -it; the desire and the renunciation all sprang from the same source—a -fixed resolve to act nobly. Falling back into the life of a layman, he -continued to cultivate and perfect himself, studying passionately and -with method, but without pedantry or rigor: nay, rather, after his -master Spenser, in "L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, Cornus," he set forth in -sparkling and variegated dress the wealth of mythology, nature, and -fancy; then, sailing for the land of science and beauty, he visited -Italy, made the acquaintance of Grotius and Galileo, sought the society -of the learned, the men of letters, the men of the world, listened to -the musicians, steeped himself in all the beauties stored up by the -Renaissance at Florence and Rome. Everywhere his learning, his fine -Italian and Latin style, secured him the friendship and attentions of -scholars, so that, on his return to Florence, he "was as well received -as if he had returned to his native country." He collected books and -music, which he sent to England, and thought of traversing Sicily and -Greece, those two Hornes of ancient letters and arts. Of all the flowers -that opened to the Southern sun under the influence of the two great -paganisms, he gathered freely the balmiest and the most exquisite, but -without staining himself with the mud which surrounded them. "I call the -Deity to witness," he wrote later, "that in all those places in which -vice meets with so little discouragement, and is practised with so -little shame, I never once deviated from the paths of integrity and -virtue, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> perpetually reflected that, though my conduct might escape -the notice of men, it could not elude the inspection of God."<a name="NoteRef_110_110" id="NoteRef_110_110"></a><a href="#Note_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a></p> - -<p>Amid the licentious gallantries and inane sonnets like those which the -Cicisbei and Academicians lavished forth, he retained his sublime idea -of poetry: he thought to choose a heroic subject from ancient English -history; and as he says, "I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who -would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable -things, ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition and -pattern of the best and honorablest things; not presuming to sing high -praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the -experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy."<a name="NoteRef_111_111" id="NoteRef_111_111"></a><a href="#Note_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> -Above all, he loved Dante and Petrarch for their purity, telling himself -that "if unchastity in a woman, whom St. Paul terms the glory of man, be -such a scandal and dishonor, then certainly in a man, who is both the -image and glory of God, it must, though commonly not so thought, be much -more deflouring and dishonorable."<a name="NoteRef_112_112" id="NoteRef_112_112"></a><a href="#Note_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a> He thought "that every free and -gentle spirit, without that oath, ought to be born a knight," for the -practice and defence of chastity, and he kept himself virgin till his -marriage. Whatever the temptation might be, whatever the attraction or -fear, it found him equally opposed and equally firm. From a sense of -gravity and propriety he avoided all religious disputes; but if his own -creed were attacked, he defended it "without any reserve or fear," even -in Rome, before the Jesuits who plotted against him, within a few paces -of the Inquisition and the Vatican. Perilous duty, instead of driving -him away, attracted him. When the Revolution began to threaten, he -returned, drawn by conscience, as a soldier who hastens to danger when -he hears the clash of arms, convinced, as he himself tells us, that it -was a shame to him leisurely to spend his life abroad, and for his own -pleasure, whilst his fellow-countrymen were striving for their liberty. -In battle he appeared in the front ranks as a volunteer, courting danger -everywhere. Throughout his education and throughout his youth, in his -profane readings and his sacred studies, in his acts and his maxims, -already a ruling and permanent <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> thought grew manifest—the resolution to -develop and unfold within him the ideal man.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Miltons_Unhappy_Domestic_Life">Section II.—Milton's Unhappy Domestic Life</a></h4> - - -<p>Two powers chiefly lead mankind—impulse and idea: the one influencing -sensitive, unfettered, poetical souls, capable of transformations, like -Shakespeare; the other governing active, combative, heroic souls, -capable of immutability, like Milton. The first are sympathetic and -effusive; the second are concentrative and reserved.<a name="NoteRef_113_113" id="NoteRef_113_113"></a><a href="#Note_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a> The first give -themselves up, the others withhold themselves. These, by reliance and -sociability, with an artistic instinct and a sudden imitative -comprehension, involuntarily take the tone and disposition of the men -and things which surround them, and an immediate counterpoise is -effected between the inner and the outer man. Those, by mistrust and -rigidity, with a combative instinct and a quick reference to rule, -become naturally thrown back upon themselves, and in their narrow limits -no longer feel the solicitations and contradictions of their -surroundings. They have formed a model, and thenceforth this model like -a watchword restrains or urges them on. Like all powers destined to have -sway, the inner idea grows and absorbs to its use the rest of their -being. They bury it in themselves by meditation, they nourish it with -reasoning, they put it in communication with the chain of all their -doctrines and all their experiences; so that when a temptation assails -them, it is not an isolated principle which it attacks, but it -encounters the whole combination of their belief, an infinitely ramified -combination, too strong for a sensuous seduction to tear asunder. At the -same time a man by habit is upon his guard; the combative attitude is -natural to him, and he stands erect, firm in the pride of his courage -and the inveteracy of his determination.</p> - -<p>A soul thus fortified is like a diver in his bell;<a name="NoteRef_114_114" id="NoteRef_114_114"></a><a href="#Note_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> it passes -through life as he passes through the sea, unstained but isolated. On -his return to England, Milton fell back among his books, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> and received a -few pupils, upon whom he imposed, as upon himself, continuous toil, -serious reading, a frugal diet, a strict behavior; the life of a -recluse, almost of a monk. Suddenly in a month, after a country visit, -he married.<a name="NoteRef_115_115" id="NoteRef_115_115"></a><a href="#Note_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> A few weeks afterwards, his wife returned to her -father's house, would not come back to him, took no notice of his -letters, and sent back his messenger with scorn. The two characters had -come into collision. Nothing displeases women more than an austere and -self-contained character. They see that they have no hold upon it; its -dignity awes them, its pride repels, its preoccupations keep them aloof; -they feel themselves of less value, neglected for general interests or -speculative curiosities; judged, moreover, and that after an inflexible -rule; at most regarded with condescension, as a sort of less reasonable -and inferior beings, debarred from the equality which they demand, and -the love which alone can reward them for the loss of equality. The -"priest" character is made for solitude; the tact, ease, charm, -pleasantness, and gentleness necessary to all companionship, are wanting -to it; we admire him, but we go no further, especially if, like Milton's -wife, we are somewhat dull and common-place,<a name="NoteRef_116_116" id="NoteRef_116_116"></a><a href="#Note_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> adding mediocrity of -intellect to the repugnance of our hearts. He had, so his biographers -say, a certain gravity of nature, or severity of mind which would not -condescend to petty things, but kept him in the clouds, in a region -which is not that of the household. He was accused of being harsh, -choleric; and certainly he stood upon his manly dignity, his authority -as a husband, and was not so greatly esteemed, respected, studied, as he -thought he deserved to be. In short, he passed the day amongst his -books, and the rest of the time his heart lived in an abstracted and -sublime world of which few wives catch a glimpse, his wife least of all. -He had, in fact, chosen like a student, so much the more at random -because his former life had been of "a well-governed and wise appetite." -Equally like a man of the closet, he resented her flight, being the more -irritated because the world's ways were unknown to him. Without dread of -ridicule, and with the sternness of a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> speculative man suddenly brought -into collision with actual life, he wrote treatises on divorce, signed -them with his name, dedicated them to Parliament, held himself divorced -<i>de facto</i> because his wife refused to return, <i>de jure</i> because he had -four texts of Scripture for it; whereupon he paid court to another young -lady, and suddenly, seeing his wife on her knees and weeping, forgave -her, took her back, renewed the dry and sad marriage-tie, not profiting -by experience, but on the other hand fated to contract two other unions, -the last with a wife thirty years younger than himself. Other parts of -his domestic life were neither better managed nor happier. He had taken -his daughters for secretaries, and made them read languages which they -did not understand—a repelling task, of which they bitterly complained. -In return, he accused them of being "undutiful and unkind," of -neglecting him, not caring whether they left him alone, of conspiring -with the servants to rob him in their purchases, of stealing his books, -so that they would have disposed of the whole of them. Mary, the second, -hearing one day that he was going to be married, said that his marriage -was no news; the best news would be his death. An incredible speech, and -one which throws a strange light on the miseries of this family. Neither -circumstances nor nature had created him for happiness.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Miltons_Combative_Energy">Section III.—Milton's Combative Energy</a></h4> - - -<p>They had created him for strife, and after his return to England he had -thrown himself heartily into it, armed with logic, anger, and learning, -protected by conviction and conscience. When "the liberty of speech was -no longer subject to control, all mouths began to be opened against the -bishops.... I saw that a way was opening for the establishment of real -liberty; that the foundation was laying for the deliverance of man from -the yoke of slavery and superstition;... and as I had from my youth -studied the distinction between religious and civil rights,... I -determined to relinquish the other pursuits in which I was engaged, and -to transfer the whole force of my talents and my industry to this one -important object."<a name="NoteRef_117_117" id="NoteRef_117_117"></a><a href="#Note_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> And thereupon he wrote his "Reformation in -England," jeering <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> at and attacking with haughtiness and scorn the -prelacy of its defenders. Refuted and attacked in turn, he became still -more bitter, and crushed those whom he had beaten.<a name="NoteRef_118_118" id="NoteRef_118_118"></a><a href="#Note_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> Transported to -the limits of his creed, and like a knight making a rush, and who -pierces with a dash the whole line of battle, he hurled himself upon the -prince, wrote that the abolition of royalty as well as the overthrow of -Episcopacy were necessary; and one month after the death of Charles I, -justified his execution, replied to the "Eikon Basilike," then to -Salmasius's "Defence of the King," with incomparable breadth of style -and scorn, like a soldier, like an apostle, like a man who everywhere -feels the superiority of his science and logic, who wishes to make it -felt, who proudly tramples upon and crushes his adversaries as -ignoramuses, inferior minds, base hearts.<a name="NoteRef_119_119" id="NoteRef_119_119"></a><a href="#Note_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> "Kings most commonly," he -says, at the beginning of the "Eikonoklastes, though strong in -legions, are but weak at arguments; as they who ever have accustomed -from their cradle to use their will only as their right hand, their -reason always as their left. Whence unexpectedly constrained to that -kind of combat, they prove but weak and puny adversaries."<a name="NoteRef_120_120" id="NoteRef_120_120"></a><a href="#Note_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> Yet, for -love of those who suffer themselves to be overcome by this dazzling name -of royalty, he consents to "take up King Charles's gauntlet"; and bangs -him with it in a style calculated to make the imprudent men who had -thrown it down repent. Far from recoiling at the accusation of murder, -he accepts and boasts of it. He vaunts the regicide, sets it on a -triumphal car, decks it in all the light of heaven. He relates with the -tone of a judge, "how a most potent king, after he had trampled upon the -laws of the nation, and given a shock to its religion, and began to rule -at his own will and pleasure, was at last subdued in the field by his -own subjects, who had undergone a long slavery under him; how afterwards -he was cast into prison, and when he gave no ground, either by words or -actions, to hope better things of him, was finally by the supreme -council of the kingdom condemned to die, and beheaded before the very -gates of the royal palace.... For what king's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> majesty sitting upon an -exalted throne, ever shone so brightly, as that of the people of England -then did, when, shaking off that old superstition, which had prevailed a -long time, they gave judgment upon the king himself, or rather upon an -enemy who had been their king, caught as it were in a net by his own -laws (who alone of all mortals challenged to himself impunity by a -divine right), and scrupled not to inflict the same punishment upon him, -being guilty, which he would have inflicted upon any other?"<a name="NoteRef_121_121" id="NoteRef_121_121"></a><a href="#Note_121_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> After -having justified the execution, he sanctified it; consecrated it by -decrees of heaven after he had authorized it by the laws of the world; -from the support of Law he transferred it to the support of God. This is -the God who "uses to throw down proud and unruly kings,... and utterly -to extirpate them and all their family. By his manifest impulse being -set on work to recover our almost lost liberty, following him as our -guide, and adoring the impresses of his divine power manifested upon all -occasions, we went on in no obscure but an illustrious passage, pointed -out and made plain to us by God himself."<a name="NoteRef_122_122" id="NoteRef_122_122"></a><a href="#Note_122_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a> Here the reasoning ends -with a song of triumph, and enthusiasm breaks out through the mail of -the warrior. Such he displayed himself in all his actions and in all his -doctrines. The solid files of bristling and well-ordered arguments which -he disposed in battle-array were changed in his heart in the moment of -triumph into glorious processions of crowned and resplendent hymns. He -was transported by them, he deluded himself, and lived thus alone with -the sublime, like a warrior-pontiff, who in his stiff armor, or his -glittering stole, stands face to face with truth. Thus absorbed in -strife and in his priesthood, he lived out of the world, as blind to -palpable facts as he was protected against the seductions of the senses, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -placed above the stains and the lessons of experience, as incapable of -leading men as of yielding to them. There was nothing in him akin to the -devices and delays of the statesman, the crafty schemer, who pauses on -his way, experimentalizes, with eyes fixed on what may turn up, who -gauges what is possible, and employs logic for practical purposes. -Milton was speculative and chimerical. Locked up in his own ideas, he -sees but them, is attracted but by them. Is he pleading against the -bishops? He would extirpate them at once, without hesitation; he demands -that the Presbyterian worship shall be at once established, without -forethought, contrivance, hesitation. It is the command of God, it is -the duty of the faithful; beware how you trifle with God or temporize -with faith. Concord, gentleness, liberty, piety, he sees a whole swarm -of virtues issue from this new worship. Let the king fear nothing from -it, his power will be all the stronger. Twenty thousand democratic -assemblies will take care that his rights be not infringed. These ideas -make us smile. We recognize the party-man, who, on the verge of the -Restoration, when "the whole multitude was mad with desire for a king," -published "A Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth," and -described his method at length. We recognize the theorist who, to obtain -a law of divorce, only appealed to Scripture, and aimed at transforming -the civil constitution of a people by changing the accepted sense of a -verse. With closed eyes, sacred text in hand, he advances from -consequence to consequence, trampling upon the prejudices inclinations, -habits, wants of men, as if a reasoning or religious spirit were the -whole man, as if evidence always created belief, as if belief always -resulted in practice, as if, in the struggle of doctrines, truth or -justice gave doctrines the victory and sovereignty. To cap all, he -sketched out a treatise on education, in which he proposed to teach each -pupil every science, every art, and, what is more, every virtue. "He who -had the art and proper eloquence... might in a short space gain them to -an incredible diligence and courage,... infusing into their young -breasts such an ingenuous and noble ardour as would not fail to make -many of them renowned and matchless men."<a name="NoteRef_123_123" id="NoteRef_123_123"></a><a href="#Note_123_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a> Milton had taught for -many years and at various times. A man must be insensible to experience -or <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> doomed to illusions who retains such deceptions after such -experiences.</p> - -<p>But his obstinacy constituted his power, and the inner constitution, -which closed his mind to instruction, armed his heart against -weaknesses. With men generally, the source of devotion dries up when in -contact with life. Gradually, by dint of frequenting the world, we -acquire its tone. We do not choose to be dupes, and to abstain from the -license which others allow themselves; we relax our youthful strictness; -we even smile, attributing it to our heated blood; we know our own -motives, and cease to find ourselves sublime. We end by taking it -calmly, and we see the world wag, only trying to avoid shocks, picking -up here and there a few little comfortable pleasures. Not so Milton. He -lived complete and pure to the end, without loss of heart or weakness; -experience could not instruct nor misfortune depress him; he endured -all, and repented of nothing. He lost his sight, by his own fault, by -writing, though ill, and against the prohibition of his doctors, to -justify the English people against the invectives of Salmasius. He saw -the funeral of the Republic, the proscription of his doctrines, the -defamation of his honor. Around him ran riot, a distaste for liberty, an -enthusiasm for slavery. A whole people threw itself at the feet of a -young, incapable, and treacherous libertine. The glorious leaders of the -Puritan faith were condemned, executed, cut down alive from the gallows, -quartered amidst insults; others, whom death had saved from the hangman, -were dug up and exposed on the gibbet; others, exiles in foreign lands, -lived, threatened and attacked by royalist bullies; others again, more -unfortunate, had sold their cause for money and titles, and sat amid the -executioners of their former friends. The most pious and austere -citizens of England filled the prisons, or wandered about in poverty and -shame; and gross vice, impudently seated on the throne, rallied around -it a herd of unbridled lusts and sensualities. Milton himself had been -constrained to hide; his books had been burned by the hand of the -hangman; even after the general act of indemnity he was imprisoned; when -set at liberty, he lived in the expectation of being assassinated, for -private fanaticism might seize the weapon relinquished by public -revenge. Other smaller misfortunes came to aggravate by their stings the -great wounds which afflicted him. Confiscations, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> a bankruptcy, finally, -the great fire of London, had robbed him of three-fourths of his -fortune;<a name="NoteRef_124_124" id="NoteRef_124_124"></a><a href="#Note_124_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> his daughters neither esteemed nor respected him; he sold -his books, knowing that his family could not profit by them after his -death; and amidst so many private and public miseries, he continued -calm. Instead of repudiating what he had done, he gloried in it: instead -of being cast down, he increased in firmness. He says, in his -twenty-second sonnet:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Cyriack, this three years day these eyes, though clear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To outward view, of blemish or of spot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bereft of sight, their seeing have forgot;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor to their idle orbs doth day appear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate one jot</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Right onward. What supports me, doth thou ask?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In liberty's defence, my noble task;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of which all Europe rings from side to side.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Content though blind, had I no other guide."<a name="NoteRef_125_125" id="NoteRef_125_125"></a><a href="#Note_125_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a></span></p> - - -<p>That thought was indeed his guide; he was "armed in himself," and that -"breastplate of diamond"<a name="NoteRef_126_126" id="NoteRef_126_126"></a><a href="#Note_126_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a> which had protected him in his prime -against the wounds in battle, protected him in his old age against the -temptations and doubts of defeat and adversity.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Miltons_Personal_Appearance">Section IV.—Milton's Personal Appearance</a></h4> - - -<p>Milton lived in a small house in London, or in the country, at Horton, -in Buckinghamshire, published his "History of Britain," his "Logic," a -"Treatise on True Religion and Heresy," meditated his great "Treatise on -Christian Doctrine." Of all consolations, work is the most fortifying -and the most healthy, because it solaces a man not by bringing him ease, -but by requiring <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> him to exert himself. Every morning he had a chapter of -the Bible read to him in Hebrew, and remained for some time in silence, -grave, in order to meditate on what he had heard. He never went to a -place of worship. Independent in religion as in all else, he was -sufficient to himself; finding in no sect the marks of the true church, -he prayed to God alone, without needing others' help. He studied till -mid-day; then, after an hour's exercise, he played the organ or the -bass-violin. Then he resumed his studies till six, and in the evening -enjoyed the society of his friends. When anyone came to visit him, he -was usually found in a room hung with old green hangings, seated in an -arm-chair, and dressed neatly in black; his complexion was pale, says -one of his visitors, but not sallow; his hands and feet were gouty; his -hair, of a light brown, was parted in the midst and fell in long curls; -his eyes, gray and clear, showed no sign of blindness. He had been very -beautiful in his youth, and his English cheeks, once delicate as a young -girl's, retained their color almost to the end. His face, we are told, -was pleasing; his straight and manly gait bore witness to intrepidity -and courage. Something great and proud breathes out yet from all his -portraits; and certainly few men have done so much honor to their kind. -Thus went out this noble life, like a setting sun, bright and calm. Amid -so many trials, a pure and lofty joy, altogether worthy of him, had been -granted to him: the poet, buried under the Puritan, had reappeared, more -sublime than ever, to give to Christianity its second Homer. The -dazzling dreams of his youth and the reminiscences of his ripe age were -found in him, side by side with Calvinistic dogmas and the visions of -St. John, to create the Protestant epic of damnation and grace; and the -vastness of primitive horizons, the flames of the infernal dungeon, the -splendors of the celestial court, opened to the inner eye of the soul -unknown regions beyond the sights which the eyes of the flesh had lost.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Milton_as_a_Prose_Writer">Section V.—Milton as a Prose Writer</a></h4> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration2"></a> -<img src="images/illustration2.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="center"><i>JOHN MILTON.</i><br /> -<i>Photogravure from an etching.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>This picture of Milton, representing the great poet in the prime of his -intellect, is one of the finest of him extant. Traces are still visible -of that earlier beauty which at Oxford had caused him to be nicknamed -the "Maiden," but the impress of serious thought has given to his face a -dignity which is greater than the mere physical charm of youth. The -contour of the head is noble, and the expressive, finely shaped eyes -show poetic sensibility and imagination. His flowing chestnut curls are -the only reminder of the gay cavalier period in which he lived, for his -dress, in conformity with his sympathies, is strictly Puritan.</p></blockquote></div> - - - - -<p>I have before me the formidable volume in which, some time after -Milton's death, his prose works were collected.<a name="NoteRef_127_127" id="NoteRef_127_127"></a><a href="#Note_127_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a> What a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> book! The -chairs creak when you place it upon them, and a man who had turned its -leaves over for an hour, would have less pain in his head than in his -arm. As the book, so were the men; from the mere outsides we might -gather some notion of the controversialists and theologians whose -doctrines they contain. Yet we must conclude that the author was -eminently learned, elegant, travelled, philosophic, and a man of the -world for his age. We think involuntarily of the portraits of the -theologians of those days, severe faces engraved on metal by the hard -artist's tool, whose square brows and steady eyes stand out in startling -prominence against a dark, oak panel. We compare them to modern -countenances, in which the delicate and complex features seem to quiver -at the varied contact of hardly begun sensations and innumerable ideas. -We try to imagine the heavy classical education, the physical exercises, -the rude treatment, the rare ideas, the imposed dogmas, which formerly -occupied, oppressed, fortified, and hardened the young; and we might -fancy ourselves looking at an anatomy of megatheria and mastodons, -reconstructed by Cuvier.</p> - -<p>The race of living men is changed. Our mind fails us nowadays at the -idea of this greatness and this barbarism; but we discover that the -barbarism was then the cause of the greatness. As in other times we -might have seen, in the primitive slime and among the colossal ferns, -ponderous monsters slowly wind their scaly backs, and tear the flesh -from one another's sides with their misshapen talons; so now, at a -distance, from the height of our calm civilization, we see the battles -of the theologians, who, armed with syllogisms, bristling with text, -covered one another with filth, and labored to devour each others.</p> - -<p>Milton fought in the front rank, preordained to barbarism and greatness -by his individual nature and the manners of the time, capable of -displaying in high prominence the logic, style, and spirit of his age. -It is drawing-room life which trims men into shape: the society of -ladies, the lack of serious interests, idleness, vanity, security, are -needed to bring men to elegance, urbanity, fine and light humor, to -teach the desire to please, the fear to become wearisome, a perfect -clearness, a finished precision, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the art of gradual transitions and -delicate tact, a taste for suitable images, continual ease, and choice -diversity. Seek nothing like this in Milton. The old scholastic system -was not far off; it still weighed on those who were destroying it. Under -this secular armor discussion proceeded pedantically, with measured -steps. The first thing was to propound a thesis; and Milton writes, in -large characters, at the head of his "Treatise on Divorce, that -indisposition, unfitness, or contrariety of mind, arising from a cause -in nature unchangeable, hindering, and ever likely to hinder the main -benefits of conjugal society, which are solace and peace, is a greater -reason of divorce than natural frigidity, especially if there be no -children, and that there be mutual consent." And then follow, legion -after legion, the disciplined army of the arguments. Battalion after -battalion they pass by, numbered very distinctly. There is a dozen of -them together, each with its title in clear characters, and the little -brigade of subdivisions which it commands. Sacred texts hold the post of -honor. Every word of them is discussed, the substantive after the -adjective, the verb after the substantive, the preposition after the -verb; interpretations, authorities, illustrations, are summoned up, and -ranged between palisades of new divisions. And yet there is a lack of -order, the question is not reduced to a single idea; we cannot see our -way; proofs succeed proofs without logical sequence; we are rather tired -out than convinced. We remember that the author speaks to Oxford men, -lay or cleric, trained in pretended discussions, capable of obstinate -attention, accustomed to digest indigestible books. They are at home in -this thorny thicket of scholastic brambles; they beat a path through, -somewhat at hazard, hardened against the hurts which repulse us, and not -having the smallest idea of the daylight which we require everywhere -now.</p> - -<p>With such ponderous reasoners, you must not look for wit. Wit is the -nimbleness of victorious reason; here, because everything it powerful, -all is heavy. When Milton wishes to joke, he looks like one of -Cromwell's pikemen, who, entering a room to dance, should fall upon the -floor, and that with the extra weight of his armor. Few things could be -more stupid than his "Animadversions upon the Remonstrants' Defence." At -the end of an argument his adversary concludes with this specimen of -theological wit: "In the meanwhile see, brethren, how you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> have with -Simon fished all night, and caught nothing." And Milton boastfully -replies: "If, we, fishing with Simon the apostle, can catch nothing; see -what you can catch with Simon Magus; for all his hooks and fishing -implements he bequeathed among you." Here a great savage laugh would -break out. The spectators saw a charm in this way of insinuating that -his adversary was simoniacal. A little before, the latter says: "Tell -me, is this liturgy good or evil?" Answer: "It is evil: repair the -acheloian horn of your dilemma, how you can, against the next push." The -doctors wondered at the fine mythological simile and rejoiced to see the -adversary so neatly compared to an ox, a beaten ox, a pagan ox. On the -next page the Remonstrant said, by way of a spiritual and mocking -reproach: "Truly, brethren, you have not well taken the height of the -pole." Answer: "No marvel; there be many more that do not take well the -height of your pole, but will take better the declination of your -altitude." Three quips of the same savor follow one upon the other; all -this looked pretty. Elsewhere, Salmasius exclaiming "that the sun itself -never beheld a more outrageous action" than the murder of the king, -Milton cleverly answers, "The sun has beheld many things that blind -Bernard never saw. But we are content you should mention the sun over -and over. And it will be a piece of prudence in you so to do. For though -our wickedness does not require it, the coldness of the defence that you -are making does."<a name="NoteRef_128_128" id="NoteRef_128_128"></a><a href="#Note_128_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a> The marvellous heaviness of these conceits -betrays minds yet entangled in the swaddling-clothes of learning. The -Reformation was the inauguration of free thought, but only the -inauguration. Criticism was yet unborn; authority still presses with a -full half of its weight upon the freest and boldest minds. Milton, to -prove that it was lawful to put a king to death, quotes Orestes, the -laws of Publicola, and the death of Nero. His "History of Britain" is a -farrago of all the traditions and fables. Under every circumstance he -adduces a text of Scripture for proof; his boldness consists in showing -himself a bold grammarian, a valorous commentator. He is blindly -Protestant as others were blindly Catholic. He leaves in its bondage the -higher reason, the mother of principles; he has but emancipated a -subordinate reason, an interpreter of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> texts. Like the vast half -shapeless creatures, the birth of early times, he is yet but half man -and half mud.</p> - -<p>Can we expect urbanity here? Urbanity is the elegant dignity which -answers insult by calm irony, and respects man whilst piercing a dogma. -Milton coarsely knocks his adversary down. A bristling pedant, born from -a Greek lexicon and a Syriac grammar, Salmasius had disgorged upon the -English people a vocabulary of insults and a folio of quotations. Milton -replies to him in the same style; calling him a buffoon, a mountebank -"<i>professor triobolaris</i>," a hired pedant, a nobody, a rogue, a -heartless being, a wretch, an idiot, sacrilegious, a slave worthy of -rods and a pitchfork. A dictionary of big Latin words passed between -them. "You, who know so many tongues, who read so many books, who write -so much about them, you are yet but an ass." Finding the epithet good, -he repeats and sanctifies it. "Oh, most drivelling of asses, you come -ridden by a woman, with the cured heads of bishops whom you had wounded, -a little image of the great beast of the Apocalypse!" He ends by calling -him savage beast, apostate, and devil. "Doubt not that you are reserved -for the same end as Judas, and that, driven by despair rather than -repentance, self-disgusted, you must one day hang yourself, and like -your rival, burst asunder in your belly."<a name="NoteRef_129_129" id="NoteRef_129_129"></a><a href="#Note_129_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a> We fancy we are listening -to the bellowing of two bulls.</p> - -<p>They had all a bull's ferocity. Milton was a good hater. He fought with -his pen, as the Ironsides with the sword, inch by inch, with a -concentrated rancor and a fierce obstinacy. The bishops and the king -then suffered for eleven years of despotism. Each man recalled the -banishments, confiscations, punishments, the law violated systematically -and relentlessly, the liberty of the subject attacked by a well-laid -plot, Episcopal idolatry imposed on Christian consciences, the faithful -preachers driven into the wilds of America, or given up to the -executioner and the stocks.<a name="NoteRef_130_130" id="NoteRef_130_130"></a><a href="#Note_130_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a> Such reminiscences arising in powerful -minds, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> stamped them with inexpiable hatred, and the writings of Milton -bear witness to a rancor which is now unknown. The impression left by -his "Eikonoklastes"<a name="NoteRef_131_131" id="NoteRef_131_131"></a><a href="#Note_131_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a> is oppressive. Phrase by phrase, harshly, -bitterly, the king is refuted and accused to the last, without a -minute's respite of accusation, the accused being credited with not the -slightest good intention, the slightest excuse, the least show of -justice, the accuser never for an instant digressing to or resting upon -a general idea. It is a hand-to-hand fight, where every word takes -effect, prolonged, obstinate, without dash and without weakness, full of -a harsh and fixed hostility, where the only thought is how to wound most -severely and to kill surely. Against the bishops, who were alive and -powerful, his hatred flowed more violently still, and the fierceness of -his envenomed metaphors hardly suffices to express it. Milton points to -them "basking in the sunny warmth of wealth and promotion," like a brood -of foul reptiles. "The sour leaven of human traditions, mixed in one -putrified mass with the poisonous dregs of hypocrisie in the hearts of -Prelates,... is the serpent's egg that will hatch an Anti-christ -wheresoever, and ingender the same monster as big or little as the lump -is which breeds him."<a name="NoteRef_132_132" id="NoteRef_132_132"></a><a href="#Note_132_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a></p> - -<p>So much coarseness and dulness was an outer breastplate, the mark and -the protection of the superabundant force and life <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> which coursed in -those athletic limbs and chests. Nowadays, the mind, being more refined, -has become feebler; convictions, being less stern, have become less -strong. Attention, freed from the heavy scholastic logic and scriptural -tyranny, has become more inert. Belief and the will, dissolved by -universal tolerance and by the thousand opposing shocks of multiplied -ideas, have engendered an exact and refined style, an instrument of -conversation and pleasure, and have expelled the poetic and rude style, -a weapon of war and enthusiasm. If we have effaced ferocity and dulness, -we have diminished force and greatness.</p> - -<p>Force and greatness are manifested in Milton, displayed in his opinions -and his style, the sources of his belief and his talent. This proud -reason aspired to unfold itself without shackles; it demanded that -reason might unfold itself without shackles. It claimed for humanity -what is coveted for itself, and championed every liberty in his every -word. From the first he attacked the corpulent bishops, scholastic -upstarts, persecutors of free discussion, pensioned tyrants of Christian -conscience.<a name="NoteRef_133_133" id="NoteRef_133_133"></a><a href="#Note_133_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> Above the clamor of the Protestant Revolution, his -voice was heard thundering against tradition and obedience. He sourly -railed at the pedantic theologians, devoted worshippers of old texts, -who mistook a mouldy martyrology for a solid argument, and answered a -demonstration with a quotation. He declared that most of the fathers -were turbulent and babbling intriguers, that they were not worth more -collectively than individually, that their councils were but a pack of -underhand intrigues and vain disputes; he rejected their authority and -their example, and set up logic as the only interpreter of -Scripture.<a name="NoteRef_134_134" id="NoteRef_134_134"></a><a href="#Note_134_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a> A Puritan as against bishops, an Independent as against -Presbyterians, he was always master of his thought and the inventor of -his own faith. No one better loved, practised, and praised the free and -bold use of reason. He exercised it even rashly and scandalously. He -revolted against custom, the illegitimate queen of human belief, the -born and relentless enemy of truth, raised his hand against marriage, -and demanded divorce in the case of incompatibility of temper. He -declared that "error supports custom, custom countenances error; and -these two between them,... with the numerous and vulgar train of their -followers,... <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> envy and cry down the industry of free reasoning, under -the terms of humour and innovation."<a name="NoteRef_135_135" id="NoteRef_135_135"></a><a href="#Note_135_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a> He showed that truth "never -comes into the world, but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that -brought her forth; till Time, the mid-wife rather than the mother of -truth, have washed and salted the infant, declared her legitimate."<a name="NoteRef_136_136" id="NoteRef_136_136"></a><a href="#Note_136_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a> -He stood out in three or four writings against the flood of insults and -anathemas, and dared even more; he attacked the censorship before -Parliament, though its own work; he spoke as a man who is wounded and -oppressed, for whom a public prohibition is a personal outrage, who is -himself fettered by the fetters of the nation. He does not want the pen -of a paid "licenser" to insult by its approval the first page of his -book. He hates this ignorant and imperious hand, and claims liberty of -writing on the same grounds as he claims liberty of thought:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"What advantage is it to be a man, over it is to be a boy at school, if -we have only escaped the ferula, to come under the fescue of an -imprimatur? If serious and elaborate writings, as if they were no more -than the theme of a grammar-lad under his pedagogue, must not be uttered -without the cursory eyes of a temporizing and extemporizing licenser? He -who is not trusted with his own actions, his drift not being known to be -evil, and standing to the hazard of law and penalty, has no great -argument to think himself reputed in the commonwealth wherein he was -born for other than a fool or a foreigner. When a man writes to the -world, he summons up all his reason and deliberation to assist him; he -searches, meditates, is industrious, and likely consults and confers -with his judicious friends; after all which done, he takes himself to be -informed in what he writes, as well as any that wrote before him; if in -this, the most consummate act of his fidelity and ripeness, no years, no -industry, no former proof of his abilities, can bring him to that state -of maturity, as not to be still mistrusted and suspected, unless he -carry all his considerate diligence, all his midnight watchings, and -expense of Palladian oil, to the hasty view of an unleisured licenser, -perhaps much his younger, perhaps far his inferior in judgment, perhaps -one who never knew the labour of book writing; and if he be not -repulsed, or slighted, must appear in print like a puny with his -guardian, and his censor's hand on the back of his title to be his bail -and surety, that he is no idiot or seducer; it cannot be but a dishonour -and derogation to the author, to the book, to the privilege and dignity -of learning."<a name="NoteRef_137_137" id="NoteRef_137_137"></a><a href="#Note_137_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Throw open, then, all the doors; let there be light; let every man -think, and bring his thoughts to the light. Dread not any diversities of -opinion, rejoice in this great work; why insult the laborers by the name -of schismatics and sectaries?</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Yet these are the men cried out against for schismatics and sectaries, -as if, while the temple of the Lord was building, some cutting, some -squaring the marble, others hewing the cedars, there should be a sort of -irrational men, who could not consider there must be many schisms and -many dissections made in the quarry and in the timber ere the house of -God can be built. And when every stone is laid artfully together, it -cannot be united into a continuity, it cannot but be contiguous in this -world: neither can every piece of the building be of one form; nay, -rather the perfection consists in this, that out of many moderate -varieties and brotherly dissimilitudes that are not vastly -disproportional, arises the goodly and the graceful symmetry that -commends the whole pile and structure."<a name="NoteRef_138_138" id="NoteRef_138_138"></a><a href="#Note_138_138" class="fnanchor">[138]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Milton triumphs here through sympathy; he breaks forth into magnificent -images, he displays in his style the force which he perceives around him -and in himself. He lauds the revolution, and his praises seem like the -blast of a trumpet, to come from a brazen throat:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Behold now this vast city, a city of refuge, the mansion-house of -liberty, encompassed and surrounded with his protection; the shop of war -has not there more anvils and hammers working, to fashion out the plates -and instruments of armed justice in defence of beleagured truth, than -there be pens and heads there, sitting by their studious lamps, musing, -searching, revolving new notions and ideas wherewith to present, as with -their homage and their feality, the approaching reformation.... What -could a man require more from a nation so pliant, and so prone to seek -after knowledge? What wants there to such a towardly and pregnant soil, -but wise and faithful labourers, to make a knowing people, a nation of -prophets, of sages, and of worthies?<a name="NoteRef_139_139" id="NoteRef_139_139"></a><a href="#Note_139_139" class="fnanchor">[139]</a>... Methinks I see in my mind a -noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, -and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle mewing -her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday -beam; purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the fountain itself -of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking -birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at -what she means, and in their envious gabble would prognosticate a year -of sects and schisms."<a name="NoteRef_140_140" id="NoteRef_140_140"></a><a href="#Note_140_140" class="fnanchor">[140]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>It is Milton who speaks, and it is Milton whom he unwittingly describes. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>With a sincere writer, doctrines foretell the style. The sentiments and -needs which form and govern his beliefs, construct and color his -phrases. The same genius leaves once and again the same impress, in the -thought and in the form. The power of logic and enthusiasm which -explains the opinions of Milton, explains his genius. The sectary and -the writer are one man, and we shall find the faculties of the sectary -in the talent of the writer.</p> - -<p>When an idea is planted in a logical mind, it grows and fructifies there -in a multitude of accessory and explanatory ideas which surround it, -entangled among themselves, and form a thicket and a forest. The -sentences in Milton are immense; page-long periods are necessary to -enclose the train of so many linked arguments, and so many metaphors -accumulated around the governing thought. In this great travail, heart -and imagination are shaken; Milton exults while he reasons, and the -words come as from a catapult, doubling the force of their flight by -their heavy weight. I dare not place before a modern reader the gigantic -periods which commence the treatise "Of Reformation in England." We no -longer possess the power of breath; we only understand little short -phrases; we cannot fix our attention on the same point for a page at a -time. We require manageable ideas; we have given up the big two-handed -sword of our fathers, and we only carry a light foil. I doubt, however, -if the piercing phraseology of Voltaire be more mortal than the cleaving -of this iron mace:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"If in less noble and almost mechanick arts he is not esteemed to -deserve the name of a compleat architect, an excellent painter, or the -like, that bears not a generous mind above the peasantly regard of wages -and hire; much more must we think him a most imperfect and incompleat -Divine, who is so far from being a contemner of filthy lucre; that his -whole divinity is moulded and bred up in the beggarly and brutish hopes -of a fat prebendary, deanery, or bishoprick."<a name="NoteRef_141_141" id="NoteRef_141_141"></a><a href="#Note_141_141" class="fnanchor">[141]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>If Michael Angelo's prophets could speak, it would be in this style; and -twenty times while reading it, we may discern the sculptor.</p> - -<p>The powerful logic which lengthens the periods sustains the images. If -Shakespeare and the nervous poets embrace a picture in the compass of a -fleeting expression, break upon their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> metaphors with new ones, and -exhibit successively in the same phrase the same idea in five or six -different forms, the abrupt motion of their winged imagination -authorizes or explains these varied colors and these mingling flashes. -More connected and more master of himself, Milton develops to the end -the threads which these poets break. All his images display themselves -in little poems, a sort of solid allegory, of which all the -interdependent parts concentrate their light on the single idea which -they are intended to embellish or demonstrate:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"In this manner the prelates,... coming from a mean and plebeian life on -a sudden to be lords of stately palaces, rich furniture, delicious fare, -and princely attendance, thought the plain and homespun verity of -Christ's gospel unfit any longer to hold their lordships' acquaintance, -unless the poor threadbare matron were put into better clothes: her -chaste and modest veil surrounded with celestial beams, they overlaid -with wanton tresses, and in a flaring tire bespeckled her with all the -gaudy allurements of a whore."<a name="NoteRef_142_142" id="NoteRef_142_142"></a><a href="#Note_142_142" class="fnanchor">[142]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Politicians reply that this gaudy church supports royalty.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"What greater debasement can there be to royal dignity, whose towering -and steadfast height rests upon the unmovable foundations of justice, -and heroic virtue, than to chain it in a dependence of subsisting, or -ruining, to the painted battlements and gaudy rottenness of prelatry, -which want but one puff of the king's to blow them down like a pasteboard -house built of court-cards?"<a name="NoteRef_143_143" id="NoteRef_143_143"></a><a href="#Note_143_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Metaphors thus sustained receive a singular breadth, pomp, and majesty. -They are spread forth without clashing together, like the wide folds of -a scarlet cloak, bathed in light and fringed with gold.</p> - -<p>Do not take these metaphors for an accident. Milton lavishes them, like -a priest who in his worship exhibits splendors and wins the eye, to gain -the heart. He has been nourished by the reading of Spenser, Drayton, -Shakespeare, Beaumont, all the most sparkling poets and the golden flow -of the preceding age, though impoverished all around him and slackened -within himself, has become enlarged like a lake through being dammed up -in his heart. Like Shakespeare, he imagines at every turn, and even out -of turn, and scandalizes the classical and French taste. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"... As if they could make God earthly and fleshly, because they could -not make themselves heavenly and spiritual; they began to draw down all -the divine intercourse betwixt God and the soul, yea, the very shape of -God himself, into an exterior and bodily form;.... they hallowed it, -they fumed up, they sprinkled it, they bedecked it, not in robes of pure -innocency, but of pure linen, with other deformed and fantastic dresses, -in palls and mitres, and gewgaws fetched from Aaron's old wardrobe, or -the flaming vestry: then was the priest set to con his motions and his -postures, his liturgies and his lurries, till the soul by this means, of -overbodying herself, given up justly to fleshly delights, bated her wing -apace downward; and finding the ease she had from her visible and -sensuous colleague the body, in performance of religious duties, her -pinions now broken, and flagging, shifted off from herself the labour of -high soaring any more, forgot her heavenly flight, and left the dull and -droiling carcase to plod on in the old road, and drudging trade of -outward conformity."<a name="NoteRef_144_144" id="NoteRef_144_144"></a><a href="#Note_144_144" class="fnanchor">[144]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>If we did not discern here the traces of theological coarseness, we -might fancy we were reading an imitator of the "Phædo" and under the -fanatical anger recognize the images of Plato. There is one phrase which -for manly beauty and enthusiasm recalls the tone of the "Republic": "I -cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue unexercised and -unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks -out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not -without dust and heat."<a name="NoteRef_145_145" id="NoteRef_145_145"></a><a href="#Note_145_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a> But Milton is only Platonic by his richness -and exaltation. For the rest, he is a man of the Renaissance, pedantic -and harsh; he insults the Pope, who, after the gift of Pepin le Bref, -"never ceased baiting and goring the successors of his best Lord -Constantine, what by his barking curses and excommunications";<a name="NoteRef_146_146" id="NoteRef_146_146"></a><a href="#Note_146_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a> he -is mythological in his defence of the press, showing that formerly "no -envious Juno sat cross-legged over the nativity of any man's -intellectual offspring."<a name="NoteRef_147_147" id="NoteRef_147_147"></a><a href="#Note_147_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a> It matters little: these learned, -familiar, grand images, whatever they be, are powerful and natural. -Superabundance, like crudity, here only manifests the vigor and lyric -dash which Milton's character had foretold.</p> - -<p>Passion follows naturally; exaltation brings it with the images. Bold -expressions, exaggeration of style, cause us to hear <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> the vibrating voice -of the suffering man, indignant and determined.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of -life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; -nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of -that living intellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as -vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragon's teeth: and being sown -up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet, on the other -hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good -book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he -who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, -as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a -good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and -treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age can -restore a life, whereof, perhaps, there is no great loss; and -revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for -the want of which whole nations fare the worse. We should be wary, -therefore, what persecution we raise against the living labours of -public men, how we spill that seasoned life of man, preserved and stored -up in books; since we see a kind of homicide may be thus committed, -sometimes a martyrdom; and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind -of massacre, whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an -elemental life, but strikes at the ethereal and fifth essence, the -breath of reason itself; slays an immortality rather than a life."<a name="NoteRef_148_148" id="NoteRef_148_148"></a><a href="#Note_148_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This energy is sublime; the man is equal to the cause, and never did a -loftier eloquence match a loftier truth. Terrible expressions overwhelm -the book-tyrants, the profaners of thought, the assassins of liberty. -"The council of Trent and the Spanish inquisition, engendering together, -brought forth or perfected those catalogues and expurging indexes, that -rake through the entrails of many an old good author, with a violation -worse than any that could be offered to his tomb."<a name="NoteRef_149_149" id="NoteRef_149_149"></a><a href="#Note_149_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> Similar -expressions lash the carnal minds which believe without thinking, and -make their servility into a religion. There is a passage which, by its -bitter familiarity recalls Swift, and surpasses him in all loftiness of -imagination and genius:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"A man may be an heretic in the truth, and if he believes things only -because his pastor says so,... the very truth he holds becomes his -heresy.... A wealthy man, addicted to his pleasure and to his profits, -finds religion to be a traffic so entangled, and of so many piddling -accounts, that of all mysteries he cannot skill to keep a stock going -upon that trade.... What does he therefore, but resolves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> to give over -toiling, and to find himself out some factor, to whose care and credit -he may commit the whole managing of his religious affairs; some divine -of note and estimation that must be. To him he adheres, resigns the -whole warehouse of his religion, with all the locks and keys, into his -custody; and indeed makes the very person of that man his religion.... -So that a man may say his religion is now no more within himself, but is -become a dividual movable, and goes and comes near him, according as -that good man frequents the house. He entertains him, gives him gifts, -feasts him, lodges him; his religion comes home at night, prays, is -liberally supped, and sumptuously laid to sleep; rises, is saluted, and -after the malmsey, or some well-spiced bruage,... his religion walks -abroad at eight, and leaves his kind entertainer in the shop trading all -day without his religion."<a name="NoteRef_150_150" id="NoteRef_150_150"></a><a href="#Note_150_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He condescended to mock for an instant, with what piercing irony we have -seen. But irony, piercing as it may be, seems to him weak.<a name="NoteRef_151_151" id="NoteRef_151_151"></a><a href="#Note_151_151" class="fnanchor">[151]</a> Hear him -when he comes to himself, when he returns to open and serious invective, -when after the carnal believer he overwhelms the carnal prelate:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The table of communion, now become a table of separation, stands like -an exalted platform upon the brow of the quire, fortified with bulwark -and barricado, to keep off the profane touch of the laics, whilst the -obscene and surfeited priest scruples not to paw and mammoc the -sacramental bread, as familiarly as his tavern biscuit."<a name="NoteRef_152_152" id="NoteRef_152_152"></a><a href="#Note_152_152" class="fnanchor">[152]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He triumphs in believing that all these profanations are to be avenged. -The horrible doctrine of Calvin has once more fixed men's gaze on the -dogma of reprobation and everlasting damnation. Hell in hand, Milton -menaces; he is drunk with justice and vengeance amid the abysses which -he opens, and the brands which he wields:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"They shall be thrown downe eternally into the <i>darkest</i> and <i>deepest -Gulfe</i> of Hell, where, under the <i>despightfull controule</i>, the trample -and spurne of all the other <i>Damned</i>, that in the anguish of their -<i>Torture</i> shall have no other ease than to exercise a <i>Raving</i> and -<i>Bestiall Tyranny</i> over them as their Slaves and Negro's, they shall -remaine in that plight for ever, the <i>basest</i>, the <i>lowermost</i>, the -<i>most dejected</i>, most <i>underfoot</i>, and <i>downetrodden Vassals of -Perdition.</i>"<a name="NoteRef_153_153" id="NoteRef_153_153"></a><a href="#Note_153_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Fury here mounts to the sublime, and Michael Angelo's Christ is not more -inexorable and vengeful.</p> - -<p>Let us fill the measure; let us add, as he does, the prospects of heaven -to the visions of darkness; the pamphlet becomes a hymn:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"When I recall to mind at last, after so many dark ages, wherein the -huge overshadowing train of error had almost swept all the stars out of -the firmament of the church; how the bright and blissful Reformation (by -divine power) struck through the black and settled night of ignorance -and anti-christian tyranny, methinks a sovereign and reviving joy must -needs rush into the bosom of him that reads or hears; and the sweet -odour of the returning gospel imbathe his soul with the fragrancy of -heaven."<a name="NoteRef_154_154" id="NoteRef_154_154"></a><a href="#Note_154_154" class="fnanchor">[154]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Overloaded with ornaments, infinitely prolonged, these periods are -triumphant choruses of angelic alleluias sung by deep voices to the -accompaniment of ten thousand harps of gold. In the midst of his -syllogisms, Milton prays, sustained by the accent of the prophets, -surrounded by memories of the Bible, ravished with the splendors of the -Apocalypse, but checked on the brink of hallucination by science and -logic, on the summit of the calm clear atmosphere, without rising to the -burning tracts where ecstasy dissolves reason, with a majesty of -eloquence and a solemn grandeur never surpassed, whose perfection proves -that he has entered his domain, and gives promise of the poet beyond the -prose-writer:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Thou, therefore, that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, parent -of angels and men! next, thee I implore, omnipotent King, Redeemer of -that lost remnant whose nature thou didst assume, ineffable and -everlasting Love! and thou, the third subsistence of divine infinitude, -illumining Spirit, the joy and solace of created things! one -Tri-personal Godhead! look upon this thy poor and almost spent and -expiring church.... O let them not bring about their damned designs,... -to reinvolve us in that pitchy cloud of infernal darkness, where we -shall never more see the sun of thy truth again, never hope for the -cheerful dawn, never more hear the bird of morning sing."<a name="NoteRef_155_155" id="NoteRef_155_155"></a><a href="#Note_155_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a></p> - -<p>"O Thou the ever-begotten Light and perfect Image of the Father. ... Who -is there that cannot trace thee now in thy beamy walk through the midst -of thy sanctuary, amidst those golden candlesticks, which have long -suffered a dimness amongst us through the violence of those that had -seized them, and were more taken with the mention of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> their gold than of -their starry light?... Come therefore, O thou that hast the seven stars -in thy right hand, appoint thy chosen priests according to their orders -and courses of old, to minister before thee, and duly to press and pour -out the consecrated oil into thy holy and ever-burning lamps. Thou hast -sent out the spirit of prayer upon thy servants over all the land to -this effect, and stirred up their vows as the sound of many waters about -thy throne.... O perfect and accomplish thy glorious acts!... Come forth -out of thy royal chambers, O Prince of all kings of the earth! put on -the visible robes of thy imperial majesty, take up that unlimited -sceptre which thy Almighty Father hath bequeathed thee; for now the -voice of thy bride calls thee, and all creatures sigh to be -renewed."<a name="NoteRef_156_156" id="NoteRef_156_156"></a><a href="#Note_156_156" class="fnanchor">[156]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This song of supplication and joy is an outpouring of splendors; and if -we search all literature, we will hardly find a poet equal to this -writer of prose.</p> - -<p>Is he truly a prose-writer? Entangled dialectics, a heavy and awkward -mind, fanatical and ferocious rusticity, an epic grandeur of sustained -and superabundant images, the blast and the recklessness of implacable -and all-powerful passion, the sublimity of religious and lyric -exaltation; we do not recognize in these features a man born to explain, -persuade, and prove. The scholasticism and coarseness of the time have -blunted or rusted his logic. Imagination and enthusiasm carried him away -and enchained him in metaphor. Thus dazzled or marred, he could not -produce a perfect work; he did but write useful tracts, called forth by -practical interests and actual hate, and fine isolated morsels, inspired -by collision with a grand idea, and by the sudden burst of genius. Yet, -in all these abandoned fragments, the man shows in his entirety. The -systematic and lyric spirit is manifested in the pamphlet as well as in -the poem; the faculty of embracing general effects, and of being shaken -by them, remains the same in Milton's two careers, and we will see in -the "Paradise" and "Cornus" what we have met with in the treatise "Of -Reformation," and in the "Animadversions on the Remonstrant." <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Milton_as_a_Poet">Section VI.—Milton as a Poet</a></h4> - - -<p>"Milton has acknowledged to me," writes Dryden, "that Spenser was his -original." In fact, by the purity and elevation of their morals, by the -fulness and connection of their style, by the noble chivalric -sentiments, and their fine classical arrangement, they are brothers. But -Milton had yet other masters—Beaumont, Fletcher, Burton, Drummond, Ben -Jonson, Shakespeare, the whole splendid English Renaissance, and behind -it the Italian poesy, Latin antiquity, the fine Greek literature, and -all the sources whence the English Renaissance sprang. He continued the -great current, but in a manner of his own. He took their mythology, -their allegories, sometimes their conceits,<a name="NoteRef_157_157" id="NoteRef_157_157"></a><a href="#Note_157_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a> and discovered anew -their rich coloring, their magnificent sentiment of living nature, their -inexhaustible admiration of forms and colors. But, at the same time, he -transformed their diction, and employed poetry in a new service. He -wrote, not by impulse, and at the mere contact with things, but like a -man of letters, a classic, in a scholarlike manner, with the assistance -of books, seeing objects as much through previous writings as in -themselves, adding to his images the images of others, borrowing and -recasting their inventions, as an artist who unites and multiplies the -bosses and driven gold, already entwined on a diadem by twenty workmen. -He made thus for himself a composite and brilliant style, less natural -than that of his precursors, less fit for effusions, less akin to the -lively first glow of sensation, but more solid, more regular, more -capable of concentrating in one large patch of light all their sparkle -and splendor. He brings together like Æschylus, words of "six cubits," -plumed and decked in purple, and makes them pass like a royal train -before his idea to exalt and announce it. He introduces to us</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"The breathing roses of the wood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Fair silver-buskin'd nymphs;"<a name="NoteRef_158_158" id="NoteRef_158_158"></a><a href="#Note_158_158" class="fnanchor">[158]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And tells how</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"The gray-hooded Even,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain;"<a name="NoteRef_159_159" id="NoteRef_159_159"></a><a href="#Note_159_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And speaks of</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"All the sea-girt isles,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That, like to rich and various gems, inlay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The unadorned bosom of the deep;"<a name="NoteRef_160_160" id="NoteRef_160_160"></a><a href="#Note_160_160" class="fnanchor">[160]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"That undisturbed song of pure concent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To Him that sits thereon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their loud-uplifted angel-trumpets blow."<a name="NoteRef_161_161" id="NoteRef_161_161"></a><a href="#Note_161_161" class="fnanchor">[161]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He gathered into full nosegays the flowers scattered through the other -poets:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That on the green turf suck the honied showers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The glowing violet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every flower that sad embroidery wears;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies."<a name="NoteRef_162_162" id="NoteRef_162_162"></a><a href="#Note_162_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a></span></p> - - -<p>When still quite young, on his quitting Cambridge, he inclined to the -magnificent and grand; he wanted a great flowing verse, an ample and -sounding strophe, vast periods of fourteen and four-and-twenty lines. He -did not face objects on a level, as a mortal, but from on high, like -those archangels of Goethe,<a name="NoteRef_163_163" id="NoteRef_163_163"></a><a href="#Note_163_163" class="fnanchor">[163]</a> who embrace at a glance the whole ocean -lashing its coasts and the earth rolling on, wrapped in the harmony of -the fraternal stars. It was not life that he felt, like the masters of -the Renaissance, but grandeur, like Æschylus, and the Hebrew -seers,<a name="NoteRef_164_164" id="NoteRef_164_164"></a><a href="#Note_164_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a> manly and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> lyric spirits like his own, who, nourished like -him in religious emotions and continuous enthusiasm, like him displayed -sacerdotal pomp and majesty. To express such a sentiment, images, and -poetry addressed only to the eyes, were not enough; sounds also were -requisite, and that more introspective poetry which, purged from -corporeal shows, could reach the soul. Milton was a musician; his hymns -rolled with the slowness of a measured song and the gravity of a -declamation; and he seems himself to be describing his art in these -incomparable verses, which are evolved like the solemn harmony of an -anthem:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To the celestial sirens' harmony,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That sit upon the nine infolded spheres,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sing to those that hold the vital shears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And turn the adamantine spindle round,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such sweet compulsion doth in musick lie,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To lull the daughters of Necessity,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And keep unsteady Nature to her law,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the low world in measured motion draw</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After the heavenly tune, which none can hear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of human mould, with gross unpurged ear."<a name="NoteRef_165_165" id="NoteRef_165_165"></a><a href="#Note_165_165" class="fnanchor">[165]</a></span></p> - - -<p>With his style, his subjects differed; he compacted and ennobled the -poet's domain as well as his language, and consecrated his thoughts as -well as his words. He who knows the true nature of poetry soon finds, as -Milton said a little later, what despicable creatures "libidinous and -ignorant poetasters" are, and to what religious, glorious, splendid use -poetry can be put in things divine and human. "These abilities, -wheresoever they be found, are the inspired gift of God, rarely -bestowed, but yet to some (though most abuse) in every nation; and are -of power, beside the office of a pulpit, to imbreed and cherish in a -great people the seeds of virtue and public civility, to allay the -perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right tune; to -celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of God's -almightiness, and what he works, and what he suffers to be wrought with -high providence in his church; to sing the victorious agonies of martyrs -and saints, the deeds and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> triumphs of just and pious nations, doing -valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ."<a name="NoteRef_166_166" id="NoteRef_166_166"></a><a href="#Note_166_166" class="fnanchor">[166]</a></p> - -<p>In fact, from the first, at St. Paul's School and at Cambridge, he had -written paraphrases of the Psalms, then composed odes on the Nativity, -Circumcision, and the Passion. Presently appeared sad poems on the -"Death of a Fair Infant, An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester"; -then grave and noble verses "On Time, At a solemn Musick"; a sonnet "On -his being arrived to the Age of Twenty-three, his late spring which no -bud or blossom shew'th." At last we have him in the country with his -father, and the hopes, dreams, first enchantments of youth, rise from -his heart like the morning breath of a summer's day. But what a distance -between these calm and bright contemplations and the warm youth, the -voluptuous "Adonis" of Shakespeare! He walked, used his eyes, listened; -there his joys ended; they are but the poetic joys of the soul:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To hear the lark begin his flight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And singing, startle the dull night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From his watch-tower in the skies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till the dapple dawn doth rise;...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">While the plowman, near at hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the milk-maid singeth blithe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the mower whets his sithe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And every shepherd tells his tale</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Under the hawthorn in the dale."<a name="NoteRef_167_167" id="NoteRef_167_167"></a><a href="#Note_167_167" class="fnanchor">[167]</a></span></p> - - -<p>To see the village dances and gayety; to look upon the "high triumphs" -and the "busy hum of men" in the "tower'd cities" above all, to abandon -himself to melody, to the divine roll of sweet verse, and the charming -dreams which they spread before us in a golden light; this is all; and -presently, as if he had gone too far, to counterbalance this eulogy of -visible joys, he summons Melancholy:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sober, stedfast, and demure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All in a robe of darkest grain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Flowing with majestick train,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And sable stole of Cypress lawn</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Over thy decent shoulders drawn.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Come, but keep thy wonted state,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With even step, and musing gait;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And looks commercing with the skies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes."<a name="NoteRef_168_168" id="NoteRef_168_168"></a><a href="#Note_168_168" class="fnanchor">[168]</a></span></p> - - -<p>With her he wanders amidst grave thoughts and grave sights, which recall -a man to his condition, and prepare him for his duties, now amongst the -lofty colonnades of primeval trees, whose "high-embowed roof" retains -the silence and the twilight under their shade; now in</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 7em;">"The studious cloysters pale,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With antick pillars massy proof,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And storied windows richly dight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Casting a dim religious light;"<a name="NoteRef_169_169" id="NoteRef_169_169"></a><a href="#Note_169_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Now again in the retirement of the study, where the cricket chirps, -where the lamp of labor shines, where the mind, alone with the noble -minds of the past, may</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">"Unsphere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The spirit of Plato, to unfold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What worlds or what vast regions hold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The immortal mind, that hath forsook</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her mansion in this fleshly nook."<a name="NoteRef_170_170" id="NoteRef_170_170"></a><a href="#Note_170_170" class="fnanchor">[170]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He was filled with this lofty philosophy. Whatever the language he used, -English, Italian, or Latin, whatever the kind of verse, sonnets, hymns, -stanzas, tragedy or epic, he always returned to it. He praised -everywhere chaste love, piety, generosity, heroic force. It was not from -scruple, but it was innate in him; his chief need and faculty led him to -noble conceptions. He took a delight in admiring, as Shakespeare in -creating, as Swift in destroying, as Byron in combating, as Spenser in -dreaming. Even on ornamental poems, which were only employed to exhibit -costumes and introduce fairy-tales, in Masques, like those of Ben -Jonson, he impressed his own character. They were amusements for the -castle; he made out of them lectures on magnanimity and constancy: one -of them, "Cornus," well worked out, with a complete originality and -extraordinary elevation of style, is perhaps his masterpiece, and is -simply the eulogy of virtue. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<p>Here at the beginning we are in the heavens. A spirit, descended in the -midst of wild woods, repeats this ode:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Before the starry threshold of Jove's court</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My mansion is, where those immortal shapes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of bright aerial spirits live insphered</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In regions mild of calm and serene air,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which men call earth; and, with low-thoughted care</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Confined, and pester'd in this pinfold here,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After this mortal change, to her true servants,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Amongst the enthron'd Gods on sainted seats."<a name="NoteRef_171_171" id="NoteRef_171_171"></a><a href="#Note_171_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such characters cannot speak: they sing. The drama is an antique opera, -composed like the "Prometheus," of solemn hymns. The spectator is -transported beyond the real world. He does not listen to men, but to -sentiments. He hears a concert, as in Shakespeare; the "Cornus" -continues the "Midsummer Night's Dream," as a choir of deep men's voices -continues the glowing and sad symphony of the instruments:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The nodding horror of whose shady brows</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger,"<a name="NoteRef_172_172" id="NoteRef_172_172"></a><a href="#Note_172_172" class="fnanchor">[172]</a></span></p> - - -<p>strays a noble lady, separated from her two brothers, troubled by the -"sound of riot and ill-managed merriment" which she hears from afar. The -son of Circe the enchantress, sensual Cornus enters with a charming rod -in one hand, his glass in the other, amid the clamor of men and women, -with torches in their hands, "headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts"; -it is the hour when</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, on the tawny sands and shelves</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Trip the pert faeries and the dapper elves."<a name="NoteRef_173_173" id="NoteRef_173_173"></a><a href="#Note_173_173" class="fnanchor">[173]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The lady is terrified, and sinks on her knees; and in the misty forms -which float above in the pale light, perceives the mysterious and -heavenly guardians who watch over her life and honor:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith; white-handed Hope,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thou, unblemish'd form of Chastity,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I see ye visibly, and now believe</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That He, the Supreme good, t' whom all things ill</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To keep my life and honour unassail'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Turn forth her silver lining on the night?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I did not err; there does a sable cloud</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Turn forth her silver lining on the night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And casts a gleam over this tufted grove."<a name="NoteRef_174_174" id="NoteRef_174_174"></a><a href="#Note_174_174" class="fnanchor">[174]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She calls her brothers in "a soft and solemn-breathing sound," which -"rose like a stream of rich distill'd perfumes, and stole upon the -air,"<a name="NoteRef_175_175" id="NoteRef_175_175"></a><a href="#Note_175_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a> across the "violet-embroider'd vale," to the dissolute god -whom she enchants. He comes disguised as a "gentle shepherd," and says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sure something holy lodges in that breast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And with these raptures moves the vocal air</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To testify his hidden residence.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How sweetly did they float upon the wings</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At every fall smoothing the raven down</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of darkness, till it smiled! I have oft heard</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My mother Circe with the syrens three,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And chid her barking waves into attention....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But such a sacred and home-felt delight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such sober certainty of waking bliss,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I never heard till now."<a name="NoteRef_176_176" id="NoteRef_176_176"></a><a href="#Note_176_176" class="fnanchor">[176]</a></span></p> - - -<p>They were heavenly songs which Cornus heard; Milton describes, and at -the same time imitates them; he makes us understand the saying of his -master Plato, that virtuous melodies teach virtue.</p> - -<p>Circe's son has by deceit carried off the noble lady, and seats her, -with "nerves all chained up," in a sumptuous palace before a table -spread with all dainties. She accuses him, resists, insults <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> him, and the -style assumes an air of heroical indignation, to scorn the offer of the -tempter.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 15.5em;">"When lust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But most by lewd and lavish act of sin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lets in defilement to the inward parts;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The soul grows clotted by contagion,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The divine property of her first being.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As loth to leave the body that it loved."<a name="NoteRef_177_177" id="NoteRef_177_177"></a><a href="#Note_177_177" class="fnanchor">[177]</a></span></p> - - -<p>"A cold shuddering dew dips all o'er" Cornus; he presents a cup of wine; -at the same instant the brothers, led by the attendant Spirit, rush upon -him with swords drawn. He flees, carrying off his magic wand. To free -the exchanted lady, they summon Sabrina, the benevolent naiad, who sits</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In twisted braids of lilies knitting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The loose train of thy (her) amber-dropping hair."<a name="NoteRef_178_178" id="NoteRef_178_178"></a><a href="#Note_178_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The "goddess of the silver lake" rises lightly from her "coral-paven -bed," and her chariot "of turkis blue and emerald-green" sets her down</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"By the rushy-fringed bank,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where grows the willow, and the osier dank."<a name="NoteRef_179_179" id="NoteRef_179_179"></a><a href="#Note_179_179" class="fnanchor">[179]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Sprinkled by this cool and chaste hand, the lady leaves the "venom'd -seat" which held her spell-bound; the brothers, with their sister, reign -peacefully in their father's palace; and the Spirit, who has conducted -all, pronounces this ode, in which poetry leads up to philosophy; the -voluptuous light of an Oriental legend beams on the Elysium of the good, -and all the splendors of nature assemble to render virtue more -seductive.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"To the ocean now I fly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And those happy climes that lie</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where day never shuts his eye</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Up in the broad fields of the sky:</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There I suck the liquid air</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All amidst the gardens fair</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of Hesperus, and his daughters three</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That sing about the golden tree:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Along the crisped shades and bowers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Revels the spruce and jocund spring;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The Graces, and the rosy-bosom'd Hours,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thither all their bounties bring;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There eternal Summer dwells,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And west winds, with musky wing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">About the cedar'n alleys fling</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nard and cassia's balmy smells.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Iris there with humid bow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Waters the odorous banks, that blow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Flowers of more mingled hew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than her purfled scarf can shew;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And drenches with Elysian dew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(List, mortals, if your ears be true)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Beds of hyacinth and roses,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where young Adonis oft reposes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Waxing well of his deep wound</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In slumber soft; and on the ground</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sadly sits the Assyrian queen:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But far above in spangled sheen</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">After her wandering labours long,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Till free consent the gods among</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Make her his eternal bride.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And from her fair unspotted side</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Two blissful twins are to be born,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But now my task is smoothly done,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I can fly, or I can run</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quickly to the green earth's end,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And from thence can soar as soon</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To the corners of the moon.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mortals, that would follow me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Love Virtue, she alone is free:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She can teach ye how to climb</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Higher than the sphery chime;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or, if Virtue feeble were,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heaven itself would stoop to her."<a name="NoteRef_180_180" id="NoteRef_180_180"></a><a href="#Note_180_180" class="fnanchor">[180]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Ought I to have pointed Out the awkwardnesses, strangenesses, -exaggerated expressions, the inheritance of the Renaissance, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> a -philosophical quarrel, the work of a reasoner and a Platonist? I did not -perceive these faults. All was effaced before the spectacle of the -bright Renaissance, transformed by austere philosophy, and of sublimity -worshipped upon an altar of flowers.</p> - -<p>That, I think, was his last profane poem. Already, in the one which -followed, "Lycidas," celebrating in the style of Vergil the death of a -beloved friend,<a name="NoteRef_181_181" id="NoteRef_181_181"></a><a href="#Note_181_181" class="fnanchor">[181]</a> he suffers Puritan wrath and pre-possessions to -shine through, inveighs against the bad teaching and tyranny of the -bishops, and speaks of "that two-handed engine at the door, ready to -smite (but) once, and smite no more." On his return from Italy, -controversy and action carried him away; prose begins, poetry is -arrested. From time to time a patriotic or religious sonnet breaks the -long silence; now to praise the chief Puritans, Cromwell, Vane, Fairfax; -now to celebrate the death of a pious lady, or the life of a "virtuous -young lady"; once to pray God "to avenge his slaughter'd saints," the -unhappy Protestants of Piedmont, "whose bones lie scatter'd on the -Alpine mountains cold"; again, on his second wife, dead a year after -their marriage, his well-beloved "saint"—"brought to me like Alcestis, -from the grave,... came, vested all in white, pure as her mind"; loyal -friendships, sorrows bowed to or subdued, aspirations generous or -stoical, which reverses did but purify. Old age came; cut off from -power, action, even hope, he returned to the grand dreams of his youth. -As of old, he went out of this lower world in search of the sublime; for -the actual is petty, and the familiar seems dull. He selects his new -characters on the verge of sacred antiquity, as he selected his old ones -on the verge of fabulous antiquity, because distance adds to their -stature; and habit, ceasing to measure, ceases also to depreciate them. -Just now we had creatures of fancy: Joy, daughter of Zephyr and Aurora; -Melancholy, daughter of Vesta and Saturn; Cornus, son of Circe, -ivy-crowned, god of echoing woods and turbulent excess. Now we have -Samson, the despiser of giants, the elect of Israel's God, the destroyer -of idolaters, Satan and his peers, Christ and his angels; they come and -rise before our eyes like superhuman statues; and their far removal, -rendering vain our curious hands, preserves our admiration and their -majesty. We rise further and higher, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> to the origin of things, amongst -eternal beings, to the commencement of thought and life, to the battles -of God, in this unknown world where sentiments and existences, raised -above the ken of man, elude his judgment and criticism to command his -veneration and awe; the sustained song of solemn verse unfolds the -actions of these shadowy figures; and then we experience the same -emotion as in a cathedral, while the music of the organ rolls along -among the arches, and amidst the brilliant light of the taper clouds of -incense hide from our view the colossal columns.</p> - -<p>But if the heart remains unchanged, the genius has become transformed. -Manliness has supplanted youth. The richness has decreased, the severity -has increased. Seventeen years of fighting and misfortune have steeped -his soul in religious ideas. Mythology has yielded to theology; the -habit of discussion has ended by subduing the lyric flight; accumulated -learning by choking the original genius. The poet no more sings sublime -verse, he relates or harangues, in grave verse. He no longer invents a -personal style; he imitates antique tragedy or epic. In "Samson -Agonistes" he hits upon a cold and lofty tragedy, in "Paradise Regained" -on a cold and noble epic; he composes an imperfect and sublime poem in -"Paradise Lost."</p> - -<p>Would to Heaven he could have written it as he tried, in the shape of a -drama, or better, as the "Prometheus" of Æschylus, as a lyric opera! A -peculiar kind of subject demands a peculiar kind of style; if you -resist, you destroy your work, too happy if, in the deformed medley, -chance produces and preserves a few beautiful fragments. To bring the -supernatural upon the scene, you must not continue in your every-day -mood; if you do, you look as if you did not believe in it. Vision -reveals it, and the style of vision must express it. When Spenser -writes, he dreams. We listen to the happy concerts of his aërial music, -and the varying train of his fanciful apparitions unfolds like a vapor -before our accommodating and dazzled gaze. When Dante writes, he is -rapt; and his cries of anguish, his transports, the incoherent -succession of his infernal or mystical phantoms, carry us with him into -the invisible world which he describes. Ecstasy alone renders visible -and credible the objects of ecstasy. If you tell us of the exploits of -the Deity as you tell us of Cromwell's, in a grave and lofty tone, we do -not see God; and as He <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> constitutes the whole of your poem, we do not see -anything. We conclude that you have accepted a tradition, that you adorn -it with the fictions of your mind, that you are a preacher, not a -prophet, a decorator, not a poet. We find that you sing of God as the -vulgar pray to him, after a formula learnt, not from spontaneous -emotion. Change your style, or, rather if you can, change your emotion. -Try and discover in yourself the ancient fervor of psalmists and -apostles, to recreate the divine legend, to experience the sublime -agitations by which the inspired and disturbed mind perceives God; then -the grand lyric verse will roll on, laden with splendors. Thus roused, -we shall not have to examine whether it be Adam or Messiah who speaks; -we shall not have to demand that they shall be real, and constructed by -the hand of a psychologist; we shall not trouble ourselves with their -puerile or unlooked-for actions; we shall be carried away, we shall -share in your creative madness; we shall be drawn onward by the flow of -bold images, or raised by the combination of gigantic metaphors; we -shall be moved like Æschylus, when his thunder-stricken Prometheus -hears the universal concert of rivers, seas, forests, and created -beings, lament with him,<a name="NoteRef_182_182" id="NoteRef_182_182"></a><a href="#Note_182_182" class="fnanchor">[182]</a> as David before Jehovah, for whom a -thousand years are but as yesterday, who "carriest them away as with a -flood; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up."<a name="NoteRef_183_183" id="NoteRef_183_183"></a><a href="#Note_183_183" class="fnanchor">[183]</a></p> - -<p>But the age of metaphysical inspiration, long gone by, had not yet -reappeared. Far in the past Dante was fading away; far in the future -Goethe lay unrevealed. People saw not yet the pantheistic Faust, and -that incomprehensible nature which absorbs all varying existence in her -deep bosom; they saw no longer the mystic paradise and immortal Love, -whose ideal light envelops souls redeemed. Protestantism had neither -altered nor renewed the divine nature; the guardian of an accepted creed -and ancient tradition, it had only transformed ecclesiastical discipline -and the doctrine of grace. It had only called the Christian to personal -salvation and freedom from priestly rule. It had only remodelled man, it -had not recreated the Deity. It could not produce a divine epic, but a -human epic. It could not sing the battles and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> works of God, but the -temptations and salvation of the soul. At the time of Christ came the -poems of cosmogony; at the time of Milton, the confessions of -psychology. At the time of Christ each imagination produced a hierarchy -of supernatural beings, and a history of the world; at the time of -Milton, every heart recorded the series of its upliftings, and the -history of grace. Learning and reflection led Milton to a metaphysical -poem which was not the natural offspring of the age, whilst inspiration -and ignorance revealed to Bunyan the psychological narrative which -suited the age, and the great man's genius was feebler than the tinker's -simplicity.</p> - -<p>And why? Because Milton's poem, whilst it suppresses lyrical illusion, -admits critical inquiry. Free from enthusiasm we judge his characters; -we demand that they shall be living, real, complete, harmonious, like -those of a novel or a drama. No longer hearing odes, we would see -objects and souls: we ask that Adam and Eve should act in conformity -with their primitive nature; that God, Satan, and Messiah should act and -feel in conformity with their superhuman nature. Shakespeare would -scarcely have been equal to the task; Milton, the logician and reasoner, -failed in it. He gives us correct solemn discourse, and gives us nothing -more; his characters are speeches, and in their sentiments we find only -heaps of puerilities and contradictions.</p> - -<p>Adam and Eve, the first pair! I approach, and it seems as though! -discovered the Adam and Eve of Raphael Sanzio, imitated by Milton, so -his biographers tell us, glorious, strong, voluptuous children, naked in -the light of heaven, motionless and absorbed before grand landscapes, -with bright vacant eyes, with no more thought than the bull or the horse -on the grass beside them. I listen, and I hear an English household, two -reasoners of the period—Colonel Hutchinson and his wife. Good -Heavens! dress them at once. People with so much culture should have -invented before all a pair of trousers and modesty. What dialogues! -Dissertations capped by politeness, mutual sermons concluded by bows. -What bows! Philosophical compliments and moral smiles. I yielded, says -Eve,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9em;">"And from that time see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How beauty is excell'd by manly grace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And wisdom, which alone is truly fair."<a name="NoteRef_184_184" id="NoteRef_184_184"></a><a href="#Note_184_184" class="fnanchor">[184]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Dear learned poet, you would have been better pleased if one of your -three wives, as an apt pupil, had uttered to you by way of conclusion -the above solid theoretical maxim. They did utter it to you; this is a -scene from your own household:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"So spake our general mother; and, with eyes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of conjugal attraction unreproved</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And meek surrender, half-embracing lean'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On our first father; half her swelling breast</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Naked met his, under the flowing gold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of her loose tresses hid; he, in delight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both of her beauty and submissive charms,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Smiled with superiour love,... and press'd her matron lip</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With kisses pure."<a name="NoteRef_185_185" id="NoteRef_185_185"></a><a href="#Note_185_185" class="fnanchor">[185]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This Adam entered Paradise <i>via</i> England. In that country he learned -respectability, and studied moral speechifying. Let us hear this man -before he has tasted of the tree of knowledge. A bachelor of arts, in -his inaugural address, could not utter more fitly and nobly a greater -number of pithless sentences:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"Fair consort, the hour</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of night, and all things now retired to rest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mind us like repose; since God hath set</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Labour and rest, as day and night, to men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Successive; and the timely dew of sleep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our eyelids; other creatures all day long</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rove idle, unemploy'd, and less need rest:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Man hath his daily work of body or mind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Appointed, which declares his dignity,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the regard of Heaven on all his ways;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">While other animals unactive range,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And of their doings God takes no account."<a name="NoteRef_186_186" id="NoteRef_186_186"></a><a href="#Note_186_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A very useful and excellent Puritanical exhortation! This is English -virtue and morality; and at evening, in every family, it can be read to -the children like the Bible. Adam is your true paterfamilias, with a -vote, an M.P., an old Oxford man, consulted at need by his wife, dealing -out to her with prudent measure the scientific explanations which she -requires. This night, for instance, the poor lady had a bad dream, and -Adam, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> in his trencher-cap, administers this learned psychological -draught:<a name="NoteRef_187_187" id="NoteRef_187_187"></a><a href="#Note_187_187" class="fnanchor">[187]</a></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">"Know, that in the soul</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are many lesser faculties that serve</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Reason as chief; among these Fancy next</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her office holds; of all external things,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which the five watchful senses represent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She forms imaginations, aery shapes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All what we affirm or what deny, and call</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our knowledge on opinion....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ill matching words and deeds long past or late."<a name="NoteRef_188_188" id="NoteRef_188_188"></a><a href="#Note_188_188" class="fnanchor">[188]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Here was something to send Eve off to sleep again. Her husband noting -the effect, adds like an accredited casuist:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">"Yet be not sad:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Evil into the mind of God or man</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">May come and go, so unapproved; and leave</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No spot or blame behind."<a name="NoteRef_189_189" id="NoteRef_189_189"></a><a href="#Note_189_189" class="fnanchor">[189]</a></span></p> - - -<p>We recognize the Protestant husband, his wife's confessor. Next day -comes an angel on a visit. Adam tells Eve:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">"Go with speed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, what thy stores contain, bring forth, and pour</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Abundance, fit to honour and receive</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our heavenly stranger."<a name="NoteRef_190_190" id="NoteRef_190_190"></a><a href="#Note_190_190" class="fnanchor">[190]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She, like a good housewife, talks about the <i>menu</i>, and rather proud of -her kitchen garden, says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 18.5em;">"He</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Beholding shall confess, that here on earth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">God hath dispensed his bounties as in heaven."<a name="NoteRef_191_191" id="NoteRef_191_191"></a><a href="#Note_191_191" class="fnanchor">[191]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Mark this becoming zeal of a hospitable lady. She goes "with dispatchful -looks, in haste":</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"What choice to choose for delicacy best;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What order, so contrived as not to mix</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tastes, not well join'd, inelegant; but bring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change."<a name="NoteRef_192_192" id="NoteRef_192_192"></a><a href="#Note_192_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She makes sweet wine, perry, creams; scatters flowers and leaves under -the table. What an excellent housewife! What a great many votes she will -gain among the country squires, when Adam stands for Parliament. Adam -belongs to the Opposition, is a Whig, a Puritan.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">He "walks forth; without more train</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Accompanied than with his own complete</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Perfections: in himself was all his state,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On princes, when their rich retinue long</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of horses led, and grooms besmeared with gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dazzles the crowd."<a name="NoteRef_193_193" id="NoteRef_193_193"></a><a href="#Note_193_193" class="fnanchor">[193]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The epic is changed into a political poem, and we have just heard an -epigram against power. The preliminary ceremonies are somewhat long; -fortunately, the dishes being uncooked, "no fear lest dinner cool." The -angel, though ethereal, eats like a Lincolnshire farmer:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13em;">"Nor seemingly</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The angel, nor in mist, the common gloss</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of theologians; but with keen dispatch</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of real hunger, and concoctive heat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To transubstantiate: what redounds, transpires</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through spirits with ease."<a name="NoteRef_194_194" id="NoteRef_194_194"></a><a href="#Note_194_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a></span></p> - - -<p>At table. Eve listens to the angel's stories, then discreetly rises at -dessert, when they are getting into politics. English ladies may learn -by her example to perceive from their lord's faces when they are -"entering on studious thoughts abstruse." The sex does not mount so -high. A wise lady prefers her husband's talk to that of strangers. "Her -husband the relater she prefered." Now Adam hears a little treatise on -astronomy. He concludes, like a practical Englishman:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13em;">"But to know</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That which before us lies in daily life,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is the prime wisdom: what is more, is fume,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or emptiness, or fond impertinence;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And renders us, in things that most concern,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unpracticed, unprepared, and still to seek."<a name="NoteRef_195_195" id="NoteRef_195_195"></a><a href="#Note_195_195" class="fnanchor">[195]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The angel gone, Eve, dissatisfied with her garden, wishes to have it -improved, and proposes to her husband to work in it, she on one side, he -on the other. He says, with an approving smile:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">"Nothing lovelier can be found</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In woman, than to study household good,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And good works in her husband to promote."<a name="NoteRef_196_196" id="NoteRef_196_196"></a><a href="#Note_196_196" class="fnanchor">[196]</a></span></p> - - -<p>But he fears for her, and would keep her at his side. She rebels with a -little prick of proud vanity, like a young lady who mayn't go out by -herself. She has her way, goes alone and eats the apple. Here -interminable speeches come down on the reader, as numerous and cold as -winter showers. The speeches of Parliament after Pride's Purge were -hardly heavier. The serpent seduces Eve by a collection of arguments -worthy of the punctilious Chillingworth, and then the syllogistic mist -enters her poor brain:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">"His forbidding</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Commends thee more, while it infers the good</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By thee communicated, and our want:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For good unknown sure is not had; or, had</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet unknown, is as not had at all....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such prohibitions bind not."<a name="NoteRef_197_197" id="NoteRef_197_197"></a><a href="#Note_197_197" class="fnanchor">[197]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Eve is from Oxford too, has also learned law in the inns about the -Temple, and wears, like her husband, the doctor's trencher-cap.</p> - -<p>The flow of dissertations never ceases, from Paradise it gets into -heaven: neither heaven nor earth, nor hell itself, would swamp it.</p> - -<p>Of all characters which man could bring upon the scene, God is the -finest. The cosmogonies of peoples are sublime poems, and the artist's -genius does not attain perfection until it is sustained by such -conceptions. The Hindoo sacred poems, the Biblical prophecies, the Edda, -the Olympus of Hesiod and Homer, the visions of Dante, are glowing -flowers from which a whole civilization blooms, and every emotion -vanishes before the terrible feeling through which they have leaped from -the bottom of our heart. Nothing then can be more depressing than the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -degradation of these noble ideas, settling into the regularity of -formulas, and under the discipline of a popular worship. What is smaller -than a god sunk to the level of a king and a man, what more repulsive -than the Hebrew Jehovah, defined by theological pedantry, governed in -his actions by the last manual of doctrine, petrified by literal -interpretation?</p> - -<p>Milton's Jehovah is a grave king, who maintains a suitable state, -something like Charles I. When we meet him for the first time, in Book -III., he is holding council, and setting forth a matter of business. -From the style we see his grand furred cloak, his pointed Vandyke beard, -his velvet-covered throne and golden dais. The business concerns a law -which does not act well, and respecting which he desires to justify his -rule. Adam is about to eat the apple: why have exposed Adam to the -temptation? The royal orator discusses the question, and shows the -reason:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">"I made him just and right,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such I created all the ethereal powers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And spirits, both them who stood and them who fail'd....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not free, what proof could they have given sincere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of true allegiance, constant faith, or love?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where only, what they needs must do, appear'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not what they would: what praise could they receive?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What pleasure I from such obedience paid?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When will and reason (reason also is choice),</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Made passive both, had served necessity,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not me. They therefore, as to right belong'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So were created, nor can justly accuse</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their Maker, or their making, or their fate;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if predestination over-ruled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their will, disposed by absolute decree</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or high foreknowledge: they themselves decreed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their own revolt, not I: if I foreknew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Foreknowledge had ho influence on their fault,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which had no less proved certain unforeknown.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So without least impulse or shadow of fate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or aught by me immutably foreseen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They trespass, authors to themselves in all,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both what they judge and what they choose."<a name="NoteRef_198_198" id="NoteRef_198_198"></a><a href="#Note_198_198" class="fnanchor">[198]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The modern reader is not so patient as the Thrones, Seraphim, and -Dominations; this is why I stop half-way in the royal <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> speech. We -perceive that Milton's Jehovah is connected with the theologian James I, -versed in the arguments of Arminians and Gomarists, very clever at the -<i>distinguo</i>, and, before all, incomparably tedious. He must pay his -councillors of state very well if he wishes them to listen to such -tirades. His son answers him respectfully in the same style. Goethe's -God, half abstraction, half legend, source of calm oracles, a vision -just beheld after a pyramid of ecstatic strophes,<a name="NoteRef_199_199" id="NoteRef_199_199"></a><a href="#Note_199_199" class="fnanchor">[199]</a>greatly excels -this Miltonic God, a business man, a schoolmaster, an ostentatious man! -I honor him too much in giving him these titles. He deserves a worse -name, when he sends Raphael to warn Adam that Satan intends him some -mischief:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"This let him know,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Surprisal, unadmonish'd, unforewarn'd."<a name="NoteRef_200_200" id="NoteRef_200_200"></a><a href="#Note_200_200" class="fnanchor">[200]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This Miltonic Deity is only a schoolmaster, who, foreseeing the fault of -his pupil, tells him beforehand the grammar rule, so as to have the -pleasure of scolding him without discussion. Moreover, like a good -politician, he had a second motive, just as with his angels, "For state, -as Sovran King; and to inure our prompt obedience." The word is out; we -see what Milton's heaven is: a Whitehall filled with bedizened footmen. -The angels are the choristers, whose business is to sing cantatas about -the king and before the king, keeping their places as long as they obey, -alternating all night long to sing "melodious hymns about the sovran -throne." What a life for this poor king! and what a cruel condition, to -hear eternally his own praises!<a name="NoteRef_201_201" id="NoteRef_201_201"></a><a href="#Note_201_201" class="fnanchor">[201]</a> To amuse himself, Milton's Deity -decides to crown his son king—partner-king, if you prefer it. Read the -passage, and say if it be not a ceremony of his time that the poet -describes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanced,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Standards and gonfalons 'twixt van and rear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stream in the air, and for distinction serve</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or in their glittering tissues bear imblazed</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Recorded eminent;"<a name="NoteRef_202_202" id="NoteRef_202_202"></a><a href="#Note_202_202" class="fnanchor">[202]</a></span></p> - - -<p>doubtless the capture of a Dutch vessel, the defeat of the Spaniards in -the Downs. The king brings forward his son, "anoints" him, declares him -"his great vicegerent":</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">"To him shall bow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All knees in heaven.... Him who disobeys,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Me disobeys;"<a name="NoteRef_203_203" id="NoteRef_203_203"></a><a href="#Note_203_203" class="fnanchor">[203]</a></span></p> - - -<p>and such were, in fact, expelled from heaven the same day. "All seem'd -well pleased; all seem'd, but were not all." Yet</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"That day, as other solemn days, they spent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In song and dance about the sacred hill....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Desirous."<a name="NoteRef_204_204" id="NoteRef_204_204"></a><a href="#Note_204_204" class="fnanchor">[204]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Milton describes the tables, the dishes, the wine, the vessels. It is a -popular festival; I miss the fireworks, the bell-ringing, as in London, -and I can fancy that all would drink to the health of the new king. Then -Satan revolts; he takes his troops to the other end of the country, like -Lambert or Monk, toward "the quarters of the north," Scotland perhaps, -passing through well-governed districts, "empires," with their sheriffs -and lord lieutenants. Heaven is partitioned off like a good map. Satan -holds forth before his officers against royalty, opposes in a -word-combat the god royalist Abdiel, who refutes his "blasphemous, -false, and proud" arguments, and quits him to rejoin his prince at -Oxford. Well armed, the rebel marches with his pikemen and artillery to -attack the fortress.<a name="NoteRef_205_205" id="NoteRef_205_205"></a><a href="#Note_205_205" class="fnanchor">[205]</a> The two parties slash each other with the -sword, mow each other down with cannon, knock each other down with -political arguments. These sorry angels have their mind as well -disciplined as their limbs; they have passed their youth in a class of -logic and in a drill school. Satan holds forth like a preacher:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"What heaven's Lord had powerfulest to send</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Against us from about his throne, and judged,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sufficient to subdue us to his will,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But proves not so: then fallible, it seems.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of future we may deem him, though till now</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Omniscient thought."<a name="NoteRef_206_206" id="NoteRef_206_206"></a><a href="#Note_206_206" class="fnanchor">[206]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He also talks like a drill sergeant. "Vanguard, to right and left the -front unfold." He makes quips as clumsy as those of Harrison, the former -butcher turned officer. What a heaven! It is enough to disgust a man -with Paradise; anyone would rather enter Charles I's troop of lackeys, -or Cromwell's Ironsides. We have orders of the day, a hierarchy, exact -submission, extra-duties, disputes, regulated ceremonials, prostrations, -etiquette, furbished arms, arsenals, depots of chariots and ammunition. -Was it worth while leaving earth to find in heaven carriage-works, -buildings, artillery, a manual of tactics, the art of salutations, and -the Almanach de Gotha? Are these the things which "eye hath not seen, -nor ear heard, nor hath entered into the heart to conceive"? What a gap -between this monarchical frippery<a name="NoteRef_207_207" id="NoteRef_207_207"></a><a href="#Note_207_207" class="fnanchor">[207]</a> and the visions of Dante, the -souls floating like stars amid the harmonies, the mingled splendors, the -mystic roses radiating and vanishing in the azure, the impalpable world -in which all the laws of earthly life are dissolved, the unfathomable -abyss traversed by fleeting visions, like golden bees gliding in the -rays of the deep central sun! Is it not a sign of extinguished -imagination, of the inroad of prose, of the birth of practical genius, -replacing metaphysics by morality? What a fall! To measure it, read a -true Christian poem, the Apocalypse. I copy half a dozen verses; think -what it has become in the hands of the imitator:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being -turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks;</p> - -<p>"And in the midst of the seven candlesticks, one like unto the Son -of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the -paps with a golden girdle.</p> - -<p>"His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and -his eyes were as a flame of fire;</p> - -<p>"And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and -his voice as the sound of many waters. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth -went a sharp two-edged sword: and his countenance was as the sun -shineth in his strength.</p> - -<p>"And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead."<a name="NoteRef_208_208" id="NoteRef_208_208"></a><a href="#Note_208_208" class="fnanchor">[208]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>When Milton was arranging his celestial show, he did not fall as dead.</p> - -<p>But if the innate and inveterate habits of logical argument, joined with -the literal theology of the time, prevented him from attaining to -lyrical illusion or from creating living souls, the splendor of his -grand imagination, combined with the passions of Puritanism, furnished -him with a heroic character, several sublime hymns; and scenery which no -one has surpassed. The finest thing in connection with this Paradise is -hell; and in this history of God, the chief part is taken by the devil. -The ridiculous devil of the Middle Ages, a horned enchanter, a dirty -jester, a petty and mischievous ape, band-leader to a rabble of old -women, has become a giant and a hero. Like a conquered and banished -Cromwell, he remains admired and obeyed by those whom he has drawn into -the abyss. If he continues master, it is because he deserves it; firmer, -more enterprising, more scheming than the rest, it is always from him -that deep counsels, unlooked-for resources, courageous deeds, proceed. -It was he who invented "deep-throated engines... disgorging,... chained -thunderbolts, and hail of iron globes," and won the second day's -victory; he who in hell roused his dejected troops, and planned the ruin -of man; he who, passing the guarded gates and the boundless chaos, amid -so many dangers, and across so many obstacles, made man revolt against -God, and gained for hell the whole posterity of the new-born. Though -defeated, he prevails, since he has won from the monarch on high the -third part of his angels, and almost all the sons of his Adam. Though -wounded, he triumphs, for the thunder which smote his head left his -heart invincible. Though feebler in force, he remains superior in -nobility, since he prefers suffering independence to happy servility, -and welcomes his defeat and his torments as a glory, a liberty, and a -joy. These are the proud and sombre political passions of the constant -though oppressed Puritans; Milton had felt them in the vicissitudes of -war, and the emigrants who had taken refuge <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> amongst the wild beasts and -savages of America, found them strong and energetic in the depths of -their hearts.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Said then the lost Archangel, this the seat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That we must change for heaven? this mournful gloom</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For that celestial light? Be it so, since he,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who now is Sovran, can dispose and bid</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What shall be right: farthest from him is best,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom reason has equall'd, force hath made supreme</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors; hail,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Infernal world! and thou, profoundest hell,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Receive thy new possessor; one who brings</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A mind not to be changed by place or time.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The mind is its own place, and in itself</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What matter where, if I be still the same,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And what I should be; all but less than he</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here for his envy; will not drive us hence:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here we may reign secure; and in my choice</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven."<a name="NoteRef_209_209" id="NoteRef_209_209"></a><a href="#Note_209_209" class="fnanchor">[209]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This sombre heroism, this harsh obstinacy, this biting irony, these -proud stiff arms which clasp grief as a mistress, this concentration of -invincible courage which, cast on its own resources, finds everything in -itself, this power of passion and sway over passion,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"The unconquerable will,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And study of revenge, immortal hate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And courage never to submit or yield,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And what is else not to be overcome,"<a name="NoteRef_210_210" id="NoteRef_210_210"></a><a href="#Note_210_210" class="fnanchor">[210]</a></span></p> - - -<p>are features proper to the English character and to English literature, -and you will find them later on in Byron's Lara and Conrad.</p> - -<p>Around the fallen angel, as within him, all is great. Dante's hell is -but a hall of tortures, whose cells, one below another, descend to the -deepest wells. Milton's hell is vast and vague.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A dungeon horrible on all sides round</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No light, but rather darkness visible</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Served only to discover sights of woe.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Regions of sorrow, doleful shades...<a name="NoteRef_211_211" id="NoteRef_211_211"></a><a href="#Note_211_211" class="fnanchor">[211]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Beyond this flood a frozen continent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of ancient pile."<a name="NoteRef_212_212" id="NoteRef_212_212"></a><a href="#Note_212_212" class="fnanchor">[212]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The angels gather, innumerable legions:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 7em;">"As when heaven's fire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With singed top their stately growth, though bare,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stands on the blasted heath."<a name="NoteRef_213_213" id="NoteRef_213_213"></a><a href="#Note_213_213" class="fnanchor">[213]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Milton needs the grand and infinite; he lavishes them. His eyes are only -content in limitless space, and he produces colossal figures to fill it. -Such is Satan wallowing on the surges of the livid sea:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"In bulk as huge... as... that sea-beast</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Leviathan, which God of all his works</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Created hugest that swim the ocean stream:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway foam,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With fixed anchor in his scaly rind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Moors by his side under the lee, while night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Invests the sea, and wished morn delays."<a name="NoteRef_214_214" id="NoteRef_214_214"></a><a href="#Note_214_214" class="fnanchor">[214]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Spenser has discovered images just as fine, but he has not the tragic -gravity which the idea of hell impresses on a Protestant. No poetic -creation equals in horror and grandeur the spectacle that greeted Satan -on leaving his dungeon:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 16em;">"At last appear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thrice threefold the gates; three folds were brass;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Three iron, three of adamantine rock,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On either side a formidable shape;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But ended foul in many a scaly fold</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Voluminous and vast, a serpent arm'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With mortal sting: about her middle round</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A cry of hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A hideous peal: yet, when they list, would creep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If aught disturb'd their noise, into her womb,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And kennel there; yet there still bark'd and howl'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Within unseen.... The other shape,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If shape it might be call'd, that shape had none</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For each seem'd either: black it stood as night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The likeness of a kingly crown had on.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Satan was now at hand, and from his seat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The monster moving onward came as fast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With horrid strides; hell trembled as he strode.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The undaunted fiend what this might be admired,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Admired, not fear'd."<a name="NoteRef_215_215" id="NoteRef_215_215"></a><a href="#Note_215_215" class="fnanchor">[215]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The heroic glow of the old soldier of the Civil Wars animates the -infernal battle; and if anyone were to ask why Milton creates things -greater than other men, I should answer, because he has a greater heart.</p> - -<p>Hence the sublimity of his scenery. If I did not fear the paradox, I -should say that this scenery was a school of virtue. Spenser is a smooth -glass, which fills us with calm images. Shakespeare is a burning mirror, -which overpowers us, repeatedly, with multiplied and dazzling visions. -The one distracts, the other disturbs us. Milton raises our mind. The -force of the objects which he describes passes into us; we become great -by sympathy with their greatness. Such is the effect of his description -of the Creation. The calm and creative command of the Messiah leaves its -trace in the heart which listens to it, and we feel more vigor and moral -health at the sight of this great work of wisdom and will:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They view'd the vast immeasurable abyss</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Up from the bottom turn'd by furious winds</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And surging waves, as mountains, to assault</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace,'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Said then the omnific Word: 'Your discord end!'...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let there be light, said God; and forthwith light</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sprung from the deep; and from her native east</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To journey through the aery gloom began,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sphered in a radiant cloud....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The earth was form'd; but in the womb as yet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of waters, embryon immature involved,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Appear'd not: over all the face of earth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Main ocean flow'd, not idle, but, with warm</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Prolific humour softening all her globe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fermented the great mother to conceive,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Satiate with genial moisture, when God said,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Be gather'd now, ye waters under heaven,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into one place, and let dry land appear.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Immediately the mountains huge appear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Into the clouds, their tops ascend the sky:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Capacious bed of waters: thither they</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hasted with glad precipitance, uproll'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As drops on dust conglobing from the dry."<a name="NoteRef_216_216" id="NoteRef_216_216"></a><a href="#Note_216_216" class="fnanchor">[216]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This is primitive scenery; immense bare seas and mountains, as Raphael -Sanzio outlines them in the background of his biblical paintings. Milton -embraces the general effects, and handles the whole as easily as his -Jehovah.</p> - -<p>Let us quit superhuman and fanciful spectacles. A simple sunset equals -them. Milton peoples it with solemn allegories and regal figures, and -the sublime is born in the poet, as just before it was born from the -subject:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"The sun, now fallen...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Arraying with reflected purple and gold</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The clouds that on his western throne attend:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now came still evening on, and twilight gray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Had in her sober livery all things clad;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Silence accompanied, for beast and bird,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She all night long her amorous descant sung;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Silence was pleased: now glowed the firmament</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rising in clouded majesty, at length,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw."<a name="NoteRef_217_217" id="NoteRef_217_217"></a><a href="#Note_217_217" class="fnanchor">[217]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The changes of the light become here a religious procession of vague -beings who fill the soul with veneration. So sanctified, the poet prays. -Standing by the "inmost bower" of Adam and Eve, he says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of human offspring, sole propriety</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In Paradise of all things common else!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By thee adulterous lust was driven from men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Among the bestial herds to range by thee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Relations dear, and all the charities</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of father, son, and brother, first were known."<a name="NoteRef_218_218" id="NoteRef_218_218"></a><a href="#Note_218_218" class="fnanchor">[218]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He justifies it by the example of saints and patriarchs. He immolates -before it "the bought smile" and "court-armours, mix'd dance, or wanton -mask, or midnight ball, or serenate." We are a thousand miles from -Shakespeare; and in this Protestant eulogy of the family tie, of lawful -love, of "domestic sweets," of orderly piety and of home, we perceive a -new literature and an altered time.</p> - -<p>A strange great man, and a strange spectacle! He was born with the -instinct of noble things; and this instinct, strengthened in him by -solitary meditation, by accumulated knowledge, by stern logic, becomes -changed into a body of maxims and beliefs which no temptation could -dissolve, and no reverse shake. Thus fortified, he passes life as a -combatant, as a poet, with courageous deeds and splendid dreams, heroic -and rude, chimerical and impassioned, generous and calm, like every -self-contained reasoner, like every enthusiast, insensible to experience -and enamored of the beautiful. Thrown by the chance of a revolution into -politics and theology, he demands for others the liberty which his -powerful reason requires, and Strikes at the public fetters which impede -his personal energy. By the force of his intellect, he is more capable -than anyone of accumulating science; by the force of his enthusiasm, he -is more capable than any of experiencing hatred. Thus armed, he throws -himself into controversy with all the clumsiness and barbarism of the -time; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> but this proud logic displays its arguments with a marvellous -breadth, and sustains its images with an unwonted majesty: this lofty -imagination, after having spread over his prose an array of magnificent -figures, carries him into a torrent of passion even to the height of the -sublime or excited ode—a sort of archangel's song of adoration or -vengeance. The chance of a throne preserved, then re-established, led -him, before the revolution took place, into pagan and moral poetry, -after the revolution into Christian and moral verse. In both he aims at -the sublime, and inspires admiration; because the sublime is the work of -enthusiastic reason, and admiration is the enthusiasm of reason. In -both, he arrives at his point by the accumulation of splendors, by the -sustained fulness of poetic song, by the greatness of his allegories, -the loftiness of his sentiments, the description of infinite objects and -heroic emotions. In the first, a lyrist and a philosopher, with a wider -poetic freedom, and the creator of a stronger poetic illusion, he -produces almost perfect odes and choruses. In the second, an epic writer -and a Protestant, enslaved by a strict theology, robbed of the style -which makes the supernatural visible, deprived of the dramatic -sensibility which creates varied and living souls, he accumulates cold -dissertations, transforms man and God into orthodox and vulgar machines, -and only regains his genius in endowing Satan with his republican soul, -in multiplying grand landscapes and colossal apparitions, in -consecrating his poetry to the praise of religion and duty.</p> - -<p>Placed, as it happened, between two ages, he participates in their two -characters, as a stream which, flowing between two different soils, is -tinged by both their hues. A poet and a Protestant, he receives from the -closing age the free poetic afflatus, and from the opening age the -severe political religion. He employed the one in the service of the -other, and displayed the old inspiration in new subjects. In his works -we recognize two Englands: one, impassioned for the beautiful, devoted -to the emotions of an unshackled sensibility and the fancies of pure -imagination, with no law but the natural feelings, and no religion but -natural belief; willingly pagan, often immoral; such as it is exhibited -by Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Shakespeare, Spenser, and the superb -harvest of poets which covered the ground for a space of fifty years; -the other fortified by a practical religion, void of metaphysical -invention, altogether political, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> worshipping rule, attached to measured, -sensible, useful, narrow opinions, praising the virtues of the family, -armed and stiffened by a rigid morality, driven into prose, raised to -the highest degree of power, wealth, and liberty. In this sense, this -style and these ideas are monuments of history; they concentrate, -recall, or anticipate the past and the future; and in the limits of a -single work are found the events and the feelings of several centuries -and of a whole nation. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_105_105" id="Note_105_105"></a><a href="#NoteRef_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a>Matre probatissimâ et eleemosynis per viciniam -potissimum nota.—"Defensio Secunda, Life of Milton," by Keightley.</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>"My father destined me while yet a little child for the -study of humane letters."—Life by Masson, 1859, I. 51.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_107_107" id="Note_107_107"></a><a href="#NoteRef_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a>Queen Elizabeth.</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>The Poetical Works of John Milton, ed. Mitford, "Paradise -Regained," Book I. pp. 201-206.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_109_109" id="Note_109_109"></a><a href="#NoteRef_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a>Milton's Prose Works, ed. Mitford, 8 vols., "The Reason of -Church Government," I. 150.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_110_110" id="Note_110_110"></a><a href="#NoteRef_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a>Milton's Prose Works (Bohn's edition, 1848), "Second -Defence of the People of England," p. 257. See also his Italian Sonnets, -with their religious sentiment.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_111_111" id="Note_111_111"></a><a href="#NoteRef_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a>Milton's Prose Works, Mitford, "Apology for Smectymnuus," -I. 270.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_112_112" id="Note_112_112"></a><a href="#NoteRef_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a>Ibid. 273. See also his "Treatise on Divorce," which shows -clearly Milton's meaning.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_113_113" id="Note_113_113"></a><a href="#NoteRef_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a>"Though Christianity had been but slightly taught me, -yet a certain reservedness of natural disposition and moral discipline, -learnt out of the noblest philosophy, was enough to keep me in disdain of -far less incontinences than this of the bordello."—"Apology for -Smectymnuus," Mitford, I. 272.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_114_114" id="Note_114_114"></a><a href="#NoteRef_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a>An expression of Jean Paul Richter. See an excellent -article on Milton in the "National Review," July, 1859.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_115_115" id="Note_115_115"></a><a href="#NoteRef_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a>1643, at the age of 35.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_116_116" id="Note_116_116"></a><a href="#NoteRef_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a>"Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce", Mitford, II. 27, 29, -32. "Mute and spiritless mate. The bashful muteness of the virgin may -oftentimes hide all the unliveliness and natural sloth which is really -unfit for conversation. A man shall find himself bound fast to an image -of earth and phlegm, with whom he looked to be the copartner of a sweet -and gladsome society." A pretty woman will say in reply: I cannot love a -man who carries his head like the sacrament.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_117_117" id="Note_117_117"></a><a href="#NoteRef_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a>"Second Defence of the People of England," Prose Works -(Bohn), I. 257.</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>"Of Reformation touching Church Discipline in England, -and the Causes that hitherto have hindered it. Of Prelatical Episcopacy. -The Reason of Church Government urged against Prelaty:" 1641. "Apology -for Smectymnuus:" 1642.</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>"The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates. Eikonoklastes:" -1648-9. "Defensio Populi Anglicani:" 1651. "Defensio Secunda:" 1654. -"Authoris pro se defensio. Responsio:" 1655.</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>Milton's Prose Works, Mitford, vol. I. 329.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_121_121" id="Note_121_121"></a><a href="#NoteRef_121_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a>Milton's Prose Works, Preface to the "Defence of the -People of England," VI. pp. 1, 2.</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>Mitford, VI. pp. 2-3. This "Defence" was in Latin. Milton -ends it thus:</p> - -<p>"He (god) has gloriously delivered you, the first of nations, from the -two greatest mischiefs of this life, and most pernicious to virtue, -tyranny and superstition; he has endued you with greatness of mind to be -the first of mankind, who after having conquered their own king, and -having had him delivered into their hands, have not scrupled to condemn -him judicially, and, pursuant to that sentence of condemnation, to put -him to death. After the performing so glorious an action as this, you -ought to do nothing that is mean and little, not so much as to think of, -much less to do, anything but what is great and sublime. Which to attain -to, this is your only way; as you have subdued your enemies in the -field, so to make appear, that unarmed, and in the highest outward peace -and tranquillity, you of all mankind are best able to subdue ambition, -avarice, the love of riches, and can best avoid the corruptions that -prosperity is apt to introduce (which generally subdue and triumph over -other nations), to show as great justice, temperance, and moderation in -the maintaining your liberty, as you have shown courage in freeing -yourselves from slavery."—Ibid. Vol. VI. 251-2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_123_123" id="Note_123_123"></a><a href="#NoteRef_123_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a>"Of Education," Mitford, II. 385.</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>A scrivener caused him to lose £2,000. At the Restoration -he was refused payment of £2,000 which he had put into the Excise Office, -and derived of an estate of £50 a year, bought by him from the property of -the Chapter of Westminster. His house in Bread Street was burnt in the -great fire. When he died he is said to have left about £1,500 in money -(equivalent to about £5,000 now), besides household goods. (I am indebted -to the kindness of Professor Masson for the collation of this note.—Tr.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_125_125" id="Note_125_125"></a><a href="#NoteRef_125_125"><span class="label">[125]</span></a>Milton's Poetical Works, Mitford, I. Sonnet XXII.</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>"Italian Sonnets."</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>Three vols, folio, 1697-8. The titles of Milton's chief -writings in prose are these: "Of Reformation in England; The Reason of -Church Government urged against Prelaty; Animadversions upon the -Remonstrants' Defence; Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce; Tetrachordon; -Tractate on Education; Areopagitica; Tenure of Kings and Magistrates; -Eikonoklastes; History of Britain; Defence of the People of England."</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>"A Defence of the People of England," Mitford, VI. 21.</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>Mitford, VI. 250. Salmasius said of the death of the -king: "Horribilis nuntius aures nostras atroci vulnere, sed magis mentes -perculit." Milton replied: "Profecto nuntius iste horribilis aut gladium -multo longiorem eo quem strinxit Petrus habuerit oportet, aut aures -istæ auritissimæ fuerint, quas tam longinquo vulnere perculerit."</p> - -<p>"Oratorem tam insipidum et insulsum ut ne ex lacrymis quidem ejus mica -salis exiguissi ma possit exprimi."</p> - -<p>"Salmasius nova quadam metamorphosi salmacis factus est."</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>I copy from Neal's "History of the Puritans," II. ch. VII. -367, one of these sorrows and complaints. By the greatness of the outrage -the reader can judge of the intensity of the hatred: -"The humble petition of (Dr.) Alexander Leighton, Prisoner in the Fleet, -Humbly Sheweth.</p> - -<p>"That on Feb. 17, 1630, he was apprehended coming from sermon by a high -commission warrant, and dragged along the street with bills and staves -to London-house. That the gaoler of Newgate being sent for, clapt him in -irons, and carried him with a strong power into a loathsome and ruinous -dog-hole, full of rats and mice, that had no light but a little grate, -and the roof being uncovered, the snow and rain beat in upon him, having -no bedding, nor place to make a fire, but the ruins of an old smoky -chimney. In this woeful place he was shut up for fifteen weeks, nobody -being suffered to come near him, till at length his wife only was -admitted. That the fourth day after his commitment the pursuivant, with -a mighty multitude, came to his house to search for jesuit's books, and -used his wife in such a barbarous and inhuman manner as he is ashamed to -express; that they rifled every person and place, holding a pistol to -the breast of a child of five years old, threatening to kill him if he -did not discover the books; that they broke open chests, presses, boxes, -and carried away everything, even household stuff, apparel, arms, and -other things; that at the end of fifteen weeks he was served with a -subpoena, on an information laid against him by Sir Robert Heath, -attorney-general, whose dealing with him was full of cruelty and deceit; -but he was then sick, and, in the opinion of four physicians, thought to -be poisoned, because all his hair and skin came off; that in the height -of this sickness the cruel sentence was passed upon him mentioned in the -year 1630, and executed Nov. 26 following, when he received thirty-six -stripes upon his naked back with a threefold cord, his hands being tied -to a stake, and then stood almost two hours in the pillory in the frost -and snow, before he was branded in the face, his nose slit, and his ears -cut off; that after this he was carried by water to the Fleet, and shut -up in such a room that he was never well, and after eight years was -turned into the common gaol."</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>An answer to the "Eikon Basilike," a work on the king's -side, and attributed to the king.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_132_132" id="Note_132_132"></a><a href="#NoteRef_132_132"><span class="label">[132]</span></a>"Of Reformation in England," 4 to, 1641, p. 62.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_133_133" id="Note_133_133"></a><a href="#NoteRef_133_133"><span class="label">[133]</span></a>"Of Reformation in England."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_134_134" id="Note_134_134"></a><a href="#NoteRef_134_134"><span class="label">[134]</span></a>The loss of Cicero's works alone, or those of Livy, could -not be repaired by all the Fathers of the church.</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>"Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce," Mitford, II. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_136_136" id="Note_136_136"></a><a href="#NoteRef_136_136"><span class="label">[136]</span></a>Ibid. II. 5.</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>"Areopagitica," Mitford, II. 423.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_138_138" id="Note_138_138"></a><a href="#NoteRef_138_138"><span class="label">[138]</span></a>"Areopagitica," Mitford, II. 439.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_139_139" id="Note_139_139"></a><a href="#NoteRef_139_139"><span class="label">[139]</span></a>Ibid. 437-8.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_140_140" id="Note_140_140"></a><a href="#NoteRef_140_140"><span class="label">[140]</span></a>Ibid. 441.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_141_141" id="Note_141_141"></a><a href="#NoteRef_141_141"><span class="label">[141]</span></a>"Animadversions upon Remonstrants' Defence," Mitford, I. -234-5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_142_142" id="Note_142_142"></a><a href="#NoteRef_142_142"><span class="label">[142]</span></a>"Of Reformation in England," first book, Mitford, I. 23.</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>Ibid., second book, Mitford, I. 42.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_144_144" id="Note_144_144"></a><a href="#NoteRef_144_144"><span class="label">[144]</span></a>"Of Reformation in England," book first, Mitford, I. 3.</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>"Areopagitica," II. 411-12.</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>"Of Reformation in England," book second, 40.</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>"Areopagitica," II. 406. "Whatsoever time, or the heedless -hand of blind chance, hath drawn down from of old to this present, in her -huge drag-net, whether fish or sea-weed, shells or shrubs, unpicked, -unchosen, those are the fathers." ("Of Prelatical Episcopacy," Mitford.)</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>"Areopagitica," Mitford, II. 400.</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>Ibid. II. 404.</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>"Areopagitica," II. 431-2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_151_151" id="Note_151_151"></a><a href="#NoteRef_151_151"><span class="label">[151]</span></a>When he is simply comic, he becomes, like Hogarth and -Swift, eccentric, rude and farcical. "A bishop's foot that has all his -toes, maugre the gout, and a linen sock over it, is the aptest emblem of -the prelate himself; who, being a pluralist, may, under one surplice, -which is also linen, hide four benefices, beside the great metropolitan -toe."—"An Apology," etc. I. 275.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_152_152" id="Note_152_152"></a><a href="#NoteRef_152_152"><span class="label">[152]</span></a>"Of Reformation in England," Mitford, I. 17.</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>Ibid. I. 71. (The old spelling has been retained in this -passage.—Tr.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_154_154" id="Note_154_154"></a><a href="#NoteRef_154_154"><span class="label">[154]</span></a>"Of Reformation in England," Mitford.</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>Ibid. I. 68-69.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_156_156" id="Note_156_156"></a><a href="#NoteRef_156_156"><span class="label">[156]</span></a>"Animadversions," etc., ibid. 220-2.</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>See the "Hymn on the Nativity"; amongst others, the first -few strophes. See also "Lycidas."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_158_158" id="Note_158_158"></a><a href="#NoteRef_158_158"><span class="label">[158]</span></a>"Arcades," line 32.</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>"Cornus," lines 188-190.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_160_160" id="Note_160_160"></a><a href="#NoteRef_160_160"><span class="label">[160]</span></a>"Cornus," lines 21-23.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_161_161" id="Note_161_161"></a><a href="#NoteRef_161_161"><span class="label">[161]</span></a>"Ode at a Solemn Musick," lines 6-11.</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>"Lycidas," lines 136-151.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_163_163" id="Note_163_163"></a><a href="#NoteRef_163_163"><span class="label">[163]</span></a>"Faust," Prolog im Himmel.</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>See the prophecy against Archbishop Laud in "Lycidas," -line 130:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"But that two-handed engine at the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">door</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stands ready to smite once, and smite</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">no more."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_165_165" id="Note_165_165"></a><a href="#NoteRef_165_165"><span class="label">[165]</span></a>"Arcades," lines 61-73.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_166_166" id="Note_166_166"></a><a href="#NoteRef_166_166"><span class="label">[166]</span></a>"The Reason of Church Government," book II. Mitford, I. -147.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_167_167" id="Note_167_167"></a><a href="#NoteRef_167_167"><span class="label">[167]</span></a>"L'Allegro," lines 41-68.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_168_168" id="Note_168_168"></a><a href="#NoteRef_168_168"><span class="label">[168]</span></a>"Il Penseroso," lines 31-40.</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>Ibid, lines 156-160.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_170_170" id="Note_170_170"></a><a href="#NoteRef_170_170"><span class="label">[170]</span></a>Ibid, lines 88-92.</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>"Comus," lines 1-11.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_172_172" id="Note_172_172"></a><a href="#NoteRef_172_172"><span class="label">[172]</span></a>Ibid, lines 37-39.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_173_173" id="Note_173_173"></a><a href="#NoteRef_173_173"><span class="label">[173]</span></a>Ibid, lines 115-118.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_174_174" id="Note_174_174"></a><a href="#NoteRef_174_174"><span class="label">[174]</span></a>"Comus," lines 213-225.</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>Ibid, lines 555-557.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_176_176" id="Note_176_176"></a><a href="#NoteRef_176_176"><span class="label">[176]</span></a>Ibid, lines 244-264.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_177_177" id="Note_177_177"></a><a href="#NoteRef_177_177"><span class="label">[177]</span></a>"Comus," lines 463-473. It is the elder brother who -utters these lines when speaking of his sister.—Tr.</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>Ibid, lines 861-863.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_179_179" id="Note_179_179"></a><a href="#NoteRef_179_179"><span class="label">[179]</span></a>Ibid, line 890.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_180_180" id="Note_180_180"></a><a href="#NoteRef_180_180"><span class="label">[180]</span></a>"Comus," lines 976-1023.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_181_181" id="Note_181_181"></a><a href="#NoteRef_181_181"><span class="label">[181]</span></a>Edward King, died in 1637.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_182_182" id="Note_182_182"></a><a href="#NoteRef_182_182"><span class="label">[182]</span></a>ω δῖος αιθὴρ και ταχύπτεροι πνοαί -ποταμῶν τε πηγαί, ποντίων τe κυμάτων -άνήριθμον γέλασμα, παμμῆτόρ τε γῆ, -καὶ τὸν πανόπτην κύκλον ήλίου καλῶ, -ϊδεσθέ μ, οϊα πρὸς θεῶν πάσχω θεός. -—"Prometheus Vinctus," ed. Hermann, p. 487, line 88.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_183_183" id="Note_183_183"></a><a href="#NoteRef_183_183"><span class="label">[183]</span></a>Psalm XC. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_184_184" id="Note_184_184"></a><a href="#NoteRef_184_184"><span class="label">[184]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book IV. line 489.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_185_185" id="Note_185_185"></a><a href="#NoteRef_185_185"><span class="label">[185]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," lines 492-502.</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>Ibid, lines 610-622.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_187_187" id="Note_187_187"></a><a href="#NoteRef_187_187"><span class="label">[187]</span></a>It would be impossible that a man so learned, so -argumentative, should spend his whole time in gardening and -making up nosegays.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_188_188" id="Note_188_188"></a><a href="#NoteRef_188_188"><span class="label">[188]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book V. lines 100-113.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_189_189" id="Note_189_189"></a><a href="#NoteRef_189_189"><span class="label">[189]</span></a>Ibid, lines 116-119.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_190_190" id="Note_190_190"></a><a href="#NoteRef_190_190"><span class="label">[190]</span></a>Ibid, lines 313-316.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_191_191" id="Note_191_191"></a><a href="#NoteRef_191_191"><span class="label">[191]</span></a>Ibid, lines 328-330.</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>"Paradise Lost," book V. lines 333-336.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_193_193" id="Note_193_193"></a><a href="#NoteRef_193_193"><span class="label">[193]</span></a>Ibid, lines 351-357.</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>Ibid, lines 434-439.</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>"Paradise Lost," book VIII. lines 102-107.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_196_196" id="Note_196_196"></a><a href="#NoteRef_196_196"><span class="label">[196]</span></a>Ibid, book IX. line 232.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_197_197" id="Note_197_197"></a><a href="#NoteRef_197_197"><span class="label">[197]</span></a>Ibid, book IX. lines 753-760.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_198_198" id="Note_198_198"></a><a href="#NoteRef_198_198"><span class="label">[198]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book III. lines 98-123.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_199_199" id="Note_199_199"></a><a href="#NoteRef_199_199"><span class="label">[199]</span></a>End of the continuation of "Faust." -Prologue in Heaven.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_200_200" id="Note_200_200"></a><a href="#NoteRef_200_200"><span class="label">[200]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book V. line 243.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_201_201" id="Note_201_201"></a><a href="#NoteRef_201_201"><span class="label">[201]</span></a>We are reminded of the history of Ira in Voltaire, -condemned to hear without intermission or end the praises of four -chamberlains, and the following hymn:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Que son mérite est extreme!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Que de grâces, que de grandeur.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah! combien monseigneur</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doit être content de lui-même!"</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_202_202" id="Note_202_202"></a><a href="#NoteRef_202_202"><span class="label">[202]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book V. lines 588-594.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_203_203" id="Note_203_203"></a><a href="#NoteRef_203_203"><span class="label">[203]</span></a>Ibid, lines 607-612.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_204_204" id="Note_204_204"></a><a href="#NoteRef_204_204"><span class="label">[204]</span></a>Ibid, lines 617-631.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_205_205" id="Note_205_205"></a><a href="#NoteRef_205_205"><span class="label">[205]</span></a>The Miltonic Deity is so much on the level of a king and -man, that he uses (with irony certainly) words like these:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Lest unawares we lose</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This our high place, our Sanctuary, our</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hill."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His son, about to flesh his maiden</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sword, replies:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"If I be found the worst in heaven,"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">etc.</span><br /> -Book V. lines 731-742.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_206_206" id="Note_206_206"></a><a href="#NoteRef_206_206"><span class="label">[206]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book VI. lines 425-430.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_207_207" id="Note_207_207"></a><a href="#NoteRef_207_207"><span class="label">[207]</span></a>When Raphael comes on earth, the angels who are "under -watch, in honour rise." The disagreeable and characteristic feature of -this heaven is, that the universal motive is obedience, while in Dante's -it is love. "Lowly reverent they bow.... Our happy state we hold, like -yours, while our obedience holds."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_208_208" id="Note_208_208"></a><a href="#NoteRef_208_208"><span class="label">[208]</span></a>Revelation, I. 12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_209_209" id="Note_209_209"></a><a href="#NoteRef_209_209"><span class="label">[209]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book I. lines 242-263.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_210_210" id="Note_210_210"></a><a href="#NoteRef_210_210"><span class="label">[210]</span></a>Ibid, lines 106-109.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_211_211" id="Note_211_211"></a><a href="#NoteRef_211_211"><span class="label">[211]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book I. lines 61-65.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_212_212" id="Note_212_212"></a><a href="#NoteRef_212_212"><span class="label">[212]</span></a>Ibid, book II. lines 587-591.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_213_213" id="Note_213_213"></a><a href="#NoteRef_213_213"><span class="label">[213]</span></a>Ibid, book I. lines 612-615.</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>Ibid, lines 100-109.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_215_215" id="Note_215_215"></a><a href="#NoteRef_215_215"><span class="label">[215]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book II. lines 643-678.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_216_216" id="Note_216_216"></a><a href="#NoteRef_216_216"><span class="label">[216]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book VII. lines 210-292.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_217_217" id="Note_217_217"></a><a href="#NoteRef_217_217"><span class="label">[217]</span></a>"Paradise Lost," book IV. lines 591-609.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_218_218" id="Note_218_218"></a><a href="#NoteRef_218_218"><span class="label">[218]</span></a>Ibid, lines 750-757.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="BOOK_III.--THE_CLASSIC_AGE">BOOK III.—THE CLASSIC AGE</a></h4> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FIRST_III">CHAPTER FIRST</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="The_Restoration">The Restoration</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="Part_I.--The_Roisterers"><i>Part I.—The Roisterers</i></a></h4> - - -<p>When we alternately look at the works of the court painters of Charles I -and Charles II, and pass from the noble portraits of Vandyke to the -figures of Lely, the fall is sudden and great; we have left a palace, -and we light on a bagnio.</p> - -<p>Instead of the proud and dignified lords, at once cavaliers and -courtiers, instead of those high-born yet simple ladies who look at the -same time princesses and modest maidens, instead of that generous and -heroic company, elegant and resplendent, in whom the spirit of the -Renaissance yet survived, but who already displayed the refinement of -the modern age, we are confronted by perilous and importunate -courtesans, with an expression either vile or harsh, incapable of shame -or of remorse.<a name="NoteRef_219_219" id="NoteRef_219_219"></a><a href="#Note_219_219" class="fnanchor">[219]</a> Their plump, smooth hands toy fondlingly with -dimpled fingers; ringlets of heavy hair fall on their bare shoulders; -their swimming eyes languish voluptuously; an insipid smile hovers on -their sensual lips. One is lifting a mass of dishevelled hair which -streams over the curves of her rosy flesh; another falls down with -languor, and uncloses a sleeve whose soft folds display the full -whiteness of her arms. Nearly all are half draped; many of them seem to -be just rising from their beds; the rumpled dressing-gown clings to the -neck, and looks as though it were soiled by a night's debauch; the -tumbled <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> under-garment slips down to the hips: their feet tread the -bright and glossy silk. With bosoms uncovered, they are decked out in -all the luxurious extravagance of prostitutes; diamond girdles, puffs of -lace, the vulgar splendor of gilding, a superfluity of embroidered and -rustling fabrics, enormous head-dresses, the curls and fringes of which, -rolled up and sticking out, compel notice by the very height of their -shameless magnificence. Folding curtains hang round them in the shape of -an alcove, and the eyes penetrate through a vista into the recesses of a -wide park, whose solitude will not ill serve the purpose of their -pleasures.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Excesses_of_Puritanism">Section I.—The Excesses of Puritanism</a></h4> - - -<p>All this came by way of contrast; Puritanism had brought on an orgie, -and fanatics had talked down virtue. For many years the gloomy English -imagination, possessed by religious terrors, had desolated the life of -men. Conscience had become disturbed at the thought of death and dark -eternity; half-expressed doubts stealthily swarmed within like a bed of -thorns, and the sick heart, starting at every motion, had ended by -taking a disgust at all its pleasures, and abhorred all its natural -instincts. Thus poisoned at its very beginning, the divine sentiment of -justice became a mournful madness. Man, confessedly perverse and -condemned, believed himself pent in a prison-house of perdition and -vice, into which no effort and no chance could dart a ray of light, -except a hand from above should come by free grace, to rend the sealed -stone of this tomb. Men lived the life of the condemned, amid torments -and anguish, oppressed by a gloomy despair, haunted by spectres. People -would frequently imagine themselves at the point of death; Cromwell -himself, according to Dr. Simcott, physician in Huntingdon, "had fancies -about the Town Cross";<a name="NoteRef_220_220" id="NoteRef_220_220"></a><a href="#Note_220_220" class="fnanchor">[220]</a> some would feel within them the motions of -an evil spirit; one and all passed the night with their eyes glued to -the tales of blood and the impassioned appeals of the Old Testament, -listening to the threats and thunders of a terrible God, and renewing in -their own hearts the ferocity of murderers and the exaltation of seers. -Under such a strain reason gradually left them. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> They continually were -seeking after the Lord, and found but a dream. After long hours of -exhaustion, they labored under a warped and over-wrought imagination. -Dazzling forms, unwonted ideas, sprang up on a sudden in their heated -brain; these men were raised and penetrated by extraordinary emotions. -So transformed, they knew themselves no longer; they did not ascribe to -themselves these violent and sudden inspirations which were forced upon -them, which compelled them to leave the beaten tracks, which had no -connection one with another, which shook and enlightened them when least -expected, without being able either to check or to govern them; they saw -in them the agency of a supernatural power, and gave themselves up to it -with the enthusiasm of madness and the stubbornness of faith.</p> - -<p>To crown all, fanaticism had become an institution; the secretary had -laid down all the steps of mental transfiguration, and reduced the -encroachment of his dream to a theory: he set about methodically to -drive out reason and enthrone ecstasy. George Fox wrote its history, -Bunyan gave it its laws, Parliament presented an example of it, all the -pulpits lauded its practice. Artisans, soldiers, women discussed it, -mastered it, excited one another by the details of their experience and -the publicity of their exaltations. A new life was inaugurated which had -blighted and excluded the old. All secular tastes were suppressed, all -sensual joys forbidden; the spiritual man alone remained standing upon -the ruins of the past, and the heart, debarred from all its natural -safety-valves, could only direct its views or aspirations towards a -sinister Deity. The typical Puritan walked slowly along the streets, his -eyes raised towards heaven, with elongated features, yellow and haggard, -with closely cropped hair, clad in brown or black, unadorned, clothed -only to cover his nakedness. If a man had round cheeks, he passed for -lukewarm.<a name="NoteRef_221_221" id="NoteRef_221_221"></a><a href="#Note_221_221" class="fnanchor">[221]</a> The whole body, the exterior, the very tone of voice, all -must wear the sign of penitence and divine grace. A Puritan spoke -slowly, with a solemn and somewhat nasal tone of voice, as if to destroy -the vivacity of conversation and the melody of the natural voice. His -speech stuffed with scriptural quotations, his style borrowed from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -prophets, his name and the names of his children drawn from the Bible, -bore witness that his thoughts were confined to the terrible world of -the seers and ministers of divine vengeance. From within, the contagion -spread outwards. The fears of conscience were converted into laws of the -state. Personal asceticism grew into public tyranny. The Puritan -proscribed pleasure as an enemy, for others as well as for himself. -Parliament closed the gambling-houses and theatres, and had the actors -whipped at the cart's tail; oaths were fined; the May-trees were cut -down; the bears, whose fights amused the people, were put to death; the -plaster of Puritan masons reduced nude statues to decency; the beautiful -poetic festivals were forbidden. Fines and corporeal punishments shut -out, even from children, games, dancing, bell-ringing, rejoicings, -junketings, wrestling, the chase, all exercises and amusements which -might profane the Sabbath. The ornaments, pictures, and statues in the -churches were pulled down or mutilated. The only pleasure which they -retained and permitted was the singing of psalms through the nose, the -edification of long sermons, the excitement of acrimonious -controversies, the harsh and sombre joy of a victory gained over the -enemy of mankind, and of the tyranny exercised against the demon's -supposed abettors. In Scotland, a colder and sterner land, intolerance -reached the utmost limits of ferocity and pettiness, instituting a -surveillance over the private life and home devotions of every member of -a family, depriving Catholics of their children, imposing the abjuration -of Popery under pain of perpetual imprisonment or death, dragging crowds -of witches<a name="NoteRef_222_222" id="NoteRef_222_222"></a><a href="#Note_222_222" class="fnanchor">[222]</a> to the stake.<a name="NoteRef_223_223" id="NoteRef_223_223"></a><a href="#Note_223_223" class="fnanchor">[223]</a> It seemed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> as though a black cloud had -weighed down the life of man, drowning all light, wiping out all beauty, -extinguishing all joy, pierced here and there by the glitter of the -sword and by the dickering of torches, beneath which one might perceive -the indistinct forms of gloomy despots, of bilious sectarians, of silent -victims.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--A_Frenchmans_View_of_the_Manners_of_the_Time">Section II.—A Frenchman's View of the Manners of the Time</a></h4> - - -<p>After the Restoration a deliverance ensued. Like a checked and choked-up -stream, public opinion dashed with all its natural force and all its -acquired momentum, into the bed from which it had been debarred. The -outburst carried away the dams. The violent return to the senses drowned -morality. Virtue had the semblance of Puritanism. Duty and fanaticism -became mingled in common disrepute. In this great reaction, devotion and -honesty, swept away together, left to mankind but the wreck and the -mire. The more excellent parts of human nature disappeared; there -remained but the animal, without bridle or guide, urged by his desires -beyond justice and shame.</p> - -<p>When we see these manners through the medium of a Hamilton or a -Saint-Évremond, we can tolerate them. Their French varnish deceives us. -Debauchery in a Frenchman is only half disgusting; with him, if the -animal breaks loose, it is without abandoning itself to excess. The -foundation is not, as with the Englishman, coarse and powerful. You may -break the glittering ice which covers him, without bringing down upon -yourself the swollen and muddy torrent that roars beneath his -neighbor;<a name="NoteRef_224_224" id="NoteRef_224_224"></a><a href="#Note_224_224" class="fnanchor">[224]</a> the stream which will issue from it will only have its -petty dribblings, and will return quickly and of itself to its -accustomed channel. The Frenchman is mild, naturally refined, little -inclined for great or gross sensuality, liking a sober style of talk, -easily armed against filthy manners by his delicacy and good taste. The -Count de Grammont has too much wit to love an orgie. After all an orgie -is not pleasant; the breaking of glasses, brawling, lewd talk, excess in -eating and drinking—there is nothing in this very tempting to a rather -delicate taste; the Frenchman, after Grammont's type, is born an -epicurean, not a glutton or a drunkard. What he seeks is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> amusement, not -unrestrained joy or bestial pleasure. I know full well that he is not -without reproach. I would not trust him with my purse; he forgets too -readily the distinction between <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i>; above all, I would -not trust him with my wife: he is not over-delicate; his escapades at -the gambling-table and with women smack too much of the sharper and the -briber. But I am wrong to use these big words in connection with him; -they are too weighty; they crush so delicate and so pretty a specimen of -humanity. These heavy habits of honor or shame can only be worn by -serious-minded men, and Grammont takes nothing seriously, neither his -fellow-men, nor himself, nor vice, nor virtue. To pass his time -agreeably is his sole endeavor. "They had said good-by to dulness in the -army," observed Hamilton, "as soon as he was there." That is his pride -and his aim; he troubles himself, and cares for nothing beside. His -valet robs him; another would have brought the rogue to the gallows; but -the theft was clever, and he keeps his rascal. He left England -forgetting to marry the girl he was betrothed to; he is caught at Dover; -he returns and marries her: this was an amusing <i>contretemps</i>; he asks -for nothing better. One day, being penniless, he fleeces the Count de -Caméran at play. "Could Grammont, after the figure he had once cut, -pack off like any common fellow? By no means; he is a man of feeling; he -will maintain the honor of France." He covers his cheating at play with -a joke; in reality, his notions of property are not over-clear. He -regales Caméran with Caméran's own money; would Caméran have acted -better or otherwise? What matter if his money be in Grammont's purse or -his own? The main point is gained, since there is pleasure in getting -the money, and there is pleasure in spending it. The hateful and the -ignoble vanish from such a life. If he pays his court to princes, you -may be sure it is not on his knees; so lively a soul is not weighed down -by respect; his wit places him on a level with the greatest; under -pretext of amusing the king, he tells him plain truths.<a name="NoteRef_225_225" id="NoteRef_225_225"></a><a href="#Note_225_225" class="fnanchor">[225]</a> If he finds -himself in London, surrounded by open debauchery, he does not plunge -into it; he passes through on tiptoe, and so daintily that the mire does -not stick to him. We do not recognize <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> any longer in his anecdotes the -anguish and the brutality which were really felt at that time; the -narrative flows on quickly, raising a smile, then another, and another -yet, so that the whole mind is brought by an adroit and easy progress to -something like good humor. At table, Grammont will never stuff himself; -at play, he will never grow violent; with his mistress, he will never -give vent to coarse talk; in a duel, he will not hate his adversary. The -wit of a Frenchman is like French wine; it makes men neither brutal, nor -wicked, nor gloomy. Such is the spring of these pleasures: a supper will -destroy neither delicacy, nor good nature, nor enjoyment. The libertine -remains sociable, polite, obliging; his gayety culminates only in the -gayety of others;<a name="NoteRef_226_226" id="NoteRef_226_226"></a><a href="#Note_226_226" class="fnanchor">[226]</a> he is attentive to them as naturally as to -himself; and in addition, he is ever on the alert and intelligent: -repartees, flashes of brilliancy, witticisms, sparkle on his lips; he -can think at table and in company, sometimes better than if alone or -fasting. It is clear that with him debauchery does not extinguish the -man; Grammont would say that it perfects him; that wit, the heart, the -senses, only arrive at excellence and true enjoyment, amid the elegance -and animation of a choice supper.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Butlers_Hudibras">Section III.—Butler's Hudibras</a></h4> - - -<p>It is quite the contrary in England. When we scratch the covering of an -Englishman's morality, the brute appears in its violence and its -deformity. One of the English statesmen said that with the French an -unchained mob could be led by words of humanity and honor,<a name="NoteRef_227_227" id="NoteRef_227_227"></a><a href="#Note_227_227" class="fnanchor">[227]</a> but that -in England it was necessary, in order to appease them, to throw to them -raw flesh. Insults, blood, orgie, that is the food on which the mob of -noblemen, under Charles II, precipitated itself. All that excuses a -carnival was absent; and, in particular, wit. Three years after the -return of the king, Butler published his "Hudibras"; and with what -<i>éclat</i> his contemporaries only could tell, while the echo of applause -is kept up even to our own days. How low is the wit, with what -awkwardness and dulness he dilutes his revengeful satire. Here and there -lurks a happy picture, the remnant of a poetry which has just perished; -but the whole <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> work reminds one of a Scarron, as unworthy as the other, -and more malignant. It is written, people say, on the model of Don -Quixote; Hudibras is a Puritan knight, who goes about, like his -antitype, redressing wrongs, and pocketing beatings. It would be truer -to say that it resembles the wretched imitation of Avellaneda.<a name="NoteRef_228_228" id="NoteRef_228_228"></a><a href="#Note_228_228" class="fnanchor">[228]</a> The -short metre, well suited to buffoonery, hobbles along without rest and -limpingly, floundering in the mud which it delights in, as foul and as -dull as that of the "Enéide Travestie."<a name="NoteRef_229_229" id="NoteRef_229_229"></a><a href="#Note_229_229" class="fnanchor">[229]</a> The description of -Hudibras and his horse occupies the best part of a canto; forty lines -are taken up by describing his beard, forty more by describing his -breeches. Endless scholastic discussions, arguments as long as those of -the Puritans, spread their wastes and briers over half the poem. No -action, no simplicity, all is would-be satire and gross caricature; -there is neither art, nor harmony nor good taste to be found in it; the -Puritan style is converted into an absurd gibberish; and the engalled -rancor, missing its aim by its mere excess, spoils the portrait it -wishes to draw. Would you believe that such a writer gives himself airs, -wishes to enliven us, pretends to be funny? What delicate raillery is -there in this picture of Hudibras's beard!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"His tawny beard was th' equal grace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both of his wisdom and his face;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In cut and die so like a tile,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A sudden view it would beguile:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The upper part whereof was whey,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The nether orange, mix'd with grey.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This hairy meteor did denounce</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The fall of sceptres and of crowns:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With grisly type did represent</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Declining age of Government,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tell with hieroglyphic spade</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Its own grave and the state's were made."<a name="NoteRef_230_230" id="NoteRef_230_230"></a><a href="#Note_230_230" class="fnanchor">[230]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Butler is so well satisfied with his insipid fun, that he prolongs it -for a good many lines:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In time to make a nation rue;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tho' it contributed its own fall,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To wait upon the public downfall....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twas bound to suffer persecution</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And martyrdom with resolution;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">T' oppose itself against the hate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And vengeance of the incens'd state,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In whose defiance it was worn,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Still ready to be pull'd and torn,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With red-hot irons to be tortur'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Revil'd, and spit upon, and martyr'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Maugre all which, 'twas to stand fast</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As long as monarchy should last;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But when the state should hap to reel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twas to submit to fatal steel,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And fall, as it was consecrate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A sacrifice to fall of state,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose thread of life the fatal sisters</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did twist together with its whiskers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And twine so close, that time should never,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In life or death, their fortunes sever;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But with his rusty sickle mow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Both down together at a blow."<a name="NoteRef_231_231" id="NoteRef_231_231"></a><a href="#Note_231_231" class="fnanchor">[231]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The nonsense increases as we go on. Could anyone have taken pleasure in -humor such as this?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"This sword a dagger had, his page,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That was but little for his age;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And therefore waited on him so</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As dwarfs upon knights-errant do....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When it had stabb'd, or broke a head,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Set leeks and onions, and so forth."<a name="NoteRef_232_232" id="NoteRef_232_232"></a><a href="#Note_232_232" class="fnanchor">[232]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Everything becomes trivial; if any beauty presents itself, it is spoiled -by burlesque. To read those long details of the kitchen, those servile -and crude jokes, people might fancy themselves in the company of a -common buffoon in the market-place; it is the talk of the quacks on the -bridges, adapting their imagination and language to the manners of the -beer-shop and the hovel. There is filth to be met with there; indeed, -the rabble will laugh when the mountebank alludes to the disgusting acts -of private life.<a name="NoteRef_233_233" id="NoteRef_233_233"></a><a href="#Note_233_233" class="fnanchor">[233]</a> Such is the grotesque stuff in which the courtiers <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> -of the Restoration delighted; their spite and their coarseness took a -pleasure in the spectacle of these bawling puppets; even now, after two -centuries, we hear the ribald laughter of this audience of lackeys.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Morals_of_the_Court">Section IV.—Morals of the Court</a></h4> - - -<p>Charles II, when at his meals, ostentatiously drew Grammont's attention -to the fact that his officers served him on their knees. They were in -the right; it was their fit attitude. Lord Chancellor Clarendon, one of -the most honored and honest men of the Court, learns suddenly and in -full council that his daughter Anne is enceinte by the Duke of York, and -that the Duke, the king's brother, has promised her marriage. Listen to -the words of this tender father; he has himself taken care to hand them -down:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The Chancellor broke out into a very immoderate passion against the -wickedness of his daughter, and said with all imaginable earnestness, -'that as soon as he came home, he would turn her (his daughter) out of -his house as a strumpet to shift for herself, and would never see her -again.'"<a name="NoteRef_234_234" id="NoteRef_234_234"></a><a href="#Note_234_234" class="fnanchor">[234]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Observe that this great man had received the news from the king -unprepared, and that he made use of these fatherly expressions on the -spur of the moment. He added, "that he had much rather his daughter -should be the duke's whore than his wife." Is that not heroical? But let -Clarendon speak for himself. Only such a true monarchical heart can -surpass itself:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"He was ready to give a positive judgment, in which he hoped their -lordships would concur with him; that the king should immediately cause -the woman to be sent to the Tower, and to be cast into a dungeon under -so strict a guard, that no person living should be admitted to come to -her; and that an act of Parliament should be immediately passed for the -cutting off her head, to which he would not only give his consent, but -would very willingly be the first man that should propose it."<a name="NoteRef_235_235" id="NoteRef_235_235"></a><a href="#Note_235_235" class="fnanchor">[235]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What Roman virtue! Afraid of not being believed, he insists whoever knew -the man, will believe that all this came from the very bottom of his -heart. He is not yet satisfied; he repeats his advice; he addresses to -the king different conclusive reasonings, in order that they might cut -off the head of his daughter:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I had rather submit and bear it (this disgrace) with all humility, than -that it should be repaired by making her his wife, the thought whereof I -do so much abominate, that I had much rather see her dead, with all the -infamy that is due to her presumption."<a name="NoteRef_236_236" id="NoteRef_236_236"></a><a href="#Note_236_236" class="fnanchor">[236]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this manner, a man, who is in difficulty, can keep his salary and his -Chancellor's robes. Sir Charles Berkley, captain of the Duke of York's -guards, did better still; he solemnly swore "that he had lain with the -young lady," and declared himself ready to marry her "for the sake of -the duke, though he knew well the familiarity the duke had with her." -Then, shortly afterwards, he confessed that he had lied, but with a good -intention, in all honor, in order to save the royal family from such a -mésalliance. This admirable self-sacrifice was rewarded; he soon had a -pension from the privy purse, and was created Earl of Falmouth. From the -first, the baseness of the public corporations rivalled that of -individuals. The House of Commons, but recently master of the country, -still full of Presbyterians, rebels, and conquerors, voted "that neither -themselves nor the people of England could be freed from the horrid -guilt of the late unnatural rebellion, or from the punishment which that -guilt merited, unless they formally availed themselves of his Majesty's -grace and pardon, as set forth in the declaration of Breda." Then all -these heroes went in a body and threw themselves with contrition at the -sacred feet of their monarch. In this universal prostration it seemed -that no one had any courage left. The king became the hireling of Louis -XIV, and sold his country for a large pension. Ministers, members of -Parliament, ambassadors, all received French money. The contagion -spread even to patriots, to men noted for their purity, to martyrs. Lord -William Russell intrigued with Versailles; Algernon Sidney accepted 500 -guineas. They had not discrimination enough to retain a show of spirit; -they had not spirit enough to retain a show of honor.<a name="NoteRef_237_237" id="NoteRef_237_237"></a><a href="#Note_237_237" class="fnanchor">[237]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<p>In men thus laid bare, the first thing that strikes you is the -bloodthirsty instinct of brute beasts. Sir John Coventry, a member of -Parliament, let some word escape him, which was construed into a -reproach of the royal amours. His friend, the Duke of Monmouth, -contrived that he should be treacherously assaulted under the king's -command, by respectable men devoted to his service, who slit his nose to -the bone. A vile wretch of the name of Blood tried to assassinate the -Duke of Ormond, and to stab the keeper of the Tower, in order to steal -the crown jewels. Charles II, considering that this was an interesting -and distinguished man of his kind, pardoned him, gave him an estate in -Ireland, and admitted him to his presence, side by side with the Duke of -Ormond, so that Blood became a sort of hero, and was received in good -society. After such splendid examples, men dared everything. The Duke of -Buckingham, a lover of the Countess of Shrewsbury, slew the Earl in a -duel; the Countess, disguised as a page, held Buckingham's horse, while -she embraced him, covered as he was with her husband's blood; and the -murderer and adulteress returned publicly, and as triumphantly, to the -house of the dead man. We can no longer wonder at hearing Count -Königsmark describe as a "peccadillo" an assassination which he had -committed by waylaying his victim. I transcribe a duel out of Pepys, to -give a notion of the manners of these bloodthirsty cut-throats. Sir H. -Bellassis and Tom Porter, the greatest friends in the world, were -talking together:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"and Sir H. Bellassis talked a little louder than ordinary to Tom -Porter, giving him some advice. Some of the company standing by said, -'What! are they quarrelling, that they talk so high?' Sir H. Bellassis, -hearing it, said, 'No!' says he: 'I would have you know I never quarrel, -but I strike: and take that as a rule of mine!' 'How?' says Tom Porter, -'strike! I would I could see the man in England that durst give me a -blow!' with that Sir H. Bellassis did give him a box of the eare; and so -they were going to fight there, but were hindered.... Tom Porter, being -informed that Sir H. Bellassis's coach was coming, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> went down out of the -coffee-house where he staid for the tidings, and stopped the coach, and -bade Sir H. Bellassis come out. 'Why,' says H. Bellassis, 'you will not -hurt me coming out, will you?' 'No,' says Tom Porter. So out he went, -and both drew.... They wounded one another, and Sir H. Bellassis so much -that it is feared he will die"—<a name="NoteRef_238_238" id="NoteRef_238_238"></a><a href="#Note_238_238" class="fnanchor">[238]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>which he did ten days after.</p> - -<p>Bull-dogs like these took no pity on their enemies. The Restoration -opened with a butchery. The Lords conducted the trials of the -republicans with a shamelessness of cruelty and an excess of rancor that -were extraordinary. A sheriff struggled with Sir Harry Vane on the -scaffold, rummaging his pockets, and taking from him a paper which he -attempted to read. During the trial of Major-General Harrison, the -hangman was placed by his side, in a black dress, with a rope in his -hand; they sought to give him a full enjoyment of the foretaste of -death. He was cut down alive from the gibbet, and disembowelled; he saw -his entrails cast into the fire; he was then quartered, and his still -beating heart was torn out and shown to the people. The cavaliers -gathered round for amusement. Here and there one of them would do worse -even than this. Colonel Turner, seeing them quarter John Coke, the -lawyer, told the sheriff's men to bring Hugh Peters, another of the -condemned, nearer; the executioner came up, and rubbing his bloody -hands, asked the unfortunate man if the work pleased him. The rotting -bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw were dug up in the night, and -their heads fixed on poles over Westminster Hall. Ladies went to see -these disgusting sights; the good Evelyn applauded them; the courtiers -made songs on them. These people were fallen so low, that they did not -even turn sick at it. Sight and smell no longer aided humanity by -producing repugnance; their senses were as dead as their hearts.</p> - -<p>From carnage they threw themselves into debauchery. You should read the -life of the Earl of Rochester, a courtier and a poet, who was the hero -of the time. His manners were those of a lawless and wretched -mountebank; his delight was to haunt the stews, to debauch women, to -write filthy songs and lewd pamphlets; he spent his time between -gossiping with the maids of honor, broils with men of letters, the -receiving of insults, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> giving of blows. By way of playing the -gallant, he eloped with his wife before he married her. Out of a spirit -of bravado, he declined fighting a duel, and gained the name of a -coward. For five years together he was said to be drunk. The spirit -within him failing of a worthy outlet, plunged him into adventures more -befitting a clown. Once with the Duke of Buckingham he rented an inn on -the Newmarket road, and turned innkeeper, supplying the husbands with -drink and defiling their wives. He introduced himself, disguised as an -old woman, into the house of a miser, robbed him of his wife, and passed -her on to Buckingham. The husband hanged himself; they made very merry -over the affair. At another time he disguised himself as a chairman, -then as a beggar, and paid court to the gutter-girls. He ended by -turning a quack astrologer, and vender of drugs for procuring abortion, -in the suburbs. It was the licentiousness of a fervid imagination, which -fouled itself as another would have adorned it, which forced its way -into lewdness and folly as another would have done into sense and -beauty. What can come of love in hands like these? We cannot copy even -the titles of his poems; they were written only for the haunts of vice. -Stendhal said that love is like a dried up bough cast into a mine; the -crystals cover it, spread out into filagree work, and end by converting -the worthless stick into a sparkling tuft of the purest diamonds. -Rochester begins by depriving love of all its adornment, and to make -sure of grasping it, converts it into a stick. Every refined sentiment, -every fancy; the enchantment, the serene, sublime glow which transforms -in a moment this wretched world of ours; the illusion which, uniting all -the powers of our being, shows us perfection in a finite creature, and -eternal bliss in a transient emotion—all has vanished; there remain but -satiated appetites and palled senses. The worst of it is, that he writes -without spirit, and methodically enough. He has no natural ardor, no -picturesque sensuality; his satires prove him a disciple of Boileau. -Nothing is more disgusting than obscenity in cold blood. We can endure -the obscene works of Giulio Romano and his Venetian voluptuousness, -because in them genius sets off sensuality, and the loveliness of the -splendid colored draperies transforms an orgie into a work of art. We -pardon Rabelais, when we have entered into the deep current of manly joy -and vigor, with which his feasts abound. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> We can hold our nose and have -done with it, while we follow with admiration, and even sympathy, the -torrent of ideas and fancies which flows through his mire. But to see a -man trying to be elegant and remaining obscene, endeavoring to paint the -sentiments of a navvy in the language of a man of the world, who tries -to find a suitable metaphor for every kind of filth, who plays the -blackguard studiously and deliberately, who, excused neither by genuine -feeling, nor the glow of fancy, nor knowledge, nor genius, degrades a -good style of writing to such work—it is like a rascal who sets himself -to sully a set of gems in a gutter. The end of all is but disgust and -illness. While La Fontaine continues to the last day capable of -tenderness and happiness, this man at the age of thirty insults the -weaker sex with spiteful malignity:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"When she is young, she whores herself for sport;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And when she's old, she bawds for her support....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She is a snare, a shamble, and a stews;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her meat and sauce she does for lechery chuse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And does in laziness delight the more,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Because by that she is provoked to whore.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ungrateful, treacherous, enviously inclined,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wild beasts are tamed, floods easier far confined,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than is her stubborn and rebellious mind....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Her temper so extravagant we find,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She hates, or is impertinently kind.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Would she be grave, she then looks like a devil,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And like a fool or whore, when she be civil....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Contentious, wicked, and not fit to trust,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And covetous to spend it on her lust."<a name="NoteRef_239_239" id="NoteRef_239_239"></a><a href="#Note_239_239" class="fnanchor">[239]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What a confession is such a judgment! what an abstract of life. You see -the roisterer stupefied at the end of his career, dried up like a mummy, -eaten away by ulcers. Amid the choruses, the crude satires, the -remembrance of plans miscarried, the sullied enjoyments which are heaped -up in his wearied brain as in a sink, the fear of damnation is -fermenting; he dies a devotee at the age of thirty-three.</p> - -<p>At the head of all, the king sets the example. This "old goat," as the -courtiers call him, imagines himself a man of gayety and elegance. What -gayety! what elegance! French manners do not suit men beyond the -Channel. When they are <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> Catholics, they fall into narrow superstition; -when epicureans, into gross debauchery; when courtiers, into base -servility; when sceptics, into vulgar atheism. The court of England -could only imitate French furniture and dress. The regular and decent -exterior which public taste maintained as Versailles was here dispensed -with as troublesome. Charles and his brother, in their state dress, -would set off running as in a carnival. On the day when the Dutch fleet -burned the English ships in the Thames, the king supped with the Duchess -of Monmouth, and amused himself by chasing a moth. In council, while -business was being transacted, he would be playing with his dog. -Rochester and Buckingham insulted him by insolent repartees or dissolute -epigrams; he would fly into a passion and suffer them to go on. He -quarrelled with his mistress in public; she called him an idiot, and he -called her a jade. He would leave her in the morning, "so that the very -sentrys speak of it."<a name="NoteRef_240_240" id="NoteRef_240_240"></a><a href="#Note_240_240" class="fnanchor">[240]</a> He suffered her to play him false before the -eyes of all; at one time she received a couple of actors, one of whom -was a mountebank. If need were, she would use abusive language to him. -"The King hath declared that he did not get the child of which she is -conceived at this time." But she told him, "...! but you shall own -it."<a name="NoteRef_241_241" id="NoteRef_241_241"></a><a href="#Note_241_241" class="fnanchor">[241]</a> Whereupon he did acknowledge the child, and took to himself a -couple of actresses for consolation. When his new wife, Catherine of -Braganza, arrived, he drove away her attendants, used coarse language to -her, that he might force on her the familiarities of his mistress, and -finished by degrading her to a friendship such as this. The good Pepys, -notwithstanding his loyal feelings, ends by saying, having heard the -king and the duke talk, and seeing and observing their manner of -discourse. "God forgive me! though I admire them with all the duty -possible, yet the more a man considers and observes them, the less he -finds of difference between them and other men, though, blessed be God! -they are both princes of great nobleness and spirits."<a name="NoteRef_242_242" id="NoteRef_242_242"></a><a href="#Note_242_242" class="fnanchor">[242]</a> He heard -that, on a certain day, the king was so besotted with Mrs. Stewart that -he gets "into corners, and will be with her half an hour together -kissing her to the observation of all the world."<a name="NoteRef_243_243" id="NoteRef_243_243"></a><a href="#Note_243_243" class="fnanchor">[243]</a> Another day, -Captain Ferrers told him "how, at a ball at Court, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> a child was dropped -by one of the ladies in dancing." They took it off on a handkerchief, -"and the King had it in his closet a week after, and did dissect it, -making great sport if it."<a name="NoteRef_244_244" id="NoteRef_244_244"></a><a href="#Note_244_244" class="fnanchor">[244]</a> These ghastly freaks and these lewd -events make us shudder. The courtiers went with the stream. Miss -Jennings, who became Duchess of Tyrconnel, disguised herself one day as -an orange girl, and cried her wares in the street.<a name="NoteRef_245_245" id="NoteRef_245_245"></a><a href="#Note_245_245" class="fnanchor">[245]</a> Pepys recounts -festivities in which lords and ladies smeared one another's faces with -candle-grease and soot, "till most of us were like devils." It was the -fashion to swear, to relate scandalous adventures, to get drunk, to -prate against the preachers and Scripture, to gamble. Lady Castlemaine -in one night lost £25,000. The Duke of St. Albans, a blind man, eighty -years old, went to the gambling-house with an attendant at his side to -tell him the cards. Sedley and Buckhurst stripped nearly naked, and ran -through the streets after midnight. Another, in the open day, stood -naked at the window to address the people. I let Grammont keep to -himself his accounts of the maids of honor brought to bed, and of -unnatural lusts. We must either exhibit or conceal them, and I have not -the courage lightly to insinuate them, after his fashion. I end by a -quotation from Pepys, which will serve for example: "Here I first -understood by their talk the meaning of company that lately were called -Bailers; Harris telling how it was by a meeting of some young blades, -where he was among them, and my Lady Bennet and her ladies; and their -dancing naked, and all the roguish things in the world."<a name="NoteRef_246_246" id="NoteRef_246_246"></a><a href="#Note_246_246" class="fnanchor">[246]</a> The -marvellous thing is, that this fair is not even gay; these people were -misanthropic, and became morose; they quote the gloomy Hobbes, and he is -their master. In fact, the philosophy of Hobbes shall give us the last -word and the last characteristics of this society.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Method_and_Style_of_Hobbes">Section V.—Method and Style of Hobbes</a></h4> - - -<p>Hobbes was one of those powerful, limited, and, as they are called, -positive minds, so common in England, of the school of Swift and -Bentham, efficacious and remorseless as an iron machine. Hence we find -in him a method and style of surprising <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> dryness and vigor, most adapted -to build up and pull down; hence a philosophy which, by the audacity of -its teaching, has placed in an undying light one of the indestructible -phases of the human mind. In every object, every event, there is some -primitive and constant fact, which forms, as it were, the nucleus around -which group themselves the various developments which complete it. The -positive mind swoops down immediately upon this nucleus, crushes the -brilliant growth which covers it; disperses, annihilates it; then, -concentrating upon it the full force of its violent grasp, loosens it, -raises it up, shapes it, and lifts it into a conspicuous position, from -whence it may henceforth shine out to all men and for all time like a -crystal. All ornament, all emotions, are excluded from the style of -Hobbes; it is a mere aggregate of arguments and concise facts in a small -space, united together by deduction, as by iron bands. There are no -tints, no fine or unusual word. He makes use only of words most familiar -to common and lasting usage; there are not a dozen employed by him -which, during two hundred years, have grown obsolete; he pierces to the -root of all sensation, removes the transient and brilliant externals, -narrows the solid portion which is the permanent subject-matter of all -thought, and the proper object of common intelligence. He curtails -throughout in order to strengthen; he attains solidity, by suppression. -Of all the bonds which connect ideas, he retains but one, and that the -most stable; his style is only a continuous chain of reasoning of the -most stubborn description, wholly made up of additions and subtractions, -reduced to a combination of certain simple ideas, which added on to or -diminishing from one another, make up, under various names, the totals -or differences, of which we are forever either studying the formation or -unravelling the elements. He pursued beforehand the method of Condillac, -beginning with tracing to the original fact, palpably and clearly, so as -to pursue step by step the filiation and parentage of the ideas of which -this primary fact is the stock, in such a manner that the reader -conducted from total to total, may at any moment test the exactness of -his operation, and verify the truth of his results. Such a logical -system cuts across the grain of prejudice with a mechanical stiffness -and boldness. Hobbes clears science of scholastic words and theories. He -laughs down quiddities, he does away with rational <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> and intelligible -classifications, he rejects the authority of references.<a name="NoteRef_247_247" id="NoteRef_247_247"></a><a href="#Note_247_247" class="fnanchor">[247]</a> He cuts, -as with a surgeon's knife, at the heart of the most living creeds. He -denies the authenticity of the books of Moses, Joshua, and the like. He -declares that no argument proves the divinity of Scripture, and that, in -order to believe it, every man requires a supernatural and personal -revelation. He upsets in half a dozen words the authority of this and -every other revelation.<a name="NoteRef_248_248" id="NoteRef_248_248"></a><a href="#Note_248_248" class="fnanchor">[248]</a> He reduces man to a mere body, the soul to -a function, God, to an unknown existence. His phrases read like -equations or mathematical results. In fact, it is from mathematics<a name="NoteRef_249_249" id="NoteRef_249_249"></a><a href="#Note_249_249" class="fnanchor">[249]</a> -that he derives the idea of all science. He would reconstitute moral -science on the same basis. He assigns to it this foundation when he lays -down that sensation is an internal movement caused by an external shock; -desire, an internal movement toward an external object; and he builds -upon these two notions the whole system of morals. Again, he assigns to -morals a mathematical method, when he distinguishes, like the -geometrician, between two simple ideas, which he transforms by degrees -into two more complex; and when on the basis of sensation and desire he -constructs the passions, the rights, and institutions of man, just as -the geometrician out of straight lines and curves constructs all the -varieties of figure. To morals he gives a mathematical aspect, by -mapping out the incomplete and rigid construction of human life, like -the network of imaginary forms which geometricians have conceived. For -the first time there was discernible in him, as in Descartes, but -exaggerated and standing out more conspicuously, that species of -intellect which produced the classic age in Europe: not the independence -of inspiration and genius which marked the Renaissance; not the mature -experimental methods and conceptions <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> of aggregates which distinguish the -present age, but the independence of argumentative reasoning, which, -dispensing with the imagination, liberating itself from tradition, badly -practising experience, acknowledges its queen in logic, its model in -mathematics, its instrument in ratiocination, its audience in polished -society, its employment in average truth, its subject-matter in abstract -humanity, its formula in ideology, and in the French Revolution at once -its glory and its condemnation, its triumph and its close.</p> - -<p>But whereas Descartes, in the midst of a purified society and religion, -noble and calm, enthroned intelligence and elevated man, Hobbes, in the -midst of an overthrown society and a religion run mad, degraded man and -enthroned matter. Through disgust of Puritanism, the courtiers reduced -human existence to an animal licentiousness; through disgust of -Puritanism, Hobbes reduced human nature to its merely animal aspect. The -courtiers were practically atheists and brutish, as he was atheistic and -brutish in the province of speculation. They had established the fashion -of instinct and egotism; he wrote the philosophy of egotism and -instinct. They had wiped out from their hearts all refined and noble -sentiments; he wiped out from the heart all noble and refined -sentiments. He arranged their manners into a theory, gave them the -manual of their conduct, wrote down beforehand the maxims which they -were to reduce to practice.<a name="NoteRef_250_250" id="NoteRef_250_250"></a><a href="#Note_250_250" class="fnanchor">[250]</a> With him, as with them, "the greatest -good is the preservation of life and limb; the greatest evil is death, -especially with pain." Other goods and other evils are only the means of -these. None seek or wish for anything but that which is pleasurable. "No -man gives except for a personal advantage." Why are friendships good -things? "Because they are useful; friends serve for defence and -otherwise." Why do we pity one another? "Because we imagine that a -similar misfortune may befall ourselves." Why is it noble to pardon him -who asks it? "Because thus one proves confidence in self." Such is the -background of the human heart. Consider now what becomes of the most -precious flowers in these blighting hands. "Music, painting, poetry, are -agreeable as imitations which recall the past, because if the past was -good, it is agreeable in its imitation as a good thing; but if it was -bad, it is agreeable in its imitation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> as being past." To this gross -mechanism he reduces the fine arts; it was perceptible in his attempt to -translate the Iliad. In his sight, philosophy is a thing of like kind. -"Wisdom is serviceable, because it has in it some kind of protection; if -it is desirable in itself, it is because it is pleasant." Thus there is -no dignity in knowledge. It is a pastime or an assistance; good, as a -servant or a puppet is a good thing. Money being more serviceable, is -worth more. "Not he who is wise is rich, as the Stoics say; but, on the -contrary, he who is rich is wise."<a name="NoteRef_251_251" id="NoteRef_251_251"></a><a href="#Note_251_251" class="fnanchor">[251]</a> As to religion, it is but "the -fear of an invisible power, whether this be a figment, or adopted from -history by general consent."<a name="NoteRef_252_252" id="NoteRef_252_252"></a><a href="#Note_252_252" class="fnanchor">[252]</a> Indeed, this was true for a Rochester -or a Charles II; cowards or bullies, superstitious or blasphemers, they -conceived of nothing beyond. Neither is there any natural right. "Before -men were bound by contract one with another, each had the right to do -what he would against whom he would." Nor any natural friendship. "All -association is for the cause of advantage or of glory; that is, for love -of one's self, not of one's associates. The origin of great and durable -associations is not mutual well-wishing but mutual fear. The desire of -injuring is innate in all. Man is to man a wolf.... Warfare was the -natural condition of men before societies were formed; and this not -incidentally, but of all against all: and this war is of its own nature -eternal."<a name="NoteRef_253_253" id="NoteRef_253_253"></a><a href="#Note_253_253" class="fnanchor">[253]</a> Sectarian violence let loose, the conflict of ambitions, -the fall of governments, the overflow of soured imaginations and -malevolent passions, had raised up this idea of society and of mankind. -One and all, philosophers and people, yearned for monarchy and repose. -Hobbes, an inexorable logician, would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> have it absolute; repression would -thus be more stern, peace more lasting. The sovereign should be -unopposed. Whatsoever he might do against a subject, under whatever -pretext, would not be injustice. He ought to decide upon the canonical -books. He was pope, and more than pope. Were he to command it, his -subjects should renounce Christ, at least with their mouth; the original -contract has given up to him, without any reservation, all -responsibility of external actions; at least, according to this view, -the sectarian will no longer have the pretext of his conscience in -harassing the state. To such extremities had the intense weariness and -horror of civil war driven a narrow but logical intellect. Upon the -secure den in which he had with every effort imprisoned and confined the -evil beast of prey, he laid as a final weight, in order that he might -perpetuate the captivity of humanity, the whole philosophy and theory -not simply of man, but of the remainder of the universe. He reduced -judgment to the "combination of two terms," ideas to conditions of the -brain, sensations to motions of the body, general laws to simple words, -all substance to corporeality, all science to the knowledge of sensible -bodies, the human being to a body capable of motion given or received; -so that man, recognizing himself and nature only under this despised -form, and degraded in his conception of himself and of the world, might -bow beneath the burden of a necessary authority, and submit in the end -to the yoke which his rebellious nature rejects, yet is forced to -tolerate.<a name="NoteRef_254_254" id="NoteRef_254_254"></a><a href="#Note_254_254" class="fnanchor">[254]</a> Such, in brief, is the aim which this spectacle of the -English Restoration suggests. Men deserved then this treatment, because -they gave birth to this philosophy; they were represented on the stage -as they had proved themselves to be in theory and in manners. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<a id="illustration3"></a> -<img src="images/illustration3.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>INITIAL LETTER FROM THE GIFFORD PSALTER.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>This is a richly illuminated initial from a psalter written at Clare -Priory about the year 1250. In the margin may be seen the arms of -Gilbert de Clare and Joan of Arc.</p></blockquote></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--The_Theatre">Section VI.—The Theatre</a></h4> - - -<p>When the theatres, which Parliament had closed, were reopened, the -change of public taste was soon manifested. Shirley, the last of the -grand old school, wrote and lived no longer. Waller, Buckingham, and -Dryden were compelled to dish up the plays of Shakespeare and Beaumont -and Fletcher, and to adapt them to the modern style. Pepys, who went to -see "Midsummer Night's Dream," declared that he would never go there -again; "for it is the most insipid, ridiculous play that ever I saw in -my life."<a name="NoteRef_255_255" id="NoteRef_255_255"></a><a href="#Note_255_255" class="fnanchor">[255]</a> Comedy was transformed; the fact was, that the public was -transformed.</p> - -<p>What an audience was that of Shakespeare and Beaumont and Fletcher! What -youthful and delightful souls! In this evil-smelling room in which it -was necessary to burn juniper, before that miserable half-lighted stage, -before decorations worthy of an alehouse, with men playing the women's -parts, illusion enchained them. They scarcely troubled themselves about -probabilities; they could be carried in an instant over forest and -ocean, from clime to clime, across twenty years of time, through ten -battles and all the hurry of adventure. They did not care to be always -laughing; comedy, after a burst of buffoonery, resumed its serious or -tender tone. They came less to be amused than to muse. In these fresh -minds, amidst a woof of passions and dreams, there were hidden passions -and brilliant dreams whose imprisoned swarm buzzed indistinctly, waiting -for the poet to come and lay bare to them the novelty and the splendor -of heaven. Landscapes revealed by a lightning flash, the gray mane of a -long and overhanging billow, a wet forest nook where the deer raise -their startled heads, the sudden smile and purpling cheek of a young -girl in love, the sublime and various flight of all delicate sentiments, -a cloak of ecstatic and romantic passion over all—these were the -sights and feelings which they came to seek. They raised themselves -without any assistance to the summit of the world of ideas; they desired -to contemplate extreme generosity, absolute love; they were not -astonished at the sight of fairy-land; they entered without an effort -into the region of poetical transformation, whose light was necessary to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -their eyes. They took in at a glance its excesses and its caprices; they -needed no preparation; they followed its digressions, its -whimsicalities, the crowding of its abundant creations, the sudden -prodigality of its high coloring, as a musician follows a symphony. They -were in that transient and strained condition in which the imagination, -adult and pure, laden with desire, curiosity, force develops man all at -once, and in that man the most exalted and exquisite feelings.</p> - -<p>The roisterers took the place of these. They were rich, they had tried -to deck themselves with the polish of Frenchmen; they added to the stage -movable decorations, music, lights, probability, comfort, every external -aid; but they wanted heart. Imagine those foppish and half-intoxicated -men, who saw in love nothing beyond desire, and in man nothing beyond -sensuality; Rochester in the place of Mercutio. What part of his soul -could comprehend poesy and fancy? The comedy of romance was altogether -beyond his reach; he could only seize the actual world, and of this -world but the palpable and gross externals. Give him an exact picture of -ordinary life, commonplace and probable occurrences, literal imitations -of what he himself was and did; lay the scene in London, in the current -year; copy his coarse words, his brutal jokes, his conversation with the -orange girls, his rendezvous in the park, his attempts at French -dissertation. Let him recognize himself, let him find again the people -and the manners he had just left behind him in the tavern or the -antechamber; let the theatre and the street reproduce one another. -Comedy will give him the same entertainment as real life; he will wallow -equally well there in vulgarity and lewdness; to be present there will -demand neither imagination nor wit; eyes and memory are the only -requisites. This exact imitation will amuse him and instruct him at the -same time. Filthy words will make him laugh through sympathy; shameless -imagery will divert him by appealing to his recollections. The author, -too, will take care to arouse him by his plot, which generally has the -deceiving of a father or a husband for its subject. The fine gentlemen -agree with the author in siding with the gallant; they follow his -fortunes with interest, and fancy that they themselves have the same -success with the fair. Add to this women debauched, and willing to be -debauched; and it is manifest how these provocations, these manners of -prostitutes, that interchange <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> of exchanges and surprises, that carnival -of rendezvous and suppers, the impudence of the scenes only stopping -short of physical demonstration, those songs with their double meaning, -that coarse slang shouted loudly and replied to amidst the tableaux -vivants, all that stage-imitation of orgie, must have stirred up the -innermost feelings of the habitual practisers of intrigue. And what is -more, the theatre gave its sanction to their manners. By representing -nothing but vice, it authorized their vices. Authors laid it down as a -rule, that all women were impudent hussies, and that all men were -brutes. Debauchery in their hands became a matter of course, nay more, a -matter of good taste; they profess it. Rochester and Charles II could -quit the theatre highly edified; more convinced than they were before -that virtue was only a pretence, the pretence of clever rascals who -wanted' to sell themselves dear.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Dryden_and_the_Drama">Section VII.—Dryden and the Drama</a></h4> - - -<p>Dryden, who was amongst the first<a name="NoteRef_256_256" id="NoteRef_256_256"></a><a href="#Note_256_256" class="fnanchor">[256]</a> to adopt this view of the matter, -did not adopt it heartily. A kind of hazy mist, the relic of the former -age, still floated over his plays. His wealthy imagination half bound -him to the comedy of romance. At one time he adapted Milton's -"Paradise," Shakespeare's "Tempest," and "Troilus and Cressida." Another -time he imitated, in "Love in a Nunnery," in "Marriage à la Mode," in -"The Mock Astrologer," the imbroglios and surprises of the Spanish -stage. Sometimes he displays the sparkling images and lofty metaphors of -the older national poets, sometimes the affected figures of speech and -cavilling wit of Calderon and Lope de Vega. He mingles the tragic and -the humorous, the overthrow of thrones and the ordinary description of -manners. But in this awkward compromise the poetic spirit of ancient -comedy disappears; only the dress and the gilding remain. The new -characters are gross and immoral, with the instincts of a lackey beneath -the dress of a lord, which is the more shocking, because by it Dryden -contradicts his own talents, being at bottom grave and a poet; he -follows the fashion, and not his own mind; he plays the libertine with -deliberate forethought, to adapt himself to the taste of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> day.<a name="NoteRef_257_257" id="NoteRef_257_257"></a><a href="#Note_257_257" class="fnanchor">[257]</a> -He plays the blackguard awkwardly and dogmatically; he is impious -without enthusiasm, and in measured periods. One of his gallants cries:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Is not love love without a priest and altars?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The temples are inanimate, and know not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What vows are made in them; the priest stands ready</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For his hire, and cares not what hearts he couples;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Love alone is marriage."<a name="NoteRef_258_258" id="NoteRef_258_258"></a><a href="#Note_258_258" class="fnanchor">[258]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Hippolita says, "I wished the ball might be kept perpetually in our -cloister, and that half the handsome nuns in it might be turned to men, -for the sake of the other."<a name="NoteRef_259_259" id="NoteRef_259_259"></a><a href="#Note_259_259" class="fnanchor">[259]</a> Dryden has no tact or contrivance. In -his "Spanish Friar," the queen, a good enough woman, tells Torrismond -that she is going to have the old dethroned king put to death, in order -to marry him, Torrismond, more at her ease. Presently she is informed -that the murder is completed. "What hinders now," says she, "but that -the holy priest, in secret joins our mutual vows? and then this night, -this happy night, is yours and mine."<a name="NoteRef_260_260" id="NoteRef_260_260"></a><a href="#Note_260_260" class="fnanchor">[260]</a> Side by side with this -sensual tragedy, a comic intrigue, pushed to the most indecent -familiarity, exhibits the love of a cavalier for a married woman, who in -the end turns out to be his sister. Dryden discovers nothing in this -situation to shock him. He has lost the commonest repugnances of natural -modesty. Translating any pretty broad play, "Amphitryon" for instance, -he finds it too pure; he strips off all its small delicacies, and -enlarges its very improprieties.<a name="NoteRef_261_261" id="NoteRef_261_261"></a><a href="#Note_261_261" class="fnanchor">[261]</a> Thus Jupiter says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"For kings and priests are in a manner bound,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For reverence' sake, to be close hypocrites."<a name="NoteRef_262_262" id="NoteRef_262_262"></a><a href="#Note_262_262" class="fnanchor">[262]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And he proceeds thereupon boldly to lay bare his own despotism. In -reality, his sophisms and his shamelessness serve Dryden as a means of -decrying by rebound the arbitrary Divinity of the theologians. He lets -Jupiter say:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">"Fate is what I,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By virtue of omnipotence, have made it;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And power omnipotent can do no wrong!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not to myself, because I will it so;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor yet to men, for what they are is mine.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This night I will enjoy Amphitryon's wife;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For when I made her, I decreed her such</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As I should please to love."<a name="NoteRef_263_263" id="NoteRef_263_263"></a><a href="#Note_263_263" class="fnanchor">[263]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This open pedantry is changed into open lust as soon as Jupiter sees -Alemena. No detail is omitted: Jupiter speaks his whole mind to her, and -before the maids; and next morning, when he is going away, she outdoes -him: she hangs on to him, and indulges in the most familiar details. All -the noble externals of high gallantry are torn off like a troublesome -garment; it is a cynical recklessness in place of aristocratic decency; -the scene is written after the example of Charles II and Castlemaine, -not of Louis XIV and Mme de Montespan.<a name="NoteRef_264_264" id="NoteRef_264_264"></a><a href="#Note_264_264" class="fnanchor">[264]</a></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Wycherley">Section VIII.—Wycherley</a></h4> - - -<p>I pass over several writers: Crowne, author of "Sir Courtly Nice"; -Shadwell, an imitator of Ben Jonson; Mrs. Aphra Behn, who calls herself -Astræa, a spy and a courtesan, paid by government and the public. -Etherege is the first to set the example of imitative comedy in his "Man -of Fashion" and to depict only the manners of his age; for the rest he -is an open roisterer, and frankly describes his habits:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"From hunting whores, and haunting play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And minding nothing all the day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And all the night too, you will say...."</span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such were his pursuits in London; and further on, in a letter from -Ratisbon to Lord Middleton,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He makes grave legs in formal fetters,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Converses with fools and writes dull letters;"</span></p> - - -<p>and gets small consolation out of the German ladies. In this grave mood -Etherege undertook the duties of an ambassador. One day, having dined -too freely, he fell from the top of a staircase, and broke his neck; a -death of no great importance. But the hero of this society was William -Wycherley, the coarsest writer who ever polluted the stage. Being sent -to France during the Revolution, he there became a Roman Catholic; then -on his return abjured; then in the end, as Pope tells us, abjured again. -Robbed of their Protestant ballast, these shallow brains ran from dogma -to dogma, from superstition to incredulity or indifference, to end in a -state of fear. He had learned at M. de Montausier's<a name="NoteRef_265_265" id="NoteRef_265_265"></a><a href="#Note_265_265" class="fnanchor">[265]</a> residence the -art of wearing gloves and a peruke, which sufficed in those days to make -a gentleman. This merit, and the success of a filthy piece, "Love in a -Wood," drew upon him the eyes of the Duchess of Cleveland, mistress of -the king and of anybody. This woman, who used to have amours with a -rope-dancer, picked him up one day in the very midst of the Ring. She -put her head out of her carriage-window, and cried to him before all, -"Sir, you are a rascal, a villain, the son of a——." Touched by this -compliment, he accepted her favors, and in consequence obtained those of -the king. He lost them, married the Countess of Drogheda, a woman of bad -temper, ruined himself, remained seven years in prison, passed the -remainder of his life in pecuniary difficulties, regretting his youth, -losing his memory, scribbling bad verses, which he got Pope to correct, -amidst many twitches of wounded self-esteem, stringing together dull -obscenities, dragging his worn-out body and enervated brain through the -stages of misanthropy and libertinage, playing the miserable part of a -toothless roisterer and a white-haired blackguard. Eleven days before -his death he married a young girl, who turned out to be a strumpet. He -ended as he had begun, by stupidity and misconduct, having succeeded -neither in becoming happy nor honest, having used his vigorous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -intelligence and real talent only to his own injury and the injury of -others.</p> - -<p>The reason was, that Wycherley was not an epicurean born. His nature, -genuinely English, that is to say, energetic and sombre, rebelled -against the easy and amiable carelessness which enables one to take life -as a pleasure-party. His style is labored, and troublesome to read. His -tone is virulent and bitter. He frequently forces his comedy in order to -get at spiteful satire. Effort and animosity mark all that he says or -puts into the mouths of others. It is Hobbes, not meditative and calm, -but active and angry, who sees in man nothing but vice, yet feels -himself man to the very core. The only fault he rejects is hypocrisy; -the only virtue he preaches is frankness. He wants others to confess -their vice, and he begins by confessing his own. "Though I cannot lie -like them (the poets), I am as vain as they; I cannot but publicly give -your Grace my humble acknowledgments.... This is the poet's gratitude, -which in plain English is only pride and ambition."<a name="NoteRef_266_266" id="NoteRef_266_266"></a><a href="#Note_266_266" class="fnanchor">[266]</a> We find in him -no poetry of expression, no glimpse of the ideal, no settled morality -which could console, raise, or purify men. He shuts them up in their -perversity and uncleanness, and installs himself among them. He shows -them the filth of the lowest depths in which he confines them; he -expects them to breathe this atmosphere; he plunges them into it, not to -disgust them with it as by an accidental fall, but to accustom them to -it as if it were their natural element. He tears down the partitions and -decorations by which they endeavor to conceal their state, or regulate -their disorder. He takes pleasure in making them fight, he delights in -the hubbub of their unfettered instincts; he loves the violent changes -of the human mass, the confusion of their wicked deeds, the rawness of -their bruises. He strips their lusts, sets them forth at full length, -and of course feels them himself; and whilst he condemns them as -nauseous, he enjoys them. People take what pleasure they can get: the -drunkards in the suburbs, if asked how they can relish their miserable -liquor, will tell you it makes them drunk as soon as better stuff, and -that is the only pleasure they have.</p> - -<p>I can understand that an author may dare much in a novel. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> It is a -psychological study, akin to criticism or history, having almost equal -license, because it contributes almost equally to explain the anatomy of -the heart. It is quite necessary to expose moral diseases, especially -when this is done to add to science, coldly, accurately, and in the -fashion of a dissection. Such a book is by its nature abstruse; it must -be read in the study, by lamp-light. But transport it to the stage, -exaggerate the bedroom liberties, give them additional life by a few -disreputable scenes, bestow bodily vigor upon them by the energetic -action and words of the actresses; let the eyes and the senses be filled -with them, not the eyes of an individual spectator, but of a thousand -men and women mingled together in the pit, excited by the interest of -the story, by the correctness of the literal imitation, by the glitter -of the lights, by the noise of applause, by the contagion of impressions -which run like a shudder through fiery and longing minds. That was the -spectacle which Wycherley furnished, and which the court appreciated. Is -it possible that a public, and a select public, could come and listen to -such scenes? In "Love in a Wood," amidst the complications of nocturnal -rendezvous, and violations effected or begun, we meet with a witling, -named Dapperwit, who desires to sell his mistress Lucy to a fine -gentleman of that age, Ranger. With what minuteness he bepraises her! He -knocks at her door; the intended purchaser meantime, growing impatient, -is treating him like a slave. The mother comes in, but wishing to sell -Lucy herself and for her own advantage, scolds them and packs them off. -Next appears an old puritanical usurer and hypocrite, named Gripe, who -at first will not bargain:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">"<i>Mrs. Joyner.</i> You must send for something to entertain her with.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">... Upon my life a groat! What will this purchase?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Gripe.</i> Two black pots of ale and a cake, at the cellar—Come, the wine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">has arsenic in't....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Mrs. J.</i> A treat of a groat! I will not wag.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>G.</i> Why don't you go? Here, take more money, and fetch what you</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">will; take here, half-a-crown.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Mrs. J.</i> What will half-a-crown do?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>G.</i> Take a crown then, an angel, a piece;—begone!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Mrs. J.</i> A treat only will not serve my turn; I must buy the poor</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">wretch there some toys.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>G.</i> What toys? what? speak quickly.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Mrs. J.</i> Pendants, necklaces, fans, ribbons, points, laces, stockings,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">gloves....</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>G.</i> But here, take half a piece for the other things.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Mrs. J.</i> Half a piece!—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>G.</i> Prithee, begone!—take t'other piece then—two pieces—three</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pieces—five! here; 'tis all I have.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;"><i>Mrs. J.</i> I must have the broad-seal ring too, or I stir not."<a name="NoteRef_267_267" id="NoteRef_267_267"></a><a href="#Note_267_267" class="fnanchor">[267]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She goes away at last, having extorted all, and Lucy plays the innocent, -seems to think that Gripe is à dancing-master, and asks for a lesson. -What scenes, what double meanings! At last she calls out, her mother, -Mrs. Crossbite, breaks open the door, and enters with men placed there -beforehand; Gripe is caught in the trap; they threaten to call in the -constable, they swindle him out of five hundred pounds.</p> - -<p>Need I recount the plot of the "Country Wife"? It is useless to wish to -skim the subject only; we sink deeper and deeper. Horner, a gentleman -returned from France, spreads the report that he is no longer able to -trouble the peace of husbands. You may imagine what becomes of such a -subject in Wycherley's hands, and he draws from it all that it contains. -Women converse about Horner's condition, even before him; they suffer -themselves to be undeceived, and boast of it. Three of them come to him -and feast, drink, sing such songs! The excess of orgie triumphs, -adjudges itself the crown, displays itself in maxims. "Our virtue," says -one of them, "is like the statesman's religion, the Quaker's word, the -gamester's oath, and the great man's honor; but to cheat those that -trust us."<a name="NoteRef_268_268" id="NoteRef_268_268"></a><a href="#Note_268_268" class="fnanchor">[268]</a> In the last scene, the suspicions which had been -aroused, are set at rest by a new declaration of Horner. All the -marriages are polluted, and the carnival ends by a dance of deceived -husbands. To crown all, Horner recommends his example to the public, and -the actress who comes on to recite the epilogue, completes the -shamefulness of the piece, by warning gallants that they must look what -they are doing; for that if they can deceive men, "we women—there's no -cozening us."<a name="NoteRef_269_269" id="NoteRef_269_269"></a><a href="#Note_269_269" class="fnanchor">[269]</a></p> - -<p>But the special and most extraordinary sign of the times is, that amid -all these provocatives, no repellent circumstance is omitted, and that -the narrator seems to aim as much at disgusting as at depraving us.<a name="NoteRef_270_270" id="NoteRef_270_270"></a><a href="#Note_270_270" class="fnanchor">[270]</a> -Every moment the fine gentlemen, even the ladies, introduce into their -conversation the ways and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> means by which, since the sixteenth century, -love has endeavored to adorn itself. Dapperwit, when making an offer of -Lucy, says, in order to account for the delay: "Pish! give her but leave -to ... put on... the long patch under the left eye; awaken the roses on -her cheeks with some Spanish wool, and warrant her breath with some -lemon-peel."<a name="NoteRef_271_271" id="NoteRef_271_271"></a><a href="#Note_271_271" class="fnanchor">[271]</a> Lady Flippant, alone in the park, cries out: -"Unfortunate lady that I am! I have left the herd on purpose to be -chased, and have wandered this hour here; but the park affords not so -much as a satyr for me; and no Burgundy man or drunken scourer will reel -my way. The rag-women and cinder-women have better luck than I."<a name="NoteRef_272_272" id="NoteRef_272_272"></a><a href="#Note_272_272" class="fnanchor">[272]</a></p> - -<p>Judge by these quotations, which are the best, of the remainder! -Wycherley makes it his business to revolt even the senses; the nose, the -eyes, everything suffers in his plays; the audience must have had the -stomach of a sailor. And from this abyss English literature has ascended -to the strict morality, the excessive decency which it now possesses! -This stage is a declared war against beauty and delicacy of every kind. -If Wycherley borrows a character anywhere, it is only to do violence, or -degrade it to the level of his own characters. If he imitates the Agnes -of Molière,<a name="NoteRef_273_273" id="NoteRef_273_273"></a><a href="#Note_273_273" class="fnanchor">[273]</a> as he does in the "Country Wife," he marries her in -order to profane marriage, deprives her of honor, still more of modesty, -still more of grace, and changes her artless tenderness into shameless -instincts and scandalous confessions. If he takes Shakespeare's Viola, -as in the "Plain Dealer," it is to drag her through the vileness of -infamy, amidst brutalities and surprises. If he translates the part of -Molière's Célimène, he wipes out at one stroke the manners of a great -lady, the woman's delicacy, the tact of the lady of the house, the -politeness, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> the refined air, the superiority of wit and knowledge of the -world, in order to substitute for them the impudence and deceit of a -foul-mouthed courtesan. If he invents an almost innocent girl, -Hippolita,<a name="NoteRef_274_274" id="NoteRef_274_274"></a><a href="#Note_274_274" class="fnanchor">[274]</a> he begins by putting into her mouth words that will not -bear transcribing. Whatever he does or says, whether he copies or -originates, blames or praises, his stage is a defamation of mankind, -which repels even when it attracts, and which sickens a man while it -corrupts.</p> - -<p>A certain gift hovers over all—namely, vigor—which is never absent in -England, and gives a peculiar character to their virtues as well as to -their vices. When we have removed the oratorical and heavily constructed -phrases imitated from the French, we get at the genuine English -talent—a deep sympathy with nature and life. Wycherley possessed that -lucid and vigorous perspicacity which in any particular situation seizes -upon gesture, physical expression, evident detail, which pierces to the -depths of the crude and base, which hits off, not men in general, and -passion as it ought to be, but an individual man, and passion as it is. -He is a realist, not of set purpose, as the realists of our day, but -naturally. In a violent manner he lays on his plaster over the grinning -and pimpled faces of his rascals, in order to bring before our very eyes -the stern mask to which the living imprint of their ugliness has stuck -on the way. He crams his plays with incident, he multiples action, he -pushes comedy to the verge of dramatic effect; he hustles his characters -amidst surprises and violence, and all but stultifies them in order to -exaggerate his satire. Observe in Olivia, a copy of Célimène, the fury -of the passions which he depicts. She describes her friends, as does -Célimène, but with what insults! Novel, a coxcomb, says:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Madam, I have been treated to-day with all the ceremony and kindness -imaginable at my lady Autumn's. But the nauseous old woman at the upper -end of her table..."<br /> -"<i>Olivia.</i> Revives the old Grecian custom, of serving in a death's head -with their banquets.... I detest her hollow cherry cheeks: she looks -like an old coach new painted.... She is still most splendidly, -gallantly ugly, and looks like an ill piece of daubing in a rich -frame."<a name="NoteRef_275_275" id="NoteRef_275_275"></a><a href="#Note_275_275" class="fnanchor">[275]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The scene is borrowed from Molière's "Misanthrope" and the "Critique de -l'École des Femmes"; but how transformed! Our modern nerves would not -endure the portrait Olivia draws of Manly, her lover: he hears her -unawares; she forthwith stands before him, laughs at him to his face, -declares herself to be married; tells him she means to keep the diamonds -which he has given her, and defies him. Fidelia says to her:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"But, madam, what could make you dissemble love to him, when 'twas so -hard a thing for you; and flatter his love to you?"<br /> -"<i>Olivia.</i> That which makes all the world flatter and dissemble, 'twas -his money: I had a real passion for that... As soon as I had his money, -I hastened his departure, like a wife, who when she has made the most of -a dying husband's breath, pulls away his pillow."<a name="NoteRef_276_276" id="NoteRef_276_276"></a><a href="#Note_276_276" class="fnanchor">[276]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The last phrase is rather that of a morose satirist than of an accurate -observer. The woman's impudence is like a professed courtesan's. In love -at first sight with Fidelia, whom she takes for a young man, she hangs -upon her neck, "stuffs her with kisses," gropes about in the dark, -crying, "Where are thy lips?" There is a kind of animal ferocity in her -love. She sends her husband off by an Improvised comedy; then skipping -about like a dancing-girl cries out: "Go, husband, and come up, friend; -just the buckets in the well; the absence of one brings the other. But -I hope, like them, too, they will not meet in the Way, jostle, and clash -together."<a name="NoteRef_277_277" id="NoteRef_277_277"></a><a href="#Note_277_277" class="fnanchor">[277]</a> Surprised in <i>flagrante delicto</i>, and having confessed -all to her cousin, as soon as she sees a chance of safety, she swallows -her avowal with the effrontery of an actress:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Eliza.</i> Well, cousin, this, I confess, was reasonable hypocrisy; you -were the better for 't.<br /> -<i>Olivia.</i> What hypocrisy?<br /> -<i>E.</i> Why, this last deceit of your husband was lawful, since in your -own defence.<br /> -<i>O.</i> What deceit? I'd have you know I never deceived my husband.<br /> -<i>E.</i> You do not understand me, sure; I say, this was an honest come-off, -and a good one. But 'twas a sign your gallant had had enough of -your conversation, since he could so dexterously cheat your husband in -passing for a Woman.<br /> -<i>O.</i> What d'ye mean, once more, With my gallant, and passing for a -woman?<br /> -<i>E.</i> What do you mean? you see your husband took him for a woman!<br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> -<i>O.</i> Whom?<br /> -<i>E.</i> Heyday! why the man he found with....<br /> -<i>O</i>. Lord, you rave sure!<br /> -<i>E.</i> Why, did you not tell me last night.... Fy, this fooling is -so insipid, 'tis offensive.<br /> -<i>O.</i> And fooling with my honour will be more offensive....<br /> -<i>E.</i> O admirable confidence!...<br /> -<i>O.</i> Confidence, to me! to me such language! nay, then I'll never see -your face again.... Lettice, where are you? Let us begone from -this censorious ill woman....<br /> -<i>E.</i> One word first, pray, madam; can you swear that whom your -husband found you with...<br /> -<i>O.</i> Swear! ay, that whosoever 'twas that stole up, unknown, into my -room, when 'twas dark, I know not, whether man or woman, by heavens, -by all that's good; or, may I never more have joys here, or in the -other world! Nay, may I eternally—<br /> -<i>E.</i> Be damned. So, so, you are damned enough already by your -oaths. . . . Yet take this advice with you, in this plain-dealing age, -to leave off forswearing yourself....<br /> -<i>O.</i> O hideous, hideous advice! let us go out of the hearing of it. She -will spoil us, Lettice."<a name="NoteRef_278_278" id="NoteRef_278_278"></a><a href="#Note_278_278" class="fnanchor">[278]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Here is animation; and if I dared to relate the boldness and the -asseveration in the night scene, it would easily appear that Mme -Marneffe had a sister, and Balzac a predecessor.</p> - -<p>There is a character who shows in a concise manner Wycherley's talent -and his morality, wholly formed of energy and indelicacy—Manly, the -"plain dealer," so manifestly the author's favorite, that his -contemporaries gave him the name of his hero for a surname. Manly is -copied after Alceste, and the great difference between the two heroes -shows the difference between the two societies and the two -countries.<a name="NoteRef_279_279" id="NoteRef_279_279"></a><a href="#Note_279_279" class="fnanchor">[279]</a> Manly is not a courtier, but a ship-captain, with the -bearing of a sailor of the time, his cloak stained with tar, and -smelling of brandy,<a name="NoteRef_280_280" id="NoteRef_280_280"></a><a href="#Note_280_280" class="fnanchor">[280]</a> ready with blows or foul oaths, calling those -he came across dogs and slaves, and when they displeased him, kicking -them downstairs. And he speaks in this fashion to a lord with a voice -like a mastiff. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> Then, when the poor nobleman tries to whisper something -in his ear, "My lord, all that you have made me know by your whispering -which I knew not before, is that you have a stinking breath; there's a -secret for your secret." When he is in Olivia's drawing-room, with -"these fluttering parrots of the town, these apes, these echoes of men," -he bawls out as if he were on his quarter-deck, "Peace, you Bartholomew -fair buffoons!" He seizes them by the collar, and says: "Why, you -impudent, pitiful wretches,... you are in all things so like women, that -you may think it in me a kind of cowardice to beat you. Begone, I -say.... No chattering, baboons; instantly begone, or..." Then he turns -them out of the room. These are the manners of a plain-dealing man. He -has been ruined by Olivia, whom he loves, and who dismisses him. Poor -Fidelia, disguised as a man, and whom he takes for a timid youth, comes -and finds him while he is fretting with anger:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Fidelia.</i> I warrant you, sir; for, at worst, I could beg or steal for -you.<br /> -<i>Manly.</i> Nay, more bragging!... You said you'd beg for me.<br /> -<i>F.</i> I did, sir.<br /> -<i>M.</i> Then you shall beg for me.<br /> -<i>F.</i> With all my heart, sir.<br /> -<i>M.</i> That is, pimp for me.<br /> -<i>F.</i> How, sir?<br /> -<i>M.</i> D'ye start?... No more dissembling: here (I say,) you -must go use it for me to Olivia.... Go, flatter, lie, kneel, promise, -anything to get her for me: I cannot live unless I have her."<a name="NoteRef_281_281" id="NoteRef_281_281"></a><a href="#Note_281_281" class="fnanchor">[281]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>And when Fidelia returns to him, saying that Olivia has embraced her, by -force, in a fit of love, he exclaims: "Her love!—a whore's, a witch's -love!—But what, did she not kiss well, sir? I'm sure, I thought her -lips—but I must not think of 'em more—but yet they are such I could -still kiss—grow to—and then tear off with my teeth, grind 'em into -mammocks, and spit 'em into her cuckold's face."<a name="NoteRef_282_282" id="NoteRef_282_282"></a><a href="#Note_282_282" class="fnanchor">[282]</a> These savage words -indicate savage actions. He goes by night to enter Olivia's house with -Fidelia, and under her name; and Fidelia tries to prevent him, through -jealousy. Then his blood boils, a storm of fury mounts to his face, and -he speaks to her in a whispering, hissing voice: "What, you are my -rival, then! and therefore you shall stay, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> and keep the door for me, -whilst I go in for you; but when I'm gone, if you dare to stir off from -this very board, or breathe the least murmuring accent, I'll cut her -throat first; and if you love her, you will not venture her life. Nay, -then I'll cut your throat too, and I know you love your own life at -least.... Not a word more, lest I begin my revenge on her by killing -you."<a name="NoteRef_283_283" id="NoteRef_283_283"></a><a href="#Note_283_283" class="fnanchor">[283]</a> He knocks over Olivia's husband, another traitor seizes from -her the casket of jewels he had given her, casts her one or two of them, -saying, "Here, madam, I never yet left my wench unpaid," and gives this -same casket to Fidelia, whom he marries. All these actions then appeared -natural. Wycherley took to himself in his dedication the title of his -hero, "Plain Dealer"; he fancied he had drawn the portrait of a frank, -honest man, and praised himself for having set the public a fine -example; he had only given them the model of an unreserved and energetic -brute. That was all the manliness that was left in this pitiable world. -Wycherley deprived man of his ill-fitting French cloak, and displayed -him with his framework of muscles, and in his naked shamelessness.</p> - -<p>And in the midst of all these, a great poet, blind, and sunk into -obscurity, his soul saddened by the misery of the times, thus depicted -the madness of the infernal rout:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Belial came last, than whom a spirit more lewd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fell not from heaven, or more gross to love</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vice for itself... who more oft than he</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In temples and at altars, when the priest</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who fill'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With lust and violence the house of God?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In courts and palaces he also reigns,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in luxurious cities, where the noise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And injury, and outrage: and when night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."<a name="NoteRef_284_284" id="NoteRef_284_284"></a><a href="#Note_284_284" class="fnanchor">[284]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="PART_II.--The_Worldlings"><i>Part II—The Worldlings</i></a></h4> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Court_Life_in_Europe">Section I.—Court Life in Europe</a></h4> - - -<p>In the seventeenth century a new mode of life was inaugurated in Europe, -the worldly, which soon took the lead of and shaped every other. In -France especially, and in England, it appeared and gained ground, from -the same causes and at the same time.</p> - -<p>In order to people the drawing-rooms, a certain political condition is -necessary; and this condition, which is the supremacy of the king in -combination with a regular system of police, was established at the same -period on both sides of the Channel. A regular police brings about peace -among men, draws them out of their feudal independence and provincial -isolation, increases and facilitates intercommunication, confidence, -union, comfort, and pleasures. The kingly supremacy calls into existence -a court, the centre of intercourse, from which all favors flow, and -which calls for a display of pleasure and splendor. The aristocracy thus -attracted to one another, and attracted to the throne by security, -curiosity, amusement, and interest, meet together, and become at once -men of the world and men of the court. They are no longer, like the -barons of a preceding age, standing in their lofty halls, armed and -stern, possessed by the idea that they might perhaps, when they quit -their palace, cut each other to pieces, and that if they fall to blows -in the precincts of the court, the executioner is ready to cut off their -hand and stop the bleeding with a red-hot iron; knowing, moreover, that -the king may probably have them beheaded to-morrow, and ready -accordingly to cast themselves on their knees and break out into -protestations of submissive fidelity, but counting under their breath -the number of swords that will be mustered on their side, and the trusty -men who keep sentinel behind the drawbridge of their castles.<a name="NoteRef_285_285" id="NoteRef_285_285"></a><a href="#Note_285_285" class="fnanchor">[285]</a> The -rights, privileges, constraints, and attractions of feudal life have -disappeared. There is no more need that the manor should be a fortress. -These men can no longer experience the joy of reigning there as in a -petty state. It has palled on them, and they quit it. Having no further -cause to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> quarrel with the king, they go to him. His court is a -drawing-room, most agreeable to the sight, and most serviceable to those -who frequent it. Here are festivities, splendid furniture, a decked and -select company, news and tittle-tattle; here they find pensions, titles, -places for themselves and their friends; they receive amusement and -profit; it is all gain and all pleasure. Here they attend the levée, -are present at dinners, return to the ball, sit down to play, are there -when the king goes to bed. Here they cut a dash with their half-French -dress, their wigs, their hats loaded with feathers, their trunk-hose, -their cannions, the large rosettes on their shoes. The ladies paint and -patch their faces, display robes of magnificent satin and velvet, laced -up with silver and very long, and above you may see their white busts, -whose brilliant nakedness is extended to their shoulders and arms. They -are gazed upon, saluted, approached. The king rides on horseback in Hyde -Park; by his side canters the queen, and with her the two mistresses, -Lady Castlemaine and Mrs. Stewart: "the queen in a white-laced waistcoat -and a crimson short pettycoat, and her hair dressed <i>à la -négligence</i>;... Mrs. Stewart with her hat cocked and a red plume, with -her sweet eye, little Roman nose, and excellent taille."<a name="NoteRef_286_286" id="NoteRef_286_286"></a><a href="#Note_286_286" class="fnanchor">[286]</a> Then they -returned to Whitehall "where all the ladies walked, talking and fiddling -with their hats and feathers, and changing and trying one another's by -one another's heads, and laughing,"<a name="NoteRef_287_287" id="NoteRef_287_287"></a><a href="#Note_287_287" class="fnanchor">[287]</a> In such fine company there was -no lack of gallantry. Perfumed gloves, pocket mirrors, work-cases fitted -up, apricot paste, essences, and other little love-tokens, came over -every week from Paris. London furnished more substantial gifts, -ear-rings, diamonds, brilliants, and golden guineas; the fair ones put -up with these, as if they had come from a greater distance.<a name="NoteRef_288_288" id="NoteRef_288_288"></a><a href="#Note_288_288" class="fnanchor">[288]</a> There -were plenty of intrigues—Heaven knows how many or of what kind. -Naturally, also, conversation does not stop. They did not mince the -adventures of Miss Warmestré the haughty, who, "deceived apparently by -a bad reckoning, took the liberty of lying-in in the midst of the -court,"<a name="NoteRef_289_289" id="NoteRef_289_289"></a><a href="#Note_289_289" class="fnanchor">[289]</a> They spoke in whispers about the attempts of Miss Hobart, -or the happy misfortune of Miss Churchill, who, being very plain, but -having the wit to fall from her horse, touched the eyes and heart of the -Duke of York. The Chevalier de Grammont <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> relates to the king the history -of Termes, or of Poussatin the almoner; everyone leaves the dance to -hear it; and when it is over, they all burst out laughing. We perceive -that this is not the world of Louis XIV, and yet it is a world; and if -it has more froth, it runs with the identical current. The great object -here also is selfish amusement, and to put on appearances; people strive -to be men of fashion; a coat bestows a certain kind of glory on its -wearer. De Grammont was in despair when the roguery of his valet obliged -him to wear the same suit twice over. Another courtier piques himself on -his songs and his guitar-playing. "Russell had a collection of two or -three hundred quadrilles in tablature, all of which he used to dance -without ever having studied them." Jermyn was known for his success with -the fair. "A gentleman," said Etherege, "ought to dress well, dance -well, fence well, have a talent for love-letters, a pleasant voice in a -room, to be always very amorous, sufficiently discreet, but not too -constant." These are already the court manners as they continued in -France up to the time of Louis XVI. With such manners, words take the -place of deeds. Life is passed in visits and conversation. The art of -conversing became the chief of all; of course, to converse agreeably, to -fill up an idle hour, on twenty subjects in an hour, hinting always, -without going deep, in such a fashion that conversation should not be a -labor, but a promenade. It was followed up by letters written in the -evening, by madrigals or epigrams to be read in the morning, by -drawing-room tragedies, or caricatures of society. In this manner a new -literature was produced, the work and the portrait of the world which -was at once its audience and its model, which sprung from it, and ended -in it.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Dawn_of_the_Classic_Spirit">Section II.—Dawn of the Classic Spirit</a></h4> - - -<p>The art of conversation being then a necessity, people set themselves to -acquire it. A revolution was effected in mind as well as in manners. As -soon as circumstances assume new aspects, thought assumes a new form. -The Renaissance is ended, the Classic Age begins, and the artist makes -room for the author. Man is returned from his first voyage round the -world of facts; enthusiasm, the labor of a troubled imagination, the -tumultuous crowding of new ideas, all the faculties which a first -discovery <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> calls into play, have become satiated, then depressed. The -incentive is blunted, because the work is done. The eccentricities, the -far vistas, the unbridled originality, the all-powerful flights of -genius aimed at the centre of truth through the extremes of folly, all -the characteristics of grand inventive genius have disappeared. The -imagination is tempered; the mind is disciplined: it retraces its steps; -it walks its own domain once more with a satisfied curiosity, an -acquired experience. Judgment, as it were, chews the cud and corrects -itself. It finds a religion, an art, a philosophy, to reform or to form -anew. It is no longer the minister of inspired intuition, but of a -regular process of decomposition. It no longer feels or looks for -generalities; it handles and observes specialties. It selects and -classifies, it refines and regulates. It ceases to be a creator, and -becomes a discourser. It quits the province of invention and settles -down into criticism. It enters upon that magnificent and confused -aggregate of dogmas and forms, in which the preceding age has gathered -up indiscriminately its dreams and discoveries; it draws thence the -ideas which it modifies and verifies. It arranges them in long chains of -simple ratiocination, which descend link by link to the vulgar -apprehension. It expresses them in exact terms, which present a -graduated series, step by step, to the vulgar reasoning power. It marks -out in the entire field of thought a series of compartments and a -network of passages, which, excluding all error and digression, lead -gradually every mind to every object. It becomes at last clear, -convenient, charming. And the world lends its aid; contingent -circumstances finish the natural revolution; the taste becomes changed -through a declivity of its own, but also through the influence of the -court. When conversation becomes the chief business of life, it modifies -style after its own image, and according to its peculiar needs. It -repudiates digression, excessive metaphor, impassioned exclamations, all -loose and overstrained ways. We cannot bawl, gesticulate, dream aloud, -in a drawing-room; we restrain ourselves; we criticise and keep watch -over ourselves; we pass the time in narration and discussion; we stand -in need of concise expression, exact language, clear and connected -reasoning; otherwise we cannot fence or comprehend each other. Correct -style, good language, conversation, are self-generated, and very quickly -perfected; for refinement is the aim of the man of the world: he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> studies -to render everything more becoming and more serviceable, his furniture -and his speech, his periods and his dress. Art and artifice are there -the distinguishing mark. People pride themselves on being perfect in -their mother-tongue, never to miss the correct sense of any word, to -avoid vulgar expressions, to string together their antitheses, to -develop their thoughts, to employ rhetoric. Nothing is more marked than -the contrast of the conversations of Shakespeare and Fletcher with those -of Wycherley and Congreve. In Shakespeare the dialogue resembles an -assault of arms; we could imagine men of skill fencing with words and -gestures as it were in a fencing-school. They play the buffoon, sing, -think aloud, burst out into a laugh, into puns, into fishwomen's talk -and into poets' talk, into quaint whimsicalities; they have a taste for -the ridiculous, the sparkling; one of them dances while he speaks; they -would willingly walk on their hands; there is not one grain of -calculation to more than three grains of folly in their heads. In -Wycherley, on the other hand, the characters are steady; they reason and -dispute; ratiocination is the basis of their style; they are so perfect -that the thing is overdone, and we see through it all the author -stringing his phrases. They arrange a tableau, multiply ingenious -comparisons, balance well-ordered periods. One character delivers a -satire, another serves up a little essay on morality. We might draw from -the comedies of the time a volume of sentences; they are charged with -literary morsels which foreshadow the "Spectator."<a name="NoteRef_290_290" id="NoteRef_290_290"></a><a href="#Note_290_290" class="fnanchor">[290]</a> They hunt for -clever and suitable expressions, they clothe indecent circumstances with -decent words; they glide swiftly over the fragile ice of decorum, and -scratch the surface without breaking it. I see gentlemen, seated in gilt -arm-chairs, of quiet wit and studied speech, cool in observation, -eloquent sceptics, expert in the fashions, lovers of elegance, liking -fine talk as much from vanity as from taste, who, while conversing -between a compliment and a reverence, will no more neglect their good -style than their neat gloves or their hat. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Sir_William_Temple">Section III.—Sir William Temple</a></h4> - - -<p>Amongst the best and most agreeable specimens of this new refinement, -appears Sir William Temple, a diplomatist and man of the world, -cautions, prudent, and polite, gifted with tact in conversation and in -business, expert in the knowledge of the times, and in the art of not -compromising himself, adroit in pressing forward and in standing aside, -who knew how to attract to himself the favor and the expectations of -England, to obtain the eulogies of men of letters, of savants, of -politicians, of the people, to gain a European reputation, to win all -the crowns appropriated to science, patriotism, virtue, genius, without -having too much of science, patriotism, genius, or virtue. Such a life -is the masterpiece of that age: fine externals on a foundation not so -fine; this is its abstract. His manner as an author agrees with his -maxims as a politician. His principles and style are homogeneous; a -genuine diplomatist, such as one meets in the drawing-rooms, having -probed Europe and touched everywhere the bottom of things; tired of -everything, specially of enthusiasm, admirable in an arm-chair or at a -levée, a good storyteller, waggish if need were, but in moderation, -accomplished in the art of maintaining the dignity of his station and of -enjoying himself. In his retreat at Sheen, afterwards at Moor Park, he -employs his leisure in writing; and he writes as a man of his rank would -speak, very well, that is to say, with dignity and facility, -particularly when he writes of the countries he has visited, of the -incidents he has seen, the noble amusements which serve to pass his -time.<a name="NoteRef_291_291" id="NoteRef_291_291"></a><a href="#Note_291_291" class="fnanchor">[291]</a> He has an income of fifteen hundred a year, and a nice -sinecure in Ireland. He retired from public life during momentous -struggles, siding neither with the king nor against him, resolved, as he -tells us himself, not to set himself against the current when the -current is irresistible. He lives peacefully in the country with his -wife, his sister, his secretary, his dependents, receiving the visits of -strangers, who are anxious to see the negotiator of the Triple Alliance, -and sometimes of the new King William, who, unable to obtain his -services, comes occasionally to seek his counsel. He plants and gardens, -in a fertile soil, in a country the climate of which agrees with him, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -amongst regular flower-beds, by the side of a very straight canal, -bordered by a straight terrace; and he lauds himself in set terms, and -with suitable discreetness, for the character he possesses and the part -he has chosen: "I have often wondered how such sharp and violent -invectives come to be made so generally against Epicurus, by the ages -that followed him, whose admirable wit, felicity of expression, -excellence of nature, sweetness of conversation, temperance of life and -constancy of death, made him so beloved by his friends, admired by his -scholars, and honoured by the Athenians."<a name="NoteRef_292_292" id="NoteRef_292_292"></a><a href="#Note_292_292" class="fnanchor">[292]</a> He does well to defend -Epicurus, because he has followed his precepts, avoiding every great -confusion of the mind, and installing himself, like one of Lucretius's -gods, in the interspace of worlds; as he says: "Where factions were once -entered and rooted in a state, they thought it madness for good men to -meddle with public affairs." And again: "The true service of the public -is a business of so much labour and so much care, that though a good and -wise man may not refuse it, if he be called to it by his prince or his -country, and thinks he may be of more than vulgar use, yet he will -seldom or never seek it; but leaves it commonly to men who, under the -disguise of public good, pursue their own designs of wealth, power, and -such bastard honours as usually attend them, not that which is the true, -and only true, reward of virtue."<a name="NoteRef_293_293" id="NoteRef_293_293"></a><a href="#Note_293_293" class="fnanchor">[293]</a> This is how he ushers himself in. -Thus presented to us, he goes on to talk of the gardening which he -practises, and first of the six grand Epicureans who have illustrated -the doctrine of their master—Cæsar, Atticus, Lucretius, Horace, -Maecenas, Vergil; then of the various sorts of gardens which have a name -in the world, from the garden of Eden, and the garden of Alcinous, to -those of Holland and Italy; and all this at some length, like a man who -listens to himself and is listened to by others, who does rather -profusely the honors of his house and of his wit to his guests, but does -them with grace and dignity, not dogmatically nor haughtily, but in -varied tones, aptly modulating his voice and gestures. He recounts the -four kinds of grapes which he has introduced into England, and confesses -that he has been extravagant, yet does not regret it; for five years he -has not once wished to see London. He intersperses technical advice with -anecdotes; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> whereof one relates to Charles II, who praised the English -climate above all others, saying: "He thought that was the best climate, -where he could be abroad in the air with pleasure, or at least without -trouble or inconvenience, most days of the year, and most hours of the -day." Another about the Bishop of Munster, who, unable to grow anything -but cherries in his orchard, had collected all varieties, and so -perfected the trees that he had fruit from May to September. The reader -feels an inward gratification when he hears an eye-witness relate minute -details of such great men. Our attention is aroused immediately; we in -consequence imagine ourselves denizens of the court, and smile -complacently; no matter if the details be slender; they serve passably -well, they constitute "a half hour with the aristocracy," like a lordly -way of taking snuff or shaking the lace of one's ruffles. Such is the -interest of courtly conversation; it can be held about nothing; the -excellence of the manner lends this nothing a peculiar charm; you hear -the sound of the voice, you are amused by the half smile, abandon -yourself to the fluent stream, forget that these are ordinary ideas; you -observe the narrator, his peculiar breeches, the cane he toys with, the -beribboned shoes, his easy walk over the smooth gravel of his garden -paths between the faultless hedges; the ear, the mind even is charmed, -captivated by the appropriateness of his diction, by the abundance of -his ornate periods, by the dignity and fulness of a style which is -involuntarily regular, which, at first artificial, like good breeding, -ends, like true good breeding, by being changed into a real necessity -and a natural talent.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, this talent occasionally leads to blunders; when a man -speaks well about everything, he thinks he has a right to speak of -everything. He plays the philosopher, the critic, even the man of -learning; and indeed becomes so actually, at least with the ladies. Such -a man writes, like Temple, "Essays on the Nature of Government," on -"Heroic Virtue,"<a name="NoteRef_294_294" id="NoteRef_294_294"></a><a href="#Note_294_294" class="fnanchor">[294]</a> on "Poetry"; that is, little treatises on society, -on the beautiful, on the philosophy of history. He is the Locke, the -Herder, the Bentley of the drawing-room, and nothing else. Now and then, -doubtless, his mother-wit leads him to fair original judgments. Temple -was the first to discover a Pindaric glow in the old chant <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> of Ragnar -Lodbrog, and to place Don Quixote in the first rank of modern fictions; -moreover, when he handles a subject within his range, like the causes of -the power and decline of the Turks, his reasoning is admirable. But -otherwise, he is simply a tyro; nay, in him the pedant crops out, and -the worst of pedants, who, being ignorant, wishes to seem wise, who -quotes the history of every land, hauling in Jupiter, Saturn, Osiris, -Fo-hi, Confucius, Manco-Capac, Mahomet, and discourses on all these -obscure and unknown civilizations, as if he had laboriously studied -them, at the fountain-head and not at second hand, through the extracts -of his secretary, or the books of others. One day he came to grief; -having plunged into a literary dispute, and claimed superiority for the -ancients over the moderns, he imagined himself a Hellenist, an -antiquarian, related the voyages of Pythagoras, the education of -Orpheus, and remarked that the Greek sages "were commonly excellent -poets, and great physicians: they were so learned in natural philosophy, -that they foretold not only eclipses in the heavens, but earthquakes at -land and storms at sea, great droughts and great plagues, much plenty or -much scarcity of certain sorts of fruits of grain; not to mention the -magical powers attributed to several of them, to allay storms, to raise -gales, to appease commotions of people, to make plagues cease."<a name="NoteRef_295_295" id="NoteRef_295_295"></a><a href="#Note_295_295" class="fnanchor">[295]</a> -Admirable faculties, which we no longer possess. Again he regretted the -decay of music, "by which men and beasts, fishes, fowls, and serpents, -were so frequently enchanted, and their very natures changed; by which -the passions of men were raised to the greatest height and violence, and -then as suddenly appeased, so as they might be justly said to be turned -into lions or lambs, into wolves or into harts, by the powers and charms -of this admirable art."<a name="NoteRef_296_296" id="NoteRef_296_296"></a><a href="#Note_296_296" class="fnanchor">[296]</a> He wished to enumerate the greatest modern -writers, and forgot to mention in his catalogue, "amongst the Italians, -Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Tasso; in his list of French, Pascal, -Bossuet, Molière, Corneille, Racine, and Boileau; in his list of -Spaniards, Lope and Calderon; and in his list of English, Chaucer, -Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton";<a name="NoteRef_297_297" id="NoteRef_297_297"></a><a href="#Note_297_297" class="fnanchor">[297]</a> though, by way of compensation, -he inserted the names of Paolo Sarpi, Guevara, Sir Philip Sidney, -Selden, Voiture, and Bussy-Rabutiri, "author of the 'Histoire amoureuse -des <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> Gaules.'" To cap all, he declared the fables of Æsop, which are a -dull Byzantine compilation, and the letters of Phalaris, a wretched -sophistical forgery, to be admirable and authentic: "It may perhaps be -further affirmed, in favor of the ancients, that the oldest books we -have are still in their kind the best. The two most ancient that I know -of in prose, among those we call profane authors, are Æsop's Fables and -Phalaris's Epistles, both living near the same time, which was that of -Cyrus and Pythagoras. As the first has been agreed by all ages since for -the greatest master in his kind, and all others of that sort have been -but imitations of his original; so I think the 'Epistles of Phalaris' to -have more grace, more spirit, more force of wit and genius, than any -others I have ever seen, either ancient or modern." And then, in order -to commit himself beyond remedy, he gravely remarked: "I know several -learned men (or that usually pass for such, under the name of critics) -have not esteemed them genuine, and Politian with some others have -attributed them to Lucian; but I think he must have little skill in -painting that cannot find out this to be an original: such diversity of -passions, upon such variety of actions and passages of life and -government, such freedom of thought, such boldness of expression, such -bounty to his friends, such scorn of his enemies, such honor of learned -men, such esteem of good, such knowledge of life, such contempt of -death, with such fierceness of nature and cruelty of revenge, could -never be represented but by him that possessed them; and I esteem Lucian -to have been no more capable of writing than of acting what Phalaris -did. In all one writ, you find the scholar or the sophist; and in all -the other, the tyrant and the commander."<a name="NoteRef_298_298" id="NoteRef_298_298"></a><a href="#Note_298_298" class="fnanchor">[298]</a></p> - -<p>Fine rhetoric truly; it is sad that a passage so aptly turned should -cover so many stupidities. All this appeared very triumphant; and the -universal applause with which this fine oratorical bombast was greeted -demonstrates the taste and the culture, the hollowness and the -politeness, of the elegant world of which Temple was the marvel, and -which, like Temple, loved only the varnish of truth. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Writers_a_la_Mode">Section IV.—Writers à la Mode</a></h4> - - -<p>Such were the ornate and polished manners which gradually pierce through -debauchery and assume the ascendant. Gradually the current grows -clearer, and marks out its course, like a stream, which forcibly -entering a new bed, moves with difficulty at first through a heap of -mud, then pushes forward its still murky waters, which are purified -little by little. These debauchees try to be men of the world, and -sometimes succeed in it. Wycherley writes well, very clearly, without -the least trace of euphuism, almost in the French manner. He makes -Dapperwit say of Lucy, in measured phrase, "She is beautiful without -affectation, amorous without impertinence,... frolic without -rudeness."<a name="NoteRef_299_299" id="NoteRef_299_299"></a><a href="#Note_299_299" class="fnanchor">[299]</a> When he wishes it he is ingenious, and his gentlemen -exchange happy comparisons. "Mistresses," says one, "are like books: if -you pore upon them too much, they doze you, and make you unfit for -company; but if used discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by -'em. Yes," says another, "a mistress should be like a little country -retreat near the town; not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night -and away, to taste the town the better when a man returns."<a name="NoteRef_300_300" id="NoteRef_300_300"></a><a href="#Note_300_300" class="fnanchor">[300]</a> These -folk have style, even out of place, often not in accordance with the -situation or condition of the persons. A shoemaker in one of Etherege's -plays says: "There is never a man in the town lives more like a -gentleman with his wife than I do. I never mind her motions; she never -inquires into mine. We speak to one another civilly, hate one another -heartily." There is perfect art in this little speech; everything is -complete, even to the symmetrical antithesis of words, ideas, sounds: -what a fine talker is this same satirical shoemaker! After a satire, a -madrigal. In one place a certain character exclaims, in the very middle -of a dialogue, and in sober prose, "Pretty pouting lips, with a little -moisture hanging on them, that look like the Provence rose fresh on the -bush, ere the morning sun has quite drawn up the dew." Is not this the -graceful gallantry of the court? Rochester himself sometimes might -furnish a parallel. Two or three of his songs are still to be found in -the expurgated books of extracts in use among modest young girls. It -matters nothing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> that such men are really scamps; they must be every -moment using compliments and salutations: before women whom they wish to -seduce they are compelled to warble tender words and insipidities: they -acknowledge but one check, the necessity to appear well-bred; yet this -check suffices to restrain them. Rochester is correct even in the midst -of his filth; if he talks lewdly, it is in the able and exact manner of -Boileau. All these roisterers aim at being wits and men of the world. -Sir Charles Sedley ruins and pollutes himself, but Charles II calls him -"the viceroy of Apollo." Buckingham extols "the magic of his style." He -is the most charming, the most sought-after of talkers; he makes puns -and verses, always agreeable, sometimes refined; he handles dexterously -the pretty jargon of mythology; he insinuates into his airy, flowing -verses all the dainty and somewhat affected prettiness of the -drawing-room. He sings thus to Chloris:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"My passion with your beauty grew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">While Cupid at my heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Still as his mother favour'd you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Threw a new flaming dart."</span></p> - - -<p>And then sums up:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Each gloried in their wanton part:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To make a lover, he</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Employ'd the utmost of his art;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To make a beauty, she."<a name="NoteRef_301_301" id="NoteRef_301_301"></a><a href="#Note_301_301" class="fnanchor">[301]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is no love whatever in these pretty things; they are received as -they are presented, with a smile; thy form part of the conventional -language, the polite attentions due from gentlemen to ladies. I suppose -they would send them in the morning with a nosegay, or a box of -preserved fruits. Roscommon indites some verses on a dead lapdog, on a -young lady's cold; this naughty cold prevents her singing—cursed be the -winter! And hereupon he takes the winter to task, abuses it at length. -Here you have the literary amusements of the worldling. They first treat -love, then danger, most airily and gayly. On the eve of a naval contest, -Dorset, at sea, amidst the pitching of his vessel, addresses a -celebrated song to the ladies. There is nothing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> weighty in it, either -sentiment or wit; people hum the couplets as they pass; they emit a -gleam of gayety; the next moment they are forgotten. Dorset at sea -writes to the ladies, on the night before an engagement:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Let's hear of no inconstancy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We have too much of that at sea."</span></p> - - -<p>And again:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Should foggy Opdam chance to know</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Our sad and dismal story,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And quit their fort at Goree.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For what resistance can they find</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From men who've left their hearts behind?"</span></p> - - -<p>Then come jests too much in the English style:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then if we write not by each post,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Think not we are unkind;...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our tears we'll send a speedier way;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The tide shall bring them twice a day."</span></p> - - -<p>Such tears can hardly flow from sorrow; the lady regards them as the -lover sheds them, good-naturedly. She is "at a play" (he thinks so, and -tells her so):</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Whilst you, regardless of our woe,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sit careless at a play,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Perhaps permit some happier man</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan."<a name="NoteRef_302_302" id="NoteRef_302_302"></a><a href="#Note_302_302" class="fnanchor">[302]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Dorset hardly troubles himself about it, plays with poetry without -excess or assiduity, just as it flows, writing to-day a verse against -Dorinda, to-morrow a satire against Mr. Howard, always easily and -without study, like a true gentleman. He is an earl, lord-chamberlain, -and rich; he pensions and patronizes poets as he would flirts—to amuse -himself, without binding himself. The Duke of Buckingham does the same, -and also the contrary; caresses one poet, parodies another; is -flattered, mocked, and ends by having his portrait taken by Dryden—a -<i>chef d'œuvre</i>, but not flattering. We have seen such pastimes and such -bickerings in France; we find here the same manners and the same -literature, because we find here also the same society and the same -spirit. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - -<p>Among these poets, and in the front rank, is Edmund Waller, who lived -and wrote in this manner to his eighty-second year: a man of wit and -fashion, well-bred, familiar from his youth with great people, endued -with tact and foresight, quick at repartee, not easy to put out of -countenance, but selfish, with hardly any feelings, having changed sides -more than once, and bearing very well the memory of his tergiversations; -in short, a good model of the worldling and the courtier. It was he who, -having once praised Cromwell, and afterwards Charles II, but the latter -mote feebly than the former, said by way of excuse: "Poets, your -Majesty, succeed better in fiction than in truth." In this kind of -existence, three-quarters of the poetry is written for the occasion; it -is the small change of conversation or flattery; it resembles the little -events or the little sentiments from which it sprang. One piece is -written "Of Tea," another on the queen's portrait; it is necessary to -pay court; moreover "His Majesty has requested some verses." One lady -makes him a present of a silver pen, straight he throws his gratitude -into rhyme; another has the power of sleeping at will, straight a -sportive stanza; a false report is spread of her being painted, straight -a copy of verses on this grave affair. A little further on there are -verses to the Countess of Carlisle on her chamber, condolences to my -Lord of Northumberland on the death of his wife, a pretty thing on a -lady "passing through a crowd of people," an answer, verse for verse, to -some rhymes of Sir John Suckling. He seizes anything frivolous, new, or -becoming on the wing; and his poetry is only a written conversation—I -mean the conversation which goes on at a ball, when people speak for the -sake of speaking, lifting a lock of one's wig, or twisting about a -glove. Gallantry holds the chief place here, as it ought to do, and we -may be pretty certain that the love is not over-sincere. In reality, -Waller sighs on purpose (Sacharissa had a fine dowry), or at least for -the sake of good manners: that which is most evident in his tender poems -is, that he aims at a flowing style and good rhymes. He is affected, he -exaggerates, he strains after wit, he is always an author. Not venturing -to address Sacharissa herself, he addresses Mrs. Braughton, her -attendant, "his fellow-servant":</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"So, in those nations which the Sun adore,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some modest Persian, or some weak-eyed Moor,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No higher dares advance his dazzled sight</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of their ascending god adorns the east,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, graced with his beam, outshines the rest."<a name="NoteRef_303_303" id="NoteRef_303_303"></a><a href="#Note_303_303" class="fnanchor">[303]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A fine comparison! That is a well-made courtesy; I hope Sacharissa -responds with one equally correct. His despairs bear the same flavor; he -pierces the groves of Penshurst with his cries, "reports his flame to -the beeches," and the well-bred beeches "bow their heads, as' if they -felt the same."<a name="NoteRef_304_304" id="NoteRef_304_304"></a><a href="#Note_304_304" class="fnanchor">[304]</a> It is probable that, in these mournful walks, his -greatest care was lest he should wet the soles of his high-heeled shoes. -These transports of love bring in the classical machinery, Apollo and -the Muses. Apollo is annoyed that one of his servants is ill-treated, -and bids him depart; and he departs, telling Sacharissa that she is -harder than an oak, and that she was certainly produced from a -rock.<a name="NoteRef_305_305" id="NoteRef_305_305"></a><a href="#Note_305_305" class="fnanchor">[305]</a></p> - -<p>There is one genuine reality in all this—sensuality; not ardent, but -light and gay. There is a certain piece, "The Fall," which an abbé of -the court of Louis XV might have written:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then blush not, Fair! or on him frown,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How could the youth, alas! but bend</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When his whole Heav'n upon him lean'd?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If aught by him amiss were done,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twas that he let you rise so soon."<a name="NoteRef_306_306" id="NoteRef_306_306"></a><a href="#Note_306_306" class="fnanchor">[306]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Other pieces smack of their surroundings, and are not so polished:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Amoret! as sweet as good,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As the most delicious food,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which but tasted does impart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Life and gladness to the heart."<a name="NoteRef_307_307" id="NoteRef_307_307"></a><a href="#Note_307_307" class="fnanchor">[307]</a></span></p> - - -<p>I should not be pleased, were I a woman, to be compared to a beef-steak, -though that be appetizing; nor should I like any <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> more to find myself, -like Sacharissa, placed on a level with good wine, which flies to the -head:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Sacharissa's beauty's wine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which to madness doth incline;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such a liquor as no brain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That is mortal can sustain."<a name="NoteRef_308_308" id="NoteRef_308_308"></a><a href="#Note_308_308" class="fnanchor">[308]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This is too much honor for port wine and meat. The English background -crops up here and elsewhere; for example, the beautiful Sacharissa, -having ceased to be beautiful, asked Waller if he would again write -verses for her: he answered, "Yes, madame, when you are once more as -young and as handsome as you were." Here is something to shock a -Frenchman. Nevertheless Waller is usually amiable; a sort of brilliant -light floats like a halo round his verses; he is always elegant, often -graceful. His gracefulness is like the perfume exhaled from the world; -fresh toilettes, ornamented drawing-rooms, the abundance and the pursuit -of all those refined and delicate comforts give to the mind a sort of -sweetness which is breathed forth in obliging compliments and smiles. -Waller has many of these compliments and smiles, and those most -flattering, <i>à propos</i> of a bud, a girdle, a rose. Such bouquets become -his hands and his art. He pays an excellent compliment "To young Lady -Lucy Sidney" on her age. And what could be more attractive for a -frequenter of drawing-rooms, than this bud of still unopened youth, but -which blushes already, and is on the point of expanding?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Yet, fairest blossom! do not slight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That age which you may know so soon.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The rosy morn resigns her light</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And milder glory to the noon."<a name="NoteRef_309_309" id="NoteRef_309_309"></a><a href="#Note_309_309" class="fnanchor">[309]</a></span></p> - - -<p>All his verses flow with a continuous harmony, clearness, facility, -though his voice is never raised, or out of tune, or rough, nor loses -its true accent, except by the worldling's affectation, which regularly -changes all tones in order to soften them. His poetry resembles one of -those pretty, affected, bedizened women, busy in inclining their heads -on one side, and murmuring with a soft voice commonplace things which -they can hardly be said to think, yet agreeable in their beribboned -dresses, and who would please altogether if they did not dream of always -pleasing. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is not that these men cannot handle grave subjects; but they handle -them in their own fashion, without gravity or depth. What the courtier -most lacks is the genuine sentiment of a true and original idea. That -which interests him most is the correctness of the adornment, and the -perfection of external form. They care little for the matter itself, -much for the outward shape. In fact, it is form which they take for -their subject in nearly all their serious poetry; they are critics, they -lay down precepts, they compose Arts of Poetry. Denham in his "Preface -to the Destruction of Troy" lays down rules for translating, whilst -Roscommon teaches in a complete poem, an "Essay on Translated Verse," -the art of translating poetry well. The Duke of Buckinghamshire -versified an "Essay on Poetry" and an "Essay on Satire." Dryden is in -the first rank of these pedagogues. Like Dryden again, they turn -translators, amplifiers. Roscommon translated the "Ars Poetica" of -Horace; Waller, the first act of "Pompée," a tragedy by Corneille; -Denham some fragments of Homer and Vergil, and two poems, one "Of -Prudence" and another "Of Justice." Rochester composed a satire against -Mankind, in the style of Boileau, and also an epistle upon Nothing; the -amorous Waller wrote a didactic poem on "The Fear of God," and another -in six cantos on "Divine Love." These are exercises of style. They take -a theological thesis, a commonplace subject of philosophy, a poetic -maxim, and develop it in jointed prose, furnished with rhymes; invent -nothing, feel little, and only aim at expressing good arguments in -classical metaphors, in noble terms, after a conventional model. Most of -their verses consist of two nouns, furnished with epithets, and -connected by a verb, like college Latin verses. The epithet is good: -they had to hunt through the Gradus for it, or, as Boileau wills it, -they had to carry the line unfinished in their heads, and had to think -about it an hour in the open air, until at last, at the corner of a -wood, they found the right word which they could not hit upon before. I -yawn, but applaud. After so much trouble a generation ends by forming -the sustained style which is necessary to support, make public, and -demonstrate grand things. Meanwhile, with their ornate, official -diction, and their borrowed thought they are like formal chamberlains, -in embroidered coats, present at a royal marriage or an imperial -baptism, empty of head, grave in manner, admirable for dignity and -bearing, with the punctilio and the ideas of a dummy. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Sir_John_Denham">Section V.—Sir John Denham</a></h4> - - -<p>One of them only (Dryden always excepted) showed talent, Sir John -Denham, Charles I's secretary. He was employed in public affairs, and -after a dissolute youth, turned to serious habits; and leaving behind -him satiric verse and party broad-jokes, attained in riper years a lofty -oratorical style. His best poem, "Cooper's Hill," is the description of -a hill and its surroundings, blended with the historical ideas which the -sight recalls, and the moral reflections which its appearance naturally -suggests. All these subjects are in accordance with the nobility and the -limitation of the classical spirit, and display his vigor without -betraying his weaknesses; the poet could show off his whole talent -without forcing it. His fine language exhibits all its beauty, because -it is sincere. We find pleasure in following the regular progress of -those copious phrases in which his ideas, opposed or combined, attain -for the first time their definite place and full clearness, where -symmetry only brings out the argument more clearly, expansion only -completes thought, antithesis and repetition do not induce trifling and -affectation, where the music of verse, adding the breadth of sound to -the fulness of sense, conducts the chain of ideas, without effort or -disorder, by an appropriate measure to a becoming order and movement. -Gratification is united with solidity; the author of "Cooper's Hill," -knows how to please as well as to impress. His poem is like a king's -park, dignified and level without doubt, but arranged to please the eye, -and full of choice prospects. It leads us by easy digressions across a -multitude of varied thoughts. It shows us here a mountain, yonder a -memorial of the nymphs, a classic memorial, like a portico filled with -statues, further on a broad stream, and by its side the ruins of an -abbey; each page of the poem is like a distinct alley, with its distinct -perspective. Further on, our thoughts are turned to the superstitions of -the ignorant Middle Ages, and to the excesses of the recent revolution; -then comes the picture of a royal hunt; we see the trembling stag make -his retreat to some dark covert:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"He calls to mind his strength, and then his speed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His winged heels, and then his armed head;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With these t' avoid, with that his fate to meet;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But fear prevails, and bids him trust his feet.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So fast he flies, that his reviewing eye</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Has lost the chasers, and his ear the cry."<a name="NoteRef_310_310" id="NoteRef_310_310"></a><a href="#Note_310_310" class="fnanchor">[310]</a></span></p> - - -<p>These are the worthy spectacles and the studied diversity of the grounds -of a nobleman. Every object, moreover, receives here, as in a king's -palace, all the adornment which can be given to it; elegant epithets are -introduced to embellish a feeble substantive, the decorations of art -transform the commonplace of nature: vessels are "floating towers"; the -Thames is "the most loved of all the Ocean's sons"; the airy mountain -hides its proud head among the clouds, whilst a shady mantle clothes its -sides. Among different kinds of ideas, there is one kingly, full of -stately and magnificent ceremonies of self-contained and studied -gestures, of correct yet commanding figures, uniform and imposing like -the appointments of a palace; hence the classic writers, and Denham -amongst them, draw all their poetic tints. From this every object and -event takes its coloring, because constrained to come into contact with -it. Here the object and events are compelled to traverse other things. -Denham is not a mere courtier, he is an Englishman; that is, preoccupied -by moral emotions. He often quits his landscape to enter into some grave -reflection; politics, religion, disturb the enjoyment of his eyes; in -reference to a hill or forest, he meditates upon man; externals lead him -inward; impressions of the senses to contemplations of the soul. The men -of this race are by nature and custom esoteric. When he sees the Thames -throw itself into the sea, he compares it with "mortal life hasting to -meet eternity." The "lofty forehead" of a mountain, beaten by storms, -reminds him of "the common fate of all that's high or great." The course -of the river suggests to him ideas of inner reformation:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O could I flow like thee! and make thy stream</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My great example, as it is my theme!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though deep, yet clear, though gentle yet not dull;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Strong without rage, without o'erflowing, full.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But his proud head the airy mountain hides</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Among the clouds; his shoulders and his sides</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A shady mantle clothes; his curled brows</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The common fate of all that's high or great."<a name="NoteRef_311_311" id="NoteRef_311_311"></a><a href="#Note_311_311" class="fnanchor">[311]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> - - -<p>There is in the English mind an indestructible store of moral instincts, -and grand melancholy; and it is the greatest confirmation of this, that -we can discover such a stock at the court of Charles II.</p> - -<p>These are, however, but rare openings, and as it were crop-pings up of -the original rock. The habits of the worldling are as a thick layer -which cover it throughout. Manners, conversation, style, the stage, -taste, all is French, or tries to be; they imitate France as well as -they are able, and go there to mould themselves. Many cavaliers went -there, driven away by Cromwell. Denham, Waller, Roscommon, and Rochester -resided there; the Duchess of Newcastle, a poetess of the time, was -married at Paris; the Duke of Buckinghamshire served for a short time -under Turenne; Wycherley was sent to France by his father, who wished to -rescue him from the contagion of Puritan opinions; Vanbrugh, one of the -best comic playwrights, went thither to contract a polish. The two -courts were allied almost always in fact, and always at heart, by a -community of interests, and of religious and monarchical ideas. Charles -II accepted from Louis XIV a pension, a mistress, counsels, and -examples; the nobility followed their prince, and France was the model -of the English court. Her literature and manners, the finest of the -classic age, led the fashion. We perceive in English writings that -French authors are their masters, and that they were in the hands of all -well-educated people. They consulted Bossuet, translated Corneille, -imitated Molière, respected Boileau. It went so far, that the greatest -gallants of them tried to be altogether French, to mix some scraps of -French in every phrase. "It is as ill-breeding now to speak good -English," says Wycherley, "as to write good English, good sense, or a -good hand." These Frenchified coxcombs<a name="NoteRef_312_312" id="NoteRef_312_312"></a><a href="#Note_312_312" class="fnanchor">[312]</a> are compliment-mongers, -always powdered, perfumed, "eminent for being <i>bien gantés.</i>" They -affect delicacy, they are fastidious; they find Englishmen coarse, -gloomy, stiff; they try to be giddy and thoughtless; they giggle and -prate at random, placing the reputation of man in the perfection of his -wig and his bows. The theatre, which ridicules these imitators, is an -imitator after their fashion. French comedy, like French politeness, -becomes their model. They copy <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> both, altering without equalling them; -for monarchical and classic France is, amongst all nations, the best -fitted from its instincts and institutions for the modes of worldly -life, and the works of an oratorical mind. England follows it in this -course, being carried away by the universal current of the age, but at a -distance, and drawn aside by its national peculiarities. It is this -common direction and this particular deviation which the society and its -poetry have proclaimed, and which the stage and its characters will -display.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Wycherley_Congreve_Vanbrugh_and_Farquhar">Section VI.—Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh and Farquhar</a></h4> - - -<p>Four principal writers established this comedy—Wycherley, Congreve, -Vanbrugh, Farquhar:<a name="NoteRef_313_313" id="NoteRef_313_313"></a><a href="#Note_313_313" class="fnanchor">[313]</a> the first gross, and in the pristine irruption -of vice; the others more sedate, possessing more a taste for urbanity -than debauchery; yet all men of the world, and priding themselves on -their good breeding, on passing their days at court or in fine company, -on having the tastes and bearing of gentlemen. "I am not a literary -man," said Congreve to Voltaire, "I am a gentleman." In fact, as Pope -said, he lived more like a man of quality than a man of letters, was -noted for his successes With the fair, and passed his latter years in -the house of the Duchess of Marlborough. I have said that Wycherley, -under Charles II, was one of the most fashionable courtiers. He served -in the army for some time, as did also Vanbrugh and Farquhar; nothing is -more gallant than the name of Captain which they employed, the military -stories they brought back, and the feather they stuck in their hats. -They all wrote comedies oft the same worldly and classical model, made -up of probable incidents such as we observe around us every day, of -well-bred characters such as we commonly meet in a drawing-room, correct -and elegant conversations such as well-bred men can carry on. This -theatre, wanting in poetry, fancy, and adventures, imitative and -discursive, was formed at the same time as that of Molière, by the same -causes, and on his model, so that in order to comprehend it we must -compare it with that of Molière.</p> - -<p>"Molière belongs to no nation," said a great English actor (Kemble); -"one day the god of comedy, wishing to write, became <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> a man, and happened -to fall into France." I accept this saying; but in becoming a man, he -found himself, at the same time, a man of the seventeenth century and a -Frenchman, and that is how he was the god of comedy. "To amuse -respectable people," said Molière, "what a strange task!" Only the -French art of the seventeenth century could succeed in that; for it -consists in leading by an agreeable path to general notions; and the -taste for these notions, as well as the custom of treading this path, is -the peculiar mark of respectable people. Molière, like Racine, expands -and creates. Open any one of his plays that comes to hand, and the first -scene in it, chosen at random; after three replies you are carried away, -or rather led away. The second continues the first, the third carries -out the second, the fourth completes all; a current is created which -bears us on, which bears us away, which does not release us until it is -exhausted. There is no check, no digression, no episodes to distract our -attention. To prevent the lapses of an absent mind, a secondary -character intervenes, a lackey, a lady's maid, a wife, who, couplet by -couplet, repeat in a different fashion the reply of the principal -character, and by means of symmetry and contrast keep us in the path -laid down. Arrived at the end, a second current seizes us and acts like -the first. It is composed like the other, and with reference to the -other. It throws it out by contrast, or strengthens it by resemblance. -Here the valets repeat the dispute, then the reconciliation of their -masters. In one place, Alceste, drawn in one direction through three -pages, by anger, is drawn in a contrary direction, and through three -pages, by love. Further on, tradesmen, professors, relatives, domestics, -relieve each other scene after scene, in order to bring out in clearer -light the pretentiousness and gullibility of M. Jourdain. Every scene, -every act, brings out in greater relief, completes, or prepares another. -Everything is united, and everything is simple; the action progresses, -and progresses only to carry on the idea; there is no complication, no -incidents. One comic event suffices for the story. A dozen conversations -make up the play of the "Misanthrope." The same situation, five or six -times renewed, is the whole of "L'École des Femmes." These pieces are -made out of nothing. They have no need of incidents, they find ample -space in the compass of one room and one day, without surprises, without -decoration, with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> an arras and four arm-chairs. This paucity of matter -throws out the ideas more clearly and quickly; in fact, their whole aim -is to bring those ideas prominently forward; the simplicity of the -subject, the progress of the action, the linking together of the -scenes—to this everything tends. At every step clearness increases, -the impression is deepened, vice stands out: ridicule is piled up, -until, before so many apt and united appeals, laughter forces its way -and breaks forth. And this laughter is not a mere outburst of physical -amusement; it is the judgment which incites it. The writer is a -philosopher, who brings us into contact with a universal truth by a -particular example. We understand through him, as through La Bruyère or -Nicole, the force of prejudice, the obstinacy of conventionality, the -blindness of love. The couplets of his dialogue, like the arguments of -their treatises, are but the worked-out proof and the logical -justification of a preconceived conclusion. We philosophize with him on -humanity; we think because he has thought. And he has only thought thus -in the character of a Frenchman, for an audience of French men of the -world. In him we taste a national pleasure. French refined and -systematic intelligence, the most exact in seizing on the subordination -of ideas, the most ready in separating ideas from matter, the most fond -of clear and tangible ideas, find in him its nourishment and its echo. -None who has sought to show us mankind, has led us by a straighter and -easier mode to a more distinct and speaking portrait. I will add, to a -more pleasing portrait—and this is the main talent of comedy: it -consists in keeping back what is hateful; and observe that which is -hateful abounds in the world. As soon as you will paint the world truly, -philosophically, you meet with vice, injustice, and everywhere -indignation; amusement flees before anger and morality. Consider the -basis of Tartuffe; an obscene pedant, a red-faced hypocritical wretch, -who, palming himself off on a decent and refined family, tries to drive -the son away, marry the daughter, corrupt the wife, ruin and imprison -the father, and almost succeeds in it, not by clever plots, but by -vulgar mummery, and by the coarse audacity of his caddish disposition. -What could be more repelling? And how is amusement to be drawn from such -a subject, where Beaumarchais and La Bruyère failed?<a name="NoteRef_314_314" id="NoteRef_314_314"></a><a href="#Note_314_314" class="fnanchor">[314]</a> Similarly, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> in -the "Misanthrope," is not the spectacle of a loyally sincere and honest -man, very much in love, whom his virtue finally overwhelms with ridicule -and drives from society, a sad sight to see? Rousseau was annoyed that -it should produce laughter; and if we were to look upon the subject, not -in Molière, but in itself, we should find enough to revolt our natural -generosity. Recall his other plots; Georges Dandin mystified, Géronte -beaten, Arnolphe duped, Harpagon plundered, Sganarelle married, girls -seduced, louts thrashed, simpletons turned financiers. There are sorrows -here, and deep ones; many would rather weep than laugh at them. -Arnolphe, Dandin, Harpagon, are almost tragic characters; and when we -see them in the world instead of the theatre, we are not disposed to -sarcasm, but to pity. Picture to yourself the originals from whom -Molière has taken his doctors. Consider this venturesome -experimentalist, who, in the interest of science, tries a new saw, or -inoculates a virus; think of his long nights at the hospital, the wan -patient carried on a mattress to the operating-table, and stretching out -his leg to the knife; or again imagine the peasant's bed of straw in the -damp cottage, where an old dropsical mother lies choking,<a name="NoteRef_315_315" id="NoteRef_315_315"></a><a href="#Note_315_315" class="fnanchor">[315]</a> while her -children grudgingly count up the crowns she has already cost them. You -quit such scenes deeply moved, filled with sympathy for human misery; -you discover that life, seen near and face to face, is a mass of trivial -harshnesses and grievous passions; you are tempted, if you wish to -depict it, to enter into the mire of sorrows whereon Balzac and -Shakespeare have built: you see in it no other poetry than that -audacious reasoning power which from such a confusion abstracts the -master-forces, or the light of genius which flickers over the swarm and -the falls of so many polluted and wounded wretches. How everything -changes under the hand of a mercurial Frenchman! how all this human -ugliness is blotted out! how amusing is the spectacle which Molière has -arranged for us! how we ought to thank the great artist for having -transformed his subject so well! At last we have a cheerful world, on -canvas at least; we could not have it otherwise, but this we have. How -pleasant it is to forget truth! what an art is that which divests us of -ourselves! what a point of view which converts the contortions of -suffering into funny grimaces! Gayety has come upon us, the dearest -possession of a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Frenchman. The soldiers of Villars used to dance that -they might forget they had no longer any bread. Of all French -possessions, too, it is the best. This gift does not destroy thought, -but it masks it. In Molière, truth is at the bottom, but concealed; he -has heard the sobs of human tragedy, but he prefers not to re-echo them. -It is quite enough to feel our wounds smart; let us not go to the -theatre to see them again. Philosophy, while it reveals them, advises us -not to think of them too much. Let us enliven our condition with the -gayety of easy conversation and light wit, as we would the chamber of -sickness. Let us cover Tartuffe, Harpagon, the doctors, with outrageous -ridicule: ridicule will make us forget their vices; they will afford us -amusement instead of causing horror. Let Alceste be grumpy and awkward. -It is in the first place true, because our more valiant virtues are only -the outbreaks of a temper out of harmony with circumstances; but, in -addition, it will be amusing, His mishaps will cease to make him the -martyr of justice; they will only be the consequences of a cross-grained -character. As to the mystifications of husbands, tutors, and fathers, I -fancy that we are not to see in them a concerted attack on society or -morality. We are only entertaining ourselves for one evening, nothing -more. The syringes and thrashings, the masquerades and dances, prove -that it is a sheer piece of buffoonery. Do not be afraid that philosophy -will perish in a pantomime; it is present even in the "Marriage Forcé," -even in the "Malade Imaginaire." It is the mark of a Frenchman and a man -of the world to clothe everything, even that which is serious, in -laughter. When he is thinking, he does not always wish to show it. In -his most violent moments he is still the master of the house, the polite -host; he conceals from you his thoughts or his suffering. Mirabeau, when -in agony, said to one of his friends with a smile, "Come, you who take -an interest in plucky deaths, you shall see mine!" The French talk in -this style when they are depicting life; no other nation knows how to -philosophize smartly, and die with good taste.</p> - -<p>This is the reason why in no other nation comedy, while it continues -comic, affords a moral; Molière is the only man who gives us models -without getting pedantic, without trenching on the tragic, without -growing solemn. This model is the "respectable man," as the phrase was, -Philinte, Ariste, Clitandre, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> Éraste;<a name="NoteRef_316_316" id="NoteRef_316_316"></a><a href="#Note_316_316" class="fnanchor">[316]</a> there is no other who can at -the same time instruct and amuse us. His talent has reflection for its -basis, but it is cultivated by the world. His character has honesty for -its basis, but it is in harmony with the world. You may imitate him -without transgressing either reason or duty; he is neither a coxcomb nor -a roisterer. You can imitate him without neglecting your interests or -making yourself ridiculous; he is neither an ignoramus nor unmannerly. -He has read and understands the jargon of Trissotin and Lycidas, but in -order to pierce them through and through, to beat them with their own -arguments, to set the gallery in a roar at their expense. He will -discuss even morality and religion, but in a style so natural, with -proofs so clear, with warmth so genuine, that he interests women, and is -listened to by men of the world. He knows man, and reasons about him, -but in such brief sentences, such living delineations, such pungent -humor, that his philosophy is the best of entertainments. He is faithful -to his ruined mistress, his calumniated friend, but gracefully, without -fuss. All his actions, even noble ones, have an easy way about them -which adorns them; he does nothing without pleasantness. His great -talent is knowledge of the world; he shows it not only in the trivial -circumstances of everyday life, but in the most passionate scenes, the -most embarrassing positions. A noble swordsman wants to take Philinte, -the "respectable man," as his second in a duel; he reflects a moment, -excuses himself in a score of phrases, and "without playing the Hector," -leaves the bystanders convinced that he is no coward. Armande insults -him, then throws herself in his arms; he politely averts the storm, -declines the reconciliation with the most loyal frankness, and without -employing a single falsehood, leaves the spectators convinced that he is -no boor. When he loves Éliante,<a name="NoteRef_317_317" id="NoteRef_317_317"></a><a href="#Note_317_317" class="fnanchor">[317]</a> who prefers Alceste, and whom -Alceste may possibly marry, he proposes to her with a complete delicacy -and dignity, without lowering himself, without recrimination, without -wronging himself or his friend. When Oronte reads him a sonnet, he does -not assume in the fop a nature which he has not, but praises the -conventional verses in conventional language, and is not so clumsy as to -display a poetical judgment which would be out of place. He takes at -once his tone from the circumstances; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> he perceives instantly what he -must say and what be silent about, in what degree and in what -gradations, what exact expedient will reconcile truth and conventional -propriety, how far he ought to go or where to take his stand, what faint -line separates decorum from flattery, truth from awkwardness. On this -narrow path he proceeds free from embarrassment or mistakes, never put -out of his way by the shocks or changes of circumstance, never allowing -the calm smile of politeness to quit his lips, never omitting to receive -with a laugh of good humor the nonsense of his neighbor. This -cleverness, entirely French, reconciles in him fundamental honesty and -worldly breeding; without it, he would be altogether on the one side or -the other. In his way comedy finds its hero half-way between the <i>roué</i> -and the preacher.</p> - -<p>Such a theatre depicts a race and an age. This mixture of solidity and -elegance belongs to the seventeenth century, and belongs to France. The -world does not deprave, it develops Frenchmen; it polished then not only -their manners and their homes, but also their sentiments and ideas. -Conversation provoked thought; it was no mere talk, but an inquiry; with -the exchange of news, it called forth the interchange of reflections. -Theology and philosophy entered into it; morals, and the observation of -the heart, formed its daily pabulum. Science kept up its vitality, and -lost only its aridity. Pleasantness cloaked reason, but did not smother -it. Frenchmen never think better than in society; the play of features -excites them; their ready ideas flash into lightning, in their shock -with the ideas of others. The varied current of conversation suits their -fits and starts; the frequent change of subject fosters their invention; -the pungency of piquant speeches reduces truth to small but precious -coin, suitable to the lightness of their hands. And the heart is no more -tainted by it than the intelligence. The Frenchman is of a sober -temperament, with little taste for the brutishness of the drunkard, for -violent joviality, for the riot of loose suppers; he is moreover gentle, -obliging, always ready to please; in order to set him at ease he needs -that flow of good-will and elegance which polite society creates and -cherishes. And in accordance therewith, he shapes his temperate and -amiable inclinations into maxims; it is a point of honor with him to be -serviceable and refined. Such is the gentleman, the product of society -in a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> sociable race. It was not so with the English. Their ideas do not -spring up in chance conversation, but by the concentration of solitary -thought; this is the reason why ideas were then wanting. Their -gentlemanly feelings are not the fruit of sociable instincts, but of -personal reflection; that is why gentlemanly feelings were then at a -discount. The brutish foundation remained; the outside alone was smooth. -Manners were gentle, sentiments harsh; speech was studied, ideas -frivolous. Thought and refinement of soul were rare, talent and fluent -wit abundant. There was politeness of manner, not of heart; they had -only the set rules and the conventionalities of life, its giddiness and -heedlessness.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Superficiality_of_English_Comedy">Section VII.—Superficiality Of English Comedy</a></h4> - - -<p>The English comedy-writers paint these vices, and possess them. Their -talent and their stage are tainted by them. Art and philosophy are -absent. The authors do not advance upon a general idea, and they do not -proceed by the most direct method. They put together ill, and are -embarrassed by materials. Their pieces have generally two intermingled -plots, manifestly distinct,<a name="NoteRef_318_318" id="NoteRef_318_318"></a><a href="#Note_318_318" class="fnanchor">[318]</a> combined in order to multiply -incidents, and because the public demands a multitude of characters and -facts. A strong current of boisterous action is necessary to stir up -their dense appreciation; they do as the Romans did, who packed several -Greek plays into one. They grew tired of the French simplicity of -action, because they had not the French refined taste. The two series of -actions mingle and jostle one with another. We cannot see where we are -going; every moment we are turned out of our path. The scenes are ill -connected; they change twenty times from place to place. When one scene -begins to develop itself, a deluge of incidents interrupts. An -irrelevant dialogue drags on between the incidents, suggesting a book -with the notes introduced promiscuously into the text. There is no plan -carefully conceived and rigorously carried out; they took, as it were, a -plan, and wrote out the scenes one after another, pretty much as they -came into their head. Probability is not well cared for. There are -poorly arranged disguises, ill <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> simulated folly, mock marriages, and -attacks by robbers worthy of the comic opera. In order to obtain a -sequence of ideas and probability, we must set out from some general -idea. The conception of avarice, hypocrisy, the education of women, -ill-assorted marriages, arranges and binds together by its individual -power incidents which are to reveal it. But in the English comedy we -look in vain for such a conception. Congreve, Farquhar, Vanbrugh, are -only men of wit, not thinkers. They skim the surface of things, but do -not penetrate. They play with their characters. They aim at success, at -amusement. They sketch caricatures, they spin out in lively fashion a -vain and bantering conversation; they make answers clash with one -another, fling forth paradoxes; their nimble fingers manipulate and -juggle with the incidents in a hundred ingenious and unlooked-for ways. -They have animation, they abound in gesture and repartee; the constant -bustle of the stage and its lively spirit surround them with continual -excitement. But the pleasure is only skin-deep; we have seen nothing of -the eternal foundation and the real nature of mankind; we carry no -thought away; we have passed an hour, and that is all; the amusement -teaches us nothing, and serves only to fill up the evenings of coquettes -and coxcombs.</p> - -<p>Moreover, this pleasure is not real; it has no resemblance to the hearty -laugh of Molière. In English comedy there is always an undercurrent of -tartness. We have seen this, and more, in Wycherley; the others, though -less cruel, joke sourly. Their characters in a joke say harsh things to -one another; they amuse themselves by hurting each other; a Frenchman is -pained to hear this interchange of mock politeness; he does not go to -blows by way of fun. Their dialogue turns naturally to virulent satire; -instead of covering vice, it makes it prominent; instead of making it -ridiculous, it makes it odious:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Clarissa.</i> Prithee, tell me how you have passed the night?... -<i>Araminta</i> Why, I have been studying all the ways my brain could -produce to plague my husband. -<i>Cl.</i> No wonder indeed you look so fresh this morning, after the -satisfaction of such pleasing ideas all night"<a name="NoteRef_319_319" id="NoteRef_319_319"></a><a href="#Note_319_319" class="fnanchor">[319]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>These women are really wicked, and that too openly. Throughout vice is -crude, pushed to extremes, served up with material <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> adjuncts. Lady Fidget -says: "Our virtue is like the statesman's religion, the Quaker's word, -the gamester's oath, and the great man's honour; but to cheat those that -trust us."<a name="NoteRef_320_320" id="NoteRef_320_320"></a><a href="#Note_320_320" class="fnanchor">[320]</a> Or again: "If you'll consult the widows of this town," -says a young lady who does not wish to marry again, "they'll tell you, -you should never take a lease of a house you can hire for a quarter's -warning."<a name="NoteRef_321_321" id="NoteRef_321_321"></a><a href="#Note_321_321" class="fnanchor">[321]</a> Or again: "My heart cut a caper up to my mouth," says a -young heir, "when I heard my father was shot through the head."<a name="NoteRef_322_322" id="NoteRef_322_322"></a><a href="#Note_322_322" class="fnanchor">[322]</a> The -gentlemen collar each other on the stage, treat the ladies roughly -before spectators, contrive an adultery not far off between the wings. -Base or ferocious parts abound. There are furies like Mrs. Loveit and -Lady Touchwood. There are swine like Parson Bull and the go-between -Coupler. Lady Touchwood wants to stab her lover on the stage.<a name="NoteRef_323_323" id="NoteRef_323_323"></a><a href="#Note_323_323" class="fnanchor">[323]</a> -Coupler, on the stage, uses gestures which recall the court of Henry III -of France. Wretches like Fainall and Maskwell are unmitigated -scoundrels, and their hatefulness is not even cloaked by the grotesque. -Even honest women like Silvia and Mrs. Sullen are plunged into the most -shocking situations. Nothing shocked the English public of those days; -they had no real education, but only its varnish.</p> - -<p>There is a forced connection between the mind of a writer, the world -which surrounds him, and the characters which he produces; for it is -from this world that he draws the materials out of which he composes -them. The sentiments which he contemplates in others and feels himself -are gradually arranged into characters; he can only invent after his -given model and his acquired experience; and his characters only -manifest what he is, or abridge what he has seen. Two features are -prominent in this world; they are prominent also on this stage. All the -successful characters can be reduced to two classes—natural beings on -the one part, and artificial on the other; the first with the coarseness -and shamelessness of their primitive inclinations, the second with the -frivolities and vices of worldly habits: the first uncultivated, their -simplicity revealing nothing but their innate baseness; the second -cultivated, their refinement instilling into <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> them nothing but a new -corruption. And the talent of the writers is suited to the painting of -these two groups: they possess the grand English faculty, which is the -knowledge of exact detail and real sentiments; they see gestures, -surroundings, dresses; they hear the sounds of voices, and they have the -courage to exhibit them; they have inherited very little, and at a great -distance, and in spite of themselves, still they have inherited from -Shakespeare; they manipulate freely, and without any softening, the -coarse harsh red color which alone can bring out the figures of their -brutes. On the other hand, they have animation and a good style; they -can express the thoughtless chatter, the frolicsome affectations, the -inexhaustible and capricious abundance of drawing-room stupidities; they -have as much liveliness as the maddest, and at the same time they speak -as well as the best instructed; they can give the model of witty -conversation; they have lightness of touch, brilliancy, and also -facility, exactness, without which you cannot draw the portrait of a man -of the world. They find naturally on their palette the strong colors -which suit their barbarians, and the pretty tints which suit their -exquisites.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Natural_Characters">Section VIII.—Natural Characters</a></h4> - - -<p>First there is the blockhead, Squire Sullen, a low kind of sot, of whom -his wife speaks in this fashion: "After his man and he had rolled about -the room, like sick passengers in a storm, he comes flounce into bed, -dead as a salmon into a fishmonger's basket; his feet cold as ice, his -breath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his face as greasy as his -flannel nightcap. O matrimony! He tosses up the clothes with a barbarous -swing over his shoulders, disorders the whole economy of my bed, leaves -me half naked, and my whole night's comfort is the tuneable serenade of -that wakeful nightingale, his nose!"<a name="NoteRef_324_324" id="NoteRef_324_324"></a><a href="#Note_324_324" class="fnanchor">[324]</a> Sir John Brute says: "What the -plague did I marry her (his wife) for? I knew she did not like me; if -she had, she would have lain with me."<a name="NoteRef_325_325" id="NoteRef_325_325"></a><a href="#Note_325_325" class="fnanchor">[325]</a> He turns his drawing-room -into a stable, smokes it foul to drive the women away, throws his pipe -at their heads, drinks, swears, and curses. Coarse words and oaths flow -through his conversation like filth through a gutter. He gets drunk at -the tavern, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> and howls out, "Damn morality! and damn the watch! and let -the constable be married."<a name="NoteRef_326_326" id="NoteRef_326_326"></a><a href="#Note_326_326" class="fnanchor">[326]</a> He cries out that he is a free-born -Englishman; he wants to go out and break everything. He leaves the inn -with other besotted scamps, and attacks the women in the street. He robs -a tailor who was carrying a doctor's gown, puts it on, thrashes the -guard. He is seized and taken by the constable; on the road he breaks -out into abuse, and ends by proposing to him, amid the hiccoughs and -stupid reiterations of a drunken man, to go and find out somewhere a -bottle and a girl. He returns home at last, covered with blood and mud, -growling like a dog, with red swollen eyes, calling his wife a slut and -a liar. He goes to her, forcibly embraces her, and as she turns away, -cries, "I see it goes damnably against your stomach—and therefore—kiss -me again. (<i>Kisses and tumbles her.</i>) So, now you being as dirty and as -nasty as myself, we may go pig together."<a name="NoteRef_327_327" id="NoteRef_327_327"></a><a href="#Note_327_327" class="fnanchor">[327]</a> He wants to get a cup of -cold tea out of the closet, kicks open the door, discovers his wife's -and niece's gallants. He storms, raves madly with his clammy tongue, -then suddenly falls asleep. His valet comes and takes the insensible -burden on his shoulders.<a name="NoteRef_328_328" id="NoteRef_328_328"></a><a href="#Note_328_328" class="fnanchor">[328]</a> It is the portrait of a mere animal, and I -fancy it is not a nice one.</p> - -<p>That is the husband; let us look at the father, Sir Tunbelly Clumsey, a -country gentleman, elegant, if any of them were. Tom Fashion knocks at -the door of the mansion, which looks like "Noah's ark," and where they -receive people as in a besieged city. A servant appears at a window with -a blunderbuss in his hand, who is at last with great difficulty -persuaded that he ought to let his master know that somebody wishes to -see him. "Ralph, go thy weas, and ask Sir Tunbelly if he pleases to be -waited upon. And dost hear? call to nurse that she may lock up Miss -Hoyden before the geat's open."<a name="NoteRef_329_329" id="NoteRef_329_329"></a><a href="#Note_329_329" class="fnanchor">[329]</a> Please to observe that in this -house they keep a watch over the girls. Sir Tunbelly comes up with his -people, armed with guns, pitchforks, scythes, and clubs, in no amiable -mood, and wants to know the name of his visitor. "Till I know your name, -I shall not ask you to come into my house; and when I know your -name—'tis six to four I don't ask you neither."<a name="NoteRef_330_330" id="NoteRef_330_330"></a><a href="#Note_330_330" class="fnanchor">[330]</a> He is like a -watchdog growling <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> and looking at the calves of an intruder. But he -presently learns that this intruder is his future son-in-law; he utters -some exclamations, and makes his excuses. "Cod's my life! I ask your -lordship's pardon ten thousand times. (<i>To a servant.</i>) Here, run in -a-doors quickly. Get a Scotch-coal fire in the great parlor; set all the -Turkey-work chairs in their places; get the great brass candlesticks -out, and be sure stick the sockets full of laurel. Run!... And do you -hear, run away to nurse, bid her let Miss Hoyden loose again, and if it -was not shifting-day, let her put on a clean tucker, quick!"<a name="NoteRef_331_331" id="NoteRef_331_331"></a><a href="#Note_331_331" class="fnanchor">[331]</a> The -pretended son-in-law wants to marry Hoyden straight off. "Not so soon -neither! that's shooting my girl before you bid her stand!... Besides, -my wench's wedding-gown is not come home yet."<a name="NoteRef_332_332" id="NoteRef_332_332"></a><a href="#Note_332_332" class="fnanchor">[332]</a> The other suggests -that a speedy marriage will save money. Spare money? says the father, -"Udswoons, I'll give my wench a wedding dinner, though I go to grass -with the king of Assyria for't.... Ah! poor girl, she'll be scared out -of her wits on her wedding-night; for, honestly speaking, she does not -know a man from a woman but by his beard and his breeches."<a name="NoteRef_333_333" id="NoteRef_333_333"></a><a href="#Note_333_333" class="fnanchor">[333]</a> -Foppington, the real son-in-law, arrives. Sir Tunbelly, taking him for -an impostor, calls him a dog; Hoyden proposes to drag him in the -horse-pond; they bind him hand and foot, and thrust him into the -dog-kennel; Sir Tunbelly puts his fist under his nose and threatens to -knock his teeth down his throat. Afterwards, having discovered the -impostor, he says, "My lord, will you cut his throat? or shall I?... -Here, give me my dog-whip.... Here, here, here, let me beat out his -brains, and that will decide all."<a name="NoteRef_334_334" id="NoteRef_334_334"></a><a href="#Note_334_334" class="fnanchor">[334]</a> He raves, and wants to fall upon -Tom Fashion with his fists. Such is the country gentleman, of high birth -and a farmer, boxer and drinker, brawler and beast. There steam up from -all these scenes a smell of cooking, the noise of riot, the odor of a -dunghill.</p> - -<p>Like father like child. What a candid creature is Miss Hoyden! She -grumbles to herself, "It's well I have a husband a-coming, or, ecod, I'd -marry the baker; I would so! Nobody can knock at the gate, but presently -I must be locked up; and here's the young greyhound bitch can run loose -about the house all the day long, she can; 'tis very well."<a name="NoteRef_335_335" id="NoteRef_335_335"></a><a href="#Note_335_335" class="fnanchor">[335]</a> When -the nurse <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> tells her her future husband has arrived, she leaps for joy, -and kisses the old woman. "O Lord! I'll go put on my laced smock, though -I'm whipped till the blood run down my heels for't."<a name="NoteRef_336_336" id="NoteRef_336_336"></a><a href="#Note_336_336" class="fnanchor">[336]</a> Tom comes -himself, and asks her if she will be his wife. "Sir, I never disobey my -father in anything but eating of green gooseberries. But your father -wants to wait a whole week. A week!—Why I shall be an old woman by -that time."<a name="NoteRef_337_337" id="NoteRef_337_337"></a><a href="#Note_337_337" class="fnanchor">[337]</a> I cannot give all her answers. There is the spirit of a -goat behind her kitchen-talk. She marries Tom secretly on the spot, and -the chaplain wishes them many children. "Ecod," she says, "with all my -heart! the more the merrier, I say; ha! nurse!"<a name="NoteRef_338_338" id="NoteRef_338_338"></a><a href="#Note_338_338" class="fnanchor">[338]</a> But Lord -Foppington, her real intended, turns up, and Tom makes off. Instantly -her plan is formed. She bids the nurse and chaplain hold their tongues. -"If you two will be sure to hold your tongues, and not say a word of -what's past, I'll e'en marry this lord too. What," says nurse, "two -husbands, my dear? Why, you had three, good nurse, you may hold your -tongue."<a name="NoteRef_339_339" id="NoteRef_339_339"></a><a href="#Note_339_339" class="fnanchor">[339]</a> She nevertheless takes a dislike to the lord, and very -soon; he is not well made, he hardly gives her any pocket-money; she -hesitates between the two. "If I leave my lord, I must leave my lady -too; and when I rattle about the streets in my coach, they'll only say, -There goes mistress—mistress—mistress what? What's this man's name I -have married, nurse? Squire Fashion. Squire Fashion is it?—Well, -'Squire,' that's better than nothing.<a name="NoteRef_340_340" id="NoteRef_340_340"></a><a href="#Note_340_340" class="fnanchor">[340]</a>... Love him! why do you think -I love him, nurse? ecod, I would not care if he were hanged, so I were -but once married to him!—No—that which pleases me, is to think what -work I'll make when I get to London; for when I am a wife and a lady -both, nurse, ecod, I'll flaunt it with the best of 'em."<a name="NoteRef_341_341" id="NoteRef_341_341"></a><a href="#Note_341_341" class="fnanchor">[341]</a> But she is -cautious all the same. She knows that her father has his dog's whip -handy, and that he will give her a good shake. "But, d'ye hear?" she -says to the nurse. "Pray take care of one thing: when the business comes -to break out, be sure you get between me and my father, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> for you know his -tricks: he'll knock me down."<a name="NoteRef_342_342" id="NoteRef_342_342"></a><a href="#Note_342_342" class="fnanchor">[342]</a> Here is your true moral ascendancy. -For such a character, there is no other, and Sir Tunbelly does well to -keep her tied up, and to let her taste a discipline of daily -stripes.<a name="NoteRef_343_343" id="NoteRef_343_343"></a><a href="#Note_343_343" class="fnanchor">[343]</a></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IX.--Artificial_Characters">Section IX.—Artificial Characters</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us accompany this modest character to town, and place her with her -equals in fine society. All these artless ladies do wonders there, both -in the way of actions and maxims. Wycherley's "Country Wife" gives us -the tone. When one of them happens to be partly honest,<a name="NoteRef_344_344" id="NoteRef_344_344"></a><a href="#Note_344_344" class="fnanchor">[344]</a> she has the -manners and the boldness of a hussar in petticoats. Others seem born -with the souls of courtesans and procuresses. "If I marry my Lord -Aimwell," says Dorinda, "there will be title, place, and precedence, the -Park, the play, and the drawing-room, splendor, equipage, noise and -flambeaux. Hey, my Lady Aimwell's servants there! Lights, lights to the -stairs! My Lady Aimwell's coach put forward! Stand by, make room for her -ladyship!—Are not these things moving?"<a name="NoteRef_345_345" id="NoteRef_345_345"></a><a href="#Note_345_345" class="fnanchor">[345]</a> She is candid, and so are -others—Corinna, Miss Betty, Belinda, for example. Belinda says to her -aunt, whose virtue is tottering: "The sooner you capitulate the -better."<a name="NoteRef_346_346" id="NoteRef_346_346"></a><a href="#Note_346_346" class="fnanchor">[346]</a> Further on, when she has decided to marry Heartfree, to -save her aunt who is compromised, she makes a confession of faith which -promises well for the future of her new spouse: "Were't not for your -affair in the balance, I should go near to pick up some odious man of -quality yet, and only take poor Heartfree for a gallant."<a name="NoteRef_347_347" id="NoteRef_347_347"></a><a href="#Note_347_347" class="fnanchor">[347]</a> These -young ladies are clever, and in all cases apt to follow good -instruction. Listen to Miss Prue: "Look you here, madam, then, what Mr. -Tattle has given me. Look you here, cousin, here's a snuff-box: nay, -there's snuff in't;—here, will you have any?—Oh, good! how sweet it -is!—Mr. Tattle is all over sweet; his peruke is sweet, and his gloves -are sweet, and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than -roses. Smell him, mother, madam, I mean. He gave me this ring for a -kiss.... Smell, cousin; he says, he'll give <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> me something that will make -my smocks smell this way. Is not it pure?—It's better than lavender, -mun. I'm resolved I won't let nurse put any more lavender among my -smocks—ha, cousin?"<a name="NoteRef_348_348" id="NoteRef_348_348"></a><a href="#Note_348_348" class="fnanchor">[348]</a> It is the silly chatter of a young magpie, who -flies for the first time. Tattle, alone with her, tells her he is going -to make love:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Miss Prue.</i> Well; and how will you make love to me? come, I long -to have you begin. Must I make love too? you must tell me how.<br /> -<i>Tattle.</i> You must let me speak, miss, you must not speak first; I must -ask you questions, and you must answer.<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> What, is it like the catechism?—come then, ask me. -<i>T.</i> D'ye think you can love me?<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> Yes.<br /> -<i>T.</i> Pooh! pox! you must not say yes already; I shan't care a farthing -for you then in a twinkling.<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> What must I say then?<br /> -<i>T.</i> Why, you must say no, or you believe not, or you can't tell.<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> Why, must I tell a lie then?<br /> -<i>T.</i> Yes, if you'd be well-bred; all well-bred persons lie. Besides, you -are a woman, you must never speak what you think: your words must -contradict your thoughts; but your actions may contradict your words. -So, when I ask you, if you can love me, you must say no, but you must -love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and -say I flatter you. But you must think yourself more charming than I -speak you: and like me, for the beauty which I say you have, as much -as if I had it myself. If I ask you to kiss me, you must be angry, but -you must not refuse me....<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> O Lord, I swear this is pure!—I like it better than our -old-fashioned country way of speaking one's mind;—and must not you -lie too?<br /> -<i>T.</i> Hum!—Yes; but you must believe I speak truth.<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> O Gemini! well, I always had a great mind to tell lies; but -they frighted me, and said it was a sin.<br /> -<i>T.</i> Well, my pretty creature; will you make me happy by giving me -a kiss?<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> No, indeed; I'm angry at you. (<i>Runs and kisses him.</i>)<br /> -<i>T.</i> Hold, hold, that's pretty well;—but you should not have given it -me, but have suffered me to have taken it.<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> Well, we'll do it again.<br /> -<i>T.</i> With all my heart. Now, then, my little angel. (<i>Kisses her.</i>)<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> Pish!<br /> -<i>T.</i> That's right—again, my charmer! (<i>Kisses again.</i>)<br /> -<i>Miss P.</i> O fy! nay, now I can't abide you.<br /> -<i>T.</i> Admirable! that was as well as if you had been born and bred in -Covent Garden."<a name="NoteRef_349_349" id="NoteRef_349_349"></a><a href="#Note_349_349" class="fnanchor">[349]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> - - -<p>She makes such rapid progress that we must stop the quotation forthwith. -And mark, what is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh. All these -charming characters soon employ the language of kitchen-maids. When Ben, -the dolt of a sailor, wants to make love to Miss Prue, she sends him off -with a flea in his ear, raves, lets loose a string of cries and coarse -expressions, calls him a "great sea-calf. What does father mean," he -says, "to leave me alone, as soon as I come home, with such a dirty -dowdy? Sea-calf! I an't calf enough to lick your chalked face, you -cheese-curd, you." Moved by these amenities, she breaks out into a rage, -weeps, calls him a "stinking tar-barrel."<a name="NoteRef_350_350" id="NoteRef_350_350"></a><a href="#Note_350_350" class="fnanchor">[350]</a> People come and put a -stop to this first essay at gallantry. She fires up, declares she will -marry Tattle, or the butler, if she cannot get a better man. Her father -says, "Hussy, you shall have a rod." She answers, "A fiddle of a rod! -I'll have a husband: and if you won't get me one, I'll get one for -myself. I'll marry our Robin the butler."<a name="NoteRef_351_351" id="NoteRef_351_351"></a><a href="#Note_351_351" class="fnanchor">[351]</a> Here are pretty and -prancing mares if you like; but decidedly, in these authors' hands, the -natural man becomes nothing but a waif from the stable or the kennel.</p> - -<p>Will you be better pleased by the educated man? The worldly life which -they depict is a regular carnival, and the heads of their heroines are -full of wild imaginations and unchecked gossip. You may see in Congreve -how they chatter, with what a flow of words and affectations, with what -a shrill and modulated voice, with what gestures, what twisting of arms -and neck, what looks raised to heaven, what genteel airs, what grimaces. -Lady Wishfort speaks:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"But art thou sure Sir Rowland will not fail to come? or will he not -fail when he does come? Will he be importunate, Foible, and push? For if -he should not be importunate, I shall never break decorums:—I shall die -with confusion, if I am forced to advance.—Oh no, I can never -advance!—I shall swoon, if he should expect advances. No, I hope Sir -Rowland is better bred than to put a lady to the necessity of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> breaking -her forms. I won't be too coy neither—I won't give him despair—but a -little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring."<br /> -<i>Foible.</i> A little scorn becomes your ladyship.<br /> -<i>Lady Wishfort.</i> Yes, but tenderness becomes me best—a sort of -dyingness—you see that picture has a sort of a—ha, Foible! a swimmingness -in the eye—yes, I'll look so—my niece affects it; but she wants features. -Is Sir Rowland handsome? Let my toilet be removed—I'll dress above. -I'll receive Sir Rowland here. Is he handsome? Don't answer me. I -won't know: I'll be surprised, I'll be taken by surprise.<a name="NoteRef_352_352" id="NoteRef_352_352"></a><a href="#Note_352_352" class="fnanchor">[352]</a>... And -how do I look, Foible?<br /> -<i>F.</i> Most killing well, madam.<br /> -<i>Lady W.</i> Well, and how shall I receive him? in what figure shall I -give his heart the first impression?... Shall I sit?—no, I won't -sit—I'll walk—ay, I'll walk from the door upon his entrance; and then -turn full upon him—no, that will be too sudden. I'll lie—ay, I'll lie -down—I'll receive him in my little dressing-room; there's a couch—yes, -yes, I'll give the first impression on a couch. I won't lie neither; -but loll and lean upon one elbow: with one foot a little dangling off, -jogging in a thoughtful way—yes—and then as soon as he appears, start, -ay, start, and be surprised, and rise to meet him in a pretty -disorder."<a name="NoteRef_353_353" id="NoteRef_353_353"></a><a href="#Note_353_353" class="fnanchor">[353]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>These hesitations of a finished coquette become still more vehement at -the critical moment. Lady Plyant thinks herself beloved by Mellefont, -who does not love her at all, and tries in vain to undeceive her.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Mellefont.</i> For heaven's sake, madam.<br /> -<i>Lady Plyant.</i> O, name it no more!—Bless me, how can you talk of -heaven! and have so much wickedness in your heart? May be you don't -think it a sin.—They say some of you gentlemen don't think it a sin.—May -be it is no sin to them that don't think it so; indeed, if I did not -think it a sin—but still my honour, if it were no sin.—But then, to -marry my daughter, for the conveniency of frequent opportunities, I'll -never consent to that; as sure as can be I'll break the match.<br /> -<i>Mel.</i> Death and amazement.—Madam, upon my knees.<br /> -<i>Lady P.</i> Nay, nay, rise up; come, you shall see my good nature. I -know love is powerful, and nobody can help his passion: 'tis not your -fault; nor I swear it is not mine. How can I help it, if I have charms? -and how can you help it if you are made a captive? I swear it is pity -it should be a fault. But my honour—well, but your honour too—but -the sin!—well, but the necessity—O Lord, here is somebody coming, I -dare not stay. Well, you must consider of your crime; and strive as -much as can be against it—strive, be sure—but don't be melancholic, -don't despair.—But never think that I'll grant you anything; O Lord, -no.—But be sure you lay aside all thoughts of the marriage: for though -I know you don't love Cynthia, only as a blind to your passion for me, -yet it will make me jealous.—O Lord, what did I say? jealous! no, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -no; I can't be jealous, for I must not love you—therefore don't hope—but -don't despair neither.—O, they're coming! I must fly."<a name="NoteRef_354_354" id="NoteRef_354_354"></a><a href="#Note_354_354" class="fnanchor">[354]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>She escapes and we will not follow her.</p> - -<p>This giddiness, this volubility, this pretty corruption, these reckless -and affected airs, are collected in the most brilliant, the most worldly -portrait of the stage we are discussing, that of Mrs. Millamant, "a fine -lady," as the Dramatis Personæ say.<a name="NoteRef_355_355" id="NoteRef_355_355"></a><a href="#Note_355_355" class="fnanchor">[355]</a> She enters, "with her fan -spread and her streamers out," dragging a train of furbelows and -ribbons, passing through a crowd of laced and bedizened fops, in -splendid perukes, who flutter about her path, haughty and wanton, witty -and scornful, toying with gallantries, petulant, with a horror of every -grave word and all nobility of action, falling in only with change and -pleasure. She laughs at the sermons of Mirabell, her suitor: -"Sententious Mirabell!—Prithee don't look with that violent and -inflexible wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child in an -old tapestry-hanging.<a name="NoteRef_356_356" id="NoteRef_356_356"></a><a href="#Note_356_356" class="fnanchor">[356]</a>... Ha! ha! ha!—pardon me, dear creature, -though I grant you 'tis a little barbarous, ha! ha! ha!"<a name="NoteRef_357_357" id="NoteRef_357_357"></a><a href="#Note_357_357" class="fnanchor">[357]</a></p> - - -<p>She breaks out into laughter, then gets into a rage, then banters, then -sings, then makes faces, and changes at every motion while we look at -her. It is a regular whirlpool; all turns round in her brain as in a -clock when the mainspring is broken. Nothing can be prettier than her -fashion of entering on matrimony:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Millamant.</i> Ah! I'll never marry unless I am first made sure of my -will and pleasure!... My dear liberty, shall I leave thee? my -faithful solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid you then adieu? -Ay—h—adieu—my morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers, -all ye <i>douceurs ye sommeils du matin</i> adieu?—I can't do it; 'tis -more than impossible—positively, Mirabell, I'll lie a-bed in a morning -as long as I please.<br /> -<i>Mirabell.</i> Then I'll get up in a morning as early as I please.<br /> -<i>Mill.</i> Ah! idle creature, get up when you will—and d'ye hear, I won't -be called names after I'm married; positively I won't be called names.<br /> -<i>Mir.</i> Names!<br /> -<i>Mill.</i> Ay, as wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweet heart, and -the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so -fulsomely familiar—I shall never bear that—good Mirabell, don't let -us be familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like my Lady Fadler, and -Sir Francis.... Let us never visit together, nor go to a play together; -but let us be very strange and well-bred: let us be as strange <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -as if we had been married a great while; and as well bred as if we were -not married at all....<br /> -<i>Mir.</i> Shall I kiss your hand upon the contract?<a name="NoteRef_358_358" id="NoteRef_358_358"></a><a href="#Note_358_358" class="fnanchor">[358]</a><br /> -<i>Mill.</i> Fainall, what shall I do? shall I have him? I think I must -have him.<br /> -<i>Fainall.</i> Ay, ay, take him. What should you do?<br /> -<i>Mill.</i> Well then—I'll take my death I'm in a horrid fright—Fainall, I -shall never say it—well—I think—I'll endure you.<br /> -<i>Fain.</i> Fy! fy! have him, have him, and tell him so in plain terms: -for I am sure you have a mind to him.<br /> -<i>Mill.</i> Are you? I think I have—and the horrid man looks as if he -thought so too—well, you ridiculous thing you, I'll have you—I won't -be kissed, nor I won't be thanked—here kiss my hand, though.—So, -hold your tongue now, don't say a word."<a name="NoteRef_359_359" id="NoteRef_359_359"></a><a href="#Note_359_359" class="fnanchor">[359]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The agreement is complete. I should like to see one more article to -it—a divorce "<i>a mensâ et thoro</i>": this would be the genuine marriage -of the worldlings, that is a decent divorce. And I am sure that in two -years Mirabell and Millamant will come to this. Hither tends the whole -of this theatre; for, with regard to the women, but particularly with -regard to the married women, I have only presented their most amiable -aspects. Deeper down it is all gloomy, bitter, above all, pernicious. It -represents a household as a prison, marriage as a warfare, woman as a -rebel, adultery as the result looked for, irregularity as a right, -extravagance as pleasure.<a name="NoteRef_360_360" id="NoteRef_360_360"></a><a href="#Note_360_360" class="fnanchor">[360]</a> A woman of fashion goes to bed in the -morning, rises at mid-day, curses her husband, listens to obscenities, -frequents balls, haunts the plays, ruins reputations, turns her home -into a gambling-house, borrows money, allures men, associates her honor -and fortune with debts and assignations. "We are as wicked (as men)," -says Lady Brute, "but our vices lie another way. Men have more courage -than we, so they commit more bold, impudent sins. They quarrel, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> fight, -swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like; whereas we being cowards, only -backbite, tell lies, cheat at cards, and so forth."<a name="NoteRef_361_361" id="NoteRef_361_361"></a><a href="#Note_361_361" class="fnanchor">[361]</a> An admirable -résumé, in which the gentlemen are included and the ladies too! The -world has done nothing but provide them with correct phrases and elegant -dresses. In Congreve especially they talk in the best style; above all -they know how to hand ladies about and entertain them with news; they -are expert in the fence of retorts and replies; they are never out of -countenance, find means to make the most ticklish notions understood; -they discuss very well, speak excellently, make their bow still better; -but to sum up, they are blackguards, systematical epicureans, professed -seducers. They set forth immorality in maxims, and reason out their -vice. "Give me," says one, "a man that keeps his five senses keen and -bright as his sword, that has 'em always drawn out in their just order -and strength, with his reason, as commander at the head of 'em, that -detaches 'em by turns upon whatever party of pleasure agreeably offers, -and commands 'em to retreat upon the least appearance of disadvantage or -danger.... I love a fine house, but let another keep it; and just so I -love a fine woman."<a name="NoteRef_362_362" id="NoteRef_362_362"></a><a href="#Note_362_362" class="fnanchor">[362]</a> One deliberately seduces his friend's wife; -another under a false name gets possession of his brother's intended. A -third hires false witnesses to secure a dowry. I must ask the reader to -consult for himself the fine stratagems of Worthy, Mirabell, and others. -They are cold-blooded rascals who forge, commit adultery, swindle, as if -they had done nothing else all their lives. They are represented here as -men of fashion; they are theatrical lovers, heroes, and as such they -manage to get hold of an heiress. We must go to Mirabell for an example -of this medley of corruption and elegance. Mrs. Fainall, his former -mistress, married by him to a common friend, a miserable wretch, -complains to him of this hateful marriage. He appeases her, gives her -advice, shows her the precise mode, the true expedient for setting -things on a comfortable footing. "You should have just so much disgust -for your husband, as may be sufficient to make you relish your lover." -She cries in despair, "Why did you make me marry <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> this man?" He smiles -calmly, "Why do we daily commit disagreeable and dangerous actions? to -save that idol, reputation." How tender is this argument! How can a man -better console a woman whom he has plunged into bitter unhappiness! What -a touching logic in the insinuation which follows: "If the familiarities -of our loves had produced that consequence of which you were -apprehensive, where could you have fixed a father's name with credit, -but on a husband?" He continues his reasoning in an excellent style; -listen to the dilemma of a man of feeling: "A better man ought not to -have been sacrificed to the occasion; a worse had not answered to the -purpose. When you are weary of him, you know your remedy."<a name="NoteRef_363_363" id="NoteRef_363_363"></a><a href="#Note_363_363" class="fnanchor">[363]</a> Thus are -a woman's feelings to be considered, especially a woman whom we have -loved. To cap all, this delicate conversation is meant to force the poor -deserted Mrs. Fainall into a low intrigue which shall obtain for -Mirabell a pretty wife and a good dowry. Certainly this gentleman knows -the world; no one could better employ a former mistress. Such are the -cultivated characters of this theatre, as dishonest as the uncultivated -ones: having transformed their evil instincts into systematic vices, -lust into debauchery, brutality into cynicism, perversity into -depravity, deliberate egotists, calculating sensualists, with rules for -their immorality, reducing feeling to self-interest, honor to decorum, -happiness to pleasure.</p> - -<p>The English Restoration altogether was one of those great crises which, -while warping the development of a society and a literature, show the -inward spirit which they modify, but which contradicts them. Society did -not lack vigor, nor literature talent; men of the world were polished, -writers inventive. There was a court, drawing-rooms, conversation, -worldly life, a taste for letters, the example of France, peace, -leisure, the influence of the sciences, of politics, of theology—in -short, all the happy circumstances which can elevate the mind and -civilize manners. There was the vigorous satire of Wycherley, the -sparkling dialogue and delicate raillery of Congreve, the frank nature -and animation of Vanbrugh, the manifold invention of Farquhar, in short, -all the resources which might nourish the comic element, and offer a -genuine theatre to the best constructions of human intelligence. Nothing -came to a head; all was abortive. Their age left nothing behind but the -memory of corruption; their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> comedy remains a repertory of viciousness; -society had only a soiled elegance, literature a frigid wit. Their -manners are gross and trivial; their ideas are futile or incomplete. -Through disgust and reaction, a revolution was at hand in literary -feeling and moral habits, as well as in general beliefs and political -institutions. Man was to change altogether, and to turn completely round -at once. The same repugnance and the same experience were to detach him -from every aspect of his old condition. The Englishman discovered that -he was not monarchical, Papistical, nor sceptical, but liberal, -Protestant, and a believer. He came to understand that he was not a -roisterer nor a worldling, but reflective and introspective. He -possesses a current of animal life too violent to suffer him without -danger to abandon himself to enjoyment; he needs a barrier of moral -reasoning to repress his outbreaks. There is in him a current of -attention and will too strong to suffer himself to rest content with -trifles; he needs some weighty and serviceable labor on which to expend -his power. He needs a barrier and an employment. He needs a constitution -and a religion which shall restrain him by duties which must be -performed, and which shall occupy him by rights which must be defended. -He is content only in a serious and orderly life; there he finds the -natural groove and the necessary outlet for his faculties and his -passions. From this time he enters upon it, and this theatre itself -exhibits the impress of it. It undoes and transforms itself. Collier -threw discredit upon it; Addison condemned it. National sentiment awoke -on the stage; French manners are jeered at; the prologues celebrate the -defeats of Louis XIV; the license, elegance, religion of his court, are -presented under a ridiculous or odious light.<a name="NoteRef_364_364" id="NoteRef_364_364"></a><a href="#Note_364_364" class="fnanchor">[364]</a> Immorality gradually -diminishes, marriage is more respected, the heroines go no further than -to the verge of adultery;<a name="NoteRef_365_365" id="NoteRef_365_365"></a><a href="#Note_365_365" class="fnanchor">[365]</a> the roisterers are pulled up at the -critical moment; one of them suddenly declares himself purified, and -speaks in verse, the better to mark his enthusiasm; another praises -marriage;<a name="NoteRef_366_366" id="NoteRef_366_366"></a><a href="#Note_366_366" class="fnanchor">[366]</a> some aspire in the fifth act to an orderly life. We shall -soon see Steele writing a moral <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> treatise called "The Christian Hero." -Henceforth comedy declines and literary talent flows into another -channel. Essay, novel, pamphlet, dissertation, take the place of the -drama; and the English classical spirit, abandoning the kinds of writing -which are foreign to its nature, enters upon the great works which are -destined to immortalize it and give it expression.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_X.--Sheridan.--Decadence_of_the_Theatre">Section X.—Sheridan.—Decadence of the Theatre</a></h4> - - -<p>Nevertheless, in this continuous decline of dramatic invention, and in -the great change of literary vitality, some shoots strike out at distant -intervals towards comedy; for mankind always seeks for entertainment, -and the theatre is always a place of entertainment. The tree once -planted grows, feebly no doubt, with long intervals of almost total -dryness and almost constant barrenness, yet subject to imperfect -renewals of life, to transitory partial blossomings, sometimes to an -inferior fruitage bursting forth from the lowest branches. Even when the -great subjects are worn out, there is still room here and there for a -happy idea. Let a wit, clever and experienced, take it in hand, he will -catch up a few oddities on his way, he will introduce on the scene some -vice or fault of his time; the public will come in crowds and ask no -better than to recognize itself and laugh. There was one of these -successes when Gay, in the "Beggars' Opera" brought out the rascaldom of -the great world, and avenged the public on Walpole and the court; -another, when Goldsmith, inventing a series of mistakes, led his hero -and his audience through five acts of blunders.<a name="NoteRef_367_367" id="NoteRef_367_367"></a><a href="#Note_367_367" class="fnanchor">[367]</a> After all, if true -comedy can only exist in certain ages, ordinary comedy can exist in any -age. It is too akin to the pamphlet, novels, satire, not to raise itself -occasionally by its propinquity. If I have an enemy, instead of -attacking him in a brochure, I can take my fling at him on the stage. If -I am capable of painting a character in a story, I am not far from -having the talent to bring out the pith of this same character in a few -turns of a dialogue. If I can quietly ridicule a vice in a copy of -verses, I shall easily arrive at making this vice speak out from the -mouth of an actor. At least I shall be tempted to try it; I shall be -seduced by the wonderful <i>éclat</i> which the footlights, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> declamation, -scenery give to an idea; I shall try and bring my own into this strong -light; I shall go in for it even when it is necessary that my talent be -a little or a good deal forced for the occasion. If need be, I shall -delude myself, substitute expedients for artless originality and true -comic genius. If on a few points I am inferior to the great masters, on -some, it may be, I surpass them; I can work up my style, refine upon it, -discover happier words, more striking jokes, a brisker exchange of -brilliant repartees, newer images, more picturesque comparisons; I can -take from this one a character, from the other a situation, borrow of a -neighboring nation, out of old plays, good novels, biting pamphlets, -polished satires, and petty newspapers; I can accumulate effects, serve -up to the public a stronger and more appetizing stew; above all, I can -perfect my machine, oil the wheels, plan the surprises, the stage -effects, the see-saw of the plot, like a consummate playwright. The art -of constructing plays is as capable of development as the art of -clock-making. The farce-writer of to-day sees that the catastrophe of -half of Molière's plays is ridiculous; nay, many of them can produce -catastrophes better than Molière; in the long run, they succeed in -stripping the theatre of all awkwardness and circumlocution. A piquant -style, and perfect machinery; pungency in all the words, and animation -in all the scenes; a superabundance of wit, and marvels of ingenuity; -over all this, a true physical activity, and the secret pleasure of -depicting and justifying one's self, of public self-glorification: here -is the foundation of the "School for Scandal," here the source of the -talent and the success of Sheridan.</p> - -<p>Richard Brinsley Sheridan was the contemporary of Beaumarchais, and -resembled him in his talent and in his life. The two epochs, the two -dramatic schools, the two characters, correspond. Like Beaumarchais, he -was a lucky adventurer, clever, amiable, and generous, reaching success -through scandal, who flashed up in a moment, dazzled everybody, scaled -with a rush the empyrean of politics and literature, settled himself, as -it were, among the constellations, and, like a brilliant rocket, -presently went out completely exhausted. Nothing failed him; he attained -all at the first attempt, without apparent effort, like a prince who -need only show himself to win his place. He took as his birthright -everything that was most surpassing in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> happiness, most brilliant in art, -most exalted in worldly position. The poor unknown youth, the wretched -translator of an unreadable Greek sophist, who at twenty walked about -Bath in a red waistcoat and a cocked hat, destitute of hope, and ever -conscious of the emptiness of his pockets, had gained the heart of the -most admired beauty and musician of her time, had carried her off from -ten rich, elegant, titled adorers, had fought with the best-hoaxed of -the ten, beaten him, had carried by storm the curiosity and attention of -the public. Then, challenging glory and wealth, he placed successively -on the stage the most diverse and the most applauded dramas, comedies, -farce, opera, serious verse; he bought and worked a large theatre -without a farthing, inaugurated a reign of successes and pecuniary -advantages, and led a life of elegance amid the enjoyments of social and -domestic joys, surrounded by universal admiration and wonder. Thence, -aspiring yet higher, he conquered power, entered the House of Commons, -showed himself a match for the first orators, opposed Pitt, accused -Warren Hastings, supported Fox, jeered at Burke; sustained with -brilliancy, disinterestedness, and constancy, a most difficult and -liberal part; became one of the three or four most noted men in England, -an equal of the greatest lords, the friend of the Prince of Wales, in -the end even Receiver-General of the Duchy of Cornwall, treasurer to the -fleet. In every career he took the lead. As Byron said of him: -"Whatsoever Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been, <i>par -excellence</i>, always the best of its kind. He has written the best comedy -('The School for Scandal'), the best drama (in my mind far before that -St. Giles lampoon 'The Beggars' Opera'), the best farce ('The -Critic'—it is only too good for a farce), and the best address -('Monologue on Garrick'), and, to crown all, delivered the very best -oration (the famous Begum Speech) ever conceived or heard in this -country."<a name="NoteRef_368_368" id="NoteRef_368_368"></a><a href="#Note_368_368" class="fnanchor">[368]</a></p> - -<p>All ordinary rules were reversed in his favor. He was forty-four years -old, debts began to accumulate; he had supped and drunk to excess; his -cheeks were purple, his nose red. In this state he met at the Duke of -Devonshire's a charming young lady with whom he fell in love. At the -first sight she exclaimed, "What an ugly man, a regular monster!" He -spoke to her; she confessed that he was very ugly, but that he had a -good deal <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> of wit. He spoke again, and again, and she found him very -amiable. He spoke yet again, and she loved him, and resolved at all -hazard to marry him. The father, a prudent man, wishing to end the -affair, gave out that his future son-in-law must provide a dowry of -fifteen thousand pounds; the fifteen thousand pounds were deposited as -by magic in the hands of a banker; the young couple set off into the -country; and Sheridan, meeting his son, a fine strapping fellow, not -very satisfied with the marriage, persuaded him that it was the most -sensible thing that a father could do, and the most fortunate event that -a son could rejoice over. Whatever the business, whoever the man, he -persuaded; none withstood him, everyone fell under his charm.</p> - -<p>What is more difficult than for an ugly man to make a young girl forget -his ugliness? There is one thing more difficult, and that is to make a -creditor forget you owe him money. There is something more difficult -still, and that is, to borrow money from a creditor who has come to dun -you. One day one of his friends was arrested for debt; Sheridan sends -for Mr. Henderson, the crabbed tradesman, coaxes him, interests him, -moves him to tears, works upon his feelings, hedges him in with general -considerations and lofty eloquence, so that Mr. Henderson offers his -purse, actually wants to lend two hundred pounds, insists, and finally, -to his great joy, obtains permission to lend it. No one was ever more -amiable, quicker to win confidence than Sheridan; rarely has the -sympathetic, affectionate; and fascinating character been more fully -displayed; he was literally seductive. In the morning, creditors and -visitors filled the rooms in which he lived; he came in smiling with an -easy manner with so much loftiness and grace, that the people forgot -their wants and their claims, and looked as if they had only come to see -him. His animation was irresistible; no one had a more dazzling wit; he -had an inexhaustible fund of puns, contrivances, sallies, novel ideas. -Lord Byron, who was a good judge, said that he had never heard nor -conceived of a more extraordinary power of conversation. Men spent -nights in listening to him; no one equalled him during a supper; even -when drunk he retained his wit. One morning he was picked up by the -watch, and they asked him his name; he gravely answered, "Wilberforce." -With strangers and inferiors he had no arrogance <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> or stiffness; he -possessed in an eminent degree that unreserved character which always -exhibits itself complete, which holds back none of its light, which -abandons and gives itself up; he wept when he received a sincere eulogy -from Lord Byron, or in recounting his miseries as a plebeian parvenu. -Nothing is more charming than this openness of heart; it at once sets -people on a footing of peace and amity; men suddenly desert their -defensive and cautious attitude; they perceive that a man is giving -himself up to them, and they give themselves up to him; the outpouring -of his innermost feelings invites the outpouring of theirs. A minute -later, Sheridan's impetuous and sparkling individuality flashes out; his -wit explodes, rattles like a discharge of fire-arms; he takes the -conversation to himself, with a sustained brilliancy, a variety, an -inexhaustible vigor, till five o'clock in the morning. Against such a -necessity for launching out in unconsidered speech, of indulgence, of -self-outpouring, a man had need be well on his guard; life cannot be -passed like a holiday; it is a strife against others and against one's -self; people must think of the future, mistrust themselves, make -provision; there is no subsisting without the precaution of a -shop-keeper, the calculation of a tradesman. If we sup too often, we -will end by not having wherewithal to dine upon; when our pockets have -holes in them, the shillings will fall out; nothing is more of a truism, -but it is true. Sheridan's debts accumulated, his digestion failed. He -lost his seat in Parliament, his theatre was burned; sheriff's officer -succeeded sheriff's officer, and they had long been in possession of his -house. At last, a bailiff arrested the dying man in his bed, and was for -taking him off in his blankets; nor would he let him go until threatened -with a lawsuit, the doctor having declared that the sick man would die -on the road. A certain newspaper (the "Examiner") cried shame on the -great lords who suffered such a man to end so miserably; they hastened -to leave their cards at his door. In the funeral procession two brothers -of the king, dukes, earls, bishops, the first men in England, carried or -followed the body. A singular contrast, picturing in abstract all his -talent, and all his life; lords at his funeral and bailiffs at his -death-bed.</p> - -<p>His theatre was in accordance with his life; all was brilliant, but the -metal was not all his own, nor was it of the best quality. His comedies -were comedies of society, the most amusing ever <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> written, but merely -comedies of society. Imagine the exaggerated caricatures artists are -wont to improvise, in the drawing-room of a house where they are -intimate, about eleven o'clock in the evening. His first play, "The -Rivals," and afterwards his "Duenna," and "The Critic," are filled with -these, and scarce anything else. There is Mrs. Malaprop, a silly, -pretentious woman, who uses grand words higgledy-piggledy, delighted -with herself, in "a nice derangement of epitaphs" before her nouns, and -declaring that her niece is "as headstrong as an allegory on the banks -of the Nile." There is a Bob Acres, who suddenly becomes a hero, gets -engaged in a duel, and being led on the ground, calculates the effect of -the balls, thinks of his will, burial, embalmment, and wishes he were at -home. There is another caricature in the person of a clumsy and cowardly -servant, of an irascible and brawling father, of a sentimental and -romantic young lady, of a touchy Irish duellist. All this jogs and -jostles on, without much order, amid the surprises of a twofold plot, by -aid of appliances and <i>rencontres</i>, without the full and regular control -of a dominating idea. But in vain we perceive it is a patchwork; the -high spirit carries off everything: we laugh heartily; every single -scene has its facetious and rapid movement; we forget that the clumsy -valet makes remarks as witty as Sheridan himself,<a name="NoteRef_369_369" id="NoteRef_369_369"></a><a href="#Note_369_369" class="fnanchor">[369]</a> and that the -irascible gentleman speaks as well as the most elegant of writers.<a name="NoteRef_370_370" id="NoteRef_370_370"></a><a href="#Note_370_370" class="fnanchor">[370]</a> -The playwright is also a man of letters; if, through mere animal and -social spirit, he wished to amuse others and to amuse himself, he does -not forget the interests of his talent and the care for his reputation. -He has tastes, he appreciates the refinement of style, the worth of a -new image, of a striking contrast, of a witty and well-considered -insinuation. He has, above all, wit, a wonderful conversational wit, the -art of rousing and sustaining the attention, of being biting, varied, of -taking his hearers unawares, of throwing in a repartee, of setting folly -in relief, of accumulating one after another witticisms and happy -phrases. He brought himself <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> to perfection subsequently to his first -play, having acquired theatrical experience, writing and erasing; trying -various scenes, recasting, arranging them; his desire was that nothing -should arrest the interest, no improbability shock the spectator; that -his comedy might glide on with the precision, certainty, uniformity of a -good machine. He invents jests, replaces them by better ones; he whets -his jokes, binds them up like a sheaf of arrows, and writes at the -bottom of the last page, "Finished, thank God.—Amen." He is right, for -the work costs him some pains; he will not write a second. This kind of -writing, artificial and condensed as the satires of La Bruyère, is like -a cut phial, into which the author has distilled all his reflections, -his reading, his wit, without keeping anything for himself.</p> - -<p>What is there in this celebrated "School for Scandal"? And how is it -that it has cast upon English comedy, which day by day was being more -and more forgotten, the radiance of a last success? Sheridan took two -characters from Fielding, Blifil, and Tom Jones; two plays of Molière, -"Le Misanthrope" and "Tartuffe"; and from these puissant materials, -condensed with admirable cleverness, he has constructed the most -brilliant firework imaginable. Molière has only one female slanderer, -Célimène; the other characters serve only to give her a cue; there is -quite enough of such a jeering woman; she rails on within certain -bounds, without hurry, like a true queen of the drawing-room, who has -time to converse, who knows that she is listened to, who listens to -herself: she is a woman of society, who preserves the tone of refined -conversation; and in order to smooth down the harshness, her slanders -are interrupted by the calm reason and sensible discourse of the amiable -Éliante. Molière represents the malice of the world without -exaggeration; but in Sheridan they are rather caricatured than depicted. -"Ladies, your servant," says Sir Peter; "mercy upon me! the whole set—a -character dead at every sentence."<a name="NoteRef_371_371" id="NoteRef_371_371"></a><a href="#Note_371_371" class="fnanchor">[371]</a> In fact, they are ferocious: it -is a regular quarry; they even befoul one another, to deepen the -outrage. Mrs. Candour remarks: "Yesterday Miss Prim assured me, that Mr. -and Mrs. Honeymoon are now become mere man and wife, like the rest of -their acquaintance. She likewise hinted, that a certain widow in the -next street had got rid of her dropsy, and recovered her shape <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> in a most -surprising manner.... I was informed, too, that Lord Flimsy caught his -wife at a house of no extraordinary fame; and that Tom Saunter and Sir -Harry Idle were to measure swords on a similar occasion."<a name="NoteRef_372_372" id="NoteRef_372_372"></a><a href="#Note_372_372" class="fnanchor">[372]</a> Their -animosity is so bitter that they lower themselves to play the part of -buffoons. The most elegant person in the room, Lady Teazle, shows her -teeth to ape a ridiculous lady, draws her mouth on one side, and makes -faces. There is no pause, no softening; sarcasms fly about like pistol -shots. The author had laid in a stock, he had to use them up. He himself -is speaking through the mouth of his characters; he gives them all the -same wit, that is his own, his irony, his harshness, his picturesque -vigor; whatever they are, clowns, fops, old maids, no matter, the -author's main business is to break out into twenty explosions in a -minute:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Mrs. Candour.</i> Well, I will never join in the ridicule of a friend; -so I tell my cousin Ogle, and ye all know what pretensions she has to -beauty.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> She has the oddest countenance—a collection of features from -all the corners of the globe.<br /> -<i>Sir Benjamin.</i> She has, indeed, an Irish front.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Caledonian locks.<br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> Dutch nose.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Austrian lips.<br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> The complexion of a Spaniard.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> And teeth <i>à la Chinoise.</i><br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> In short, her face resembles a <i>table d'hôte</i> at Spa, where no -two guests are of a nation.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Or a congress at the close of a general war, where every member -seems to have a different interest, and the nose and chin are the only -parties likely to join issue."<a name="NoteRef_373_373" id="NoteRef_373_373"></a><a href="#Note_373_373" class="fnanchor">[373]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Or again:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Crab.</i> Sad news upon his arrival, to hear how your brother has -gone on!<br /> -<i>Joseph Surface.</i> I hope no busy people have already prejudiced his -uncle against him—he may reform.<br /> -<i>Sir Benjamin.</i> True, he may; for my part, I never thought him so -utterly void of principle as people say, and though he has lost all his -friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of amongst the Jews.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Foregad, if the old Jewry was a ward, Charles would be an -alderman, for he pays as many annuities as the Irish Tontine; and when -he is sick, they have prayers for his recovery in all the Synagogues.<br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> Yet no man lives in greater splendor.—They tell me, when he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -entertains his friends, he can sit down to dinner with a dozen of his -own securities, have a score of tradesmen waiting in the ante-chamber, -and an officer behind every guest's chair."<a name="NoteRef_374_374" id="NoteRef_374_374"></a><a href="#Note_374_374" class="fnanchor">[374]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>And again:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Sir B.</i> Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you, but depend on't, -your brother is utterly undone.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Oh! undone as ever man was—can't raise a guinea.<br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> Everything is sold, I am told, that was moveable.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Not a moveable left, except some old bottles and some pictures, -and they seem to be framed in the wainscot, egad.<br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> I am sorry to hear also some bad stories of him.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Oh! he has done many mean things, that's certain.<br /> -<i>Sir B.</i> But, however, he's your brother.<br /> -<i>Crab.</i> Ah! as he is your brother—we'll tell you more another -opportunity."<a name="NoteRef_375_375" id="NoteRef_375_375"></a><a href="#Note_375_375" class="fnanchor">[375]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this manner has he pointed, multiplied, driven into the quick the -measured epigrams of Molière. And yet is it possible to grow weary of -such a well-sustained discharge of malice and witticisms?</p> - -<p>Observe also the change which the hypocrite undergoes under Sheridan's -treatment. Doubtless all the grandeur disappears from the part. Joseph -Surface does not uphold, like Tartuffe, the interest of the comedy; he -does not possess, like his ancestor, the nature of a cad, the boldness -of a man of action, the manners of a beadle, the neck and shoulders of a -monk. He is merely selfish and cautious; if he is engaged in an -intrigue, it is rather against his will; he is only half-hearted in the -matter, like a correct young man, well dressed, with a fair income, -timorous and fastidious by nature, discreet in manners, and without -violent passions; all about him is soft and polished, he takes his tone -from the times, he makes no display of religion, though he does of -morality; he is a man of measured speech, of lofty sentiments, a -disciple of Dr. Johnson or of Rousseau, a dealer in set phrases. There -is nothing on which to construct a drama in this common-place person; -and the fine situations which Sheridan takes from Molière lose half -their force through depending on such pitiful support. But how this -insufficiency is covered by the quickness, abundance, naturalness of the -incidents! how skill makes up for everything! how it seems capable of -supplying everything! even genius! how the spectator laughs to see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> -Joseph caught in his sanctuary like a fox in his hole; obliged to hide -the wife, then to conceal the husband; forced to run from the one to the -other; busy in hiding the one behind the screen, and the other in his -closet; reduced, in casting himself into his own snares, in justifying -those whom he wished to ruin, the husband in the eyes of the wife, the -nephew in the eyes of the uncle, to ruin the only man whom he wished to -justify; namely, the precious and immaculate Joseph Surface; to turn out -in the end ridiculous, odious, baffled, confounded, in spite of his -adroitness, even by reason of his adroitness, step by step, without -quarter or remedy; to sneak off, poor fox, with his tail between his -legs, his skin spoiled, amid hootings and laughter! And how, at the same -time, side by side with this, the naggings of Sir Peter and his wife, -the suppers, songs, the picture sale at the spendthrift's house, weave a -comedy in a comedy, and renew the interest by renewing the attention! We -cease to think of the meagreness of the characters, as we cease to think -of the deviation from truth; we are willingly carried away by the -vivacity of the action, dazzled by the brilliancy of the dialogue; we -are charmed, applaud; admit that, after all, next to great inventive -faculty, animation and wit are the most agreeable gifts in the world: we -appreciate them in their season, and find that they also have their -place in the literary banquet; and that if they are not worth as much as -the substantial joints, the natural and generous wines of the first -course, at least they furnish the dessert.</p> - -<p>The dessert over, we must leave the table. After Sheridan, we leave it -forthwith. Henceforth comedy languishes, fails; there is nothing left -but farce, such as Townley's "High Life Below Stairs," the burlesques of -George Colman, a tutor, an old maid, countrymen and their dialect; -caricature succeeds painting; Punch raises a laugh when the days of -Reynolds and Gainsborough are over. There is nowhere in Europe, at the -present time, a more barren stage; the higher classes abandon it to the -people. This is because the form of society and of intellect which had -called it into being, has disappeared. Vivacity, and the abundance of -original conceptions, had peopled the stage of the Renaissance in -England—a surfeit which, unable to display itself in systematic -argument, or to express itself in philosophical ideas, found its natural -outlet only in mimic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> action and talking characters. The wants of -polished society had nourished the English comedy of the seventeenth -century—a society which, accustomed to the representations of the court -and the displays of the world, sought on the stage a copy of its -conversation and its drawing-rooms. With the decline of the court and -the check of mimic invention, the genuine drama and the genuine comedy -disappeared; they passed from the stage into books. The reason of it is, -that people no longer live in public, like the embroidered dukes of -Louis XIV and Charles II, but in their families, or at the -writing-table; the novel replaces the theatre at the same time that -citizen life replaces the life of the court. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_219_219" id="Note_219_219"></a><a href="#NoteRef_219_219"><span class="label">[219]</span></a>See especially the portraits of Lady Morland, Lady -Williams, the Countess of Ossory, the Duchess of Cleveland, Lady -Price, and many others.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_220_220" id="Note_220_220"></a><a href="#NoteRef_220_220"><span class="label">[220]</span></a>Oliver Cromwell's "Letters and Speeches," edited by -Carlyle, 1866, I. 39.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_221_221" id="Note_221_221"></a><a href="#NoteRef_221_221"><span class="label">[221]</span></a>Colonel Hutchinson was at one time held in suspicion -because he wore long hair and dressed well.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_222_222" id="Note_222_222"></a><a href="#NoteRef_222_222"><span class="label">[222]</span></a>1648; thirty in one day. One of them confessed that she -had been at a gathering of more than five hundred witches.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_223_223" id="Note_223_223"></a><a href="#NoteRef_223_223"><span class="label">[223]</span></a>In 1652, the kirk-session of Glasgow "brot boyes and -servants before them, for breaking the sabbath, and other faults. They -had clandestine censors, and gave money to some for this end."—Note -28, taken from Wodrow's "Analecta"; Buckle, "History of Civilization in -England," 3 vols. 1867, III. 208.</p> - -<p>Even early in the eighteenth century, "the most popular divines" in -Scotland affirmed that Satan "frequently appears clothed in a corporeal -substance."—Ibid. III. 233, note 76, taken from Memoirs of C. L. Lewes.</p> - -<p>"No husband shall kiss his wife, and no mother shall kiss her child on -the Sabbath day."—Note 135. Ibid. III. 253; from Rev. C. J. Lyon's "St. -Andrews," vol. I. 458, with regard to government of a colony. (It would -have been satisfactory if Mr. Lyon had given his authority.)—Tr.</p> - -<p>"(Sept. 22, 1649) The quhilk day the Sessioune caused mak this act, that -ther sould be no pypers at brydels," etc.—Ibid. III. 258, note 153. In -1719, the Presbytery of Edinburgh indignantly declares: "Yea, some have -arrived at that height of impiety, as not to be ashamed of washing in -waters, and swimming in rivers upon the holy Sabbath."—Note 187. Ibid. -III. 266.</p> - -<p>"I think David had never so sweet a time as then, when he was pursued as -a partridge by his son Absalom."—Note 190. Gray's "Great and Precious -Promises."</p> - -<p>See the whole of Chapter III. vol. III. in which Buckle has described, -by similar quotations, the condition of Scotland, chiefly in the -seventeenth century.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_224_224" id="Note_224_224"></a><a href="#NoteRef_224_224"><span class="label">[224]</span></a>See, in Richardson, Swift, and Fielding, but particularly -in Hogarth, the delineation of brutish debauchery.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_225_225" id="Note_225_225"></a><a href="#NoteRef_225_225"><span class="label">[225]</span></a>The king was playing at backgammen; a doubtful throw -occurs: "Ah, here is Grammont, who'll decide for us; Grammont, come and -decide. Sire, you have lost. What: you do not yet know."... "Ah, -sire, if the throw had been merely doubtful, these gentlemen would not -have failed to say you had won."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_226_226" id="Note_226_226"></a><a href="#NoteRef_226_226"><span class="label">[226]</span></a>Hamilton says of Grammont, "He sought out the unfortunate -only to succor them."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_227_227" id="Note_227_227"></a><a href="#NoteRef_227_227"><span class="label">[227]</span></a>This saying sounds strange after the horrors of the -Commune.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_228_228" id="Note_228_228"></a><a href="#NoteRef_228_228"><span class="label">[228]</span></a>A Spanish author, who continued and imitated Cervantes's -"Don Quixote."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_229_229" id="Note_229_229"></a><a href="#NoteRef_229_229"><span class="label">[229]</span></a>A work by Scarron. "Hudibras," edited Z. Grey, 1801, 2 -Vols. I. Canto 1. line 289, says also:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For as Æneas bore his sire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his shoulders through the fire.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our knight did bear no less a pack</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his own buttocks on his back."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_230_230" id="Note_230_230"></a><a href="#NoteRef_230_230"><span class="label">[230]</span></a>"Hudibras," part I. canto 1. lines 241-250.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_231_231" id="Note_231_231"></a><a href="#NoteRef_231_231"><span class="label">[231]</span></a>"Hudibras," part I. canto 1. lines 253-280.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_232_232" id="Note_232_232"></a><a href="#NoteRef_232_232"><span class="label">[232]</span></a>Ibid, lines 375-386.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_233_233" id="Note_233_233"></a><a href="#NoteRef_233_233"><span class="label">[233]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For though the thesis which thou</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.8em;">lay'st</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be true ad amussim as thou say'st</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(For that bear-baiting should appear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jure divino lawfuller</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than Synods are, thou do'st deny,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Totidem verbis; so do I),</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet there is fallacy in this;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For if by sly homœosis,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tussis pro crepitu, an art</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">. . . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou wouldst sophistically imply,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Both are unlawful, I deny."</span></p> -<p>Part I. canto 1. lines 821-834.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_234_234" id="Note_234_234"></a><a href="#NoteRef_234_234"><span class="label">[234]</span></a>"The Life of Clarendon," edited by himself, new ed. 1827, -3 vols, I. 378.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_235_235" id="Note_235_235"></a><a href="#NoteRef_235_235"><span class="label">[235]</span></a>Ibid. I. 379.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_236_236" id="Note_236_236"></a><a href="#NoteRef_236_236"><span class="label">[236]</span></a>"The Life of Clarendon," edited by himself, new ed. 1827, -3 vols. I. 380.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_237_237" id="Note_237_237"></a><a href="#NoteRef_237_237"><span class="label">[237]</span></a>"Mr. Evelyn tells me of several of the menial servants of -the Court lacking bread, that have not received a farthing wages since the -King's coming in."—Pepys's Diary, ed. Lord Braybrooke, 3d ed. 1848, 5 -vols. IV. April 26, 1667.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Povy says that to this day the King do follow the women as much as -he ever did; that the Duke of York... hath come out of his wife's bed, -and gone to others laid in bed for him;... that the family (of the Duke) -is in horrible disorder by being in debt by spending above £60,000 per -annum, when he hath not £40,000." (Ibid. IV. June 23, 1667).</p> - -<p>"It is certain that, as it now is, the seamen of England, in my -conscience, would, if they could, go over and serve the king of France -or Holland rather than us." (Ibid. IV. June 25, 1667).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_238_238" id="Note_238_238"></a><a href="#NoteRef_238_238"><span class="label">[238]</span></a>Pepys's Diary, vol. IV. July 29, 1667.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_239_239" id="Note_239_239"></a><a href="#NoteRef_239_239"><span class="label">[239]</span></a>Rochester's Works, edited by Saint-Évremond.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_240_240" id="Note_240_240"></a><a href="#NoteRef_240_240"><span class="label">[240]</span></a>Pepys's Diary, II. January 1, 1662-1663.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_241_241" id="Note_241_241"></a><a href="#NoteRef_241_241"><span class="label">[241]</span></a>Ibid. IV. July 30, 1667.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_242_242" id="Note_242_242"></a><a href="#NoteRef_242_242"><span class="label">[242]</span></a>Ibid. III. July 26, 1665.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_243_243" id="Note_243_243"></a><a href="#NoteRef_243_243"><span class="label">[243]</span></a>Ibid. II. November 9, 1663.</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>Pepys's Diary, II. February 8, 17, 1662-3.</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>Ibid. February 21, 1664-1665.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_246_246" id="Note_246_246"></a><a href="#NoteRef_246_246"><span class="label">[246]</span></a>The author has inadvertently confounded "my Lady Bennet" -with the Countess of Arlington. See Pepys's Diary, IV. May 30, 1668, -footnote.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_247_247" id="Note_247_247"></a><a href="#NoteRef_247_247"><span class="label">[247]</span></a>"Though I reverence those men of ancient times that -either have written truth perspicuously, or set it in a better way to -find it out ourselves, yet to the antiquity itself, I think nothing due; -for if we reverence the age, the present is the oldest."—Hobbes's -Works, Molesworth, 11 vols. 8 vo, 1839-45, III. 712.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_248_248" id="Note_248_248"></a><a href="#NoteRef_248_248"><span class="label">[248]</span></a>"To say he hath spoken to him in a dream, is no more than -to say he dreamed that God spake to him.... To say he hath seen a vision -or heard a voice, is to say that he has dreamed between sleeping and -waking.... To say he speaks by supernatural inspiration, is to say he -finds an ardent desire to speak, or some strong opinion of himself for -which he can allege no sufficient and natural reason."—Ibid, III. -361-2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_249_249" id="Note_249_249"></a><a href="#NoteRef_249_249"><span class="label">[249]</span></a>"From the principle parts of Nature, Reason, and Passion, -have proceeded two kinds of learning, mathematical and dogmatical. The -former is free from controversy and dispute, because it consisteth in -comparing figure and motion only, in which things truth and the interest -of men oppose not each other. But in the other there is nothing -undisputable, because it compares men, and meddles with their right and -profit."—Ibid. 11 vols. 8 vo, 1839-45, IV. Epis. ded.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_250_250" id="Note_250_250"></a><a href="#NoteRef_250_250"><span class="label">[250]</span></a>His chief works were written between 1646 and 1655.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_251_251" id="Note_251_251"></a><a href="#NoteRef_251_251"><span class="label">[251]</span></a>Nemo dat nisi respiciens ad bonum sibi.</p> - -<p>Amicitiæ bonse, nempe utiles. Nam amicitiæ cum ad multa alia, turn ad -præsidium conferunt.</p> - -<p>Sapientia utile. Nam præsidium in se habet nonnullum. Etiam appetibile -est per se, id est jucundum. Item pulchrum, quia acquisitu difficilis.</p> - -<p>Non enim qui sapiens est, ut dixere stoici, dives est sed contra qui dives -est sapiens est dicendus est.</p> - -<p>Ignoscere veniam petenti pulchrum. Nam indicium fiduciæ sui.</p> - -<p>Imitatio jucundum: revocat enim præterita. Præterita autem si bona -fuerint, jucunda sunt repræsentata, quia bona; si mala, quia -præterita. Jucunda igitur musica, poesis pictura.—Hobbes's "Opera -Latina," Molesworth, vol. II. 98-102.</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>Metus potentiarum invisibilium, sive fictæ illæ sint, -sive ab historiis acceptæ sint publiée, religio est si publice -acceptæ non sint, superstitio.—Ibid. III. 45.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_253_253" id="Note_253_253"></a><a href="#NoteRef_253_253"><span class="label">[253]</span></a>Omnis igitur societas vel commodi causa vel gloriæ, hoc -est, sui, non sociorum amore contrahitur.—Ibid. II. 161.</p> - -<p>Statuendum igitur est, originem magnarum et diuturnarum societatum non -a mutua hominum benevolentia, sed a mutuo metu exstitisse.—Ibid. II. -161.</p> - -<p>Voluntas lædendi omnibus quidem inest in statu naturae.—Ibid. II. 162.</p> - -<p>Status hominum naturalis antequam in societatem coiretur bellum fuerit; -neque hoc simpliciter, sed bellum omnium in omftes.—Ibid. II. 166.</p> - -<p>Bellum sua natura sempiternum.—See 166, line 16.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_254_254" id="Note_254_254"></a><a href="#NoteRef_254_254"><span class="label">[254]</span></a>Corpus et substantia idem significant, et proinde -vox composita substantia incorporea est insignificans æque -ac si quis diceret corpus incorporeum.—Hobbes's "Opera Latina," -Molesworth, vol. III. 281.</p> - -<p>Quidquid imaginamur finitum est. Nulla ergo est idea neque conceptus -qui oriri potest a voce hac, infinitum.—Ibid. III. 20.</p> - -<p>Recidit itaque ratiocinatio omnis ad duas operationes animi, additionem -et substractionem.—Ibid. I. 3.</p> - -<p>Nomina signa sunt non rerum sed cogitationem.—Ibid. I. 15.</p> - -<p>Veritas enim in dicto non in re consists.—Ibid. I. 31.</p> - -<p>Sensio igitur in sentiente nihil aliud esse potest præter motum partium -aliquarum intus in sentiente existentium, quæ partes motæ organorum quibus -sentimus partes sunt.—Ibid. I. 317.</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>Pepys's Diary, II. September 29, 1662.</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>His "Wild Gallant" dates from 1662.</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>"We love to get our mistresses, and purr over them, as cats -do over mice, and let them get a little way; and all the pleasure is to -pat them back again.—Mock Astrologer," II. 1.</p> - -<p>Wildblood says to his mistress: "I am none of those unreasonable lovers -that propose to themselves the loving to eternity. A month is commonly -my stint." And Jacintha replies: "Or would not a fortnight serve our -turn?"—Ibid.</p> - -<p>Frequently one would think Dryden was translating Hobbes, by the -harshness of his jests.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_258_258" id="Note_258_258"></a><a href="#NoteRef_258_258"><span class="label">[258]</span></a>"Love in a Nunnery," II. 3.</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>Ibid. III. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_260_260" id="Note_260_260"></a><a href="#NoteRef_260_260"><span class="label">[260]</span></a>"Spanish Friar," III. 3. And jumbled with the plot we keep -meeting with political allusions. This is a mark of the time. Torrismond, -to excuse himself from marrying the queen, says, "Power which in one age -is tyranny is ripen'd in the next to true succession. She's in -possession."—"Spanish Friar," IV. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_261_261" id="Note_261_261"></a><a href="#NoteRef_261_261"><span class="label">[261]</span></a>Plautus's "Amphitryon" has been imitated by Dryden and -Molière. Sir Walter Scott, in the introduction to Dryden's play, says: -"He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Molière is witty; and -where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the Englishman -always contrives to make it a single one."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_262_262" id="Note_262_262"></a><a href="#NoteRef_262_262"><span class="label">[262]</span></a>"Amphitryon," I. 1.</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>"Amphitryon," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_264_264" id="Note_264_264"></a><a href="#NoteRef_264_264"><span class="label">[264]</span></a>As Jupiter is departing, on the plea of daylight, Alemena -says to him:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"But you and I will draw our curtains</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">close.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Extinguish daylight, and put out the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">sun.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come back, my lord....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have not yet laid long enough in</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">bed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To warm your widowed side."</span></p> -<p>—Act II. 2.</p> - -<p>Compare Plautus's Roman matron and Molière's honest Frenchwoman -with this expansive female (Louis XIV and Mme. de Montespan were -not very decent either. See "Mémoires de Saint-Simon.")—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_265_265" id="Note_265_265"></a><a href="#NoteRef_265_265"><span class="label">[265]</span></a>Himself a Huguenot, who had become a Roman Catholic, and -the husband of Julie d'Angennes, for whom the French poets composed the -celebrated "Guirlande."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_266_266" id="Note_266_266"></a><a href="#NoteRef_266_266"><span class="label">[266]</span></a>"The Dramatic Works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, -and Farquhar," ed. Leigh Hunt, 1840. Dedication of "Love in a Wood" -to her Grace the Duchess of Cleveland.</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>Act III. 3.</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>"The Country Wife," V. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_269_269" id="Note_269_269"></a><a href="#NoteRef_269_269"><span class="label">[269]</span></a>Read the epilogue, and see what words and details authors -dared then to put in the mouths of actresses.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_270_270" id="Note_270_270"></a><a href="#NoteRef_270_270"><span class="label">[270]</span></a>"That spark, who has his fruitless designs upon the -bed-ridden rich widow, down to the sucking heiress in her... -clout.—Love in a Wood," I. 2.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Flippant: "Though I had married the fool, I thought to have -reserved the wit as well as other ladies."—Ibid.</p> - -<p>Dapperwit: "I will contest with no rival, not with my old rival your -coachman."—Ibid.</p> - -<p>"She has a complexion like a Holland cheese, and no more teeth left, than -such as give a haut goût to her breath."—Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_271_271" id="Note_271_271"></a><a href="#NoteRef_271_271"><span class="label">[271]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_272_272" id="Note_272_272"></a><a href="#NoteRef_272_272"><span class="label">[272]</span></a>Ibid. V. 2.</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>The letter of Agnes, in Molière's "L'École des Femmes," -III. 4, begins thus: "Je veux vous écrire, et je suis bien en peine par -où je m'y prendrai. J'ai des pensées que je désirerais que vous -sussiez; mais je ne sais comment faire pour vous les dire, et je me -défie de mes paroles," etc. Observe how Wycherley translates it: "Dear, -sweet Mr. Horner, my husband would have me send you a base, rude, -unmannerly letter; but I won't—and would have me forbid you loving me; -but I won't—and would have me say to you, I hate you, poor Mr. Horner; -but I won't tell a lie for him—for I'm sure if you and I were in the -country at cards together, I could not help treading on your toe under -the table, or rubbing knees with you, and staring in your face, till you -saw me, and then looking down, and blushing for an hour together," -etc.—"Country Wife," IV. 2.</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>In the "Gentleman Dancing-Master."</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>"The Plain Dealer," II. 1.</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>"The Plain Dealer," IV. 2.</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>Ibid.</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>"The Plain Dealer," V. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_279_279" id="Note_279_279"></a><a href="#NoteRef_279_279"><span class="label">[279]</span></a>Compare with the sayings of Alceste, in Molière's -"Misanthrope," such tirades as this: "Such as you, like common whores -and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace." And with the -character of Philinte, in the same French play, such phrases as these: -"But, faith, could you think I was a friend to those I hugged, kissed, -flattered, bowed to? When their backs were turned, did not I tell you -they were rogues, villains, rascals, whom I despised and hated?"</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_280_280" id="Note_280_280"></a><a href="#NoteRef_280_280"><span class="label">[280]</span></a>Olivia says: "Then shall I have again my alcove smell like -a cabin, my chamber perfumed with his tarpaulin Brandenburgh; and hear -vollies of brandy-sighs, enough to make a fog in one's room."—"The -Plain Dealer," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_281_281" id="Note_281_281"></a><a href="#NoteRef_281_281"><span class="label">[281]</span></a>"The Plain Dealer," III. 1.</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>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_283_283" id="Note_283_283"></a><a href="#NoteRef_283_283"><span class="label">[283]</span></a>"The Plain Dealer," IV. 2.</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>"Paradise Lost," book I. lines 490-502.</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>Consult all Shakespeare's historical plays.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_286_286" id="Note_286_286"></a><a href="#NoteRef_286_286"><span class="label">[286]</span></a>Pepys's Diary, II. July 13, 1663.</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>Ibid.</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>"Mémoires de Grammont," by A. Hamilton.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_289_289" id="Note_289_289"></a><a href="#NoteRef_289_289"><span class="label">[289]</span></a>Ibid. ch. IX.</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>Take, for example, Farquhar's "Beaux Stratagem," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_291_291" id="Note_291_291"></a><a href="#NoteRef_291_291"><span class="label">[291]</span></a>Consult especially, "Observations upon the United Provinces -of the Netherlands; Of Gardening."</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>Temple's Works: "Of Gardening," II. 190.</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>Ibid. 184.</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>Compare this essay with that of Carlyle, on "Heroes and -Hero-Worship"; the title and subject are similar; it is curious to note -the difference of the two centuries.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_295_295" id="Note_295_295"></a><a href="#NoteRef_295_295"><span class="label">[295]</span></a>Temple's Works, II: "An Essay upon the Ancient and Modern -Learning," 155.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_296_296" id="Note_296_296"></a><a href="#NoteRef_296_296"><span class="label">[296]</span></a>Ibid. 165.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_297_297" id="Note_297_297"></a><a href="#NoteRef_297_297"><span class="label">[297]</span></a>Macaulay's Works, VI. 319: "Essay on Sir William Temple."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_298_298" id="Note_298_298"></a><a href="#NoteRef_298_298"><span class="label">[298]</span></a>"An Essay upon the Ancient and Modern Learning," 173.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_299_299" id="Note_299_299"></a><a href="#NoteRef_299_299"><span class="label">[299]</span></a>"Love in a Wood," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_300_300" id="Note_300_300"></a><a href="#NoteRef_300_300"><span class="label">[300]</span></a>"The Country Wife," I. 1.</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>Sir Charles Sedley's Works, ed. Briscoe, 1778, 2 vols: -"The Mulberry Garden," II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_302_302" id="Note_302_302"></a><a href="#NoteRef_302_302"><span class="label">[302]</span></a>"Works of the Earls of Rochester, Roscommon, and Dorset," -2 vols. 1731, II. 54.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_303_303" id="Note_303_303"></a><a href="#NoteRef_303_303"><span class="label">[303]</span></a>"The English Poets," ed. A. Chalmers, 21 vols. 1810; -Waller, vol. VIII. 44.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_304_304" id="Note_304_304"></a><a href="#NoteRef_304_304"><span class="label">[304]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_305_305" id="Note_305_305"></a><a href="#NoteRef_305_305"><span class="label">[305]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"While in this park I sing, the list'ning deer</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Attend my passion, and forget to fear;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When to the beeches I report my flame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They bow their heads, as if they felt the same.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To gods appealing, when I reach their bow'rs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With loud complaints, they answer me in showers.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To thee a wild and cruel soul is giv'n,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 12em;">... The rock.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That cloven rock, produc'd thee....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of just Apollo, president of verse;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Highly concerned that the Muse should bring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Damage to one whom he had taught to sing."—Ibid. pp. 44-45.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_306_306" id="Note_306_306"></a><a href="#NoteRef_306_306"><span class="label">[306]</span></a>Ibid, 32.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_307_307" id="Note_307_307"></a><a href="#NoteRef_307_307"><span class="label">[307]</span></a>Ibid. 45.</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>"The English Poets," Waller, VIII. 45.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_309_309" id="Note_309_309"></a><a href="#NoteRef_309_309"><span class="label">[309]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_310_310" id="Note_310_310"></a><a href="#NoteRef_310_310"><span class="label">[310]</span></a>"English Poets," VII. 237.</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>Ibid. 236-237.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_312_312" id="Note_312_312"></a><a href="#NoteRef_312_312"><span class="label">[312]</span></a>Etherege's "Sir Fopling Flutter"; Wycherley's "The -Gentleman Dancing-master," I. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_313_313" id="Note_313_313"></a><a href="#NoteRef_313_313"><span class="label">[313]</span></a>From 1672 to 1726.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_314_314" id="Note_314_314"></a><a href="#NoteRef_314_314"><span class="label">[314]</span></a>Onuphre, in La Bruyère's "Caractères," ch. XIII. de la -Mode; Begears, in Beaumarchais's "La Mère Coupable."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_315_315" id="Note_315_315"></a><a href="#NoteRef_315_315"><span class="label">[315]</span></a>Consultations of Sganarelle in the "Médecin Malgré Lui."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_316_316" id="Note_316_316"></a><a href="#NoteRef_316_316"><span class="label">[316]</span></a>Amongst women, Éliante, Henriette, Élise, Uranie, Élmire.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_317_317" id="Note_317_317"></a><a href="#NoteRef_317_317"><span class="label">[317]</span></a>Compare the admirable tact and coolness of Éliante, -Henriette, and Élmire.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_318_318" id="Note_318_318"></a><a href="#NoteRef_318_318"><span class="label">[318]</span></a>Dryden boasts of this. With him, we always find a -complete comedy grossly amalgamated with a complete tragedy.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_319_319" id="Note_319_319"></a><a href="#NoteRef_319_319"><span class="label">[319]</span></a>Vanbrugh, "Confederacy," II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_320_320" id="Note_320_320"></a><a href="#NoteRef_320_320"><span class="label">[320]</span></a>Wycherley, "The Country Wife," V. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_321_321" id="Note_321_321"></a><a href="#NoteRef_321_321"><span class="label">[321]</span></a>Vanbrugh, "Relapse," II. end.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_322_322" id="Note_322_322"></a><a href="#NoteRef_322_322"><span class="label">[322]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_323_323" id="Note_323_323"></a><a href="#NoteRef_323_323"><span class="label">[323]</span></a>She says to Maskwell, her lover: "You want but leisure to -invent fresh falsehood, and soothe me to a fond belief of all your -fictions; but I will stab the lie that's forming in your heart, and -save a sin, in pity to your soul."—Congreve, "Double Dealer," V. 17.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_324_324" id="Note_324_324"></a><a href="#NoteRef_324_324"><span class="label">[324]</span></a>Farquhar, "The Beaux Stratagem," II. 1.</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>Vanbrugh, "Provoked Wife," V. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_326_326" id="Note_326_326"></a><a href="#NoteRef_326_326"><span class="label">[326]</span></a>Vanbrugh, "Provoked Wife," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_327_327" id="Note_327_327"></a><a href="#NoteRef_327_327"><span class="label">[327]</span></a>Ibid. V. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_328_328" id="Note_328_328"></a><a href="#NoteRef_328_328"><span class="label">[328]</span></a>The valet Rasor says to his master: "Come to your kennel, -you cuckoldy drunken sot you."—Ibid.</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>Vanbrugh's "Relapse," III. 2.</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>Ibid.</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>Vanbrugh's "Relapse," III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_332_332" id="Note_332_332"></a><a href="#NoteRef_332_332"><span class="label">[332]</span></a>Ibid. III. 5.</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>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_334_334" id="Note_334_334"></a><a href="#NoteRef_334_334"><span class="label">[334]</span></a>Ibid. V. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_335_335" id="Note_335_335"></a><a href="#NoteRef_335_335"><span class="label">[335]</span></a>Ibid. III. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_336_336" id="Note_336_336"></a><a href="#NoteRef_336_336"><span class="label">[336]</span></a>Vanbrugh's "Relapse," III. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_337_337" id="Note_337_337"></a><a href="#NoteRef_337_337"><span class="label">[337]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_338_338" id="Note_338_338"></a><a href="#NoteRef_338_338"><span class="label">[338]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 4. The character of the nurse is excellent. Tom -Fashion thanks her for the training she has given Hoyden: "Alas, all I -can boast of is, I gave her pure good milk, and so your honour would -have said, an you had seen how the poor thing sucked it.—Eh! God's -blessing on the sweet face on't! how it used to hang at this poor teat, -and suck and squeeze, and kick and sprawl it would, till the belly on't -was so full, it would drop off like a leech." This is good, even after -Juliet's nurse in Shakespeare.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_339_339" id="Note_339_339"></a><a href="#NoteRef_339_339"><span class="label">[339]</span></a>Vanbrugh's "Relapse," IV. 6.</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>Ibid. V. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_341_341" id="Note_341_341"></a><a href="#NoteRef_341_341"><span class="label">[341]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_342_342" id="Note_342_342"></a><a href="#NoteRef_342_342"><span class="label">[342]</span></a>Vanbrugh's "Relapse," V. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_343_343" id="Note_343_343"></a><a href="#NoteRef_343_343"><span class="label">[343]</span></a>See also the character of a young stupid blockhead, Squire -Humphrey. (Vanbrugh's "Journey to London.") He has only a single idea, to -be always eating.</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>Wycherley's Hippolita; Farquhar's Silvia.</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>Farquhar's "Beaux Stratagem," IV. 1</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>Vanbrugh's "Provoked Wife," III. 3</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>Ibid. V. 2.</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>Congreve's "Love for Love," II. 10.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_349_349" id="Note_349_349"></a><a href="#NoteRef_349_349"><span class="label">[349]</span></a>Ibid. 11.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_350_350" id="Note_350_350"></a><a href="#NoteRef_350_350"><span class="label">[350]</span></a>Miss Prue: "Well, and there's a handsome gentleman, and a -fine gentleman, and a sweet gentleman, that was here, that loves me, and -I love him; and if he sees you speak to me any more, he'll thrash your -jacket for you, he will; you great sea-calf."</p> - -<p>Ben: "What! do you mean that fair-weather spark that was here just now? -Will he thrash my jacket? Let'n, let'n, let'n—but an he comes near me, -mayhap I may give him a salt-eel for's supper, for all that. What does -father mean, to leave me alone, as soon as I come home with such a dirty -dowdy? Sea-calf! I an't calf enough to lick your chalked face, you -cheese-curd you."—Ibid. III. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_351_351" id="Note_351_351"></a><a href="#NoteRef_351_351"><span class="label">[351]</span></a>Congreve's "Love for Love," V. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_352_352" id="Note_352_352"></a><a href="#NoteRef_352_352"><span class="label">[352]</span></a>Congreve, "The Way of the World," III. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_353_353" id="Note_353_353"></a><a href="#NoteRef_353_353"><span class="label">[353]</span></a>Ibid. IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_354_354" id="Note_354_354"></a><a href="#NoteRef_354_354"><span class="label">[354]</span></a>Congreve, "The Double-dealer," II. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_355_355" id="Note_355_355"></a><a href="#NoteRef_355_355"><span class="label">[355]</span></a>Congreve, "The Way of the World."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_356_356" id="Note_356_356"></a><a href="#NoteRef_356_356"><span class="label">[356]</span></a>Ibid. II. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_357_357" id="Note_357_357"></a><a href="#NoteRef_357_357"><span class="label">[357]</span></a>Ibid. III. 11.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_358_358" id="Note_358_358"></a><a href="#NoteRef_358_358"><span class="label">[358]</span></a>Congreve, "The Way of the World," IV. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_359_359" id="Note_359_359"></a><a href="#NoteRef_359_359"><span class="label">[359]</span></a>Ibid. IV. 6.</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>Amanda: "How did you live together?" Berinthia: "Like man -and wife, asunder.—He loved the country, I the town. He hawks and -hounds, I coaches and equipage. He eating and drinking, I carding and -playing. He the sound of a horn, I the squeak of a fiddle. We were dull -company at table, worse a-bed. Whenever we met, we gave one another the -spleen; and never agreed but once, which was about lying -alone."—Vanbrugh, "Relapse," Act II. ad fin.</p> - -<p>Compare Vanbrugh, "A Journey to London." Rarely has the repulsiveness -and corruption of the brutish or worldly nature been more vividly -displayed. Little Betty and her brother. Squire Humphrey, deserve -hanging.</p> - -<p>Again. Mrs. Foresight: "Do you think any woman honest?" Scandal: -"Yes, several very honest; they'll cheat a little at cards, sometimes; but -that's nothing." Mrs. F.: "Pshaw! but virtuous, I mean." S.: "Yes, faith; -I believe some women are virtuous too; but 'tis as I believe some men are -valiant, through fear. For why should a man court danger or a woman shun -pleasure?"—Congreve, "Love for Love," III. 14.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_361_361" id="Note_361_361"></a><a href="#NoteRef_361_361"><span class="label">[361]</span></a>Vanbrugh, "Provoked Wife," V. 2. Compare also in this piece -the character of Mademoiselle, the French chambermaid. They represent -French vice as even more shameless than English vice.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_362_362" id="Note_362_362"></a><a href="#NoteRef_362_362"><span class="label">[362]</span></a>Farquhar's "The Beaux Stratagem," I. 1; and in the same -piece here is the catechism of love: "What are the objects of that -passion?—youth, beauty, and clean linen." And from the "Mock Astrologer" -of Dryden: "As I am a gentleman, a man about town, one that wears good -clothes, eats, drinks, and wenches sufficiently."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_363_363" id="Note_363_363"></a><a href="#NoteRef_363_363"><span class="label">[363]</span></a>Congreve, "The Way of the World," II. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_364_364" id="Note_364_364"></a><a href="#NoteRef_364_364"><span class="label">[364]</span></a>The part of Chaplain Foigard in Farquhar's "Beaux -Stratagem": of Mademoiselle, and generally of all the French people.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_365_365" id="Note_365_365"></a><a href="#NoteRef_365_365"><span class="label">[365]</span></a>The part of Amanda in Vanbrugh's "Relapse"; of Mrs. -Sullen; the conversion of two roisterers, in the "Beaux Stratagem."</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>"Though marriage be a lottery in which there are a wondrous -many blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot, in which the only heaven -upon earth is written."</p> - -<p>"To be capable of loving one, doubtless, is better than to possess a -thousand."—Vanbrugh.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_367_367" id="Note_367_367"></a><a href="#NoteRef_367_367"><span class="label">[367]</span></a>"She Stoops to Conquer."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_368_368" id="Note_368_368"></a><a href="#NoteRef_368_368"><span class="label">[368]</span></a>"The Works of Lord Byron", 18 vols. ed. Moore, 1833, II. -p. 303.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_369_369" id="Note_369_369"></a><a href="#NoteRef_369_369"><span class="label">[369]</span></a>Acres: "Odds blades! David, no gentleman will ever risk -the loss of his honour!"</p> - -<p>David: "I say, then, it would be but civil in honour never to risk the -loss of a gentleman.—Look ye, master, this honour seems to me to be a -marvellous false friend; ay, truly, a very courtier-like servant."—The -Dramatic Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1828; "The Rivals," IV. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_370_370" id="Note_370_370"></a><a href="#NoteRef_370_370"><span class="label">[370]</span></a>Sir Anthony: "Nay, but Jack, such eyes! so innocently -wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some -thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! so deeply blushing at the -insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O Jack, lips, -smiling at their own discretion! and if not smiling, more sweetly -pouting, more lovely in sullenness!"—Ibid. III. 1.</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>"The School for Scandal," II. 2.</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>"The School for Scandal," I. 1.</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>Ibid. II. 2.</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>"The School for Scandal," I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_375_375" id="Note_375_375"></a><a href="#NoteRef_375_375"><span class="label">[375]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_SECOND_III">CHAPTER SECOND</a></h4> -<h4><a id="Dryden">Dryden</a></h4> - - -<p>Comedy has led us a long way; we must return on our steps and consider -other kinds of writing. A higher spirit moves in the midst of the great -current. In the history of this talent we shall find the history of the -English classical spirit, its structure, its gaps, and its powers, its -formation and its development.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Drydens_Debut">Section I.—Dryden's Début</a></h4> - - -<p>The subject of the following lines is a young man, Lord Hastings, who -died of smallpox at the age of nineteen:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"His body was an orb, his sublime soul</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did move on virtue's and on learning's pole;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">... Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If thou this hero's altitude canst take.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">... Blisters with pride swell'd, which through's flesh did sprout</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like rose-buds, stuck i' the lily skin about.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Each little pimple had a tear in it,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To wail the fault its rising did commit....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The cabinet of a richer soul within?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No comet need foretell his change drew on</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose corpse might seem a constellation."<a name="NoteRef_376_376" id="NoteRef_376_376"></a><a href="#Note_376_376" class="fnanchor">[376]</a></span></p> - - -<p>With such a pretty morsel, Dryden, the greatest poet of the classical -age, makes his <i>début.</i></p> - -<p>Such enormities indicate the close of a literary age. Excess of folly in -poetry, as excess of injustice in political matters, leads up to and -foretell revolutions. The Renaissance, unchecked and original, abandoned -the minds of men to the excitement and caprice of imagination, the -eccentricities, curiosities, outbreaks of a fancy which only cares to -content itself, breaks out <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> into singularities, has need of novelties, -and loves audacity and extravagance, as reason loves justice and truth. -After the extinction of genius folly remained; after the removal of -inspiration nothing was left but absurdity. Formerly disorder and -internal enthusiasm produced and excused <i>concetti</i> and wild flights; -thenceforth men threw them out in cold blood, by calculation and without -excuse. Formerly they expressed the state of the mind, now they belie -it. So are literary revolutions accomplished. The form, no longer -original or spontaneous, but imitated and passed from hand to hand, -outlives the old spirit which had created it, and is in opposition to -the new spirit which destroys it. This preliminary strife and -progressive transformation make up the life of Dryden, and account for -his impotence and his failures, his talent and his success.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Drydens_Family_and_Education">Section II.—Dryden's Family and Education</a></h4> - - -<p>Dryden's beginnings are in striking contrast with those of the poets of -the Renaissance, actors, vagabonds, soldiers, who were tossed about from -the first in all the contrasts and miseries of active life. He was born -in 1631 of a good family; his grand-father and uncle were baronets; Sir -Gilbert Pickering, his first cousin, was created a baronet by Charles I, -was a member of Parliament, chamberlain to the Protector, and one of his -Peers. Dryden was brought up in an excellent school, under Dr. Busby, -then in high repute; after which he passed four years at Cambridge. -Having inherited by his father's death a small estate, he used his -liberty and fortune only to remain in his studious life, and continued -in seclusion at the University for three years more. These are the -regular habits of an honorable and well-to-do family, the discipline of -a connected and solid education, the taste for classical and complete -studies. Such circumstances announce and prepare, not an artist, but a -man of letters.</p> - -<p>I find the same inclination and the same signs in the remainder of his -life, private or public. He regularly spends his mornings in writing or -reading, then dines with his family. His reading was that of a man of -culture and a critical mind, who does not think of amusing or exciting -himself, but who learns <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> and judges. Vergil, Ovid, Horace, Juvenal, and -Persius were his favorite authors; he translated several; their names -were always on his pen; he discusses their opinions and their merits, -feeding himself on that reasoning which oratorical customs had imprinted -on all the works of the Roman mind. He is familiar with the new French -literature, the heir of the Latin, with Corneille and Racine, Boileau, -Rapin, and Bossu;<a name="NoteRef_377_377" id="NoteRef_377_377"></a><a href="#Note_377_377" class="fnanchor">[377]</a> he reasons with them, often in their spirit, -writes thoughtfully, seldom fails to arrange some good theory to justify -each of his new works. He knew very well the literature of his own -country, though sometimes not very accurately, gave to authors their due -rank, classified the different kinds of writing, went back as far as old -Chaucer, whom he translated and put into a modern dress. His mind thus -filled, he would go in the afternoon to Will's coffee-house, the great -literary rendezvous: young poets, students fresh from the University, -literary dilettante crowded round his chair, carefully placed in summer -on the balcony, in winter by the fire, thinking themselves fortunate to -listen to him, or to extract a pinch of snuff respectfully from his -learned snuff-box. For indeed he was the monarch of taste and the umpire -of letters; he criticised novelties—Racine's last tragedy, Blackmore's -heavy epic, Swift's first poems; slightly vain, praising his own -writings, to the extent of saying that "no one had ever composed or will -ever compose a finer ode" than his own "Alexander's Feast"; but full of -information, fond of that interchange of ideas which discussion never -fails to produce, capable of enduring contradiction, and admitting his -adversary to be in the right. These manners show that literature had -become a matter of study rather than of inspiration, an employment for -taste rather than for enthusiasm, a source of amusement rather than of -emotion.</p> - -<p>His audience, his friendships, his actions, his quarrels, had the same -tendency. He lived amongst great men and courtiers, in a society of -artificial manners and measured language. He had married the daughter of -Thomas, Earl of Berkshire; he was historiographer-royal and -poet-laureate. He often saw the king and the princes. He dedicated each -of his works to some <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> lord, in a laudatory, flunkeyish preface, bearing -witness to his intimate acquaintance with the great. He received a purse -of gold for each dedication, went to return thanks; introduces some of -these lords under pseudonyms in his "Essay on the Dramatic Art"; wrote -introductions for the works of others, called them Mæcenas, Tibullus, -or Pollio; discussed with them literary works and opinions. The -re-establishment of the court had brought back the art of conversation, -vanity, the necessity for appearing to be a man of letters and of -possessing good taste, all the company-manners which are the source of -classical literature, and which teach men the art of speaking well.<a name="NoteRef_378_378" id="NoteRef_378_378"></a><a href="#Note_378_378" class="fnanchor">[378]</a> -On the other hand, literature, brought under the influence of society, -entered into society's interests, and first of all in petty private -quarrels. Whilst men of letters learned etiquette, courtiers learned how -to write. They soon became jumbled together, and naturally fell to -blows. The Duke of Buckingham wrote a parody on Dryden, "The Rehearsal," -and took infinite pains to teach the chief actor Dryden's tone and -gestures. Later, Rochester took up the cudgels against the poet, -supported a cabal in favor of Settle against him, and hired a band of -ruffians to cudgel him. Besides this, Dryden had quarrels with Shadwell -and a crowd of others, and finally with Blackmore and Jeremy Collier. To -crown all, he entered into the strife of political parties and religious -sects, fought for the Tories and Anglicans, then for the Roman -Catholics; wrote "The Medal, Absalom and Achitophel" against the -Whigs: "Religio Laici" against Dissenters and Papists; then "The Hind -and Panther" for James II, with the logic of controversy and the -bitterness of party. It is a long way from this combative and -argumentative existence to the reveries and seclusion of the true poet. -Such circumstances teach the art of writing clearly and soundly, -methodical and connected discussion, strong and exact style, banter and -refutation, eloquence and satire; these gifts are necessary to make a -man of letters heard or believed, and the mind enters compulsorily upon -a track when it is the only one that can conduct it to its goal. Dryden -entered upon it spontaneously. In his second production,<a name="NoteRef_379_379" id="NoteRef_379_379"></a><a href="#Note_379_379" class="fnanchor">[379]</a> the -abundance of well-ordered <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> ideas, the energy and oratorical harmony, the -simplicity, the gravity, the heroic and Roman spirit, announce a classic -genius, the relative not of Shakespeare, but of Corneille, capable not -of dramas, but of discussions.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Dramatic_Theories_of_Dryden">Section III.—Dramatic Theories of Dryden</a></h4> - - -<p>And yet, at first, he devoted himself to the drama; he wrote -twenty-seven pieces, and signed an agreement with the actors of the -King's Theatre to supply them with three every year. The theatre, -forbidden under the Commonwealth, had just reopened with extraordinary -magnificence and success. The rich scenes made movable, the women's -parts no longer played by boys, but by women, the novel and splendid -wax-lights, the machinery, the recent popularity of actors who had -become heroes of fashion, the scandalous importance of the actresses, -who were mistresses of the aristocracy and of the king, the example of -the court and the imitation of France, drew spectators in crowds. The -thirst for pleasure, long repressed, knew no bounds. Men indemnified -themselves for the long abstinence imposed by fanatical Puritans; eyes -and ears, disgusted with gloomy faces, nasal pronunciation, official -ejaculations on sin and damnation, satiated themselves with sweet -singing, sparkling dress, the seduction of voluptuous dances. They -wished to enjoy life, and that in a new fashion; for a new world, that -of the courtiers and the idle, had been formed. The abolition of feudal -tenures, the vast increase of commerce and wealth, the concourse of -landed proprietors, who let their lands and came to London to enjoy the -pleasures of the town and to court the favors of the king, had installed -on the summit of society, in England as well as in France, rank, -authority, the manners and tastes of the world of fashion, of the idle, -the drawing-room frequenters, lovers of pleasure, conversation, wit, and -polish, occupied with the piece in vogue, less to amuse themselves than -to criticise it. Thus was Dryden's drama built up; the poet, greedy of -glory and pressed for money, found here both money and glory, and was -half an innovator, with a large reinforcement of theories and prefaces, -diverging from the old English drama, approaching the new French -tragedy, attempting a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> compromise between classical eloquence and -romantic truth, accommodating himself as well as he could to the new -public, which paid and applauded him.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The language, wit, and conversation of our age, are improved and -refined above the last.... Let us consider in what the refinement of a -language principally consists; that is, 'either in rejecting such old -words, or phrases, which are ill-sounding or improper; or in admitting -new, which are more proper, more sounding, and more significant.' ... -Let any man who understands English, read diligently the works of -Shakspeare and Fletcher, and I dare undertake, that he will find in -every page either some solecism of speech, or some notorious flaw in -sense.... Many of (their plots) were made of some ridiculous, incoherent -story, which in one play many times took up the business of an age. I -suppose I need not name 'Pericles Prince of Tyre,' nor the historical -plays of Shakspeare; besides many of the rest, as the 'Winter's Tale, -Love's Labour Lost, Measure for Measure,' which were either grounded on -impossibilities, or at least so meanly written, that the comedy neither -caused your mirth, nor the serious part your concernment.... I could -easily demonstrate, that our admired Fletcher neither understood correct -plotting, nor that which they call the decorum of the stage.... The -reader will see Philaster wounding his mistress, and afterwards his boy, -to save himself.... And for his shepherd he falls twice into the former -indecency of wounding women."<a name="NoteRef_380_380" id="NoteRef_380_380"></a><a href="#Note_380_380" class="fnanchor">[380]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Fletcher nowhere permits kings to retain a dignity suited to kings. -Moreover, the action of these authors' plays is always barbarous. They -introduce battles on the stage; they transport the scene in a moment to -a distance of twenty years or five hundred leagues, and a score of times -consecutively in one act; they jumble together three or four different -actions, especially in the historical dramas. But they sin most in -style. Dryden says of Shakespeare: "Many of his words, and more of his -phrases, are scarce intelligible. And of those which we understand, some -are ungrammatical, others coarse; and his whole style is so pestered -with figurative expressions, that it is as affected as it is -obscure."<a name="NoteRef_381_381" id="NoteRef_381_381"></a><a href="#Note_381_381" class="fnanchor">[381]</a> Ben Jonson himself often has bad plots, redundancies, -barbarisms: "Well-placing of words, for the sweetness of pronunciation, -was not known till Mr. Waller introduced it."<a name="NoteRef_382_382" id="NoteRef_382_382"></a><a href="#Note_382_382" class="fnanchor">[382]</a> All, in short, -descend to quibbles, low and common expressions: "In the age wherein -those poets lived, there was less of gallantry than in ours.... Besides -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> want of education and learning, they wanted the benefit of -converse.... Gentlemen will now be entertained with the follies of each -other; and, though they allow Cob and Tibb to speak properly, yet they -are not much pleased with their tankard, or with their rags."<a name="NoteRef_383_383" id="NoteRef_383_383"></a><a href="#Note_383_383" class="fnanchor">[383]</a> For -these gentlemen we must now write, and especially for "reasonable men"; -for it is not enough to have wit or to love tragedy, in order to be a -good critic: we must possess sound knowledge and a lofty reason, know -Aristotle, Horace, Longinus, and pronounce judgment according to their -rules.<a name="NoteRef_384_384" id="NoteRef_384_384"></a><a href="#Note_384_384" class="fnanchor">[384]</a> These rules, based upon observation and logic, prescribe -unity of action; that this action should have a beginning, middle, and -end; that its parts should proceed naturally one from the other; that it -should excite terror and pity, so as to instruct and improve us; that -the characters should be distinct, harmonious, conformable with -tradition or the design of the poet. Such, says Dryden, will be the new -tragedy, closely allied, it seems, to the French, especially as he -quotes Bossu and Rapin, as if he took them for instructors.</p> - -<p>Yet it differs from it, and Dryden enumerates all that an English pit -can blame on the French stage. He says:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The beauties of the French poesy are the beauties of a statue, but not -of a man, because not animated with the soul of poesy, which is -imitation of humour and passions.... He who will look upon their plays -which have been written till these last ten years, or thereabouts, will -find it an hard matter to pick out two or three passable humours amongst -them. Corneille himself, their arch-poet, what has he produced except -the 'Liar'? and you know how it was cried up in France; but when it came -upon the English stage, though well translated,... the most favourable -to it would not put it in competition with many of Fletcher's or Ben -Jonson's.... Their verses are to me the coldest I have ever read,... -their speeches being so many declamations. When the French stage came to -be reformed by Cardinal Richelieu, those long harangues were introduced, -to comply with the gravity of a churchman. Look upon the 'Cinna' and the -'Pompey'; they are not so properly to be called plays as long discourses -of reasons of state; and 'Polieucte,' in matters of religion is as -solemn as the long stops upon our organs. Since that time it is grown -into a custom, and their actors speak by the hour-glass, like our -parsons.... I deny not but this may suit well enough with the French; -for as we who are a more sullen people, come to be diverted at our -plays, so they, who are of an airy and gay temper, come thither to make -themselves more serious."<a name="NoteRef_385_385" id="NoteRef_385_385"></a><a href="#Note_385_385" class="fnanchor">[385]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - - -<p>As for the tumults and combats which the French relegate behind the -scenes, "nature has so formed our countrymen to fierceness,... they will -scarcely suffer combats and other objects of horror to be taken from -them."<a name="NoteRef_386_386" id="NoteRef_386_386"></a><a href="#Note_386_386" class="fnanchor">[386]</a> Thus the French, by fettering themselves with these -scruples,<a name="NoteRef_387_387" id="NoteRef_387_387"></a><a href="#Note_387_387" class="fnanchor">[387]</a> and confining themselves in their unities and their -rules, have removed action from their stage, and brought themselves down -to unbearable monotony and dryness. They lack originality, naturalness, -variety, fulness.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"... Contented to be thinly regular:...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their tongue, enfeebled, is refined too much,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, like pure gold, it bends at every touch.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our sturdy Teuton yet will art obey,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">More fit for manly thought, and strengthened with allay."<a name="NoteRef_388_388" id="NoteRef_388_388"></a><a href="#Note_388_388" class="fnanchor">[388]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Let them laugh as much as they like at Fletcher and Shakespeare; there -is in them "a more masculine fancy and greater spirit in the writing -than there is in any of the French."</p> - -<p>Though exaggerated, this criticism is good; and because it is good, I -mistrust the works which the writer is to produce. It is dangerous for -an artist to be excellent in theory; the creative spirit is hardly -consonant with the criticising spirit: he who, quietly seated on the -shore, discusses and compares, is hardly capable of plunging straight -and boldly into the stormy sea of invention. Moreover, Dryden holds -himself too evenly poised betwixt the moods; original artists love -exclusively and unjustly a certain idea and a certain world; the rest -disappears from their eyes; confined to one region of art, they deny or -scorn the other; it is because they are limited that they are strong. We -see beforehand that Dryden, pushed one way by his English mind, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> will be -drawn another way by his French rules; that he will alternately venture -and partly restrain himself; that he will attain mediocrity; that is, -platitude; that his faults will be incongruities; that is, absurdities. -All original art is self-regulated, and no original art can be regulated -from without: it carries its own counterpoise, and does not receive it -from elsewhere; it constitutes an inviolable whole; it is an animated -existence, which lives on its own blood, and which languishes or dies if -deprived of some of its blood and supplied from the veins of another. -Shakespeare's imagination cannot be guided by Racine's reason, nor -Racine's reason be exalted by Shakespeare's imagination; each is good in -itself, and excludes its rival; to unite them would be to produce a -bastard, a weakling, and a monster. Disorder, violent and sudden action, -harsh words, horror, depth, truth, exact imitation of reality, and the -lawless outbursts of mad passions—these features of Shakespeare become -each other. Order, measure, eloquence, aristocratic refinement, worldly -urbanity, exquisite painting of delicacy and virtue, all Racine's -features suit each other. It would destroy the one to attenuate, the -other to inflame him. Their whole being and beauty consist in the -agreement of their parts: to mar this agreement would be to abolish -their being and their beauty. In order to produce, we must invent a -personal and harmonious conception: we must not mingle two strange and -opposite ones. Dryden has left undone what he should have done, and has -done what he should not have done.</p> - -<p>He had, moreover, the worst of audiences, debauched and frivolous, void -of individual taste, floundering amid confused recollections of the -national literature and deformed imitations of foreign literature, -expecting nothing from the stage but the pleasure of the senses or the -gratification of curiosity. In reality, the drama, like every work of -art, only gives life and truth to a profound ideal of man and of -existence; there is a hidden philosophy under its circumvolutions and -violences, and the public ought to be capable of comprehending it, as -the poet is of conceiving it. The audience must have reflected or felt -with energy or refinement, in order to take in energetic or refined -thoughts; Hamlet and Iphigénie will never move a vulgar roisterer or a -lover of money. The character who weeps on the stage only rehearses our -own tears; our interest is but sympathy; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> and the drama is like an -external conscience, which shows us what we are, what we love, what we -have felt. What could the drama teach to gamesters like St. Albans, -drunkards like Rochester, prostitutes like Castlemaine, old boys like -Charles II? What spectators were those coarse epicureans, incapable even -of an assumed decency, lovers of brutal pleasures, barbarians in their -sports, obscene in words, void of honor, humanity, politeness, who made -the court a house of ill-fame! The splendid decorations, change of -scenes, the patter of long verse and forced sentiments, the observance -of a few rules imported from Paris—such was the natural food of their -vanity and folly, and such the theatre of the English Restoration.</p> - -<p>I take one of Dryden's tragedies, very celebrated in time past, -"Tyrannic Love, or the Royal Martyr";—a fine title, and fit to make a -stir. The royal martyr is St. Catharine, a princess of royal blood as it -appears, who is brought before the tyrant Maximin. She confesses her -faith, and a pagan philosopher, Apollonius, is set loose against her, to -refute her. Maximin says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"War is my province!—Priest, why stand you mute?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You gain by heaven, and, therefore, should dispute."</span></p> - - -<p>Thus encouraged, the priest argues; but St. Catharine replies in the -following words:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"... Reason with your fond religion fights,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For many gods are many infinites;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This to the first philosophers was known,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Who, under various names, ador'd but one."<a name="NoteRef_389_389" id="NoteRef_389_389"></a><a href="#Note_389_389" class="fnanchor">[389]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Apollonius scratches his ear a little, and then answers that there are -great truths and good moral rules in paganism. The pious logician -immediately replies:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Then let the whole dispute concluded be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Betwixt these rules, and Christianity."<a name="NoteRef_390_390" id="NoteRef_390_390"></a><a href="#Note_390_390" class="fnanchor">[390]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Being nonplussed, Apollonius is converted on the spot, insults the -prince, who, finding St. Catharine very beautiful, becomes suddenly -enamored, and makes jokes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Absent, I may her martyrdom decree,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But one look more will make that martyr me."<a name="NoteRef_391_391" id="NoteRef_391_391"></a><a href="#Note_391_391" class="fnanchor">[391]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> - - -<p>In this dilemma he sends Placidius, "a great officer," to St. Catharine; -the great officer quotes and praises the gods of Epicurus; forthwith the -lady propounds the doctrine of final causes, which upsets that of atoms. -Maximin comes himself, and says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Since you neglect to answer my desires,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Know, princess, you shall burn in other fires."<a name="NoteRef_392_392" id="NoteRef_392_392"></a><a href="#Note_392_392" class="fnanchor">[392]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Thereupon she beards and defies him, calls him a slave, and walks off. -Touched by these delicate manners, he wishes to marry her lawfully, and -to repudiate his wife. Still, to omit no expedient, he employs a -magician, who utters invocations (on the stage), summons the infernal -spirits, and brings up a troop of spirits; these dance and sing -voluptuous songs about the bed of St. Catharine. Her guardian-angel -comes and drives them away. As a last resource, Maximin has a wheel -brought on the stage, on which to expose St. Catharine and her mother. -Whilst the executioners are going to strip the saint, a modest angel -descends in the nick of time, and breaks the wheel; after which the -ladies are carried off, and their throats are cut behind the wings. Add -to these pretty inventions a twofold intrigue, the love of Maximin's -daughter, Valeria, for Porphyrius, captain of the Prætorian bands, and -that of Porphyrius for Berenice, Maximin's wife; then a sudden -catastrophe, three deaths, and the triumph of the good people, who get -married and interchange polite phrases. Such is this tragedy, which is -called French-like; and most of the others are like it. In "Secret -Love," in "Marriage à la Mode," in "Aureng-Zebe," in the "Indian -Emperor," and especially in the "Conquest of Granada," everything is -extravagant. People cut one another to pieces, take towns, stab each -other, shout lustily. These dramas have just the truth and naturalness -of the libretto of an opera. Incantations abound; a spirit appears in -the "Indian Emperor," and declares that the Indian gods "are driven to -exile from their native lands." Ballets are also there; Vasquez and -Pizarro, seated in "a pleasant grotto," watch like conquerors the dances -of the Indian girls, who gambol voluptuously <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> about them. Scenes worthy -of Lulli<a name="NoteRef_393_393" id="NoteRef_393_393"></a><a href="#Note_393_393" class="fnanchor">[393]</a> are not wanting; Almeria, like Armide, comes to slay -Cortez in his sleep, and suddenly falls in love with him. Yet the -libretti of the opera have no incongruities; they avoid all which might -shock the imagination or the eyes; they are written for men of taste, -who shun ugliness and heaviness of any sort. Would you believe it? In -the "Indian Emperor," Montezuma is tortured on the stage, and to cap -all, a priest tries to convert him in the mean while.<a name="NoteRef_394_394" id="NoteRef_394_394"></a><a href="#Note_394_394" class="fnanchor">[394]</a> I recognize -in this frightful pedantry the handsome cavaliers of the time, logicians -and hangmen, who fed on controversy, and for the sake of amusement went -to look at the tortures of the Puritans. I recognize behind these heaps -of improbabilities and adventures the puerile and worn-out courtiers, -who, sodden with wine, were past seeing incongruities, and whose nerves -were only stirred by startling surprises and barbarous events.</p> - -<p>Let us go still further. Dryden would set up on his stage the beauties -of French tragedy, and in the first place its nobility of sentiment. Is -it enough to copy, as he does, phrases of chivalry? He would need a -whole world, for a whole world is necessary to form noble souls. Virtue, -in the French tragic poets, is based on reason, religion, education, -philosophy. Their characters have that uprightness of mind, that -clearness of logic, that lofty judgment, which plant in a man settled -maxims and self-government. We perceive in their company the doctrines -of Bossuet and Descartes; with them, reflection aids conscience; the -habits of society add tact and finesse. The avoidance of violent actions -and physical horrors, the proportion and order of the fable, the art of -disguising or shunning coarse or low persons, the continuous perfection -of the most measured and noble style, everything contributes to raise -the stage to a sublime region, and we believe in higher souls by seeing -them <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> in a purer air. Can we believe in them in Dryden? Frightful or -infamous characters every instant drag us down by their coarse -expressions in their own mire. Maximin, having stabbed Placidius, sits -on his body, stabs him twice more, and says to the guards:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Bring me Porphyrius and my empress dead:—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I would brave heaven, in my each hand a head."<a name="NoteRef_395_395" id="NoteRef_395_395"></a><a href="#Note_395_395" class="fnanchor">[395]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Nourmahal, repulsed by her husband's son, insists four times, using such -indecent and pedantic words as the following:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And why this niceness to that pleasure shown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where nature sums up all her joys in one....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Promiscuous love is nature's general law;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For whosoever the first lovers were,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Brother and sister made the second pair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And doubled by their love their piety....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You must be mine, that you may learn to live."<a name="NoteRef_396_396" id="NoteRef_396_396"></a><a href="#Note_396_396" class="fnanchor">[396]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Illusion vanishes at once; instead of being in a room with noble -characters, we meet with a mad prostitute and a drunken savage. When we -lift the masks the others are little better. Almeria, to whom a crown is -offered, says insolently:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I take this garland, not as given by you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But as my merit, and my beauty's due."<a name="NoteRef_397_397" id="NoteRef_397_397"></a><a href="#Note_397_397" class="fnanchor">[397]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Indamora, to whom an old courtier makes love, settles him with the -boastfulness of an upstart and the coarseness of a kitchen-maid:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Were I no queen, did you my beauty weigh,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My youth in bloom, your age in its decay."<a name="NoteRef_398_398" id="NoteRef_398_398"></a><a href="#Note_398_398" class="fnanchor">[398]</a></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - - -<p>None of these heroines know how to conduct themselves; they look on -impertinence as dignity, sensuality as tenderness; they have the -recklessness of the courtesan, the jealousies of the grisette, the -pettiness of a chapman's wife, the billingsgate of a fish-woman. The -heroes are the most unpleasant of swash-bucklers. Leonidas, first -recognized as hereditary prince, then suddenly forsaken, consoles -himself with this modest reflection:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Tis true I am alone.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So was the godhead, ere he made the world,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And better served himself than served by nature.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">... I have scene enough within</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To exercise my virtue."<a name="NoteRef_399_399" id="NoteRef_399_399"></a><a href="#Note_399_399" class="fnanchor">[399]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Shall I speak of that great trumpet-blower Almanzor, painted, as Dryden -confesses, after Artaban,<a name="NoteRef_400_400" id="NoteRef_400_400"></a><a href="#Note_400_400" class="fnanchor">[400]</a> a redresser of wrongs, a -battalion-smiter, a destroyer of kingdoms?<a name="NoteRef_401_401" id="NoteRef_401_401"></a><a href="#Note_401_401" class="fnanchor">[401]</a> We find nothing but -overcharged sentiments, sudden devotedness, exaggerated generosities, -high-sounding bathos of a clumsy chivalry; at bottom the characters are -clods and barbarians, who have tried to deck themselves in French honor -and fashionable politeness. And such, in fact, was the English court: it -imitated that of Louis XIV as a sign-painter imitates an artist. It had -neither taste nor refinement, and wished to appear as if it possessed -them. Panders and licentious women, ruffianly or butchering courtiers, -who went to see Harrison drawn, or to mutilate Coventry, maids of honor -who have awkward accidents at a ball, or sell to the planters the -convicts presented to them, a palace full of baying dogs and bawling -gamesters, a king who would bandy obscenities in public with his -half-naked mistresses<a name="NoteRef_402_402" id="NoteRef_402_402"></a><a href="#Note_402_402" class="fnanchor">[402]</a>—such was the illustrious society; from -French modes they took but dress, from French noble sentiments but -high-sounding words. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--The_Style_of_Drydens_Plays">Section IV.—The Style of Dryden's Plays</a></h4> - - -<p>The second point worthy of imitation in classical tragedy is the style. -Dryden, in fact, purifies his own, and renders it more clear, by -introducing close reasoning and precise words. He has oratorical -discussions like Corneille, well-delivered retorts, symmetrical, like -carefully parried arguments. He has maxims vigorously enclosed in the -compass of a single line, distinctions, developments, and the whole art -of special pleading. He has happy antitheses, ornamental epithets, -finely wrought comparisons, and all the artifices of the literary mind. -What is most striking is, that he abandons that kind of verse specially -appropriated to the English drama which is without rhyme, and the -mixture of prose and verse common to the old authors, for a rhymed -tragedy like the French, fancying that he is thus inventing a new -species, which he calls heroic play. But in this transformation the good -perished, the bad remains. For rhyme differs in different races. To an -Englishman it resembles a song, and transports him at once to an ideal -and fairy world. To a Frenchman it is only a conventionalism or an -expediency, and transports him at once to an antechamber or a -drawing-room; to him it is an ornamental dress and nothing more; if it -mars prose, it ennobles it; it imposes respect, not enthusiasm, and -changes a vulgar into a high-bred style. Moreover, in French -aristocratic verse everything is connected; pedantry, logical machinery -of every kind, is excluded from it; there is nothing more disagreeable -to well-bred and refined persons than the scholastic rust. Images are -rare, but always well kept up; bold poesy, real fantasy, have no place -in it; their brilliancy and divergencies would derange the politeness -and regular flow of the social world. The right word, the prominence of -free expressions, are not to be met with in it; general terms, always -rather threadbare, suit best the caution and niceties of select society. -Dryden sins heavily against all these rules. His rhymes, to an -Englishman's ear, scatter at once the whole illusion of the stage; they -see that the characters who speak thus are but speaking puppets; he -himself admits that his heroic tragedy is only fit to represent on the -stage chivalric poems like those of Ariosto and Spenser. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - -<p>Poetic dash gives the finishing stroke to all likelihood. Would we -recognize the dramatic accent in this epic comparison?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"As some fair tulip, by a storm oppress'd</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, bending to the blast, all pale and dead,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hears, from within, the wind sing round its head—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So, shrouded up, your beauty disappears:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The storm, that caused your fright, is pass'd and done."<a name="NoteRef_403_403" id="NoteRef_403_403"></a><a href="#Note_403_403" class="fnanchor">[403]</a></span></p> - - -<p>What a singular triumphal song are these <i>concetti</i> of Cortez as he -lands:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"On what new happy climate are we thrown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So long kept secret, and so lately known?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As if our old world modestly withdrew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And here in private had brought forth a new."<a name="NoteRef_404_404" id="NoteRef_404_404"></a><a href="#Note_404_404" class="fnanchor">[404]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Think how these patches of color would contrast with the sober design of -French dissertation. Here lovers vie with each other in metaphors; there -a wooer, in order to magnify the beauties of his mistress, says that -"bloody hearts lie panting in her hand." In every page harsh or vulgar -words spoil the regularity of a noble style. Ponderous logic is broadly -displayed in the speeches of princesses. "Two ifs," says Lyndaraxa, -"scarce make one possibility."<a name="NoteRef_405_405" id="NoteRef_405_405"></a><a href="#Note_405_405" class="fnanchor">[405]</a> Dryden sets his college cap on the -heads of these poor women. Neither he nor his characters are well -brought up; they have taken from the French but the outer garb of the -bar and the schools; they have left behind symmetrical eloquence, -measured diction, elegance and delicacy. Awhile before, the licentious -coarseness of the Restoration pierced the mask of the fine sentiments -with which it was covered; now the rude English imagination breaks the -oratorical mould in which it tried to enclose itself.</p> - -<p>Let us look at the other side of the picture. Dryden would keep the -foundation of the old English drama, and retains the abundance of -events, the variety of plot, the unforeseen accidents, and the physical -representation of bloody or violent action. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> He kills as many people as -Shakespeare. Unfortunately, all poets are not justified in killing. When -they take their spectators among murders and sudden accidents, they -ought to have a hundred hidden preparations. Fancy a sort of rapture and -romantic folly, a most daring style, eccentric and poetical, songs, -pictures, reveries spoken aloud, frank scorn of all verisimilitude, a -mixture of tenderness, philosophy, and mockery, all the retiring charms -of varied feelings, all the whims of nimble fancy: the truth of events -matters little. No one who ever saw "Cymbeline" or "As you Like it" -looked at these plays with the eyes of a politician or a historian; no -one took these military processions, these accessions of princes, -seriously; the spectators were present at dissolving views. They did not -demand that things should proceed after the laws of nature; on the -contrary, they willingly did require that they should proceed against -the laws of nature. The irrationality is the charm. That new world must -be all imagination; if it was only so by halves, no one would care to -rise to it. This is why we do not rise to Dryden's. A queen dethroned, -then suddenly set up again; a tyrant who finds his lost son, is -deceived, adopts a girl in his place; a young prince led to punishment, -who snatches the sword of a guard, and recovers his crown; such are the -romances which constitute the "Maiden Queen" and the "Marriage à la -Mode." We can imagine what a display classical dissertations make in -this medley; solid reason beats down imagination, stroke after stroke, -to the ground. We cannot tell if the matter be a true portrait or a -fancy painting; we remain suspended between truth and fancy; we should -like either to get up to heaven or down to earth, and we jump down as -quick as possible from the clumsy scaffolding where the poet would perch -us.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, when Shakespeare wishes to impress a doctrine, not -raise a dream, he attunes us to it beforehand, but after another -fashion. We naturally remain in doubt before a cruel action: we divine -that the red irons which are about to put out the eyes of little Arthur -are painted sticks, and that the six rascals that besiege Rome, are -supernumeraries hired at a shilling a night. To conquer this mistrust we -must employ the most natural style, circumstantial and rude imitation of -the manners of the guardroom and of the alehouse; I can only believe in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -Jack Cade's sedition on hearing the dirty words of bestial lewdness and -mobbish stupidity. You must let me have the jests, the coarse laughter, -drunkenness, the manners of butchers and tanners, to make me imagine a -mob or an election. So in murders, let me feel the fire of bubbling -passion, the accumulation of despair or hate which have unchained the -will and nerved the hand. When the unchecked words, the fits of rage, -the convulsive ejaculations of exasperated desire, have brought me in -contact with all the links of the inward necessity which has moulded the -man and guided the crime, I no longer think whether the knife is bloody, -because I feel with inner trembling the passion which has handled it. -Have I to see if Shakespeare's Cleopatra be really dead? The strange -laugh that bursts from her when the basket of asps is brought, the -sudden tension of nerves, the flow of feverish words, the fitful gayety, -the coarse language, the torrent of ideas with which she overflows, have -already made me sound all the depths of suicide,<a name="NoteRef_406_406" id="NoteRef_406_406"></a><a href="#Note_406_406" class="fnanchor">[406]</a> and I have -foreseen it as soon as she came on the stage. This madness of the -imagination, incited by climate and despotic power; these woman's, -queen's, prostitute's nerves; this marvellous self-abandonment to all -the fire of invention and desire—these cries, tears, foam on the lips, -tempest of insults, actions, emotions; this promptitude to murder, -announce the rage with which she would rush against the least obstacle -and be dashed to pieces. What does Dryden effect in this matter with his -written phrases? What of the maid speaking, in the author's words, who -bids her half-mad mistress "call reason to assist <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> you?"<a name="NoteRef_407_407" id="NoteRef_407_407"></a><a href="#Note_407_407" class="fnanchor">[407]</a> What if -such a Cleopatra as his, designed after Lady Castlemaine,<a name="NoteRef_408_408" id="NoteRef_408_408"></a><a href="#Note_408_408" class="fnanchor">[408]</a> skilled -in artifices and whimpering, voluptuous and a coquette, with neither the -nobleness of virtue, nor the greatness of crime:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">"Nature meant me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A wife; a silly, harmless household dove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fond without art, and kind without deceit."<a name="NoteRef_409_409" id="NoteRef_409_409"></a><a href="#Note_409_409" class="fnanchor">[409]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Nay, Nature meant nothing of the kind, or otherwise this turtle dove -would not have tamed or kept an Antony; a woman without any prejudices -alone could do it, by the superiority of boldness and the fire of -genius. I can see already from the title of the piece why Dryden has -softened Shakespeare: "All for Love; or, the World well Lost." What a -wretchedness, to reduce such events to a pastoral, to excuse Antony, to -praise Charles II indirectly, to bleat as in a sheepfold! And such was -the taste of his contemporaries. When Dryden wrote the "Tempest" after -Shakespeare, and the "State of Innocence" after Milton, he again spoiled -the ideas of his masters; he turned Eve and Miranda into -courtesans;<a name="NoteRef_410_410" id="NoteRef_410_410"></a><a href="#Note_410_410" class="fnanchor">[410]</a> he extinguished everywhere, under conventionalism and -indecencies, the frankness, severity, delicacy, and charm of the -original invention. By his side, Settle, Shadwell, Sir Robert Howard did -worse. "The Empress of Morocco," by Settle, was so admired, that the -gentlemen and ladies of the court learned it by heart, to play at -Whitehall before the king. And this was not a passing fancy; although -modified, the taste was to endure. In vain poets rejected a part of the -French alloy wherewith they had mixed their native metal; in vain they -returned to the old unrhymed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> verses of Jonson and Shakespeare; in vain -Dryden, in the parts of Antony, Ventidius, Octavia, Don Sebastian, and -Dorax, recovered a portion of the old naturalness and energy; in vain -Otway, who had real dramatic talent, Lee and Southern, attained a true -or touching accent, so that once, in "Venice Preserved," it was thought -that the drama would be regenerated. The drama was dead, and tragedy -could not replace it; or rather each one died by the other; and their -union, which robbed them of strength in Dryden's time, enervated them -also in the time of his successors. Literary style blunted dramatic -truth; dramatic truth marred literary style; the work was neither -sufficiently vivid nor sufficiently well written; the author was too -little of a poet or of an orator; he had neither Shakespeare's fire of -imagination nor Racine's polish and art.<a name="NoteRef_411_411" id="NoteRef_411_411"></a><a href="#Note_411_411" class="fnanchor">[411]</a> He strayed on the -boundaries of two dramas, and suited neither the half-barbarous men of -art nor the well-polished men of the court. Such indeed was the -audience, hesitating between two forms of thought, fed by two opposite -civilizations. They had no longer the freshness of feelings, the depth -of impression, the bold originality and poetic folly of the cavaliers -and adventurers of the Renaissance; nor will they ever acquire the -aptness of speech, gentleness of manners, courtly habits, and -cultivation of sentiment and thought which adorned the court of Louis -XIV. They are quitting the age of solitary imagination and invention, -which suits their race, for the age of reasoning and worldly -conversation, which does not suit their race; they lose their own -merits, and do not acquire the merits of others. They were meagre poets -and ill-bred courtiers, having lost the art of imagination and having -not yet acquired good manners, at times dull or brutal, at times -emphatic or stiff. For the production of fine poetry, race and age must -concur. This race, diverging from its own age, and fettered at the -outset by foreign imitation, formed its classical literature but slowly; -it will only attain it after transforming its religious and political -condition: the age will be that of English reason. Dryden inaugurates it -by his other works, and the writers who appear in the reign of Queen -Anne will give it its completion, its authority, and its splendor. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--His_Merit_as_a_Dramatist">Section V.—His Merit as a Dramatist</a></h4> - - -<p>But let us pause a moment longer to inquire whether, amid so many -abortive and distorted branches, the old theatrical stock, abandoned by -chance to itself, will not produce at some point a sound and living -shoot. When a man like Dryden, so gifted, so well informed and -experienced, works with a will, there is hope that he will some time -succeed; and once, in part at least, Dryden did succeed. It would be -treating him unjustly to be always comparing him with Shakespeare; but -even on Shakespeare's ground, with the same materials, it is possible to -create a fine work; only the reader must forget for a while the great -inventor, the inexhaustible creator of vehement and original souls, and -to consider the imitator on his own merits, without forcing an -overwhelming comparison.</p> - -<p>There is vigor and art in this tragedy of Dryden, "All for Love. He has -informed us, that this was the only play written to please -himself."<a name="NoteRef_412_412" id="NoteRef_412_412"></a><a href="#Note_412_412" class="fnanchor">[412]</a> And he had really composed it learnedly, according to -history and logic. And what is better still, he wrote it in a manly -style. In the preface he says: "The fabric of the play is regular -enough, as to the inferior parts of it; and the unities of time, place, -and action, more exactly observed, than perhaps the English theatre -requires. Particularly, the action is so much one, that it is the only -of the kind without episode, or underplot; every scene in the tragedy -conducing to the main design, and every act concluding with a turn of -it."<a name="NoteRef_413_413" id="NoteRef_413_413"></a><a href="#Note_413_413" class="fnanchor">[413]</a> He did more; he abandoned the French ornaments, and returned -to national tradition: "In my style I have professed to imitate the -divine Shakespeare; which that I might perform more freely, I have -disincumbered myself from rhyme.... Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and -without vanity, that by imitating him, I have excelled myself throughout -the play; and particularly, that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and -Ventidius in the first act, to anything which I have written in this -kind."<a name="NoteRef_414_414" id="NoteRef_414_414"></a><a href="#Note_414_414" class="fnanchor">[414]</a> Dryden was right; if Cleopatra is weak, if this feebleness -of conception takes away the interest and mars the general effect, if -the new rhetoric and the old emphasis at times suspend the emotion and -destroy the likelihood, yet on the whole the drama stands erect, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -what is more, moves on. The poet is skilful; he has planned, he knows -how to construct a scene, to represent the internal struggle by which -two passions contend for a human heart. We perceive the tragical -vicissitude of the strife, the progress of a sentiment, the overthrow of -obstacles, the slow growth of desire or wrath, to the very instant when -the resolution, rising up of itself or seduced from without, rushes -suddenly in one groove. There are natural words; the poet thinks and -writes too genuinely not to discover them at need. There are manly -characters: he himself is a man; and beneath his courtier's pliability, -his affectations as a fashionable poet, he has retained his stern and -energetic character. Except for one scene of recrimination, his Octavia -is a Roman matron; and when, even in Alexandria, in Cleopatra's palace, -she comes to look for Antony, she does it with a simplicity and -nobility, not to be surpassed. "Cæsar's sister," cries out Antony, -accosting her. Octavia answers:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"That's unkind.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Had I been nothing more than Cæsar's sister,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Know, I had still remain'd in Cæsar's camp:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But your Octavia, your much injured wife,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Though banish'd from your bed, driven from your house,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In spite of Cæsar's sister, still is yours.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And prompts me not to seek what you should offer;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I come to claim you as my own; to show</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My duty first, to ask, nay beg, your kindness:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your hand, my lord; 'tis mine, and I will have it."<a name="NoteRef_415_415" id="NoteRef_415_415"></a><a href="#Note_415_415" class="fnanchor">[415]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Antony humiliated, refuses the pardon Octavia has brought him and tells -her:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I fear, Octavia, you have begg'd my life,...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Poorly and basely begg'd it of your brother.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Octavia.</i> Poorly and basely I could never beg,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor could my brother grant....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em;">My hard fortune</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But the conditions I have brought are such,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You need not blush to take: I love your honour,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Because 'tis mine; it never shall be said</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Octavia's husband was her brother's slave.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sir, you are free; free, even from her you loath;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For, though my brother bargains for your love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Makes me the price and cement of your peace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have a soul like yours; I cannot take</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll tell my brother we are reconciled;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To rule the East: I may be dropt at Athens;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No matter where. I never will complain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But only keep the barren name of wife,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And rid you of the trouble."<a name="NoteRef_416_416" id="NoteRef_416_416"></a><a href="#Note_416_416" class="fnanchor">[416]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This is lofty; this woman has a proud heart, and also a wife's heart: -she knows how to give and how to bear; and better, she knows how to -sacrifice herself without self-assertion, and calmly; no vulgar mind -conceived such a soul as this. And Ventidius, the old general, who with -her and previous to her, comes to rescue Antony from his illusion and -servitude, is worthy to speak in behalf of honor, as she had spoken for -duty. Doubtless he was a plebeian, a rude and plain-speaking soldier, -with the frankness and jests of his profession, sometimes clumsy, such -as a clever eunuch can dupe, "a thick-skulled hero," who, out of -simplicity of soul, from the coarseness of his training, unsuspectingly -brings Antony back to the meshes, which he seemed to be breaking -through. Falling into a trap, he tells Antony that he has seen Cleopatra -unfaithful with Dolabella:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Antony.</i> My Cleopatra?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> Your Cleopatra.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dolabella's Cleopatra.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Every man's Cleopatra.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> Thou best.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> I do not lie, my lord.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is this so strange? Should mistresses be left,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And not provide against a time of change?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You know she's not much used to lonely nights."<a name="NoteRef_417_417" id="NoteRef_417_417"></a><a href="#Note_417_417" class="fnanchor">[417]</a></span></p> - - -<p>It was just the way to make Antony jealous and bring him back furious to -Cleopatra. But what a noble heart has this Ventidius, and how we catch, -when he is alone with Antony, the manly voice, the deep tones which had -been heard on the battlefield! He loves his general like a good and -honest dog, and asks no better than to die, so it be at his master's -feet. He growls <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> stealthily on seeing him cast down, crouches round him, -and suddenly weeps:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Ventidius.</i> Look, emperor, this is no common dew. [<i>Weeping.</i>]</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I have not wept this forty years; but now</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My mother comes afresh into my eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I cannot help her softness.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> By Heaven, he weeps! poor, good old man, he weeps!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The big round drops course one another down</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The furrows of his cheeks.—Stop them, Ventidius,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That caused them full before me.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> I'll do my best.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For my own grief, but thine. Nay, Father!"<a name="NoteRef_418_418" id="NoteRef_418_418"></a><a href="#Note_418_418" class="fnanchor">[418]</a></span></p> - - -<p>As we hear these terrible sobs, we think of Tacitus's veterans, who -escaping from the marshes of Germany, with scarred breasts, white heads, -limbs stiff with service, kissed the hands of Drusus, carried his -fingers to their gums, that he might feel their worn and loosened teeth, -incapable to bite the wretched bread which was given to them:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In desperate sloth, miscall'd philosophy.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And long to call you chief: By painful journies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I led them, patient both of heat and hunger,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Down from the Parthian marshes to the Nile.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt faces,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands; there's virtue in them.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Than yon trim bands can buy."<a name="NoteRef_419_419" id="NoteRef_419_419"></a><a href="#Note_419_419" class="fnanchor">[419]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And when all is lost, when the Egyptians have turned traitors and there -is nothing left but to die well, Ventidius says:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"There yet remain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Three legions in the town. The last assault</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lopt off the rest: if death be your design—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As I must wish it now—these are sufficient</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To make a heap about us of dead foes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An honest pile for burial.... Chuse your death;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For, I have seen in him such various shapes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I care not which I take: I'm only troubled.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The life I bear is worn to such a rag,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis scarce worth giving. I could wish, indeed.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We threw it from us with a better grace;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That, like two lions taken in the toils,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We might at least thrust out our paws, and wound</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The hunters that inclose us."<a name="NoteRef_420_420" id="NoteRef_420_420"></a><a href="#Note_420_420" class="fnanchor">[420]</a>...</span></p> - - -<p>Antony begs him to go, but he refuses; and then he entreats Ventidius -to kill him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Antony.</i> Do not deny me twice.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> By Heaven I will not.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let it not be to outlive you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> Kill me first,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And then die thou; for 'tis but just thou serve</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy friend, before thyself.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> Give me your hand.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We soon shall meet again. Now, farewell, emperor!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 20em;">[<i>Embraces.</i>]</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">... I will not make a business of a trifle:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pray, turn your face.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> I do: strike home, be sure.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> Home, as my sword will reach."<a name="NoteRef_421_421" id="NoteRef_421_421"></a><a href="#Note_421_421" class="fnanchor">[421]</a></span></p> - - -<p>And with one blow he kills himself. These are the tragic, stoical -manners of a military monarchy, the great profusion of murders and -sacrifices wherewith the men of this overturned and shattered society -killed and died. This Antony, for whom so much has been done, is not -undeserving of their love: he has been one of Cæsar's heroes, the first -soldier of the van; kindness and generosity breathe from him to the -last; if he is weak against a woman, he is strong against men; he has -the muscles and heart, the wrath and passions of a soldier; it is this -fever-heat of blood, this too quick sentiment of honor, which has caused -him ruin; he cannot forgive his own crime; he possesses not that lofty -genius which, dwelling in a region superior to ordinary rules, -emancipates a man from hesitation, from discouragement and remorse; he -is only a soldier, he cannot forget that he has not executed the orders -given to him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Ventidius.</i> Emperor!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Antony.</i> Emperor? Why, that's the style of victory;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Salutes his general so; but never more</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall that sound reach my ears.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> I warrant you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> Actium, Actium! Oh——</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> It sits too near you.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The hag that rides my dreams...."</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Ventidius.</i> That's my royal master;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, shall we fight?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> I warrant thee, old soldier.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thou shalt behold me once again in iron;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And at the head of our old troops, that beat</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The Parthians, cry aloud, 'Come, follow me.'"<a name="NoteRef_422_422" id="NoteRef_422_422"></a><a href="#Note_422_422" class="fnanchor">[422]</a></span></p> - - -<p>He fancies himself on the battlefield, and already his impetuosity -carries him away. Such a man is not fit to govern men; we cannot master -fortune until we have mastered ourselves; this man is only made to belie -and destroy himself, and to be veered round alternately by every -passion. As soon as he believes Cleopatra faithful, honor, reputation, -empire, everything vanishes:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Ventidius.</i> And what's this toy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In balance with your fortune, honour, fame?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> What is't, Ventidius? it outweighs them all.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Why, we have more than conquer'd Cæsar now.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My queen's not only innocent, but loves me....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And ask forgiveness of wrong'd innocence!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Ventidius.</i> I'll rather die than take it. Will you go?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Antony.</i> Go! Whither? Go from all that's excellent!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">... Give, you gods,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Give to your boy, your Cæsar,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This rattle of a globe to play withal,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This gewgaw world; and put him cheaply off:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll not be pleased with less than Cleopatra."<a name="NoteRef_423_423" id="NoteRef_423_423"></a><a href="#Note_423_423" class="fnanchor">[423]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Dejection follows excess; these souls are only tempered against fear; -their courage is but that of the bull and the lion; to be fully -themselves, they need bodily action, visible danger; their temperament -sustains them; before great moral sufferings they give away. When Antony -thinks himself deceived, he despairs, and has nothing left but to die: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">"Let him (Cæsar) walk</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Alone upon't. I'm weary of my part.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My torch is out; and the world stands before me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like a black desert at the approach of night;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I'll lay me down, and stray no farther on."<a name="NoteRef_424_424" id="NoteRef_424_424"></a><a href="#Note_424_424" class="fnanchor">[424]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such verses remind us of Othello's gloomy dreams, of Macbeth's, of -Hamlet's even; beyond the pile of swelling tirades and characters of -painted cardboard, it is as though the poet had touched the ancient -drama, and brought its emotion away with him.</p> - -<p>By his side another also has felt it, a young man, a poor adventurer, by -turns a student, actor, officer, always wild and always poor, who lived -madly and sadly in excess and misery, like the old dramatists, with -their inspiration, their fire, and who died at the age of thirty-four, -according to some of a fever caused by fatigue, according to others of a -prolonged fast, at the end of which he swallowed too quickly a morsel of -bread bestowed on him in charity. Through the pompous cloak of the new -rhetoric, Thomas Otway now and then reached the passions of the other -age. It is plain that the times he lived in marred him, that he blunted -himself the harshness and truth of the emotion he felt, that he no -longer mastered the bold words he needed, that the oratorical style, the -literary phrases, the classical declamation, the well-poised antitheses, -buzzed about him, and drowned his note in their sustained and monotonous -hum. Had he but been born a hundred years earlier! In his "Orphan" and -"Venice Preserved" we encounter the sombre imaginations of Webster, -Ford, and Shakespeare, their gloomy idea of life, their atrocities, -murders, pictures of irresistible passions, which riot blindly like a -herd of savage beasts, and make a chaos of the battlefield, with their -yells and tumult, leaving behind them but devastation and heaps of dead. -Like Shakespeare, he represents on the stage human transports and -rages—a brother violating his brother's wife, a husband perjuring -himself for his wife; Polydore, Chamont, Jaffier, weak and violent -souls, the sport of chance, the prey of temptation, with whom transport -or crime, like poison poured into the veins, gradually ascends, envenoms -the whole man, is communicated to all whom he touches, and contorts and -casts them down together in a convulsive <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> delirium. Like Shakespeare, he -has found poignant and living words,<a name="NoteRef_425_425" id="NoteRef_425_425"></a><a href="#Note_425_425" class="fnanchor">[425]</a> which lay bare the depths of -humanity, the strange creaking of a machine which is getting out of -order, the tension of the will stretched to breaking-point,<a name="NoteRef_426_426" id="NoteRef_426_426"></a><a href="#Note_426_426" class="fnanchor">[426]</a> the -simplicity of real sacrifice, the humility of exasperated and craving -passion, which begs to the end, and against all hope, for its fuel and -its gratification.<a name="NoteRef_427_427" id="NoteRef_427_427"></a><a href="#Note_427_427" class="fnanchor">[427]</a> Like Shakespeare, he has conceived genuine -women<a name="NoteRef_428_428" id="NoteRef_428_428"></a><a href="#Note_428_428" class="fnanchor">[428]</a>—Monima, above all, Belvidera, who, like Imogen, has given -herself wholly, and is lost as in an abyss of adoration for him whom she -has chosen, who can but love, obey, weep, suffer, and who dies like a -flower plucked from the stalk, when her arms are torn from the neck -around which she has locked them. Like Shakespeare again, he has found, -at least once, the grand bitter buffoonery, the harsh sentiment of human -baseness; and he has introduced into his most painful tragedy, an impure -caricature, an old senator, who unbends from his official gravity in -order to play at his mistress's house the clown or the valet. How -bitter! how true was his conception, in making the busy man eager to -leave his robes and his ceremonies! how ready the man is to abase -himself, when, escaped from his part, he comes to his real self! how the -ape and the dog crop up in him! The senator Antonio comes to his -Aquilina, who insults him; he is amused; hard words are a relief to -compliments; he speaks in a shrill voice, runs into a falsetto like a -zany at a country fair:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"<i>Antonio.</i> Nacky, Nacky, Nacky—how dost do, Nacky? Hurry, -durry. I am come, little Nacky. Past eleven o'clock, a late hour; time -in all conscience to go to bed, Nacky.—Nacky did I say? Ay, Nacky, -Aquilina, lina, lina, quilina; Aquilina, Naquilina, Acky, Nacky, queen -Nacky.—Come, let's to bed.—You fubbs, you pug you—You little -puss.—Purree tuzzy—I am a senator.<br /> -<i>Aquilina.</i> You are a fool, I am sure.<br /> -<i>Antonio.</i> May be so too, sweet-heart. Never the worse senator for -all that. Come, Nacky, Nacky; let's have a game at romp, Nacky! -... You won't sit down? Then look you now; suppose me a bull, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> -a Basan-bull, the bull of bulls, or any bull. Thus up I get, and with -my brows thus bent—I broo; I say I broo, I broo, I broo. You won't -sit down, will you—-I broo.... Now, I'll be a senator again, and -thy lover, little Nicky, Nacky. Ah, toad, toad, toad, toad, spit in my -face a little, Nacky; spit in my face, pry'thee, spit in my face, never -so little; spit but a little bit—spit, spit, spit, spit when you are -bid, I say; do pry'thee, spit.—Now, now spit. What, you won't spit, will -you? Then I'll be a dog.<br /> -<i>Aquilina.</i> A dog, my lord!<br /> -<i>Antonio.</i> Ay a dog, and I'll give thee this t'other purse to let me be -a dog—and to use me like a dog a little. Hurry durry, I will—here 'tis. -(Gives the purse.)... Now bough waugh waugh, bough, waugh.<br /> -<i>Aquilina.</i> Hold, hold, sir. If curs bite, they must be kicked, sir. Do -you see, kicked thus?<br /> -<i>Antonio.</i> Ay, with all my heart. Do, kick, kick on, now I am under -the table, kick again—kick harder—harder yet—bough, waugh, waugh, -bough.—Odd, I'll have a snap at thy shins.—Bough, waugh, waugh, -waugh, bough—odd, she kicks bravely."<a name="NoteRef_429_429" id="NoteRef_429_429"></a><a href="#Note_429_429" class="fnanchor">[429]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>At last she takes a whip, thrashes him soundly, and turns him out of the -house. He will return, we may be sure of that; he has spent a pleasant -evening; he rubs his back, but he was amused. In short, he was but a -clown who had missed his vocation, whom chance has given an embroidered -silk gown, and who turns out at so much an hour political harlequinades. -He feels more natural, more at his ease, playing Punch than aping a -statesman.</p> - -<p>These are but gleams: for the most part Otway is a poet of his time, -dull and forced in color; buried, like the rest, in the heavy, gray, -clouded atmosphere, half English and half French, in which the bright -lights brought over from France, are snuffed out by the insular fogs. He -is a man of his time; dike the rest, he writes obscene comedies, "The -Soldier's Fortune, The Atheist, Friendship in Fashion." He depicts -coarse and vicious cavaliers, rogues on principle, as harsh and corrupt -as those of Wycherley, Beaugard, who vaunts and practises the maxims of -Hobbes; the father, an old, corrupt rascal, who brags of his morality, -and whom his son coldly sends to the dogs with a bag of crowns: Sir -Jolly Jumble, a kind of base Falstaff, a pander by profession, whom the -courtesans call "papa, daddy," who, "if he sits but at the table with -one, he'll be making nasty figures in the napkins:"<a name="NoteRef_430_430" id="NoteRef_430_430"></a><a href="#Note_430_430" class="fnanchor">[430]</a> Sir Davy Dunce, -a disgusting animal, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> "who has such a breath, one kiss of him were enough -to cure the fits of the mother; 'tis worse than assafœtida. Clean -linen, he says, is unwholesome...; he is continually eating of garlic, -and chewing tobacco";<a name="NoteRef_431_431" id="NoteRef_431_431"></a><a href="#Note_431_431" class="fnanchor">[431]</a> Polydore, who, enamored of his father's ward, -tries to force her in the first scene, envies the brutes, and makes up -his mind to imitate them on the next occasion.<a name="NoteRef_432_432" id="NoteRef_432_432"></a><a href="#Note_432_432" class="fnanchor">[432]</a> Otway defiles even -his heroines.<a name="NoteRef_433_433" id="NoteRef_433_433"></a><a href="#Note_433_433" class="fnanchor">[433]</a> Truly this society sickens us. They thought to cover -all their filth with fine correct metaphors, neatly ended poetical -periods, a garment of harmonious phrases and noble expressions. They -thought to equal Racine by counterfeiting his style. They did not know -that in this style the outward elegance conceals an admirable propriety -of thought; that if it is a masterpiece of art, it is also a picture of -manners; that the most refined and accomplished in society alone could -speak and understand it; that it paints a civilization, as Shakespeare's -does; that each of these lines, which appear so stiff, has its -inflection and artifice; that all passions, and every shade of passions, -are expressed in them—not, it is true, wild and entire, as in -Shakespeare, but pared down and refined by courtly life; that this is a -spectacle as unique as the other; that nature perfectly polished is as -complex and as difficult to understand as nature perfectly intact; that -as for the dramatists we speak of, they were as far below the one as -below the other; and that, in short, their characters are as much like -Racine's as the porter of M. de Beauvilliers or the cook of Mme de -Sévigné were like Mme de Sévigné or M. de Beauvilliers.<a name="NoteRef_434_434" id="NoteRef_434_434"></a><a href="#Note_434_434" class="fnanchor">[434]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--His_Prose_Style">Section VI.—His Prose Style</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us then leave this drama in the obscurity which it deserves, and -seek elsewhere, in studied writings, for a happier employment of a -fuller talent.</p> - -<p>Pamphlets and dissertations in verse, letters, satires, translations and -imitations; here was the true domain of Dryden and of classical reason; -this the field on which logical faculties and the art of writing find -their best occupation.<a name="NoteRef_435_435" id="NoteRef_435_435"></a><a href="#Note_435_435" class="fnanchor">[435]</a> Before descending into it, and observing -their work, it will be as well to study more closely the man who so -wielded them.</p> - -<p>His was a singularly solid and judicious mind, an excellent reasoner, -accustomed to mature his ideas, armed with good long-meditated proofs, -strong in discussion, asserting principles, establishing his -subdivisions, citing authorities, drawing inferences; so that, if we -read his prefaces without reading his dramas, we might take him for one -of the masters of the dramatic art. He naturally attains a prose style, -definite and precise; his ideas are unfolded with breadth and clearness; -his style is well moulded, exact and simple, free from the affectations -and ornaments with which Pope's was burdened afterwards; his expression -is, like that of Corneille, ample and full; the cause of it is simply to -be found in the inner arguments which unfold and sustain it. We can see -that he thinks, and that on his own behalf; that he combines and -verifies his thoughts; that besides all this, he naturally has a just -perception, and that with his method he has good sense. He has the -tastes and the weaknesses which suit his cast of intellect. He holds in -the highest estimation "the admirable Boileau, whose numbers are -excellent, whose expressions are noble, whose thoughts are just, whose -language is pure, whose satire is pointed, and whose sense is close. -What he borrows from the ancients, he repays with usury of his own, in -coin as good, and almost as universally valuable."<a name="NoteRef_436_436" id="NoteRef_436_436"></a><a href="#Note_436_436" class="fnanchor">[436]</a> He has the -stiffness of the logician poets, too strict and argumentative, blaming -Ariosto "who neither designed justly, nor observed any unity of action, -or compass of time, or moderation in the vastness of his draught; his -style is luxurious, without majesty or decency, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> his adventures -without the compass of nature and possibility."<a name="NoteRef_437_437" id="NoteRef_437_437"></a><a href="#Note_437_437" class="fnanchor">[437]</a> He understands -delicacy no better than fancy. Speaking of Horace, he finds that "his -wit is faint and his salt almost insipid. Juvenal is of a more vigorous -and masculine wit; he gives me as much pleasure as I can bear."<a name="NoteRef_438_438" id="NoteRef_438_438"></a><a href="#Note_438_438" class="fnanchor">[438]</a> For -the same reason he depreciates the French style: "Their language is not -strung with sinew's, like our English; it has the nimbleness of a -greyhound, but not the bulk and body of a mastiff.... They have set up -purity for the standard of their language; and a masculine vigor is that -of ours."<a name="NoteRef_439_439" id="NoteRef_439_439"></a><a href="#Note_439_439" class="fnanchor">[439]</a> Two or three such words depict a man; Dryden has just -shown, unwittingly, the measure and quality of his mind.</p> - -<p>This mind, as we may imagine, is heavy, and especially so in flattery. -Flattery is the chief art in a monarchical age. Dryden is hardly skilful -in it, any more than his contemporaries. Across the Channel, at the same -epoch, they praised just as much, but without cringing too low, because -praise was decked out; now disguised or relieved by charm of style; now -looking as if men took to it as to a fashion. Thus delicately tempered, -people are able to digest it. But here, far from the fine aristocratic -kitchen, it weighs like an undigested mass upon the stomach. I have -related how Lord Clarendon, hearing that his daughter had just married -the Duke of York in secret, begged the king to have her instantly -beheaded;<a name="NoteRef_440_440" id="NoteRef_440_440"></a><a href="#Note_440_440" class="fnanchor">[440]</a> how the Commons, composed for the most part of -Presbyterians, declared themselves and the English people rebels, worthy -of the punishment of death, and moreover cast themselves at the king's -feet, with contrite air to beg him to pardon the House and the -nation.<a name="NoteRef_441_441" id="NoteRef_441_441"></a><a href="#Note_441_441" class="fnanchor">[441]</a> Dryden is no more delicate than statesmen and legislators. -His dedications are as a rule nauseous. He says to the Duchess of -Monmouth: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> "To receive the blessings and prayers of mankind, you need -only be seen together. We are ready to conclude, that you are a pair of -angels sent below to make virtue amiable in your persons, or to sit to -poets when they would pleasantly instruct the age, by drawing goodness -in the most perfect and alluring shape of nature.... No part of Europe -can afford a parallel to your noble Lord in masculine beauty, and in -goodliness of shape."<a name="NoteRef_442_442" id="NoteRef_442_442"></a><a href="#Note_442_442" class="fnanchor">[442]</a> Elsewhere he says to the Duke of Monmouth: -"You have all the advantages of mind and body, and an illustrious birth -conspiring to render you an extraordinary person. The Achilles and the -Rinaldo are present in you, even above their originals; you only want a -Homer or a Tasso to make you equal to them. Youth, beauty, and courage -(all which you possess in the height of their perfection) are the most -desirable gifts of Heaven."<a name="NoteRef_443_443" id="NoteRef_443_443"></a><a href="#Note_443_443" class="fnanchor">[443]</a> His Grace did not frown nor hold his -nose, and his Grace was right.<a name="NoteRef_444_444" id="NoteRef_444_444"></a><a href="#Note_444_444" class="fnanchor">[444]</a> Another author, Mrs. Aphra Behn, -burned a still more ill-savored incense under the nose of Nell Gwynne: -people's nerves were strong in those days, and they breathed freely -where others would be suffocated. The Earl of Dorset having written some -little songs and satires, Dryden swears that in his way he equalled -Shakespeare, and surpassed all the ancients. And these bare-faced -panegyrics go on imperturbably for a score of pages, the author -alternately passing in review the various virtues of his great man, -always finding that the last is the finest;<a name="NoteRef_445_445" id="NoteRef_445_445"></a><a href="#Note_445_445" class="fnanchor">[445]</a> after which he receives -by way of recompense a purse of gold. Dryden in taking the money, is not -more a flunkey than others. The corporation of Hull, harangued one day -by the Duke of Monmouth, made him a present of six broad pieces, which -were presented to Monmouth by Marvell, the member for Hull.<a name="NoteRef_446_446" id="NoteRef_446_446"></a><a href="#Note_446_446" class="fnanchor">[446]</a> Modern -scruples were not yet born. I can believe that Dryden, with all his -prostrations, lacked spirit more than honor.</p> - -<p>A second talent, perhaps the first in carnival time, is the art of -saying broad things, and the Restoration was a carnival, about as -delicate as a bargee's ball. There are strange songs and rather -shameless prologues in Dryden's plays. His "Marriage à la Mode" opens -with these verses sung by a married woman:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Why should a foolish marriage vow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Which long ago was made,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oblige us to each other now,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When passion is decay'd?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We loved, and we loved as long as we could,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Till our love was loved out in us both.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But our marriage is dead when the pleasure is fled;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twas pleasure first made it an oath."<a name="NoteRef_447_447" id="NoteRef_447_447"></a><a href="#Note_447_447" class="fnanchor">[447]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The reader may read the rest for himself in Dryden's plays; it cannot be -quoted. Besides, Dryden does not succeed well; his mind is on too solid -a basis; his mood is too serious, even reserved, taciturn. As Sir Walter -Scott justly said, "his indelicacy was like the forced impudence of a -bashful man."<a name="NoteRef_448_448" id="NoteRef_448_448"></a><a href="#Note_448_448" class="fnanchor">[448]</a> He wished to wear the fine exterior of a Sedley or a -Rochester, made himself petulant of set purpose, and squatted clumsily -in the filth in which others simply sported. Nothing is more sickening -than studied lewdness, and Dryden studies everything, even pleasantry -and politeness. He wrote to Dennis, who had praised him: "They (the -commendations) are no more mine when I receive them than the light of -the moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the reflection -of her brother."<a name="NoteRef_449_449" id="NoteRef_449_449"></a><a href="#Note_449_449" class="fnanchor">[449]</a> He wrote to his cousin, in a diverting narration, -these details of a fat woman, with whom he had travelled: "Her weight -made the horses travel very heavily; but, to give them a breathing time, -she would often stop us,... and tell us we were all flesh and no -blood."<a name="NoteRef_450_450" id="NoteRef_450_450"></a><a href="#Note_450_450" class="fnanchor">[450]</a> It seems that these were the sort of jokes which would then -amuse a lady. His letters are made up of heavy official civilities, -vigorously hewn compliments, mathematical salutes; his badinage is a -dissertation, he props up his trifles with periods. I have found in his -works some beautiful passages, but never agreeable ones; he cannot even -argue with taste. The characters in his "Essay of Dramatic Poesy" think -themselves still at college, learnedly quote Paterculus, and in Latin -too, opposing the definition of the other side, and observing "that it -was only <i>à genere et fine</i>, and so not altogether perfect."<a name="NoteRef_451_451" id="NoteRef_451_451"></a><a href="#Note_451_451" class="fnanchor">[451]</a> In -one of his prefaces he says in a professorial tone: "It is charged upon -me that I make debauched persons my protagonists, or the chief persons -of the drama; and that I make them happy in the conclusion of my play; -against the law of comedy, which is to reward virtue, and punish -vice."<a name="NoteRef_452_452" id="NoteRef_452_452"></a><a href="#Note_452_452" class="fnanchor">[452]</a> Elsewhere he declares: "It is not that I would explode the -use of metaphors from passion, for Longinus thinks them necessary to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> -raise it." His great "Essay on Satire" swarms with useless or long -protracted passages, with the inquiries and comparisons of a -commentator. He cannot get rid of the scholar, the logician, the -rhetorician, and show the plain downright man.</p> - -<p>But his true manliness was often apparent; in spite of several falls and -many slips, he shows a mind constantly upright, bending rather from -conventionality than from nature, possessing enthusiasm and afflatus, -occupied with grave thoughts, and subjecting his conduct to his -convictions. He was converted loyally and by conviction to the Roman -Catholic creed, persevered in it after the fall of James II, lost his -post of historiographer and poet-laureate, and though poor, burdened -with a family, and infirm, refused to dedicate his "Vergil" to King -William. He wrote to his sons: "Dissembling, though lawful in some -cases, is not my talent: yet, for your sake, I will struggle with the -plain openness of my nature.... In the mean time, I flatter not myself -with any manner of hopes, but do my duty, and suffer for God's sake.... -You know the profits (of 'Vergil') might have been more; but neither my -conscience nor my honor would suffer me to take them; but I can never -repent of my constancy, since I am thoroughly persuaded of the justice -of the cause for which I suffer."<a name="NoteRef_453_453" id="NoteRef_453_453"></a><a href="#Note_453_453" class="fnanchor">[453]</a> One of his sons having been -expelled from school, he wrote to the master, Dr. Busby, his own former -teacher, with extreme gravity and nobleness, asking without humiliation, -disagreeing without giving offence, in a sustained and proud style, -which is calculated to please, seeking again his favor, if not as a debt -to the father, at least as a gift to the son, and concluding, "I have -done something, so far to conquer my own spirit as to ask it." He was a -good father to his children, as well as liberal, and sometimes even -generous, to the tenant of his little estate.<a name="NoteRef_454_454" id="NoteRef_454_454"></a><a href="#Note_454_454" class="fnanchor">[454]</a> He says: "More libels -have been written against me than almost any man now living.... I have -seldom answered any scurrilous lampoon,... and, being naturally -vindictive, have suffered in silence, and possessed my soul in -quiet."<a name="NoteRef_455_455" id="NoteRef_455_455"></a><a href="#Note_455_455" class="fnanchor">[455]</a> Insulted by Collier as a corrupter of morals, he endured -this coarse reproof, and nobly confessed the faults of his youth: "I -shall say the less of Mr. Collier, because in many things he has taxed -me justly; and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expressions of -mine which can be truly argued obscenity, profaneness, or immorality, -and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my -friend, as I have given him no personal occasion to be otherwise, he -will be glad of my repentance."<a name="NoteRef_456_456" id="NoteRef_456_456"></a><a href="#Note_456_456" class="fnanchor">[456]</a> There is some wit in what follows: -"He (Collier) is too much given to horseplay in his raillery, and comes -to battle like a dictator from the plough. I will not say 'the zeal of -God's house has eaten him up,' but I am sure it has devoured some part -of his good manners and civility."<a name="NoteRef_457_457" id="NoteRef_457_457"></a><a href="#Note_457_457" class="fnanchor">[457]</a> Such a repentance raises a man; -when he humbles himself thus, he must be a great man. He was so in mind -and in heart, full of solid arguments and individual opinions, above the -petty mannerism of rhetoric and affectations of style, a master of -verse, a slave to his idea, with that abundance of thought which is the -sign of true genius: "Thoughts such as they are, come crowding in so -fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject, to run -them into verses, or to give them the other harmony of prose: I have so -long studied and practised both, that they are grown into a habit, and -become familiar to me."<a name="NoteRef_458_458" id="NoteRef_458_458"></a><a href="#Note_458_458" class="fnanchor">[458]</a> With these powers he entered upon his -second career; the English constitution and genius opened it to him.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--How_Literature_in_England_is_Occupied_with_Politics_and_Religion">Section VII.—How Literature in England is Occupied with -Politics and Religion</a></h4> - - -<p>"A man," says La Bruyère, "born a Frenchman and a Christian finds -himself constrained in satire; great subjects are forbidden to him; he -essays them sometimes, and then turns aside to small things, which he -elevates by the beauty of his genius and his style." It was not so in -England. Great subjects were given up to vehement discussion; politics -and religion, like two arenas, invited every talent and every passion to -boldness and to battle. The king, at first popular, had roused -opposition by his vices and errors, and bent before public discontent as -before the intrigue of parties. It was known that he had sold the -interests of England to France; it was believed that he would deliver up -the consciences of Protestants to the Papists. The lies of Oates, the -murder of the magistrate Godfrey, his corpse solemnly paraded in the -streets of London, had inflamed the imagination and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> prejudices of the -people; the judges, blind or intimidated, sent innocent Roman Catholics -to the scaffold, and the mob received with insults and curses their -protestations of innocence. The king's brother had been dismissed from -his offices, and it was proposed to exclude him from the throne. The -pulpit, the theatre, the press, the hustings, resounded with discussions -and recriminations. The names of Whigs and Tories arose, and the -loftiest debates of political philosophy were carried on, enlivened by -the feeling of present and practical interests, embittered by the rancor -of old and wounded passions. Dryden plunged in; and his poem of "Absalom -and Achitophel" was a political pamphlet. "They who can criticise so -weakly," he says in the preface, "as to imagine that I have done my -worst, may be convinced at their own cost that I can write severely with -more ease than I can gently." A Biblical allegory, suited to the taste -of the time, hardly concealed the names, and did not hide the men. He -describes the tranquil old age and incontestable right of King -David;<a name="NoteRef_459_459" id="NoteRef_459_459"></a><a href="#Note_459_459" class="fnanchor">[459]</a> the charm, pliant humor, popularity of his natural son -Absalom;<a name="NoteRef_460_460" id="NoteRef_460_460"></a><a href="#Note_460_460" class="fnanchor">[460]</a> the genius and treachery of Achitophel,<a name="NoteRef_461_461" id="NoteRef_461_461"></a><a href="#Note_461_461" class="fnanchor">[461]</a> who stirs up -the son against the father, unites the clashing ambitions, and -reanimates the conquered factions. There is hardly any wit here; there -is no time to be witty in such contests; think of the roused people who -listened, men in prison or exile who are waiting: fortune, liberty, life -was at stake. The thing is to strike the nail on the head, hard, not -gracefully. The public must recognize <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> the characters, shout their names -as they recognize the portraits, applaud the attacks which are made upon -them, rail at them, hurl them from the high rank which they covet. -Dryden passes them all in review:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"In the first rank of these did Zimri<a name="NoteRef_462_462" id="NoteRef_462_462"></a><a href="#Note_462_462" class="fnanchor">[462]</a> stand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A man so various that he seemed to be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not one, but all mankind's epitome:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was everything by starts and nothing long;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But in the course of one revolving moon</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Blest madman, who could every hour employ</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With something new to wish or to enjoy!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Railing and praising were his usual themes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And both, to show his judgment, in extremes:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So over-violent, or over-civil,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That every man with him was God or devil.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In squandering wealth was his peculiar art;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nothing went unrewarded but desert.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Beggared by fools whom still he found too late,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He had his jest, and they had his estate.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He laugh'd himself from Court; then sought relief</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For spite of him, the weight of business fell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On Absalom and wise Achitophel;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He left not faction, but of that was left....</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Shimei,<a name="NoteRef_463_463" id="NoteRef_463_463"></a><a href="#Note_463_463" class="fnanchor">[463]</a> whose youth did early promise bring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of zeal to God and hatred to his King;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Did wisely from expensive sins refrain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And never broke the Sabbath but for gain:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor ever was he known an oath to vent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or curse, unless against the government."</span></p> - - -<p>Against these attacks their chief, Shaftesbury, made a stand; when -accused of high treason he was declared not guilty by the grand jury, in -spite of all the efforts of the court, amidst the applause of a great -crowd; and his partisans caused a medal to be struck, bearing his face, -and boldly showing on the reverse London Bridge and the Tower, with the -sun rising and shining <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> through a cloud. Dryden replied by his poem of -the "Medal," and the violent diatribe overwhelmed the open provocation:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Oh, could the style that copied every grace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And plow'd such furrows for an eunuch face,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Could it have formed his ever-changing will,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The various piece had tired the graver's skill!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A martial hero first, with early care,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Blown like a pigmy by the winds, to war;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So young his hatred to his Prince began.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Next this (how wildly will ambition steer!)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He cast himself into the saint-like mould,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The loudest bag-pipe of the squeaking train."</span></p> - - -<p>The same bitterness envenomed religious controversy. Disputes on dogma, -for a moment cast into the shade by debauched and sceptical manners, had -broken out again, inflamed by the bigoted Roman Catholicism of the -prince, and by the just fears of the nation. The poet who in "Religio -Laici" was still an Anglican, though lukewarm and hesitating, drawn on -gradually by his absolutist inclinations, had become a convert to -Romanism, and in his poem of "The Hind and the Panther" fought for his -new creed. "The nation," he says in the preface, "is in too high a -ferment for me to expect either fair war or even so much as fair quarter -from a reader of the opposite party." And then, making use of mediaeval -allegories, he represents all the heretical sects as beasts of prey, -worrying a white hind of heavenly origin; he spares neither coarse -comparisons, gross sarcasms, nor open objurgations. The argument is -close and theological throughout. His hearers were not wits, who cared -to see how a dry subject could be adorned; they were not theologians, -only by accident and for a moment, animated by mistrustful and cautious -feelings, like Boileau in his "Amour de Dieu." They were oppressed men, -barely recovered from a secular persecution, attached to their faith by -their sufferings, ill at ease under the visible menaces and ominous -hatred of their restrained foes. Their poet must be a dialectician and a -schoolman; he needs all the sternness of logic; he is immeshed in it, -like a recent convert, saturated with the proofs which have separated -him from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> national faith, and which support him against public -reprobation, fertile in distinctions, pointing with his finger at the -weaknesses of an argument, subdividing replies, bringing back his -adversary to the question, thorny and unpleasing to a modern reader, but -the more praised and loved in his own time. In all English minds there -is a basis of gravity and vehemence; hate rises tragic, with a gloomy -outbreak, like the breakers of the North Sea. In the midst of his public -strife Dryden attacks a private enemy, Shadwell, and overwhelms him with -immortal scorn.<a name="NoteRef_464_464" id="NoteRef_464_464"></a><a href="#Note_464_464" class="fnanchor">[464]</a> A great epic style and solemn rhyme gave weight to -his sarcasm, and the unlucky rhymester was drawn in a ridiculous triumph -on the poetic car, whereon the muse sets the heroes and the gods. Dryden -represented the Irishman Mac Flecknoe, an old king of folly, -deliberating on the choice of a worthy successor, and choosing Shadwell -as an heir to his gabble, a propagator of nonsense, a boastful conqueror -of common sense. From all sides, through the streets littered with -paper, the nations assembled to look upon the young hero, standing near -the throne of his father, his brow surrounded with thick fogs, the -vacant smile of satisfied imbecility floating over his countenance:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The hoary prince in majesty appear'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">High on a throne of his own labours rear'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At his right hand our young Ascanius sate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His brows thick fogs instead of glories grace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And lambent dulness play'd around his face.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As Hannibal did to the altars come,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sworn by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That he, till death, true dulness would maintain;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, in his father's right and realm's defence,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ne'er to have peace with wit nor truce with sense.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The king himself the sacred unction made,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As king by office and as priest by trade.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In his sinister hand, instead of ball,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He placed a mighty mug of potent ale."</span></p> - - -<p>His father blesses him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Heavens bless my son! from Ireland let him reign</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To far Barbadoes on the western main;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of his dominion may no end be known,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And greater than his father's be his throne;</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Beyond Love's Kingdom let him stretch his pen!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He paused, and all the people cried Amen.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then thus continued he: 'My son, advance</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Still in new impudence, new ignorance.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Success let others teach, learn thou from me.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pangs without birth and fruitless industry.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let Virtuosos in five years be writ;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let them be all by thy own model made</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of dulness and desire no foreign aid,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That they to future ages may be known,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All full of thee and differing but in name....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like mine thy gentle numbers feebly creep;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy tragic Muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With whate'er gall thou setst thyself to write,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy inoffensive satires never bite;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In thy felonious heart though venom lies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some peaceful province in Acrostic land.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And torture one poor word ten thousand ways;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He said, but his last words were scarcely heard.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For Bruce and Longville had a trap prepared,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And down they set the yet declaiming bard.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sinking he left his drugget robe behind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Borne upwards by a subterranean wind.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With double portion of his father's art."<a name="NoteRef_465_465" id="NoteRef_465_465"></a><a href="#Note_465_465" class="fnanchor">[465]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Thus the insulting masquerade goes on, not studied and polished like -Boileau's "Lutrin," but rude and pompous, inspired by a coarse poetical -afflatus, as you may see a great ship enter the muddy Thames, with -spread canvas, cleaving the waters. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Development_of_the_Art_of_Writing">Section VIII.—Development of the Art of Writing</a></h4> - - -<p>In these three poems, the art of writing, the mark and the source of -classical literature, appeared for the first time. A new spirit was born -and renewed this art, like everything else; thenceforth, and for a -century to come, ideas sprang up and fell into their place after another -law than that which had hitherto shaped them. Under Spenser and -Shakespeare, living words, like cries or music, betrayed the internal -imagination which gave them forth. A kind of vision possessed the -artist; landscapes and events were unfolded in his mind as in nature; he -concentrated in a glance all the details and all the forces which make -up a being, and this image acted and was developed within him like the -external object; he imitated his characters; he heard their words; he -found it easier to represent them with every pulsation than to relate or -explain their feelings; he did not judge, he saw; he was an involuntary -actor and mimic; drama was his natural work, because in it the -characters speak, and not the author. Then this complex and imitative -conception changes color and is decomposed: man sees things no more at a -glance, but in detail; he walks leisurely round them, turning his light -upon all their parts in succession. The fire which revealed them by a -single illumination is extinguished; he observes qualities, marks -aspects, classifies groups of actions, judges and reasons. Words, before -animated, and as it were swelling with sap, are withered and dried up; -they become abstractions; they cease to produce in him figures and -landscapes; they only set in motion the relics of enfeebled passion; -they barely shed a few flickering beams on the uniform texture of his -dulled conception; they become exact, almost scientific, like numbers, -and like numbers they are arranged in a series, allied by their -analogies—the first, more simple, leading up to the next, more -composite—all in the same order, so that the mind which enters upon a -track, finds it level, and is never obliged to quit it. Thenceforth a -new career is opened; man has the whole world resubjected to his -thought; the change in his thoughts has changed all aspects, and -everything assumes a new form in his metamorphosed mind. His task is to -explain and to prove; this, in short, is the classical style, and this -is the style of Dryden. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - -<p>He develops, defines, concludes; he declares his thought, then takes it -up again, that his reader may receive it prepared, and having received, -may retain it. He bounds it with exact terms justified by the -dictionary, with simple constructions justified by grammar, that the -reader may have at every step a method of verification and a source of -clearness. He contrasts ideas with ideas, phrases with phrases, so that -the reader, guided by the contrast, may not deviate from the route -marked out for him. You may imagine the possible beauty of such a work. -This poesy is but a stronger prose. Closer ideas, more marked contrasts, -bolder images, only add weight to the argument. Metre and rhyme -transform the judgments into sentences. The mind, held on the stretch by -the rhythm, studies itself more, and by means of reflection arrives at a -noble conclusion. The judgments are enshrined in abbreviative images, or -symmetrical lines, which give them the solidity and popular form of a -dogma. General truths acquire the definite form which transmits them to -posterity, and propagates them in the human race. Such is the merit of -these poems; they please by their good expressions.<a name="NoteRef_466_466" id="NoteRef_466_466"></a><a href="#Note_466_466" class="fnanchor">[466]</a> In a full and -solid web stand out cleverly connected or sparkling threads. Here Dryden -has gathered in one line a long argument; there a happy metaphor has -opened up a new perspective under the principal idea;<a name="NoteRef_467_467" id="NoteRef_467_467"></a><a href="#Note_467_467" class="fnanchor">[467]</a> further on, -two similar words, united together, have struck the mind with an -unforeseen and cogent proof;<a name="NoteRef_468_468" id="NoteRef_468_468"></a><a href="#Note_468_468" class="fnanchor">[468]</a> elsewhere a hidden comparison has -thrown a tinge of glory or shame on the person who least expected it. -These are all artifices or successes of a calculated style, which chains -the attention, and leaves the mind persuaded or convinced. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IX.--Drydens_Translations_and_Adaptations.--His_Occasional_Soul--Stirring_Verses">Section IX.—Dryden's Translations and Adaptations.—His -Occasional Soul—Stirring Verses</a></h4> - - -<p>In truth, there is scarcely any other literary merit. If Dryden is a -skilled politician, a trained controversialist, well armed with -arguments, knowing all the ins and outs of discussion, versed in the -history of men and parties, this pamphleteering aptitude, practical and -English, confines him to the low region of everyday and personal -controversies, far from the lofty philosophy and speculative freedom -which give endurance and greatness to the classical style of his French -contemporaries. In the main, in this age, in England, all discussion was -fundamentally narrow. Except the terrible Hobbes, they all lack grand -originality. Dryden, like the rest, is confined to the arguments and -insults of sect and fashion. Their ideas were as small as their hatred -was strong; no general doctrine opened up a poetical vista beyond the -tumult of the strife; texts, traditions, a sad train of rigid reasoning, -such were their arms; the same prejudices and passions exist in both -parties. This is why the subject-matter fell below the art of writing. -Dryden had no personal philosophy to develop; he does but versify themes -given to him by others. In this sterility art soon is reduced to the -clothing of foreign ideas, and the writer becomes an antiquarian or a -translator. In reality, the greatest part of Dryden's poems are -imitations, adaptations, or copies. He translated Persius and Vergil, -with parts of Horace, Theocritus, Juvenal, Lucretius, and Homer, and put -into modern English several tales of Boccaccio and Chaucer. These -translations then appeared to be as great works as original -compositions. When he took the Æneid in hand, the nation, as Johnson -tells us, appeared to think its honor interested in the issue. Addison -furnished him with the arguments of every book, and an essay on the -Georgies; others supplied him with editions and notes; great lords vied -with one another in offering him hospitality; subscriptions flowed in. -They said that the English Vergil was to give England the Vergil of -Rome. This work was long considered his highest glory. Even so at Rome, -under Cicero, in the early dearth of national poetry, the translators of -Greek works were as highly praised as the original authors.</p> - -<p>This sterility of invention alters or depresses the taste. For <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> taste is -an instinctive system, and leads us by internal maxims, which we ignore. -The mind, guided by it, perceives connections, shuns discordances, -enjoys or suffers, chooses or rejects, according to general conceptions -which master it, but are not visible. These removed, we see the tact, -which they engendered, disappear; the writer is clumsy, because -philosophy fails him. Such is the imperfection of the stories handled by -Dryden, from Boccaccio and Chaucer. Dryden does not see that fairy tales -or tales of chivalry only suit a poetry in its infancy; that ingenuous -subjects require an artless style; that the talk of Reynard and -Chanticleer, the adventures of Palamon and Arcite, the transformations, -tournaments, apparitions, need the astonished carelessness and the -graceful gossip of old Chaucer. Vigorous periods, reflective antitheses, -here oppress these amiable ghosts; classical phrases embarrass them in -their too stringent embrace; they are lost to our sight; to find them -again, we must go to their first parent, quit the too harsh light of a -learned and manly age; we cannot pursue them fairly except in their -first style in the dawn of credulous thought, under the mist which plays -about their vague forms, with all the blushes and smiles of morning. -Moreover, when Dryden comes on the scene, he crushes the delicacies of -his master, hauling in tirades or reasonings, blotting out sincere and -self-abandoning tenderness. What a difference between his account of -Arcite's death and Chaucer's! How wretched are all his fine literary -words, his gallantry, his symmetrical phrases, his cold regrets, -compared to the cries of sorrow, the true outpouring, the deep love in -Chaucer! But the worst fault is that almost everywhere he is a copyist, -and retains the faults like a literal translator, with eyes glued on the -work, powerless to comprehend and recast it, more a rhymester than a -poet. When La Fontaine put Æsop or Boccaccio into verse, he breathed a -new spirit into them; he took their matter only: the new soul, which -constitutes the value of his work, is his, and only his; and this soul -befits the work. In place of the Ciceronian periods of Boccaccio, we -find slim, little lines, full of delicate raillery, dainty -voluptuousness, feigned artlessness, which relish the forbidden fruit -because it is fruit, and because it is forbidden. The tragic departs, -the relics of the Middle Ages are a thousand leagues away; there remains -nothing but the invidious gayety, Gallic and racy, as of a critic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> and an -epicurean. In Dryden, incongruities abound; and our author is so little -shocked by them that he imports them elsewhere, in his theological -poems, representing the Roman Catholic Church, for instance, as a hind, -and the heresies by various animals, who dispute at as great length and -as learnedly as Oxford graduates.<a name="NoteRef_469_469" id="NoteRef_469_469"></a><a href="#Note_469_469" class="fnanchor">[469]</a> I like him no better in his -Epistles; as a rule, they are but flatteries, almost always awkward, -often mythological, interspersed with somewhat commonplace sentences. "I -have studied Horace," he says, "and hope the style of his Epistles is -not ill imitated here."<a name="NoteRef_470_470" id="NoteRef_470_470"></a><a href="#Note_470_470" class="fnanchor">[470]</a> But don't believe him. Horace's Epistles, -though in verse, are genuine letters, brisk, unequal in movement, always -unstudied, natural. Nothing is further from Dryden than this original -and thorough man of the world, philosophical and lewd,<a name="NoteRef_471_471" id="NoteRef_471_471"></a><a href="#Note_471_471" class="fnanchor">[471]</a> this most -refined and most nervous of epicureans, this kinsman (at eighteen -centuries' distance) of Alfred de Musset and Voltaire. Like Horace, an -author must be a thinker and a man of the world to write agreeable -morality, and Dryden was no more than his contemporaries either a man of -the world or a thinker.</p> - -<p>But other characteristics, as eminently English, sustain him. Suddenly, -in the midst of the yawns which these Epistles occasioned, our eyes are -arrested. A true accent, new ideas, are brought out. Dryden, writing to -his cousin, a country gentleman, has lighted on an English original -subject. He depicts the life of a rural squire, the referee of his -neighbors, who shuns lawsuits and town doctors, who keeps himself in -health by hunting and exercise. Here is his portrait:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">How bless'd is he, who leads a country life,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife!...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With crowds attended of your ancient race,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You seek the champaign sports, or sylvan chase;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With well-breathed beagles you surround the wood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Even then industrious of the common good;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And often have you brought the wily fox</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To suffer for the firstlings of the flocks;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Chased even amid the folds, and made to bleed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like felons, where they did the murderous deed.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This fiery game your active youth maintain'd;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not yet by years extinguish'd though restrain'd:...</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"A patriot both the king and country serves;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Prerogative and privilege preserves:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of each our laws the certain limit shows;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One must not ebb, nor t'other overflow;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The barriers of the state on either hand;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">May neither overflow, for then they drown the land</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Like those that water'd once the paradise of God.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In peace the people, and the prince in war:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Consuls of moderate power in calms were made;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When the Gauls came, one sole dictator sway'd.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Patriots, in peace, assert the people's right,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With noble stubbornness resisting might;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No lawless mandates from the court receive,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor lend by force, but in a body give."<a name="NoteRef_472_472" id="NoteRef_472_472"></a><a href="#Note_472_472" class="fnanchor">[472]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This serious converse shows a political mind, fed on the spectacle of -affairs, having in the matter of public and practical debates the -superiority which the French have in speculative discussions and social -conversation. So, amidst the dryness of polemics break forth sudden -splendors, a poetic fount, a prayer from the heart's depths; the English -well of concentrated passion is on a sudden opened again with a flow and -a spirit which Dryden does not elsewhere exhibit:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Dim as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Is reason to the soul: and as on high</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Those rolling fires discover but the sky,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Not light us here; so Reason's glimm'ring ray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But guide us upward to a better day.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And as those nightly tapers disappear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light."<a name="NoteRef_473_473" id="NoteRef_473_473"></a><a href="#Note_473_473" class="fnanchor">[473]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"But, gracious God! how well dost thou provide</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For erring judgments an unerring guide!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy throne is darkness in th' abyss of light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O teach me to believe Thee thus conceal'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And search no farther than Thyself reveal'd;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But her alone for my director take,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whom Thou hast promised never to forsake!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My manhood, long misled by wandering fires,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My pride struck out new sparkles of her own.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Such was I, such by nature still I am;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Be Thine the glory and be mine the shame!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Good life be now my task; my doubts are done."<a name="NoteRef_474_474" id="NoteRef_474_474"></a><a href="#Note_474_474" class="fnanchor">[474]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such is the poetry of these serious minds. After having strayed in the -debaucheries and pomps of the Restoration, Dryden found his way to the -grave emotions of the inner life; though a Romanist, he felt like a -Protestant the wretchedness of man and the presence of grace: he was -capable of enthusiasm. Here and there a manly and soul-stirring verse -discloses, in the midst of his reasonings, the power of conception and -the inspiration of desire. When the tragic is met with, he takes to it -as to his own domain; at need, he deals in the horrible. He has -described the infernal chase, and the torture of the young girl worried -by dogs, with the savage energy of Milton.<a name="NoteRef_475_475" id="NoteRef_475_475"></a><a href="#Note_475_475" class="fnanchor">[475]</a> As a contrast, he loved -nature: this taste always endures in England; the sombre, reflective -passions are unstrung in the grand peace and harmony of the fields. -Landscapes are to be met with amidst theological disputation:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"New blossoms flourish and new flowers arise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As God had been abroad, and walking there</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Had left his footsteps and reformed the year.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The sunny hills from far were seen to glow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With glittering beams, and in the meads below</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The burnished brooks appeared with liquid gold to flow.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">As last they heard the foolish Cuckoo sing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whose note proclaimed the holy day of spring."<a name="NoteRef_476_476" id="NoteRef_476_476"></a><a href="#Note_476_476" class="fnanchor">[476]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Under his regular versification the artist's soul is brought to -light;<a name="NoteRef_477_477" id="NoteRef_477_477"></a><a href="#Note_477_477" class="fnanchor">[477]</a> though contracted by habits of classical argument, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> though -stiffened by controversy and polemics, though unable to create souls or -depict artless and delicate sentiments, he is a genuine poet: he is -troubled, raised by beautiful sounds and forms; he writes boldly under -the pressure of vehement ideas; he surrounds himself willingly with -splendid images; he is moved by the buzzing of their swarms, the glitter -of their splendors; he is, when he wishes it, a musician and a painter; -he writes stirring airs, which shake all the senses, even if they do not -sink deep into the heart. Such is his "Alexander's Feast," an ode in -honor of St. Cecilia's day, an admirable trumpet-blast, in which metre -and sound impress upon the nerves the emotions of the mind, a -masterpiece of rapture and of art, which Victor Hugo alone has come up -to.<a name="NoteRef_478_478" id="NoteRef_478_478"></a><a href="#Note_478_478" class="fnanchor">[478]</a> Alexander is on his throne in the palace of Persepolis; the -lovely Thais sat by his side; before him, in a vast hall, his glorious -captains. And Timotheus sings:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">The jolly God in triumph comes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Flush'd with a purple grace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">He shews his honest face.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now, give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bacchus ever fair and young,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Drinking joys did first ordain;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Rich the treasure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Sweet the pleasure;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Sweet is pleasure after pain."</span></p> - - -<p>And at the stirring sounds the king is troubled; his cheeks are glowing; -his battles return to his memory; he defies heaven and earth. Then a sad -song depresses him. Timotheus mourns the death of the betrayed Darius. -Then a tender song softens him; Timotheus lauds the dazzling beauty of -Thais. Suddenly he strikes the lyre again:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 7em;">"A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Break his bands of sleep asunder,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Hark, hark! the horrid sound</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Has raised up his head;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">As awaked from the dead,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And amazed, he stares around.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">See the furies arise;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">See the snakes, that they rear,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">How they hiss in their hair!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Behold a ghastly band,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Each a torch in his hand!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And unburied remain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Inglorious on the plain:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Give the vengeance due</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">To the valiant crew.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Behold how they toss their torches on high,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">How they point to the Persian abodes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And glittering temples of their hostile gods.—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">The princes applaud, with a furious joy.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Thais led the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9em;">To light him to his prey,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And, like another Helen, fired another Troy."<a name="NoteRef_479_479" id="NoteRef_479_479"></a><a href="#Note_479_479" class="fnanchor">[479]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Thus formerly music softened, exalted, mastered men; Dryden's verses -acquire again their power in describing it.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_X.--Misfortunes_of_Drydens_Old_Age">Section X.—Misfortunes of Dryden's Old Age</a></h4> - - -<p>This was one of his last works;<a name="NoteRef_480_480" id="NoteRef_480_480"></a><a href="#Note_480_480" class="fnanchor">[480]</a> brilliant and poetical, it was born -amidst the greatest sadness. The king for whom he had written was -deposed and in exile; the religion which he had embraced was despised -and oppressed; a Roman Catholic and a royalist, he was bound to a -conquered party, which the nation resentfully and distrustfully -considered as the natural enemy of liberty and reason. He had lost the -two places which were his support; he lived wretchedly, burdened with a -family, obliged to support his sons abroad; treated as a hireling by a -coarse publisher, forced to ask him for money to pay for a watch which -he could not get on credit, beseeching Lord Bolingbroke to protect him -against Tonson's insults, rated by this shopkeeper when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> the promised -page was not finished on the stated day. His enemies persecuted him with -pamphlets; the severe Collier lashed his comedies unfeelingly; he was -damned without pity, but conscientiously. He had long been in ill -health, crippled, constrained to write much, reduced to exaggerate -flattery in order to earn from the great the indispensable money which -the publishers would not give him:<a name="NoteRef_481_481" id="NoteRef_481_481"></a><a href="#Note_481_481" class="fnanchor">[481]</a> "What Vergil wrote in the vigor -of his age, in plenty and at ease, I have undertaken to translate in my -declining years; struggling with wants, oppressed with sickness, curbed -in my genius, liable to be misconstrued in all I write; and my judges, -if they are not very equitable, already prejudiced against me, by the -lying character which has been given them of my morals."<a name="NoteRef_482_482" id="NoteRef_482_482"></a><a href="#Note_482_482" class="fnanchor">[482]</a> Although -he looked at his conduct from the most favorable point of view, he knew -that it had not always been worthy, and that all his writings would not -endure. Born between two epochs, he had oscillated between two forms of -life and two forms of thought, having reached the perfection of neither, -having kept the faults of both; having discovered in surrounding manners -no support worthy of his character, and in surrounding ideas no subject -worthy of his talent. If he had founded criticism and good style, this -criticism had only its scope in pedantic treatises or unconnected -prefaces; this good style continued out of the track in inflated -tragedies, dispersed over multiplied translations, scattered in -occasional pieces, in odes written to order, in party poems, meeting -only here and there an afflatus capable of employing it, and a subject -capable of sustaining it. What gigantic efforts to end in such a -moderate result! This is the natural condition of man. The end of -everything is pain and agony. For a long time gravel and gout left him -no peace; erysipelas seized one of his legs. In April, 1700, he tried to -go out; "a slight inflammation in one of his toes became, from neglect, -a gangrene;" the doctor would have tried amputation, but Dryden decided -that what remained to him of health and happiness was not worth the -pain. He died at the age of sixty-nine. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_376_376" id="Note_376_376"></a><a href="#NoteRef_376_376"><span class="label">[376]</span></a>Dryden's Works, ed. Sir Walter Scott, 2d ed. 18 vols. -1821, XI. 94.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_377_377" id="Note_377_377"></a><a href="#NoteRef_377_377"><span class="label">[377]</span></a>Rapin (1621-1687), a French Jesuit, a modern Latin poet -and literary critic. Bossu, or properly Lebossu (1631-1680), wrote a -"Traité du Poème épique," which had a great success in its day. -Both critics are now completely forgotten.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_378_378" id="Note_378_378"></a><a href="#NoteRef_378_378"><span class="label">[378]</span></a>In his "Defence of the Epilogue of the Second Part of the -Conquest of Granada," IV. 226, Dryden says: "Now, if they ask me, whence -it is that our conversation is so much refined, I must freely, and without -flattery, ascribe it to the court."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_379_379" id="Note_379_379"></a><a href="#NoteRef_379_379"><span class="label">[379]</span></a>"Heroic stanzas to the memory of Oliver Cromwell."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_380_380" id="Note_380_380"></a><a href="#NoteRef_380_380"><span class="label">[380]</span></a>"Defence of the Epilogue of the Second Part of the Conquest -of Granada," IV. 213.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_381_381" id="Note_381_381"></a><a href="#NoteRef_381_381"><span class="label">[381]</span></a>Preface to "Troilus and Cressida," VI. 239.</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>"Defence of the Epilogue of the Conquest of Granada," IV. -219.</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>"Defence of the Epilogue of the Conquest of Granada," IV. -225-228.</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>Preface to "All for Love," V. 306.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_385_385" id="Note_385_385"></a><a href="#NoteRef_385_385"><span class="label">[385]</span></a>"An Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 337-341.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_386_386" id="Note_386_386"></a><a href="#NoteRef_386_386"><span class="label">[386]</span></a>"An Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 343.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_387_387" id="Note_387_387"></a><a href="#NoteRef_387_387"><span class="label">[387]</span></a>In the preface of "All for Love," V. 308, Dryden says: -"In this nicety of manners does the excellency of French poetry consist. -Their heroes are the most civil people breathing, but their good -breeding seldom extends to a word of sense; all their wit is in their -ceremony; they want the genius which animates our stage.... Thus, their -Hippolytus is so scrupulous in point of decency, that he will rather -expose himself to death than accuse his stepmother to his father; and my -critics, I am sure, will commend him for it: But we of grosser -apprehensions are apt to think that this excess of generosity is not -practicable but with fools and madmen."</p> - -<p>"... But take Hippolytus out of his poetic fit, and I suppose he would -think it a wiser part to set the saddle on the right horse, and chuse -rather to live with the reputation of a plain-spoken honest man, than to -die with the infamy of an incestuous villain.... (The poet) has chosen -to give him the turn of gallantry, sent him to travel from Athens to -Paris, taught him to make love, and transformed the Hippolytus of -Euripides into Monsieur Hippolite." This criticism shows in a small -compass all the common sense and freedom of thought of Dryden; but, at -the same time, all the coarseness of his education and of his age.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_388_388" id="Note_388_388"></a><a href="#NoteRef_388_388"><span class="label">[388]</span></a>Epistle XIV. to Mr. Motteux, XI. 70.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_389_389" id="Note_389_389"></a><a href="#NoteRef_389_389"><span class="label">[389]</span></a>"Tyrannic Love," III. 2, I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_390_390" id="Note_390_390"></a><a href="#NoteRef_390_390"><span class="label">[390]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_391_391" id="Note_391_391"></a><a href="#NoteRef_391_391"><span class="label">[391]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_392_392" id="Note_392_392"></a><a href="#NoteRef_392_392"><span class="label">[392]</span></a>"Tyrannic Love," III. 3, I. This Maximin has a turn for -jokes. Porphyrius, to whom he offers his daughter in marriage, says that -"the distance was so vast"; whereupon Maximin replies: "Yet heaven and -earth, which so remote appear, are by the air, which flows betwixt them, -near" (2, 1).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_393_393" id="Note_393_393"></a><a href="#NoteRef_393_393"><span class="label">[393]</span></a>Lulli (1633-1687), a renowned Italian composer. "Armide" is -one of his chief works.—Tr.</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> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Christian Priest: "But we by martyrdom our faith avow."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Montezuma: "You do no more than I for ours do now.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To prove religion true,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If either wit or sufferings would suffice,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All faiths afford the constant and the wise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yet even they, by education sway'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In age defend what infancy obeyed."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Christian Priest: "Since age by erring childhood is misled,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Refer yourself to our unerring head."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Montezuma: "Man, and not err! what reason can you give?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Christian Priest: "Renounce that carnal reason, and believe...."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Pizarro: "Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack."</span></p> -<p>—"The Indian Emperor," V. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_395_395" id="Note_395_395"></a><a href="#NoteRef_395_395"><span class="label">[395]</span></a>"Tyrannic Love," III. 5, 1. When dying Maximin says: "And -shoving back this earth on which I sit, I'll mount, and scatter all the -Gods I hit."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_396_396" id="Note_396_396"></a><a href="#NoteRef_396_396"><span class="label">[396]</span></a>"Aureng-Zebe," V. 4, 1. Dryden thought he was imitating -Racine, when six lines further on he makes Nourmahal say:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I am not changed, I love my husband still;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But love him as he was, when youthful grace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the first down began to shade his face:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That image does my virgin-flames renew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all your father shines more bright in you."</span></p> - -<p>Racine's Phèdre (2, 5) thinks her husband Thesus dead, and says to her -stepson Hippolytus:</p> -<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oui, prince, je languis, je brûle pour Thésée:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Je l'aime...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mais fidèle, mais fier, et même un peu farouche,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charmant, jeune, traînant tous les coeurs après soi,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tel qu'on dépeint nos dieux, ou tel que je vous voi.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Il avait votre port, vos yeux, votre langage;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cette noble pudeur colorait son visage."</span></p> - -<p>According to a note in Sir Walter Scott's edition of Dryden's works, -Langbaine traces this speech also to Seneca's Hippolytus.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_397_397" id="Note_397_397"></a><a href="#NoteRef_397_397"><span class="label">[397]</span></a>"The Indian Emperor," I. 2.</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>"Aureng-Zebe," V. 2, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_399_399" id="Note_399_399"></a><a href="#NoteRef_399_399"><span class="label">[399]</span></a>"Marriage à la Mode," IV. 3, 1.</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>"The first image I had of him was from the Achilles of -Homer, the next from Tasso's Rinaldo, and the third from the Artaban of -Monsieur Calpranède."—Preface to "Almanzor."</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> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The Moors have heaven, and me, to assist their cause"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me" (3, 1).</span></p> - -<p>He falls in love, and speaks thus:</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'Tis he; I feel him now in every part;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a new lord he vaunts about my heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surveys in state each corner of my breast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While poor fierce I, that was, am dispossess'd'" (3, 1).</span></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>Compare the song of the Zambra dance in the first part of -"Almanzor and Almahide."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_403_403" id="Note_403_403"></a><a href="#NoteRef_403_403"><span class="label">[403]</span></a>The first part of "Almanzor and Almahide," IV. 5, 2.</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>"The Indian Emperor," II. 1, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_405_405" id="Note_405_405"></a><a href="#NoteRef_405_405"><span class="label">[405]</span></a>The first part of "Almanzor and Almahide," IV. 2, 1. This -same Lyndaraxa says also to Abdalla (4, 2), "Poor women's thoughts are -all extempore." These logical ladies can be very coarse; for example, -this same damsel says in Act 2, 1, to the same lover, who entreats her -to make him "happy, If I make you so, you shall pay my price."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_406_406" id="Note_406_406"></a><a href="#NoteRef_406_406"><span class="label">[406]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"He words me, girls; he words me, that I should not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be noble to myself; but hark thee, Charmian....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Now, Iras, what think'st thou?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou, an Egyptian puppet shalt be shown</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With greasy aprons, rules and hammers, shall</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uplift us to the view....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Saucy lictors</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Extemporally will stage us, and present</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Alexandrian revels; Antony</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I' the posture of a whore....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Husband, I come:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now to that name my courage prove my title!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am fire and air; my other elements</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I give to baser life. So; have you done?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, then, and take the last warmth of my lips.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sucks the nurse asleep?"</span></p> -<p>—Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra," 5, 2.</p> - -<p>These two last lines, referring to the asp, are sublime, as the bitter -joke of a courtesan and an artist.</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> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Iras: "Call reason to assist you."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Cleopatra: "I have none,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And none would have: My love's a noble madness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which shews the cause deserved it: Modest sorrow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I have loved with such transcendent passion,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I soared, at first, quite out of reason's view,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now am lost above it."—"All for Love," V. 2, 1.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_408_408" id="Note_408_408"></a><a href="#NoteRef_408_408"><span class="label">[408]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Cleop.: "Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've been too long away from my embraces;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, when I have you fast, and all my own,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll say, you were unkind, and punish you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mark you red with many an eager kiss."—Ibid. V. 3, 1.</span></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>Ibid. 4, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_410_410" id="Note_410_410"></a><a href="#NoteRef_410_410"><span class="label">[410]</span></a>Dryden's Miranda says, in the "Tempest" (2, 2): "And if I -can but escape with life, I had rather be in pain nine months, as my -father threatened, than lose my longing." Miranda has a sister; they -quarrel, are jealous of each other, and so on. See also in "The State of -Innocence," 3, 1, the description which Eve gives of her happiness, and -the ideas which her confidences suggest to Satan.</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>This impotence reminds one of Casimir Delavigne.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_412_412" id="Note_412_412"></a><a href="#NoteRef_412_412"><span class="label">[412]</span></a>See the introductory notice, by Sir Walter Scott, of "All -for Love," V. 290.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_413_413" id="Note_413_413"></a><a href="#NoteRef_413_413"><span class="label">[413]</span></a>Ibid. V. 307.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_414_414" id="Note_414_414"></a><a href="#NoteRef_414_414"><span class="label">[414]</span></a>Ibid. V. 319.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_415_415" id="Note_415_415"></a><a href="#NoteRef_415_415"><span class="label">[415]</span></a>"All for Love," V. 3, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_416_416" id="Note_416_416"></a><a href="#NoteRef_416_416"><span class="label">[416]</span></a>"All for Love," V. 3, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_417_417" id="Note_417_417"></a><a href="#NoteRef_417_417"><span class="label">[417]</span></a>Ibid. 4, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_418_418" id="Note_418_418"></a><a href="#NoteRef_418_418"><span class="label">[418]</span></a>"All for Love," I, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_419_419" id="Note_419_419"></a><a href="#NoteRef_419_419"><span class="label">[419]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_420_420" id="Note_420_420"></a><a href="#NoteRef_420_420"><span class="label">[420]</span></a>"All for Love," V., 1.</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>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_422_422" id="Note_422_422"></a><a href="#NoteRef_422_422"><span class="label">[422]</span></a>"All for Love," I., 1.</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>Ibid. II., 1, end.</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>"All for Love," V., 1.</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>Monimia says, in the "Orphan" (5, end), when dying, "How -my head swims! 'Tis very dark; good night."</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>See the death of Pierre and Jaffier in "Venice Preserved" -(5, last scene). Pierre, stabbed once, bursts into a laugh.</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> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Jaffier: "Oh, that my arms were rivetted</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus round thee ever! But my friends,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">my oath!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This, and no more." (Kisses her.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.2em;">Belvidera: "Another, sure another</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that poor little one you've ta'en</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">such care of;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll giv't him truly."</span></p> -<p>—"Venice Preserved," 5, 1.</p> - -<p>There is jealousy in this last word.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_428_428" id="Note_428_428"></a><a href="#NoteRef_428_428"><span class="label">[428]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh, thou art tender all,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gentle and kind, as sympathizing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">nature,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dove-like, soft and kind....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll ever live your most obedient</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">wife,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor ever any privilege pretend</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beyond your will."—"Orphan," 4, 1.</span></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>"Venice Preserved," III, 1. Antonio is meant as a copy of -the "celebrated Earl of Shaftesbury, the lewdness of whose latter years," -says Mr. Thornton in his edition of Otway's Works, 3 vols. 1815, "was a -subject of general notoriety."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_430_430" id="Note_430_430"></a><a href="#NoteRef_430_430"><span class="label">[430]</span></a>"The Soldier's Fortune," I, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_431_431" id="Note_431_431"></a><a href="#NoteRef_431_431"><span class="label">[431]</span></a>"The Soldier's Fortune," I, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_432_432" id="Note_432_432"></a><a href="#NoteRef_432_432"><span class="label">[432]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who'd be that sordid foolish thing called man,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To cringe thus, fawn, and flatter for a pleasure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which beasts enjoy so very much above him?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lusty bull ranges thro' all the field,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from the herd singling his female out,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enjoys her, and abandons her at will.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It shall be so, I'll yet possess my love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wait on, and watch her loose unguarded hours:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, when her roving thoughts have been abroad,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And brought in wanton wishes to her heart;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I' th' very minute when her virtue nods,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll rush upon her in a storm of love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat down her guard of honour all before me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surfeit on joys, till ev'n desire grew sick;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then by long absence liberty regain.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quite forget the pleasure and the pain."—"The Orphan," I, 1.</span></p> - -<p>It is impossible to see together more moral roguery and literary -correctness.</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> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Page (to Monimia): "In the morning when you call me to you,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by your bed I stand and tell you stories,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am ashamed to see your swelling breasts;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It makes me blush, they are so very white."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Monimia: "Oh men, for flatt'ry and deceit renown'd!"—Ibid.</span></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>Burns said, after his arrival in Edinburgh, "Between the -man of rustic life and the polite world, I observed little -difference.... But a refined and accomplished woman was a being -altogether new to me, and of which I had formed but a very inadequate -idea."—(Burns's Works, ed. Cunningham, 1832, 8 vols. I. 207.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_435_435" id="Note_435_435"></a><a href="#NoteRef_435_435"><span class="label">[435]</span></a>Dryden says, in his "Essay on Satire," XIII. 30, "the -staple to which my genius never much inclined me."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_436_436" id="Note_436_436"></a><a href="#NoteRef_436_436"><span class="label">[436]</span></a>"Essay on Satire," dedicated to the Earl of Dorset, XIII. -16.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_437_437" id="Note_437_437"></a><a href="#NoteRef_437_437"><span class="label">[437]</span></a>"Essay on Satire," XIII. 16.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_438_438" id="Note_438_438"></a><a href="#NoteRef_438_438"><span class="label">[438]</span></a>Ibid. 84.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_439_439" id="Note_439_439"></a><a href="#NoteRef_439_439"><span class="label">[439]</span></a>Dedication of the "Æneïs," XIV. 204.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_440_440" id="Note_440_440"></a><a href="#NoteRef_440_440"><span class="label">[440]</span></a>See Book III, chapter first, section IV.</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>Ibid.</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>Dedication of "The Indian Emperor," II. 261.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_443_443" id="Note_443_443"></a><a href="#NoteRef_443_443"><span class="label">[443]</span></a>Dedication of "Tyrannic Love," III. 347.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_444_444" id="Note_444_444"></a><a href="#NoteRef_444_444"><span class="label">[444]</span></a>He also says in the same epistle dedicatory: "All men will -join me in the adoration which I pay you." To the Earl of Rochester he -writes in a letter (XVIII. 90): "I find it is not for me to contend any -way with your Lordship, who can write better on the meanest subject than -I can on the best.... You are above any incense I can give you." In his -dedication of the Fables (XI. 195) he compares the Duke of Ormond to -Joseph, Ulysses, Lucullus, etc. In his fourth poetical epistle (XI. 20) -he compares Lady Castlemaine to Cato.</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>Dedication of the "Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 286.</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>See Andrew Marvell's Works, I. 210.</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>"Marriage à la Mode," IV. 245.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_448_448" id="Note_448_448"></a><a href="#NoteRef_448_448"><span class="label">[448]</span></a>Scott's "Life of Dryden," I. 447.</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>Letter 2, "to Mr. John Dennis," XVIII. 114.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_450_450" id="Note_450_450"></a><a href="#NoteRef_450_450"><span class="label">[450]</span></a>Letter 29, "to Mrs. Steward," XVIII. 144.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_451_451" id="Note_451_451"></a><a href="#NoteRef_451_451"><span class="label">[451]</span></a>"Essay of Dramatic Poesy," XV. 302.</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>Preface to "An Evening's Love," III. 225.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_453_453" id="Note_453_453"></a><a href="#NoteRef_453_453"><span class="label">[453]</span></a>Letter 23, "to his sons at Rome," XVIII. 133.</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>Scott's "Life of Dryden," I. 449.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_455_455" id="Note_455_455"></a><a href="#NoteRef_455_455"><span class="label">[455]</span></a>"Essay on Satire," XIII. 80.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_456_456" id="Note_456_456"></a><a href="#NoteRef_456_456"><span class="label">[456]</span></a>Preface to the Fables, VI. 238.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_457_457" id="Note_457_457"></a><a href="#NoteRef_457_457"><span class="label">[457]</span></a>Ibid.</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>Ibid. XI. 209.</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>Charles II.</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>The Duke of Monmouth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_461_461" id="Note_461_461"></a><a href="#NoteRef_461_461"><span class="label">[461]</span></a>The Earl of Shaftesbury:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Of these the false Achitophel was first,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A name to all succeeding ages curst:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For close designs and crooked counsels fit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sagacious, bold and turbulent of wit—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Restless, unfixed in principles and place,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fiery soul, which working out its way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fretted the pigmy body to decay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A daring pilot in extremity,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sought the storm; but, for a calm unfit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great wits are sure to madness near allied</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thin partitions do their bounds divide;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Else, why should he, with wealth and honour blest,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Refuse his age the needful hours of rest?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Punish a body which he could not please,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all to leave what with his toil he won,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To that unfeathered two-legged thing, a son,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Got, while his soul did huddled notions try,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In friendship false, implacable in hate,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Resolved to ruin or to rule the state."</span></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>The Duke of Buckingham.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_463_463" id="Note_463_463"></a><a href="#NoteRef_463_463"><span class="label">[463]</span></a>Slingsby Bethel.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_464_464" id="Note_464_464"></a><a href="#NoteRef_464_464"><span class="label">[464]</span></a>Mac Flecknoe.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_465_465" id="Note_465_465"></a><a href="#NoteRef_465_465"><span class="label">[465]</span></a>Mac Flecknoe.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_466_466" id="Note_466_466"></a><a href="#NoteRef_466_466"><span class="label">[466]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Strong were our sires, and as they fought they writ,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conquering with force of arms and dint of wit:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Theirs was the giant race before the flood,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Janus, he the stubborn soil manured,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With rules of husbandry the rankness cured;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And boisterous English wit with art endured....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what we gain'd in skill we lost in strength,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our builders were with want of genius curst;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The second temple was not like the first."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 10em;">—"Epistle 12 to Congreve," XI. 59.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_467_467" id="Note_467_467"></a><a href="#NoteRef_467_467"><span class="label">[467]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Held up the buckler of the people's cause</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against the crown, and skulk'd against the laws....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 10em;">—"Absalom and Achitophel," Part I.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_468_468" id="Note_468_468"></a><a href="#NoteRef_468_468"><span class="label">[468]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why then should I, encouraging the bad,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turn rebel, and run popularly mad?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 10em;">—Ibid.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_469_469" id="Note_469_469"></a><a href="#NoteRef_469_469"><span class="label">[469]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Though Huguenots contemn our</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">ordination.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Succession, ministerial vocation,"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">etc.</span></p> -<p>("The Hind and the Panther," Part. II. 10. 166). Such are the harsh words -we often find in his books.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_470_470" id="Note_470_470"></a><a href="#NoteRef_470_470"><span class="label">[470]</span></a>Preface to the "Religio Laid," X. 32.</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>What Augustus says about Horace is charming, but cannot be -quoted, even in Latin.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_472_472" id="Note_472_472"></a><a href="#NoteRef_472_472"><span class="label">[472]</span></a>Epistle 15, XI. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_473_473" id="Note_473_473"></a><a href="#NoteRef_473_473"><span class="label">[473]</span></a>Beginning of "Religio Laici," X. 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_474_474" id="Note_474_474"></a><a href="#NoteRef_474_474"><span class="label">[474]</span></a>"The Hind and the Panther," Part I. lines 64-75, X. 121.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_475_475" id="Note_475_475"></a><a href="#NoteRef_475_475"><span class="label">[475]</span></a>"Theodore and Honoria," XI. 435.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_476_476" id="Note_476_476"></a><a href="#NoteRef_476_476"><span class="label">[476]</span></a>"The Hind and the Panther," Part III. lines 553-560, X. -214.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_477_477" id="Note_477_477"></a><a href="#NoteRef_477_477"><span class="label">[477]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For her the weeping heavens become</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">serene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For her the ground is clad in cheerful</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">green,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For her the nightingales are taught</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">to sing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nature for her has delayed the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">Spring."</span></p> - -<p>These charming verses on the Duchess York remind one of those of La -Fontaine in "Le Songe," addressed to the Princess of Conti.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_478_478" id="Note_478_478"></a><a href="#NoteRef_478_478"><span class="label">[478]</span></a>For instance, in the "Chant du Cirque."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_479_479" id="Note_479_479"></a><a href="#NoteRef_479_479"><span class="label">[479]</span></a>"Alexander's Feast," XI. 183-188.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_480_480" id="Note_480_480"></a><a href="#NoteRef_480_480"><span class="label">[480]</span></a>"Alexander's Feast" was written in 1697, soon after the -publication of the Vergil. In 1699 appeared Dryden's translated tales and -original poems, generally known as "The Fables," in which the portrait of -the English country gentleman is to be found.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_481_481" id="Note_481_481"></a><a href="#NoteRef_481_481"><span class="label">[481]</span></a>He was paid two hundred and fifty guineas for ten thousand -lines.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_482_482" id="Note_482_482"></a><a href="#NoteRef_482_482"><span class="label">[482]</span></a>Postscript of Vergil's Works, as translated by Dryden, XV. -p. 187.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_THIRD_III">CHAPTER THIRD</a></h4> -<h4><a id="The_Revolution">The Revolution</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Moral_Revolution">Section I.—The Moral Revolution</a></h4> - - -<p>With the constitution of 1688 a new spirit appears in England. Slowly, -gradually, the moral revolution accompanies the social: man changes with -the state, in the same sense and for the same causes; character moulds -itself to the situation; and little by little, in manners and in -literature, we see spring up a serious, reflective, moral spirit, -capable of discipline and independence, which can alone maintain and -give effect to a constitution.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Brutality_of_The_People.--Private_Morals.--Chesterfield_and_Gay">Section II.—Brutality of the People.—Private Morals.—Chesterfield -and Gay</a></h4> - - -<p>This was not achieved without difficulty, and at first sight it seems as -though England had gained nothing by this revolution of which she is so -proud. The aspect of things under William, Anne, and the first two -Georges, is repulsive. We are tempted to agree with Swift in his -judgment, to say that if he has depicted a Yahoo, it is because he has -seen him; naked or drawn in his carriage, the Yahoo is not beautiful. We -see but corruption in high places, brutality in low, a band of -intriguers leading a mob of brutes. The human beast, inflamed by -political passions, gives vent to cries and violence, burns Admiral Byng -in effigy, demands his death, would destroy his house and park, sways in -turns from party to party, seems with its blind force ready to -annihilate civil society. When Dr. Sachevevell was tried, the butcher -boys, crossing-sweepers, chimney-sweepers, costermongers, drabs, the -entire scum, conceiving the Church to be in danger, follow him with -yells of rage and enthusiasm, and in the evening set to work to burn and -pillage the dissenters' chapels. When Lord Bute, in defiance of public -opinion, was set up in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> Pitt's place, he was assailed with stones, and -was obliged to surround his carriage with a strong guard. At every -political crisis was heard a riotous growl, were seen disorder, blows, -broken heads. It was worse when the people's own interests were at -stake. Gin had been discovered in 1684, and about half a century later -England consumed seven millions of gallons.<a name="NoteRef_483_483" id="NoteRef_483_483"></a><a href="#Note_483_483" class="fnanchor">[483]</a> The tavernkeepers on -their signboards invited people to come in and get drunk for a penny; -for twopence they might get dead drunk; no charge for straw; the -landlord dragged those who succumbed into a cellar, where they slept off -their carouse. A man could not walk London streets without meeting -wretches, incapable of motion or thought, lying in the kennel, whom the -care of the passers-by alone could prevent from being smothered in mud, -or run over by carriage wheels. A tax was imposed to stop this madness: -it was in vain; the judges dared not condemn, the informers were -assassinated. The House gave way, and Walpole, finding himself -threatened with a riot, withdrew his law.<a name="NoteRef_484_484" id="NoteRef_484_484"></a><a href="#Note_484_484" class="fnanchor">[484]</a> All these bewigged and -ermined lawyers, these bishops in lace, these embroidered and -gold-bedizened lords, this fine government so cleverly balanced, was -carried on the back of a huge and formidable brute, which as a rule -would tramp peacefully though growlingly on, but which on a sudden, for -a mere whim, could shake and crush it. This was clearly seen in 1780, -during the riots of Lord George Gordon. Without reason or guidance at -the cry of No Popery the excited mob demolished the prisons, let loose -the criminals, abused the Peers, and was for three days master of -London, burning, pillaging, and glutting itself. Barrels of gin were -staved in and made rivers in the streets. Children and women on their -knees drank themselves to death. Some became mad, others fell down -besotted, and the burning and falling houses killed them, and buried -them under their ruins. Eleven years later, at Birmingham, the people -sacked and gutted the houses of the Liberals and Dissenters, and were -found next day in heaps, dead drunk, in the roads and ditches. When -instinct rebels in this over-strong and well-fed race it becomes -perilous. John Bull dashed headlong at the first red rag which he -thought he saw.</p> - -<p>The higher ranks were even less estimable than the lower. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> If there has -been no more beneficial revolution than that of 1688, there has been -none that was launched or supported by dirtier means. Treachery was -everywhere, not simple, but double and triple. Under William and Anne, -admirals, ministers, members of the Privy Council, favorites of the -antechamber, corresponded and conspired with the same Stuarts whom they -had sold, only to sell them again, with a complication of bargains, each -destroying the last, and a complication of perjuries, each surpassing -the last, until in the end no one knew who had bought him, or to what -party he belonged. The greatest general of the age, the Duke of -Marlborough, is one of the basest rogues in history, supported by his -mistresses, a niggard user of the pay which he received from them, -systematically plundering his soldiers, trafficking on political -secrets, a traitor to James II, to William, to England, betraying to -James the intended plan of attacking Brest, and even, when old and -infirm, walking from the public rooms in Bath to his lodgings, on a cold -and dark night, to save sixpence in chair-hire. Next to him we may place -Bolingbroke, a sceptic and cynic, minister in turn to Queen and -Pretender, disloyal alike to both, a trafficker in consciences, -marriages, and promises, who had squandered his talents in debauch and -intrigue, to end in disgrace, impotence, and scorn.<a name="NoteRef_485_485" id="NoteRef_485_485"></a><a href="#Note_485_485" class="fnanchor">[485]</a> Walpole, who -used to boast that "every man had his price,"<a name="NoteRef_486_486" id="NoteRef_486_486"></a><a href="#Note_486_486" class="fnanchor">[486]</a> was compelled to -resign, after having been prime minister for twenty years. Montesquieu -wrote in 1729:<a name="NoteRef_487_487" id="NoteRef_487_487"></a><a href="#Note_487_487" class="fnanchor">[487]</a> "There are Scotch members who have only two hundred -pounds for their vote, and sell it at this price. Englishmen are no -longer worthy of their liberty. They sell it to the king; and if the -king should sell it back to them, they would sell it him again." We read -in Bubb Doddington's Diary the candid fashion and pretty contrivances of -this great traffic. So Dr. King states: "He (Walpole) wanted to carry a -question in the House of Commons, to which he knew there would be great -opposition.... As he was passing through the Court of Requests, he met a -member of the contrary party, whose avarice, he imagined, would not -reject a large bribe. He took him aside and said, 'Such a question comes -on this day; give me your vote, and here is a bank-bill <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> of two thousand -pounds,' which he put into his hands. The member made him this answer: -'Sir Robert, you have lately served some of my particular friends; and -when my wife was last at court, the King was very gracious to her, which -must have happened at your instance. I should therefore think myself -very ungrateful (putting the bank-bill into his pocket) if I were to -refuse the favor you are now pleased to ask me.'"<a name="NoteRef_488_488" id="NoteRef_488_488"></a><a href="#Note_488_488" class="fnanchor">[488]</a> This is how a man -of the world did business. Corruption was so firmly established in -public manners and in politics, that after the fall of Walpole, Lord -Bute, who had denounced him, was obliged to practise and increase it. -His colleague Henry Fox, the first Lord Holland, changed the pay-office -into a market, haggled about their price with hundreds of members, -distributed in one morning twenty-five thousand pounds. Votes were only -to be had for cash down, and yet at an important crisis these -mercenaries threatened to go over to the enemy, struck for wages, and -demanded more. Nor did the leaders miss their own share. They sold -themselves for, or paid themselves with, titles, dignities, sinecures. -In order to get a place vacant, they gave the holder a pension of two, -three, five, and even seven thousand a year. Pitt, the most upright of -politicians, the leader of those who were called patriots, gave and -broke his word, attacked or defended Walpole, proposed war or peace, all -to become or to continue a minister. Fox, his rival, was a sort of -shameless sink. The Duke of Newcastle, "whose name was perfidy, a -living, moving, talking caricature," the most clumsy, ignorant, -ridiculed and despised of the aristocracy, was in the Cabinet for thirty -years and premier for ten years, by virtue of his connections, his -wealth, of the elections which he managed, and the places in his gift. -The fall of the Stuarts put the government into the hands of a few great -families which, by means of rotten boroughs, bought members and -high-sounding speeches, oppressed the king, moulded the passions of the -mob, intrigued, lied, wrangled, and tried to swindle each other out of -power.</p> - -<p>Private manners were as lovely as public. As a rule, the reigning king -detested his son; this son got into debt, asked Parliament for an -increased allowance, allied himself with his father's enemies. George I -kept his wife in prison thirty-two <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> years, and got drunk every night with -his two ugly mistresses. George II, who loved his wife, took mistresses -to keep up appearances, rejoiced at his son's death, upset his father's -will. His eldest son cheated at cards,<a name="NoteRef_489_489" id="NoteRef_489_489"></a><a href="#Note_489_489" class="fnanchor">[489]</a> and one day at Kensington, -having borrowed five thousand pounds from Bubb Doddington, said, when he -saw him from the window: "That man is reckoned one of the most sensible -men in England, yet with all his parts I have just nicked him out of -five thousand pounds."<a name="NoteRef_490_490" id="NoteRef_490_490"></a><a href="#Note_490_490" class="fnanchor">[490]</a> George IV was a sort of coachman, gamester, -scandalous roisterer, unprincipled betting-man, whose proceedings all -but got him excluded from the Jockey Club. The only upright man was -George III, a poor half-witted dullard, who went mad, and whom his -mother had kept locked up in his youth as though in a cloister. She gave -as her reason the universal corruption of men of quality. "The young -men," she said, "were all rakes; the young women made love, instead of -waiting till it was made to them." In fact, vice was in fashion, not -delicate vice as in France. "Money," wrote Montesquieu, "is here -esteemed above everything, honor and virtue not much. An Englishman must -have a good dinner, a woman, and money. As he does not go much into -society, and limits himself to this, so, as soon as his fortune is gone, -and he can no longer have these things, he commits suicide or turns -robber." The young men had a superabundance of coarse energy, which made -them mistake brutality for pleasure. The most celebrated called -themselves Mohocks, and tyrannized over London by night. They stopped -people, and made them dance by pricking their legs with their swords; -sometimes they would put a woman in a tub, and set her rolling down a -hill; others would place her on her head, with her feet in the air; some -would flatten the nose of the wretch whom they had caught, and press his -eyes out of their sockets. Swift, the comic writers, the novelists, have -painted the baseness of this gross debauchery, craving for riot, living -in drunkenness, revelling in obscenity, issuing in cruelty, ending by -irreligion and atheism.<a name="NoteRef_491_491" id="NoteRef_491_491"></a><a href="#Note_491_491" class="fnanchor">[491]</a> This violent and excessive mood requires to -occupy itself proudly and daringly in the destruction of what men -respect, and what institutions protect. These men attack <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> the clergy by -the same instinct which leads them to beat the watch. Collins, Tindal, -Bolingbroke, are their teachers; the corruption of manners, the frequent -practice of treason, the warring amongst sects, the freedom of speech, -the progress of science, and the fermentation of ideas, seemed as if -they would dissolve Christianity. "There is no religion in England," -said Montesquieu. "Four or five in the House of Commons go to prayers or -to the parliamentary sermon.... If anyone speaks of religion, everybody -begins to laugh. A man happening to say, 'I believe this like an article -of faith,' everybody burst out laughing." In fact, the phrase was -provincial, and smacked of antiquity. The main thing was to be -fashionable, and it is amusing to see from Lord Chesterfield in what -this fashion consisted. Of justice and honor he only speaks transiently, -and for form's sake. Before all, he says to his son, "have manners, good -breeding, and the graces." He insists upon it in every letter, with a -fulness and force of illustration which form an odd contrast: "<i>Mon cher -ami, comment vont les graces, les manières, les agréments, et tous ces -petits riens si nécessaires pour rendre un homme aimable? Les -prenez-vous? y faites-vous des progrès?... A propos, on m'assure que -Madame de Blot sans avoir des traits, est jolie comme un cœur, et que -nonobstant cela, elle s'en est tenue jusqu'ici scrupuleusement à son -mari, quoiqu'il y ait déjà plus d'un an qu'elle est mariée. Elle n'y -pense pas.</i>"<a name="NoteRef_492_492" id="NoteRef_492_492"></a><a href="#Note_492_492" class="fnanchor">[492]</a>... "It seems ridiculous to tell you, but it is most -certainly true, that your dancing-master is at this time the man in all -Europe of the greatest importance to you."<a name="NoteRef_493_493" id="NoteRef_493_493"></a><a href="#Note_493_493" class="fnanchor">[493]</a>... "In your person you -must be accurately clean; and your teeth, hands, and nails' should be -superlatively so.... Upon no account whatever put your fingers in your -nose or ears.<a name="NoteRef_494_494" id="NoteRef_494_494"></a><a href="#Note_494_494" class="fnanchor">[494]</a> What says Madame Dupin to you? For an attachment I -should prefer her to <i>la petite</i> Blot.<a name="NoteRef_495_495" id="NoteRef_495_495"></a><a href="#Note_495_495" class="fnanchor">[495]</a>... Pleasing women may in -time be of service to you. They often please and govern others."<a name="NoteRef_496_496" id="NoteRef_496_496"></a><a href="#Note_496_496" class="fnanchor">[496]</a> -And he quotes to him as examples, Bolingbroke and Marlborough, the two -worst <i>roués</i> of the age. Thus speaks a serious man, once -Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and ambassador and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> plenipotentiary, and -finally a Secretary of State, an authority in matters of education and -taste.<a name="NoteRef_497_497" id="NoteRef_497_497"></a><a href="#Note_497_497" class="fnanchor">[497]</a> He wishes to polish his son, to give to him a French air, to -add to solid diplomatic knowledge and large views of ambition an -engaging, lively, and frivolous manner. This outward polish, which at -Paris is of the true color, is here but a shocking veneer. This -transplanted politeness is a lie, this vivacity is want of sense, this -worldly education seems fitted only to make actors and rogues.</p> - -<p>So thought Gay in his "Beggars' Opera," and the polished society -applauded with <i>furore</i> the portrait which he drew of it. Sixty-three -consecutive nights the piece ran amidst a tempest oft laughter; the -ladies had the songs written on their fans, and the principal actress -married a duke. What a satire! Thieves infested London, so that in 1728 -the queen herself was almost robbed; they formed bands, with officers, a -treasury, a commander-in-chief, and multiplied, though every six weeks -they were sent by the cartload to the gallows. Such was the society -which Gay put on the stage. In his opinion, it was as good as the higher -society; it was hard to discriminate between them; the manners, wit, -conduct, morality in both were alike. "Through the whole piece you may -observe such a similitude of manners in high and low life, that it is -difficult to determine whether (in the fashionable vices) the fine -gentlemen imitate the gentlemen of the road, or the gentlemen of the -road the fine gentlemen."<a name="NoteRef_498_498" id="NoteRef_498_498"></a><a href="#Note_498_498" class="fnanchor">[498]</a></p> - -<p>Wherein, for example, is Peachum different from a great minister? Like -him, he is a leader of a gang of thieves; like him, he has a register -for thefts; like him, he receives money with both hands; like him, he -contrives to have his friends caught and hanged when they trouble him; -he uses, like him, parliamentary language and classical comparisons; he -has, like him, gravity, steadiness, and is eloquently indignant when his -honor is suspected. It is true that Peachum quarrels with a comrade <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> -about the plunder, and takes him by the throat. But lately, Sir Robert -Walpole and Lord Townsend had fought with each other on a similar -question. Listen to what Mrs. Peachum says of her daughter: "Love him! -(Macheath), worse and worse! I thought the girl had been better -bred."<a name="NoteRef_499_499" id="NoteRef_499_499"></a><a href="#Note_499_499" class="fnanchor">[499]</a> The daughter observes: "A woman knows how to be mercenary -though she has never been in a court or at an assembly."<a name="NoteRef_500_500" id="NoteRef_500_500"></a><a href="#Note_500_500" class="fnanchor">[500]</a> And the -father remarks: "My daughter to me should be, like a court lady to a -minister of stale, a key to the whole gang."<a name="NoteRef_501_501" id="NoteRef_501_501"></a><a href="#Note_501_501" class="fnanchor">[501]</a> As to Macheath, he is -a fit son-in-law for such a politician. If less brilliant in council -than in action, that only suits his age. Point out a young and noble -officer who has a better address, or performs finer actions. He is a -highwayman, that is his bravery; he shares his booty with his friends, -that is his generosity: "You see, gentlemen, I am not a mere -court-friend, who professes everything and will do nothing.... But we, -gentlemen, have still honour enough to break through the corruptions of -the world."<a name="NoteRef_502_502" id="NoteRef_502_502"></a><a href="#Note_502_502" class="fnanchor">[502]</a> For the rest he is gallant; he has half à dozen -wives, a dozen children; he frequents stews, he is amiable towards the -beauties whom he meets, he is easy in manners, he makes elegant bows to -everyone, he pays compliments to all: "Mistress Slemmekin! as careless -and genteel as ever! all you fine ladies, who know your own beauty -affect undress.... If any of the ladies chuse gin, I hope they will be -so free as to call for it. Indeed, sir, I never drink strong waters, but -when I have the colic.—Just the excuse of the fine ladies! why, a lady -of quality is never without the colic."<a name="NoteRef_503_503" id="NoteRef_503_503"></a><a href="#Note_503_503" class="fnanchor">[503]</a> Is this not the genuine -tone of good society? And does anyone doubt that Macheath is a man of -quality when we learn that he has deserved to be hanged, and is not? -Everything yields to such a proof. If, however, we wish for another, he -would add that, "As to conscience and musty morals, I have as few -drawbacks upon my pleasures as any man of quality in England; in those I -am not at least vulgar."<a name="NoteRef_504_504" id="NoteRef_504_504"></a><a href="#Note_504_504" class="fnanchor">[504]</a> After such a speech a man must give in. Do -not bring up the foulness of these manners; we see that there is nothing -repulsive in them, because fashionable society likes them. These -interiors of prisons and stews, these gambling-houses, this whiff of -gin, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> this pander-traffic, and these pickpockets' calculations, by no -means disgust the ladies, who applaud from the boxes. They sing the -songs of Polly; their nerves shrink from no details; they have already -inhaled the filthy odors from the highly polished pastorals of the -amiable poet.<a name="NoteRef_505_505" id="NoteRef_505_505"></a><a href="#Note_505_505" class="fnanchor">[505]</a> They laugh to see Lucy show her pregnancy to -Machoath, and give Polly "rat-bane." They are familiar with all the -refinements of the gallows, and all the niceties of medicine. Mistress -Trapes expounds her trade before them, and complains of having "eleven -fine customers now down under the surgeon's hands." Mr. Filch, a -prison-prop, uses words which cannot even be quoted. A cruel keenness, -sharpened by a stinging irony, flows through the work, like one of those -London streams whose corrosive smells Swift and Gay have described; more -than a hundred years later it still proclaims the dishonour of the -society which is bespattered and befouled with its mire.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Principles_of_Civilization_in_France_and_England">Section III.—Principles of Civilization in France and England</a></h4> - - -<p>These were but the externals; and close observers, like Voltaire, did -not misinterpret them. Betwixt the slime at the bottom and the scum on -the surface rolled the great national river, which, purified by its own -motion, already at intervals gave signs of its true color, soon to -display the powerful regularity of its course and the wholesome -limpidity of its waters. It advanced in its native bed; every nation has -one of its own, which flows down its proper slope. It is this slope -which gives to each civilization its degree and form, and it is this -which we must endeavor to describe and measure.</p> - -<p>To this end we have only to follow the travellers from the two countries -who at this time crossed the channel. Never did England regard and -imitate France more, nor France England. To see the distinct current in -which each nation flowed, we have but to open our eyes. Lord -Chesterfield writes to his son:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"It must be owned, that the polite conversation of the men and Women at -Paris, though not always very deep, is much less futile and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> frivolous -than ours here. It turns at least upon some subject, something of taste, -some point of history, criticism, and even philosophy, which, though -probably not quite so solid as Mr. Locke's, is however better, and more -becoming rational beings, than our frivolous dissertations upon the -weather or upon whist."<a name="NoteRef_506_506" id="NoteRef_506_506"></a><a href="#Note_506_506" class="fnanchor">[506]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In fact, the French became civilized by conversation; not so the -English. As soon as the Frenchman quits mechanical labor and coarse -material life, even before he quits it, he converses: this is his goal -and his pleasure.<a name="NoteRef_507_507" id="NoteRef_507_507"></a><a href="#Note_507_507" class="fnanchor">[507]</a> Barely has he escaped from religious wars and -feudal isolation, when he makes his bow and has his way. With the Hôtel -de Rambouillet we get the fine drawing-room talk, which is to last two -centuries: Germans, English, all Europe, either novices or dullards, -listen to France open-mouthed, and from time to time clumsily attempt an -imitation. How amiable are French talkers! What discrimination! What -innate tact! With what grace and dexterity they can persuade, interest, -amuse, stroke down sickly vanity, rivet the diverted attention, -insinuate dangerous truth, ever soaring a hundred feet above the -tedium-point where their rivals are floundering with all their native -heaviness. But, above all, how sharp they soon have become! -Instinctively and without effort they light upon easy gesture, fluent -speech, sustained elegance, a characteristic piquancy, a perfect -clearness. Their phrases, still formal under Guez de Balzac, are looser, -lighter, launch out, move speedily, and under Voltaire find their wings. -Did any man ever see such a desire, such an art of pleasing? Pedantic -sciences, political economy, theology, the sullen denizens of the -Academy and the Sorbonne, speak but in epigrams. Montesquieu's "Esprit -des Lois" is also "Esprit sur les lois." Rousseau's periods, which -begat a revolution, were balanced, turned, polished for eighteen hours -in his head. Voltaire's philosophy breaks out into a million sparks. -Every idea must blossom into a witticism; people only have flashes of -thought; all truth, the most intricate and the most sacred, becomes a -pleasant drawing-room conceit, thrown backward and forward, like a -gilded shuttlecock, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> by delicate women's hands, without sullying the lace -sleeves from which their slim arms emerge, or the garlands which the -rosy Cupids unfold on the wainscoting. Everything must glitter, sparkle, -or smile. The passions are deadened, love is rendered insipid, the -proprieties are multiplied, good manners are exaggerated. The fine man -becomes "sensitive." From his wadded taffeta dressing-gown he keeps -plucking his worked handkerchief to whisk away the moist omen of a tear; -he lays his hand on his heart, he grows tender; he has become so -delicate and correct, that an Englishman knows not whether to take him -for a hysterical young woman or a dancing-master.<a name="NoteRef_508_508" id="NoteRef_508_508"></a><a href="#Note_508_508" class="fnanchor">[508]</a> Take a near view -of this beribboned puppy, in his light-green dress, lisping out the -songs of Florian. The genius of society which has led him to these -fooleries has also led him elsewhere; for conversation, in France at -least, is a chase after ideas. To this day, in spite of modern distrust -and sadness, it is at table, after dinner, over the coffee especially, -that deep politics and the loftiest philosophy crop up. To think, above -all to think rapidly, is a recreation. The mind finds in it a sort of -ball; think how eagerly it hastens thither. This is the source of all -French culture. At the dawn of the century, the ladies, between a couple -of bows, produced studied portraits and subtle dissertations; they -understand Descartes, appreciate Nicole, approve Bossuet. Presently -little suppers are introduced, and during the dessert they discuss the -existence of God. Are not theology, morality, set forth in a noble or -piquant style, pleasures for the drawing-room and adornments of luxury? -Fancy finds place amongst them, floats about and sparkles like a light -flame over all the subjects on which it feeds. How lofty a flight did -intelligence take during this eighteenth century! Was society ever more -anxious for sublime truths, more bold in their search, more quick to -discover, more ardent in embracing them? These perfumed marquises, these -laced coxcombs, all these pretty, well-dressed, gallant, frivolous -people, crowd to hear philosophy discussed, as they go to hear an opera. -The origin of animated beings, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> eels of Needham,<a name="NoteRef_509_509" id="NoteRef_509_509"></a><a href="#Note_509_509" class="fnanchor">[509]</a> the adventures -of Jacques the Fatalist,<a name="NoteRef_510_510" id="NoteRef_510_510"></a><a href="#Note_510_510" class="fnanchor">[510]</a> and the question of free-will, the -principles of political economy, and the calculations of the "Man with -Forty Crowns"<a name="NoteRef_511_511" id="NoteRef_511_511"></a><a href="#Note_511_511" class="fnanchor">[511]</a>—all is to them a matter for paradoxes and -discoveries. All the heavy rocks, which the men who have made it their -business, were hewing and undermining laboriously in solitude, being -carried along and polished in the public torrent, roll in myriads, -mingled together with a joyous clatter, hurried onwards with an -ever-increasing rapidity. There was no bar, no collision; they were not -checked by the practicability of their plans: they thought for -thinking's sake; theories could be expanded at ease. In fact, this is -how in France men have always conversed. They play with general truths; -they glean one nimbly from the heap of facts in which it lay concealed, -and develop it, they hover above observation in reason and rhetoric; -they find themselves uncomfortable and commonplace when they are not in -the region of pure ideas. And in this respect the eighteenth century -continues the seventeenth. The philosophers had described good breeding, -flattery, misanthropy, avarice; they now instituted inquiries into -liberty, tyranny, religion; they had studied man in himself; they now -study him in the abstract. Religious and monarchical writers are of the -same school as impious and revolutionary writers; Boileau leads up to -Rousseau, Racine to Robespierre. Oratorical reasoning formed the regular -theatre and classical preaching; it also produced the Declaration of -Rights and the "Contrat Social." They form for themselves a certain idea -of man, of his inclinations, faculties, duties; a mutilated idea, but -the more clear as it was the more reduced. From being aristocratic it -becomes popular; instead of being an amusement, it is a laith; from -delicate and sceptical hands it passes to coarse and enthusiastic hands. -From the lustre of the drawing-room they make a brand and a torch. Such -is the current on which the French mind floated for two centuries, -caressed by the refinements of an exquisite politeness, amused by a -swarm of brilliant ideas, charmed by the promises of golden theories, -until, thinking that it touched the cloud-palace, made bright by the -future, it suddenly lost its footing and fell in the storm of the -Revolution. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> - -<p>Altogether different is the path which English civilization has taken. -It is not the spirit of society which has made it, but moral sense; and -the reason is that in England man is not as he is in France. The -Frenchmen who became acquainted with England at this period were struck -by it. "In France," says Montesquieu, "I become friendly with everybody; -in England with nobody. You must do here as the English do, live for -yourself, care for no one, love no one, rely on no one." Englishmen were -of a singular genius, yet "solitary and sad. They are reserved, live -much in themselves, and think alone. Most of them having wit, are -tormented by their very wit. Scorning or disgusted with all things, they -are unhappy amid so many reasons why they should not be so." And -Voltaire, like Montesquieu, continually alludes to the sombre energy of -the English character. He says that in London there are days when the -wind is in the east, when it is customary for people to hang themselves; -he relates shudderingly how a young girl cut her throat, and how her -lover without a word redeemed the knife. He is surprised to see "so many -Timons, so many splenetic, misanthropes." Whither will they go? There -was one path which grew daily wider. The Englishman, naturally serious, -meditative, and sad, did not regard life as a game or a pleasure; his -eyes were habitually turned, not outward to smiling nature, but inward -to the life of the soul; he examines himself, ever descends within -himself, confines himself to the moral world, and at last sees no other -beauty but that which shines there; he enthrones justice as the sole and -absolute queen of humanity, and conceives the plan of disposing all his -actions according to a rigid code. He has no lack of force in this; for -his pride comes to assist his conscience. Having chosen himself and by -himself the route, he would blush to quit it; he rejects temptations as -his enemies; he feels that he is fighting and conquering,<a name="NoteRef_512_512" id="NoteRef_512_512"></a><a href="#Note_512_512" class="fnanchor">[512]</a> that he -is doing a difficult thing, that he is worthy of admiration, that he is -a man. Moreover, he rescues himself from his capital foe, tedium, and -satisfies his craving for action; understanding his duties, he employs -his faculties and he has a purpose in life, and this gives rise to -associations, endowments, preachings; and finding more steadfast souls, -and nerves more tightly strung, it sends them forth, without causing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> -them too much suffering, too long strife, through ridicule and danger. -The reflective character of the man has given a moral rule; the militant -character now gives moral force. The mind, thus directed, is more apt -than any other to comprehend duty; the will, thus armed, is more capable -than any other of performing its duty. This is the fundamental faculty -which is found in all parts of public life, concealed but present, like -one of those deep primeval rocks, which, lying far inland, give to all -undulations of the soil a basis and a support.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Religion">Section IV.—Religion</a></h4> - - -<p>This faculty gives first a basis and a support to Protestantism, and it -is from this structure of mind that the Englishman is religious. Let us -find our way through the knotty and uninviting bark. Voltaire laughs at -it, and jests about the ranting of the preachers and the austerity of -the faithful. "There is no opera, no comedy, no concert on a Sunday in -London; cards even are expressly forbidden, so that only persons of -quality, and those who are called respectable people, play on that day." -He amuses himself at the expense of the Anglicans, "so scrupulous in -collecting their tithes"; the Presbyterians, "who look as if they were -angry, and preach with a strong nasal accent"; the Quakers, "who go to -church and wait for inspiration with their hats on their heads." But is -there nothing to be observed but these externals? And do we suppose that -we are acquainted with a religion because we know the details of -formulary and vestment? There is a common faith beneath all these -sectarian differences: whatever be the form of Protestantism, its object -and result are the culture of the moral sense; that is why it is popular -in England: principles and dogmas all make it suitable to the instincts -of the nation. The sentiment which in the Protestant is the source of -everything, is qualms of conscience; he pictures perfect justice, and -feels that his uprightness, however great, cannot stand before that. He -thinks of the Day of Judgment, and tells himself that he will be damned. -He is troubled, and prostrates himself; he prays God to pardon his sins -and renew his heart. He sees that neither by his desires, nor his deeds, -nor by any ceremony or institution, nor by himself, nor <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> by any creature, -can he deserve the one or obtain the other. He betakes himself to -Christ, the one Mediator; he prays to him, he feels his presence, he -finds himself justified by his grace, elect, healed, transformed, -predestinated. Thus understood, religion is a moral revolution; thus -simplified, religion is only a moral revolution. Before this deep -emotion, metaphysics and theology, ceremonies and discipline, all is -blotted out or subordinate, and Christianity is simply the purification -of the heart. Look now at these men, dressed in sombre colors, speaking -through the nose on Sundays, in a box of dark wood, whilst a man in -bands, "with the air of a Cato," reads a psalm. Is there nothing in -their heart but theological "trash" or mechanical phrases? There is a -deep sentiment—veneration. This bare Dissenters' meeting-house, this -simple service and church of the Anglicans, leave them open to the -impression of what they read and hear. For they do hear, and they do -read; prayer in the vulgar tongue, psalms translated into the vulgar -tongue, can penetrate through their senses to their souls. They do -penetrate; and this is why they have such a collected mien. For the race -is by its very nature capable of deep emotions, disposed by the -vehemence of its imagination to comprehend the grand and tragic; and the -Bible, which is to them the very word of eternal God, provides it. I -know that to Voltaire it is only emphatic, unconnected, ridiculous; the -sentiments with which it is filled are out of harmony with French -sentiments. In England the hearers are on the level of its energy and -harshness. The cries of anguish or admiration of the solitary Hebrew, -the transports, the sudden outbursts of sublime passion, the desire for -justice, the growling of the thunder and the judgments of God, shake, -across thirty centuries, these Biblical souls. Their other books assist -it. The Prayer Book, which is handed down as an heirloom with the old -family Bible, speaks to all, to the dullest peasant, or the miner, the -solemn accent of true prayer. The new-born poetry, the reviving religion -of the sixteenth century, have impressed their magnificent gravity upon -it; and we feel in it, as in Milton himself, the pulse of the twofold -inspiration which then lifted a man out of himself and raised him to -heaven. Their knees bend when they listen to it. That Confession of -Faith, these collects for the sick, for the dying, in case of public -misfortune or private grief, these lofty sentences of impassioned and -sustained eloquence, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> transport a man to some unknown and august world. -Let the fine gentlemen yawn, mock, and succeed in not understanding: I -am sure that, of the others, many are moved. The idea of dark death and -of the limitless ocean, to which the poor weak soul must descend, the -thought of this, invisible justice, everywhere present, ever foreseeing, -on which the changing show of visible things depends, enlighten them -with unexpected flashes. The physical world and its laws seem to them -but a phantom, and a figure; they see nothing more real than justice; it -is the sum of humanity, as of nature. This is the deep sentiment which -on Sunday closes the theatre, discourages pleasures, fills the churches; -this it is which pierces the breastplate of the positive spirit and of -corporeal dulness. This shopkeeper, who all the week has been counting -his bales or drawing up columns of figures; this cattle-breeding squire, -who can only bawl, drink, jump a fence; these yeomen, these cottagers, -who in order to amuse themselves draw blood whilst boxing, or vie with -each other in grinning through a horse-collar—all these uncultivated -souls, immersed in material life, receive thus from their religion a -moral life. They love it; we hear it in the yells of a mob, rising like -a thunderstorm, when a rash hand touches or seems to touch the Church. -We see it in the sale of Protestant devotional books; the "Pilgrim's -Progress" and "The Whole Duty of Man" are alone able to force their way -to the window-ledge of the yeoman and squire, where four volumes, their -whole library, rest amid the fishing-tackle. We can only move the men of -this race by moral reflections and religious emotions. The cooled -Puritan spirit still broods underground, and is drawn in the only -direction where fuel, air, fire, and action are to be found.</p> - -<p>We obtain a glimpse of it when we look at the sects. In France, -Jansenists and Jesuits seem to be puppets of another century, fighting -for the amusement of this age. Here Quakers, Independents, Baptists -exist, serious, honored, recognized by the State, distinguished by their -able writers, their deep scholars, their men of worth, their founders of -nations.<a name="NoteRef_513_513" id="NoteRef_513_513"></a><a href="#Note_513_513" class="fnanchor">[513]</a> Their piety causes their disputes; it is because they will -believe that they differ in belief: the only men without religion are -those who do not care for religion. A motionless faith is soon a dead -faith; and when a man becomes a sectarian, it is because he is fervent. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> -This Christianity lives because it is developed; we see the sap, always -flowing from the Protestant inquiry and faith, re-enter the old dogmas, -dried up for fifteen hundred years. Voltaire, when he came to England, -was surprised to find Arians, and amongst them the first thinkers in -England—Clarke, Newton himself. Not only dogma, but feeling, is -renewed; beyond the speculative Arians were the practical Methodists; -behind Newton and Clarke came Whitefield and Wesley.</p> - -<p>No history more deeply illustrates the English character than that of -these two men. In spite of Hume and Voltaire, they founded a monastical -and convulsionary sect, and triumph through austerity, and exaggeration, -which would have ruined them in France. Wesley was a scholar, an Oxford -student, and he believed in the devil; he attributes to him sickness, -nightmare, storms, earthquakes. His family heard supernatural noises; -his father had been thrice pushed by a ghost; he himself saw the hand of -God in the commonest events of life. One day at Birmingham, overtaken by -a hailstorm, he felt that he received this warning, because at table he -had not sufficiently exhorted the people who dined with him; when he had -to determine on anything, he opened the Bible at random for a text, in -order to decide. At Oxford he fasted and wearied himself until he spat -blood and almost died; at sea, when he departed for America, he only ate -bread, and slept on deck; he lived the life of an apostle, giving away -all that he earned, travelling and preaching all the year, and every -year, till the age of eighty-eight;<a name="NoteRef_514_514" id="NoteRef_514_514"></a><a href="#Note_514_514" class="fnanchor">[514]</a> it has been reckoned that he -gave away thirty thousand pounds, travelled about a hundred thousand -miles, and preached forty thousand sermons. What could such a man have -done in France in the eighteenth century? Here he was listened to and -followed, at his death he had eighty thousand disciples; now he has a -million. The qualms of conscience, which forced him in this direction, -compelled others to follow in his footsteps. Nothing is more striking -than the confessions of his preachers, mostly low-born and laymen. -George Story had the spleen, dreamed and mused gloomily; took to -slandering himself and the occupations of men. Mark Bond thought himself -damned, because <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> when a boy he had once uttered a blasphemy; he read and -prayed unceasingly and in vain, and at last in despair he enlisted, with -the hope of being killed. John Haime had visions, howled, and thought he -saw the devil. Another, a baker, had scruples because his master -continued to bake on Sunday, wasted away with anxiety, and soon was -nothing but a skeleton. Such are the timorous and impassioned souls -which become religious and enthusiastic. They are numerous in this land, -and on them doctrine took hold. Wesley declares that "A string of -opinions is no more Christian faith than a string of beads is Christian -holiness. It is not an assent to any opinion, or any number of -opinions. This justifying faith implies not only the personal -revelation, the inward evidence of Christianity, but likewise a sure and -firm confidence in the individual believer that Christ died for <i>his</i> -sin, loved <i>him</i>, and gave his life for <i>him.</i>"<a name="NoteRef_515_515" id="NoteRef_515_515"></a><a href="#Note_515_515" class="fnanchor">[515]</a> "By a Christian, I -mean one who so believes in Christ, as that sin hath no more dominion -over him."<a name="NoteRef_516_516" id="NoteRef_516_516"></a><a href="#Note_516_516" class="fnanchor">[516]</a></p> - -<p>The faithful feels in himself the touch of a superior hand, and the -birth of an unknown being. The old man has disappeared, the new man has -taken his place, pardoned, purified, transfigured, steeped in joy and -confidence, inclined to good as strongly as he was once drawn to evil. A -miracle has been wrought, and it can be wrought at any moment, suddenly, -under any circumstances, without warning. Some sinner, the oldest and -most hardened, without wishing it, without having dreamed of it, falls -down weeping, his heart melted by grace. The hidden thoughts, which -fermented long in these gloomy imaginations, break out suddenly into -storms, and the dull brutal mood is shaken by nervous fits which it had -not known before. Wesley, Whitefield, and their preachers went all over -England preaching to the poor, the peasants, the workmen in the open -air, sometimes to a congregation of twenty thousand people. "The fire is -kindled in the country." There was sobbing and crying. At Kingswood, -Whitefield, having collected the miners, a savage race, "saw the white -gutters made by the tears which plentifully fell down from their black -cheeks, black as they came out from their coal-pits."<a name="NoteRef_517_517" id="NoteRef_517_517"></a><a href="#Note_517_517" class="fnanchor">[517]</a> Some trembled -and fell; others had transports of joy, ecstasies. Southey writes thus -of Thomas Olivers: "His heart was broken, nor could he express the -strong desires which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> he felt for righteousness.... He describes his -feelings during a <i>Te Deum</i> at the cathedral, as if he had done with -earth, and was praising God before His throne."<a name="NoteRef_518_518" id="NoteRef_518_518"></a><a href="#Note_518_518" class="fnanchor">[518]</a> The god and the -brute, which each man carries in himself, were let loose; the physical -machine was upset; emotion was turned into madness, and the madness -became contagious. An eye-witness says:</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> -<p class="center"><i>PRINTER'S MARK OF PHILIPPE LE NOIR.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>The early printers, in order to distinguish their work, used a special -mark or plate which, as in the case before us, sometimes took the form -of a sort of rebus, or punning device. The negroes who support the -initial shield in this mark are gorgeous and Oriental in attire, and the -design, as a whole, is one of the most picturesque examples of this kind -of composition.</p></blockquote></div> - - - -<blockquote> -<p>"At Everton some were shrieking, some roaring aloud.... The most general -was a loud breathing, like that of people half strangled and gasping for -life; and, indeed, almost all the cries were like those of human -creatures dying in bitter anguish. Great numbers wept without any noise; -others fell down as dead.... I stood upon the pew-seat, as did a young -man in the opposite pew, an able-bodied, fresh, healthy countryman, but -in a moment, when he seemed to think of nothing else, down he dropt, -with a violence inconceivable.... I heard the stamping of his feet, -ready to break the boards, as he lay in strong convulsions at the bottom -of the pew.... I saw a sturdy boy, about eight years old, who roared -above his fellows; ... his face was red as scarlet; and almost all on -whom God laid his hand, turned either very red or almost black."<a name="NoteRef_519_519" id="NoteRef_519_519"></a><a href="#Note_519_519" class="fnanchor">[519]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Elsewhere, a woman, disgusted with this madness, wished to leave, but -had only gone a few steps when she fell into as violent fits as others. -Conversions followed these transports; the converted paid their debts, -foreswore drunkenness, read the Bible, prayed, and went about exhorting -others. Wesley collected them into societies, formed "classes" for -mutual examination and edification, submitted spiritual life to a -methodic discipline, built chapels, chose preachers, founded schools, -organized enthusiasm. To this day his disciples spend very large sums -every year in missions to all parts of the world, and on the banks of -the Mississippi and the Ohio their shoutings repeat the violent -enthusiasm and the conversions of primitive inspiration. The same -instinct is still revealed by the same signs; the doctrine of grace -survives in uninterrupted energy, and the race, as in the sixteenth -century, puts its poetry into the exaltation of the moral sense. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--The_Pulpit">Section V.—The Pulpit</a></h4> - - -<p>A sort of theological smoke covers and hides this glowing hearth which -burns in silence. A stranger who, at this time, had visited the country, -would see in this religion only a choking vapor of arguments, -controversies, and sermons. All those celebrated divines and preachers, -Barrow, Tillotson, South, Stillingfleet, Sherlock, Burnet, Baxter, -Barclay, preached, says Addison, like automatons, monotonously, without -moving their arms. For a Frenchman, for Voltaire, who did read them, as -he read everything, what a strange reading! Here is Tillotson first, the -most authoritative of all, a kind of father of the Church, so much -admired that Dryden tells us that he learned from him the art of writing -well, and that his sermons, the only property which he left his widow, -were bought by a publisher for two thousand five hundred guineas. This -work has, in fact, some weight; there are three folio volumes, each of -seven hundred pages. To open them, a man must be a critic by profession, -or be possessed by an absolute desire to be saved. And now let us open -them. "The Wisdom of being Religious"—such is his first sermon, much -celebrated in his time, and the foundation of his success:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"These words consist of two propositions, which are not distinct in -sense;... So that they differ only as cause and effect, which by a -metonymy, used in all sorts of authors, are frequently put one for -another."<a name="NoteRef_520_520" id="NoteRef_520_520"></a><a href="#Note_520_520" class="fnanchor">[520]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This opening makes us uneasy. Is this great orator a teacher of grammar?</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Having thus explained the words, I come now to consider the proposition -contained in them, which is this:</p> - -<p>That religion is the best knowledge and wisdom.</p> - -<p>"This I shall endeavour to make good these three ways:—</p> - -<p>"1st. By a direct proof of it;</p> - -<p>"2d. By shewing on the contrary the folly and ignorance of irreligion -and wickedness;</p> - -<p>"3d. By vindicating religion from those common imputations which seem to -charge it with ignorance or imprudence. I begin with the direct proof of -this...."<a name="NoteRef_521_521" id="NoteRef_521_521"></a><a href="#Note_521_521" class="fnanchor">[521]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Thereupon he gives his divisions. What a heavy demonstrator! We are -tempted to turn over the leaves only, and not to read them. Let us -examine his forty-second sermon: "Against Evil-speaking:"</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Firstly: I shall consider the nature of this vice, and wherein it -consists.</p> - -<p>"Secondly: I shall consider the due extent of this prohibition, To -speak evil of no man.</p> - -<p>"Thirdly: I shall show the evil of this practice, both in the causes -and effects of it.</p> - -<p>"Fourthly: I shall add some further considerations to dissuade men -from it.</p> - -<p>"Fifthly: I shall give some rules and directions for the prevention -and cure of it."<a name="NoteRef_522_522" id="NoteRef_522_522"></a><a href="#Note_522_522" class="fnanchor">[522]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>What a style! and it is the same throughout. There is nothing lifelike; -it is a skeleton, with all its joints coarsely displayed. All the ideas -are ticketed and numbered. The schoolmen were not worse. Neither rapture -nor vehemence; no wit, no imagination, no original and brilliant idea, -no philosophy; nothing but quotations of mere scholarship, and -enumerations from a handbook. The dull argumentative reason comes with -its pigeon-holed classifications upon a great truth of the heart or an -impassioned word from the Bible, examines it "positively and -negatively," draws thence "a lesson and an encouragement," arranges each -part under its heading, patiently, indefatigably, so that sometimes -three whole sermons are needed to complete the division and the proof, -and each of them contains in its exordium the methodical abstract of all -the points treated and the arguments supplied. Just so were the -discussions of the Sorbonne carried on. At the court of Louis XIV -Tillotson would have been taken for a man who had run away from a -seminary. Voltaire would have called him a village curé. He has all -that is necessary to shock men of the world, nothing to attract them. -For he does not address men of the world, but Christians; his hearers -neither need nor desire to be goaded or amused; they do not ask for -analytical refinements, novelties in matter of feeling. They come to -have Scripture explained to them, and morality demonstrated. The force -of their zeal is only manifested by the gravity of their attention. Let -others have a text as a mere <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> pretext; as for them, they cling to it: it -is the very word of God, they cannot dwell on it too much. They must -have the sense of every word hunted out, the passage interpreted phrase -by phrase, in itself, by the context, by parallel passages, by the whole -doctrine. They are willing to have the different readings, translations, -interpretations expounded; they like to see the orator become a -grammarian, a Hellenist, a scholiast. They are not repelled by all this -dust of scholarship, which rises from the folios to settle upon their -countenance. And the precept being laid down, they demand an enumeration -of all the reasons which support it; they wish to be convinced, carry -away in their heads a provision of good approved motives to last the -week. They came there seriously, as to their counting-house or their -field, not to amuse themselves, but to do some work, to toil and dig -conscientiously in theology and logic, to amend and better themselves. -They would be angry at being dazzled. Their great sense, their ordinary -common-sense, is much better pleased with cold discussions; they want -inquiries and methodical reports of morality, as if it was a subject of -export and import duties, and treat conscience as port wine or herrings.</p> - -<p>In this Tillotson is admirable. Doubtless he is pedantic, as Voltaire -called him; he has all "the bad manners learned at the university"; he -has not been "polished by association with women"; he is not like the -French preachers, academicians, elegant discoursers, who by a courtly -air, a well-delivered Advent sermon, the refinements of a purified -style, earn the first vacant bishopric and the favor of good society. -But he writes like a perfectly honest man; we can see that he is not -aiming in any way at the glory of an orator; he wishes to persuade -soundly, nothing more. We enjoy this clearness, this naturalness, this -preciseness, this entire loyalty. In one of his sermons he says:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Truth and reality have all the advantages of appearance and many more. -If the show of anything be good for anything, I am sure sincerity is -better; for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is -not, but because he thinks it good to have such a quality as he pretends -to? For to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the appearance of -some real excellency. Now, the best way in the world for a man to seem -to be anything, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides, that -it is many times as troublesome to make good the pretence of a good -quality, as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is ten to one but -he is discovered to want it, and then all his pains and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> labour to seem -to have it are lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a -skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion.</p> - -<p>"It is hard to personate and act a part long; for where truth is not at -the bottom, nature will always be endeavouring to return, and will peep -out and betray herself one time or other. Therefore, if a man think it -convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his goodness -will appear to everybody's satisfaction;... so that, upon all accounts, -sincerity is true wisdom."<a name="NoteRef_523_523" id="NoteRef_523_523"></a><a href="#Note_523_523" class="fnanchor">[523]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We are led to believe a man who speaks thus; we say to ourselves, -"This is true, he is right, we must do as he says." The impression -received is moral, not literary; the sermon is efficacious, not -rhetorical; it does not please, it leads to action.</p> - -<p>In this great manufactory of morality, where every loom goes on as -regularly as its neighbor, with a monotonous noise, we distinguish two -which sound louder and better than the rest—Barrow and South. Not that -they were free from dulness. Barrow had all the air of a college pedant, -and dressed so badly that one day in London, before an audience who did -not know him, he saw almost the whole congregation at once leave the -church. He explained the word εύχαριστέΐν in the pulpit with -all the charm of a dictionary, commenting, translating, dividing, -subdividing like the most formidable of scholiasts,<a name="NoteRef_524_524" id="NoteRef_524_524"></a><a href="#Note_524_524" class="fnanchor">[524]</a> caring no more -for the public than for himself; so that once, when he had spoken for -three hours and a half before the Lord Mayor, he replied to those who -asked him if he was not tired, "I did, in fact, begin to be weary of -standing so long." But the heart and mind were so full and so rich, that -his faults became a power. He had a geometrical method and -clearness,<a name="NoteRef_525_525" id="NoteRef_525_525"></a><a href="#Note_525_525" class="fnanchor">[525]</a> an inexhaustible fertility, extraordinary impetuosity -and tenacity of logic, writing the same <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> sermon three or four times over, -insatiable in his craving to explain and prove, obstinately confined to -his already overflowing thoughts, with a minuteness of division, an -exactness of connection, a superfluity of explanation, so astonishing -that the attention of the hearer at last gives way; and yet the mind -turns with the vast engine, carried away and doubled up as by the -rolling weight of a flattening-machine.</p> - -<p>Let us listen to his sermon, "Of the Love of God." Never was a more -copious and forcible analysis seen in England, so penetrating and -unwearying a decomposition of an idea into all its parts, a more -powerful logic, more rigorously collecting into one network all the -threads of a subject:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Although no such benefit or advantage can accrue to God, which may -increase his essential and indefectible happiness; no harm or damage can -arrive that may impair it (for he can be neither really more or less -rich, or glorious, or joyful than he is; neither have our desire or our -fear, our delight or our grief, our designs or our endeavours any -object, any ground in those respects); yet hath he declared, that there -be certain interests and concernments, which, out of his abundant -goodness and condescension, he doth tender and prosecute as his own; as -if he did really receive advantage by the good, and prejudice by the bad -success, respectively belonging to them; that he earnestly desires and -is greatly delighted with some things, very much dislikes and is -grievously displeased with other things: for instance, that he bears a -fatherly affection towards his creatures, and earnestly desires their -welfare; and delights to see them enjoy the good he designed them; as -also dislikes the contrary events; doth commiserate and condole their -misery; that he is consequently well pleased when piety and justice, -peace and order (the chief means conducing to our welfare) do flourish; -and displeased, when impiety and iniquity, dissension and disorder -(those certain sources of mischief to us) do prevail; that he is well -satisfied with our rendering to him that obedience, honour, and respect, -which are due to him; and highly offended with our injurious and -disrespectful behaviour toward him, in the commission of sin and -violation of his most just and holy commandments; so that there wants -not sufficient matter of our exercising good-will both in affection and -action toward God; we are capable both of wishing and (in a manner, as -he will interpret and accept it) of doing good to him, by our -concurrence with him in promoting those things which he approves and -delights in, and in removing the contrary."<a name="NoteRef_526_526" id="NoteRef_526_526"></a><a href="#Note_526_526" class="fnanchor">[526]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This entanglement wearies us, but what a force and dash is there in this -well-considered and complete thought! Truth thus <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> supported on all its -foundations can never be shaken. Rhetoric is absent. There is no art -here; the whole oratorical art consists in the desire thoroughly to -explain and prove what he has to say. He is even unstudied and artless; -and it is just this ingenuousness which raises him to the antique level. -We may meet with an image in his writings which seems to belong to the -finest period of Latin simplicity and dignity:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The middle, we may observe, and the safest, and the fairest, and the -most conspicuous places in cities are usually deputed for the erections -of statues and monuments dedicated to the memory of worthy men, who have -nobly deserved of their countries. In like manner should we in the heart -and centre of our soul, in the best and highest apartments thereof, in -the places most exposed to ordinary observation, and most secure from -the invasions of worldly care, erect lively representations of, and -lasting memorials unto, the divine bounty."<a name="NoteRef_527_527" id="NoteRef_527_527"></a><a href="#Note_527_527" class="fnanchor">[527]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>There is here a sort of effusion of gratitude; and at the end of the -sermon, when we think him exhausted, the expansion becomes more copious -by the enumeration of the unlimited blessings amidst which we move like -fishes in the sea, not perceiving them, because we are surrounded and -submerged by them. During ten pages the idea overflows in a continuous -and similar phrase, without fear of crowding or monotony, in spite of -all rules, so loaded are the heart and imagination, and so satisfied are -they to bring and collect all nature as a single offering:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"To him, the excellent quality, the noble end, the most obliging manner -of whose beneficence doth surpass the matter thereof, and hugely augment -the benefits: who, not compelled by any necessity, not obliged by any -law (or previous compact), not induced by any extrinsic arguments, not -inclined by our merits, not wearied with our importunities, not -instigated by troublesome passions of pity, shame, or fear (as we are -wont to be), not flattered with promises of recompense, nor bribed with -expectation of emolument, thence to accrue unto himself; but being -absolute master of his own actions, only both lawgiver and counsellor to -himself, all-sufficient, and incapable of admitting any accession to his -perfect blissfulness; most willingly and freely, out of pure bounty and -good-will, is our Friend and Benefactor; preventing not only our -desires, but our knowledge; surpassing not our deserts only, but our -wishes, yea, even our conceits, in the dispensation of his inestimable -and unrequitable benefits; having no other drift in the collation of -them, beside our real good and welfare, our profit and advantage, our -pleasure and content."<a name="NoteRef_528_528" id="NoteRef_528_528"></a><a href="#Note_528_528" class="fnanchor">[528]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Zealous energy and lack of taste; such are the features common to all -this eloquence. Let us leave this mathematician, this man of the closet, -this antique man, who proves too much and is too eager, and let us look -out amongst the men of the world him who was called the wittiest of -ecclesiastics, Robert South, as different from Barrow in his character -and life as in his works and his mind; armed for war, an impassioned -royalist, a partisan of divine right and passive obedience, an -acrimonious controversialist, a defamer of the dissenters, a foe to the -Act of Toleration, who never avoided in his enmities the license of an -insult or a foul word. By his side Father Bridaine,<a name="NoteRef_529_529" id="NoteRef_529_529"></a><a href="#Note_529_529" class="fnanchor">[529]</a> who seems so -coarse to the French, was polished. His sermons are like a conversation -of that time; and we know in what style they conversed then in England. -South is not afraid to use any popular and impassioned image. He sets -forth little vulgar facts, with their low and striking details. He never -shrinks, he never minces matters; he speaks the language of the people. -His style is anecdotic, striking, abrupt, with change of tone, forcible -and clownish gestures, with every species of originality, vehemence, and -boldness. He sneers in the pulpit, he rails, he plays the mimic and -comedian. He paints his characters as if he had them before his eyes. -The audience will recognize the originals again in the streets; they -could put the names to his portraits. Read this bit on hypocrites:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Suppose a man infinitely ambitious, and equally spiteful and malicious; -one who poisons the ears of great men by venomous whispers, and rises by -the fall of better men than himself; yet if he steps forth with a Friday -look and a Lenten face, with a blessed Jesu! and a mournful ditty for -the vices of the times; oh! then he is a saint upon earth: an Ambrose or -an Augustine (I mean not for that earthly trash of book-learning; for, -alas! such are above that, or at least that's above them), but for zeal -and for fasting, for a devout elevation of the eyes, and a holy rage -against other men's sins. And happy those ladies and religious dames, -characterized in the 2d of Timothy, ch. III. 6, who can have such -self-denying, thriving, able men for their confessors! and thrice happy -those families where they vouchsafe to take their Friday night's -refreshments! and thereby demonstrate to the world what Christian -abstinence, and what primitive, self-mortifying rigor there is in -forbearing a dinner, that they may have the better stomach to their -supper. In fine, the whole world stands in admiration of them; fools <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> are -fond of them, and wise men are afraid of them; they are talked of, they -are pointed at; and, as they order the matter, they draw the eyes of all -men after them, and generally something else."<a name="NoteRef_530_530" id="NoteRef_530_530"></a><a href="#Note_530_530" class="fnanchor">[530]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>A man so frank of speech was sure to commend frankness; he has done so -with the bitter irony, the brutality of a Wycherley. The pulpit had the -plaindealing and coarseness of the stage; and in this picture of -forcible, honest men, whom the world considers as bad characters, we -find the pungent familiarity of the "Plain Dealer":</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Again, there are some, who have a certain ill-natured stiffness -(forsooth) in their tongue, so as not to be able to applaud and keep -pace with this or that self-admiring, vain-glorious Thraso, while he is -pluming and praising himself, and telling fulsome stories in his own -commendation for three or four hours by the clock, and at the same time -reviling and throwing dirt upon all mankind besides.</p> - -<p>"There is also a sort of odd ill-natured men, whom neither hopes nor -fears, frowns nor favours, can prevail upon, to have any of the cast, -beggarly, forlorn nieces or kinswomen of any lord or grandee, spiritual -or temporal, trumped upon them.</p> - -<p>"To which we may add another sort of obstinate ill-natured persons, who -are not to be brought by any one's guilt or greatness, to speak or -write, or to swear or lie, as they are bidden, or to give up their own -consciences in a compliment to those who have none themselves.</p> - -<p>"And lastly, there are some, so extremely ill-natured, as to think it -very lawful and allowable for them to be sensible when they are injured -or oppressed, when they are slandered in their good names, and wronged -in their just interests; and withal, to dare to own what they find, and -feel without being such beasts of burden as to bear tamely whatsoever is -cast upon them; or such spaniels as to lick the foot which kicks them, -or to thank the goodly great one for doing them all these back -favours."<a name="NoteRef_531_531" id="NoteRef_531_531"></a><a href="#Note_531_531" class="fnanchor">[531]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this eccentric style all blows tell; we might call it a boxing-match -in which sneers inflict bruises. But see the effect of these churls' -vulgarities. We issue thence with a soul full of energetic feeling; we -have seen the very objects, as they are, without disguise; we find -ourselves battered, but seized by a vigorous hand. This pulpit is -effective; and indeed, as compared with the French pulpit, this is its -characteristic. These sermons have not the art and artifice, the -propriety and moderation of French sermons; they are not like the -latter, monuments of style, composition, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> harmony, veiled science, -tempered imagination, disguised logic, sustained good taste, exquisite -proportion, equal to the harangues of the Roman forum and the Athenian -agora. They are not classical. No, they are practical. A big -workman-like shovel, roughly handled, and encrusted with pedantic rust, -was necessary to dig in this coarse civilization. The delicate French -gardening would have done nothing with it. If Barrow is redundant, -Tillotson heavy, South vulgar, the rest unreadable, they are all -convincing; their sermons are not models of elegance, but instruments of -edification. Their glory is not in their books, but in their works. They -have framed morals, not literary productions.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Theology">Section VI.—Theology</a></h4> - - -<p>To form morals is not all; there are creeds to be defended. We must -combat doubt as well as vice, and theology goes side by side with -preaching. It abounds at this moment in England. Anglicans, -Presbyterians, Independents, Quakers, Baptists, Antitrinitarians, -wrangle with each other, "as heartily as a Jansenist damns a Jesuit," -and are never tired of forging weapons. What is there to take hold of -and preserve in all this arsenal? In France at least theology is lofty; -the fairest flowers of mind and genius have there grown over the briers -of scholastics; if the subject repels, the dress attracts. Pascal and -Bossuet, Fénelon and La Bruyère, Voltaire, Diderot and Montesquieu, -friends and enemies, all have scattered their wealth of pearls and gold. -Over the threadbare woof of barren doctrines the seventeenth century has -embroidered a majestic stole of purple and silk; and the eighteenth -century, crumpling and tearing it, scatters it in a thousand golden -threads, which sparkle like a ball-dress. But in England all is dull, -dry, and gloomy; the great men themselves, Addison and Locke, when they -meddle in the defense of Christianity, become flat and wearisome. From -Chillingworth to Paley, apologies, refutations, expositions, -discussions, multiply and make us yawn; they reason well, and that is -all. The theologian enters on a campaign against the Papists of the -seventeenth century and the Deists of the eighteenth,<a name="NoteRef_532_532" id="NoteRef_532_532"></a><a href="#Note_532_532" class="fnanchor">[532]</a> like a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> -tactician, by rule, taking a position on a principle, throwing up all -around a breastwork of arguments, covering everything with texts, -marching calmly underground in the long shafts which he has dug; we -approach and see a sallow-faced pioneer creep out, with frowning brow, -stiff hands, dirty clothes; he thinks he is protected from all attacks; -his eyes, glued to the ground, have not seen the broad level road beside -his bastion, by which the enemy will outflank and surprise him. A sort -of incurable mediocrity keeps men like him, mattock in hand, in their -trenches, where no one is likely to pass. They understand neither their -texts nor their formulas. They are impotent in criticism and philosophy. -They treat the poetic figures of Scripture, the bold style, the -approximations to improvisation, the mystical Hebrew emotion, the -subtilties and abstractions of Alexandrian metaphysics, with the -precision of a jurist and a psychologist. They wish actually to make of -Scripture an exact code of prescriptions and definitions, drawn up by a -convention of legislators. Open the first that comes to hand, one of the -oldest—John Hales. He comments on a passage of St. Matthew, where a -question arises on a matter forbidden on the Sabbath. What was this? -"The disciples plucked the ears of corn and did eat them."<a name="NoteRef_533_533" id="NoteRef_533_533"></a><a href="#Note_533_533" class="fnanchor">[533]</a> Then -follow divisions and arguments raining down by myriads.<a name="NoteRef_534_534" id="NoteRef_534_534"></a><a href="#Note_534_534" class="fnanchor">[534]</a> Take the -most celebrated: Sherlock, applying the new psychology, invents an -explanation of the Trinity, and imagines three divine souls, each -knowing what passes in the others. Stillingfleet refutes Locke, who -thought that the soul in the resurrection, though having a body, would -not perhaps have exactly the same one in which it had lived. Let us look -at the most illustrious of all, the learned Clarke, a mathematician, -philosopher, scholar, theologian; he is busy patching up Arianism. The -great Newton himself comments on the Apocalypse, and proves that the -Pope is Antichrist. In vain have these men genius; as soon as they touch -religion, they become antiquated, narrow-minded; they make no way; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> they -are stubborn, and obstinately knock their heads against the same -obstacle. They bury themselves, generation after generation, in the -hereditary hole with English patience and conscientiousness, whilst the -enemy marches by, a league off. Yet in the hole they argue; they square -it, round it, face it with stones, then with bricks, and wonder that, -notwithstanding all these expedients, the enemy marches on. I have read -a host of these treatises, and I have not gleaned a single idea. We are -annoyed to see so much lost labor, and amazed that, during so many -generations, people so virtuous, zealous, thoughtful, loyal, well read, -well trained in discussion, have only succeeded in filling the lower -shelves of libraries. We muse sadly on this second scholastic theology, -and end by perceiving that if it was without effect in the kingdom of -science, it was because it only strove to bear fruit in the kingdom of -action.</p> - -<p>All these speculative minds were so in appearance only. They were -apologists, and not inquirers. They busy themselves with morality, not -with truth.<a name="NoteRef_535_535" id="NoteRef_535_535"></a><a href="#Note_535_535" class="fnanchor">[535]</a> They would shrink from treating God as a hypothesis, -and the Bible as a document. They would see a vicious tendency in the -broad impartiality of criticism and philosophy. They would have scruples -of conscience if they indulged in free inquiry without limitation. In -reality there is a sort of sin in truly free inquiry, because it -presupposes scepticism, abandons reverence, weighs good and evil in the -same balance, and equally receives all doctrines, scandalous or -edifying, as soon as they are proved. They banish these dissolving -speculations; they look on them as occupants of the slothful; they seek -from argument only motives and means for right conduct. They do not love -it for itself; they repress it as soon as it strives to become -independent; they demand that reason shall be Christian and Protestant; -they would give it the lie under any other form; they reduce it to the -humble position of a handmaid, and set over it their own inner Biblical -and utilitarian sense. In vain did free-thinkers arise in the beginning -of the century; forty years later they were drowned in -forgetfulness.<a name="NoteRef_536_536" id="NoteRef_536_536"></a><a href="#Note_536_536" class="fnanchor">[536]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> Deism and atheism were in England only a transient -eruption developed on the surface of the social body, in the bad air of -the great world and the plethora of native energy. Professed irreligious -men, Toland, Tindal, Mandeville, Bolingbroke, met foes stronger than -themselves. The leaders of experimental philosophy,<a name="NoteRef_537_537" id="NoteRef_537_537"></a><a href="#Note_537_537" class="fnanchor">[537]</a> the most -learned and accredited of the scholars of the age,<a name="NoteRef_538_538" id="NoteRef_538_538"></a><a href="#Note_538_538" class="fnanchor">[538]</a> the most witty -authors, the most beloved and able,<a name="NoteRef_539_539" id="NoteRef_539_539"></a><a href="#Note_539_539" class="fnanchor">[539]</a> all the authority of science -and genius was employed in putting them down. Refutations abound. Every -year, on the foundation of Robert Boyle, men noted for their talent or -knowledge come to London to preach eight sermons, for proving the -Christian religion against notorious infidels, viz., atheists, deists, -pagans, Mohammedans and Jews. And these apologies are solid, able to -convince a liberal mind, infallible for the conviction of a moral mind. -The clergymen who write them, Clarke, Bentley, Law, Watt, Warburton, -Butler, are not below the lay science and intellect. Moreover, the lay -element assists them. Addison writes the "Evidences of Christianity," -Locke the "Reasonableness of Christianity," Ray the "Wisdom of God -Manifested in the Works of the Creation." Over and above this concert of -serious words is heard a ringing voice: Swift compliments with his -terrible irony the elegant rogues who entertained the wise idea of -abolishing Christianity. If they had been ten times more numerous they -would not have succeeded, for they had nothing to substitute in its -place. Lofty speculation, which alone could take the ground, was shown -or declared to be impotent. On all sides philosophical conceptions -dwindle or come to naught. If Berkeley lighted on one, the denial of -matter, it stands alone, without influence on the public, as it were a -theological <i>coup d'état</i>, like a pious man who wants to undermine -immorality and materialism at their basis. Newton attained at most an -incomplete idea of space, and was only a mathematician. Locke, almost as -poor,<a name="NoteRef_540_540" id="NoteRef_540_540"></a><a href="#Note_540_540" class="fnanchor">[540]</a> gropes about, hesitates, does little more than guess, doubt, -start an opinion to advance and withdraw it by turns, not seeing its -far-off consequences, nor, above all, exhausting anything. In short, he -forbids himself lofty questions, and is very much inclined to forbid -them to us. He has written <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> a book to inquire what objects are within our -reach, or above our comprehension. He seeks for our limitations; he soon -finds them, and troubles himself no further. Let us shut ourselves in -our own little domain, and work there diligently. Our business in this -world is not to know all things, but those which regard the conduct of -our life. If Hume, more bold, goes further, it is in the same track: he -preserves nothing of lofty science; he abolishes speculation altogether. -According to him, we know neither substances, causes, nor laws. When we -affirm that an object is conjoined to another object, it is because we -choose, by custom; "all events seem entirely loose and separate." If we -give them "a tie," it is our imagination which creates it;<a name="NoteRef_541_541" id="NoteRef_541_541"></a><a href="#Note_541_541" class="fnanchor">[541]</a> there is -nothing true but doubt, and even we must doubt this. The conclusion is, -that we shall do well to purge our mind of all theory, and only believe -in order that we may act. Let us examine our wings only in order to cut -them off, and let us confine ourselves to walking with our legs. So -finished a pyrrhonism serves only to cast the world back upon -established beliefs. In fact, Reid, being honest, is alarmed. He sees -society broken up, God vanishing in smoke, the family evaporating in -hypotheses. He objects as a father of a family, a good citizen, a -religious man, and sets up common sense as a sovereign judge of truth. -Rarely, I think, in this world has speculation fallen lower. Reid does -not even understand the systems which he discusses; he lifts his hands -to heaven when he tries to expound Aristotle and Leibnitz. If some -municipal body were to order a system, it would be this -churchwarden-philosophy. In reality the men of this country did not care -for metaphysics; to interest them it must be reduced to psychology. Then -it becomes a science of observation, positive and useful, like botany; -still the best fruit which they pluck from it is a theory of moral -sentiments. In this domain Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Price, Smith, -Ferguson, and Hume himself prefer to labor; here they find their most -original and durable ideas. On this point the public instinct is so -strong that it enrolls the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> most independent minds in its service, and -only permit them the discoveries which benefit it. Except two or three, -chiefly purely literary men, and who are French or Frenchified in mind, -they busy themselves only with morals. This idea rallies round -Christianity all the forces which in France Voltaire ranges against it. -They all defend it on the same ground—as a tie for civil society, and -as a support for private virtue. Formerly instinct supported it; now -opinion consecrates it; and it is the same secret force which, by a -gradual labor, at present adds the weight of opinion to the pressure of -instinct. Moral sense, having preserved for it the fidelity of the lower -classes, conquered for it the approval of the loftier intellects. Moral -sense transfers it from the public conscience to the literary world, and -from being popular makes it official.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--The_Constitution.--Lockes_Theory_of_Government">Section VII.—The Constitution.—Locke's Theory of Government</a></h4> - - -<p>We would hardly suspect this public tendency, after taking a distant -view of the English constitution: but on a closer view it is the first -thing we see. It appears to be an aggregate of privileges, that is, of -sanctioned injustices. The truth is, that it is a body of contracts, -that is, of recognized rights. Every one, great or small, has its own, -which he defends with all his might. My lands, my property, my chartered -right, whatsoever it be, antiquated, indirect, superfluous, individual, -public, none shall touch it, king, lords, or commons. Is it of the value -of five shillings? I will defend it as if it were worth a million -sterling; it is my person which they would attack. I will leave my -business, lose my time, throw away my money, form associations, pay -fines, go to prison, perish in the attempt; no matter; I shall show that -I am no coward, that I will not bend under injustice, that I will not -yield a portion of my right.</p> - -<p>By this sentiment Englishmen have conquered and preserved public -liberty. This feeling, after they had dethroned Charles I and James II, -is shaped into principles in the declaration of 1689, and is developed -by Locke in demonstrations.<a name="NoteRef_542_542" id="NoteRef_542_542"></a><a href="#Note_542_542" class="fnanchor">[542]</a> "All <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> men," says Locke, "are naturally -in a state of perfect freedom, also of equality."<a name="NoteRef_543_543" id="NoteRef_543_543"></a><a href="#Note_543_543" class="fnanchor">[543]</a> "In the State of -Nature everyone has the Executive power of the Law of Nature,"<a name="NoteRef_544_544" id="NoteRef_544_544"></a><a href="#Note_544_544" class="fnanchor">[544]</a> -<i>i.e.</i>, of judging, punishing, making war, ruling his family and -dependents. "There only is political society where every one of the -members hath quitted this natural Power, resign'd it up into the Hands -of the Community in all Cases that exclude him not from appealing for -Protection to the Law established by it."<a name="NoteRef_545_545" id="NoteRef_545_545"></a><a href="#Note_545_545" class="fnanchor">[545]</a></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Those who are united into one body and have a common established law -and judicature to appeal to, with authority... to punish offenders, are -in civil society one with another.<a name="NoteRef_546_546" id="NoteRef_546_546"></a><a href="#Note_546_546" class="fnanchor">[546]</a> As for the ruler (they are ready -to tell you), he ought to be absolute.... Because he has power to do -more hurt and wrong, 'tis right when he does it.... This is to think, -that men are so foolish, that they take care to avoid what mischiefs may -be done them by polecats or foxes; but are content, nay, think it -safety, to be devoured by lions.<a name="NoteRef_547_547" id="NoteRef_547_547"></a><a href="#Note_547_547" class="fnanchor">[547]</a> The only way whereby any one -divests himself of his natural liberty, and puts on the bonds of civil -society, is by agreeing with other men to join and unite into a -community, for their comfortable, safe, and peaceable living one amongst -another, in a secure enjoyment of their properties, and a greater -security against any, that are not of it."<a name="NoteRef_548_548" id="NoteRef_548_548"></a><a href="#Note_548_548" class="fnanchor">[548]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Umpires, rules of arbitration, this is all which their federation can -impose upon them. They are freemen, who, having made a mutual treaty, -are still free. Their society does not found, but guarantees their -rights. And official acts here sustain abstract theory. When Parliament -declares the throne vacant, its first argument is, that the king has -violated the original contract by which he was king. When the Commons -impeach Sacheverell, it was in order publicly to maintain that the -constitution of England was founded on a contract, and that the subjects -of this kingdom have, in their different public and private capacities, -as legal a title to the possession of the rights accorded to them by -law, as the prince has to the possession of the crown. When Lord Chatham -defended the election of Wilkes, it was by laying down that "the rights -of the greatest and of the meanest subjects now stand upon the same -foundation, the security of law <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> common to all.... When the people had -lost their rights, those of the peerage would soon become -insignificant." It was no supposition or philosophy which founded them, -but an act and deed, Magna Charta, the Petition of Rights, the Habeas -Corpus Act, and the whole body of the statute laws.</p> - -<p>These rights are there, inscribed on parchments, stored up in archives, -signed, sealed, authentic; those of the farmer and prince are traced on -the same page, in the same ink, by the same writer; both are on an -equality on this vellum; the gloved hand clasps the horny palm. What -though they are unequal? It is by mutual accord; the peasant is as much -a master in his cottage, with his rye-bread and his nine shillings a -week,<a name="NoteRef_549_549" id="NoteRef_549_549"></a><a href="#Note_549_549" class="fnanchor">[549]</a> as the Duke of Marlborough in Blenheim Castle, with his many -thousands a year in places and pensions.</p> - -<p>There they are, these men, standing erect and ready to defend -themselves. Pursue this sentiment of right in the details of political -life; the force of brutal temperament and concentrated or savage -passions provides arms. If we go to an election, the first thing we see -is the full tables.<a name="NoteRef_550_550" id="NoteRef_550_550"></a><a href="#Note_550_550" class="fnanchor">[550]</a> They cram themselves at the candidate's -expense: ale, gin, brandy are set flowing without concealment; the -victuals descend into their electoral stomachs, and their faces grow -red. At the same time they become furious. "Every glass they pour down -serves to increase their animosity. Many an honest man, before as -harmless as a tame rabbit, when loaded with a single election dinner, -has become more dangerous than a charged culverin."<a name="NoteRef_551_551" id="NoteRef_551_551"></a><a href="#Note_551_551" class="fnanchor">[551]</a> The wrangle -turns into a fight, and the pugnacious instinct, once loosed, craves for -blows. The candidates bawl against each other till they are hoarse. They -are chaired, to the great peril of their necks; the mob yells, cheers, -grows warm with the motion, the defiance, the row; big words of -patriotism peal out, anger and drink inflame their blood, fists are -clenched, cudgels are at work, and bulldog passions regulate the -greatest interests of the country. Let all beware how they draw these -passions down on their heads: Lords, Commons, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> King, they will spare no -one; and when Government would oppress a man in spite of them, they will -compel Government to suppress their own law.</p> - -<p>They are not to be muzzled, they make that a matter of pride. With them, -pride assists instinct in defending the right. Each feels that "his -house is his castle," and that the law keeps guard at his door. Each -tells himself that he is defended against private insolence, that the -public arbitrary power will never touch him, that he has "his body," and -can answer blows by blows, wounds by wounds, that he will be judged by -an impartial jury and a law common to all. "Even if an Englishman," says -Montesquieu, "has as many enemies as hairs on his head, nothing will -happen to him. The laws there were not made for one more than for -another; each looks on himself as a king, and the men of this nation are -more confederates than fellow-citizens." This goes so far "that there is -hardly a day when some one does not lose respect for the king. Lately my -Lady Bell Molineux, a regular virago, sent to have the trees pulled up -from a small piece of land which the queen had bought for Kensington, -and went to law with her, without having wished, under any pretext, to -come to terms with her; she made the queen's secretary wait three -hours."<a name="NoteRef_552_552" id="NoteRef_552_552"></a><a href="#Note_552_552" class="fnanchor">[552]</a> "When Englishmen come to France, they are deeply astonished -to see the sway of 'the king's good pleasure, the Bastille, the <i>lettres -de cachet</i>; a gentleman who dare not live on his estate in the country, -for fear of the governor of the province; a groom of the king's chamber, -who, for a cut with a razor, kills a poor barber with impunity."<a name="NoteRef_553_553" id="NoteRef_553_553"></a><a href="#Note_553_553" class="fnanchor">[553]</a> In -England, "one man does not fear another." If we converse with any of -them, we will find how greatly this security raises their hearts and -courage. A sailor who rows Voltaire about, and may be pressed next day -into the fleet, prefers his condition to that of the Frenchman, and -looks on him with pity, whilst taking his five shillings. The vastness -of their pride breaks forth at every step and in every page. An -Englishman, says Chesterfield, thinks himself equal to beating three -Frenchmen. They would willingly declare that they are in the herd of men -as bulls in a herd of cattle. We hear them bragging of their boxing, of -their meat and ale, of all that can support the force and energy of -their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> virile will. Roast-beef and beer make stronger arms than cold -water and frogs.<a name="NoteRef_554_554" id="NoteRef_554_554"></a><a href="#Note_554_554" class="fnanchor">[554]</a> In the eyes of the vulgar, the French are starved -wigmakers, papists, and serfs, an inferior kind of creatures, who can -neither call their bodies nor their souls their own, puppets and tools -in the hands of a master and a priest. As for themselves,</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With daring aims irregularly great.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I see the lords of human kind pass by;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">True to imagin'd right, above control,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And learns to venerate himself as man."<a name="NoteRef_555_555" id="NoteRef_555_555"></a><a href="#Note_555_555" class="fnanchor">[555]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Men thus constituted can become impassioned in public concerns, for they -are their own concerns; in France they are only the business of the king -and of Mme. de Pompadour.<a name="NoteRef_556_556" id="NoteRef_556_556"></a><a href="#Note_556_556" class="fnanchor">[556]</a> In England, political parties are as -ardent as sects: High Church and Low Church, capitalists and landed -proprietors, court nobility and county families, they have their dogmas, -their theories, their manners, and their hatreds, like Presbyterians, -Anglicans, and Quakers. The country squire rails, over his wine, at the -House of Hanover, drinks to the king over the water; the Whig in London, -on the thirtieth of January, drinks to the man in the mask,<a name="NoteRef_557_557" id="NoteRef_557_557"></a><a href="#Note_557_557" class="fnanchor">[557]</a> and -then to the man who will do the same thing without a mask. They -imprisoned, exiled, beheaded each other, and Parliament resounded daily -with the fury of their animadversions. Political, like religious life, -wells up and overflows, and its outbursts only mark the force of the -flame which nourishes it. The passion of parties, in state affairs as in -matters of belief, is a proof of zeal; constant quiet is only general -indifference; and if people fight at elections, it is because they take -an interest in them. Here "a tiler had the newspaper brought to him on -the roof that he might read it." A stranger who reads the papers "would -think the country on the eve of a revolution." When Government takes a -step, the public feels itself involved <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> in it; its honor and its property -are being disposed of by the minister; let the minister beware if he -disposes of them ill. With the French, M. de Conflans, who lost his -fleet through cowardice, is punished by an epigram; here, Admiral Byng, -who was too prudent to risk his, was shot. Every man in his due -position, and according to his power, takes part in public business: the -mob broke the heads of those who would not drink Dr. Sacheverell's -health; gentlemen came in mounted troops to meet him. Some public -favorite or enemy is always exciting open demonstrations. One day it is -Pitt whom the people cheer, and on whom the municipal corporations -bestow many gold boxes; another day it is Grenville, whom people go to -hiss when coming out of the house; then again Lord Bute, whom the queen -loves, who is hissed, and who is burned under the effigy of a boat, a -pun on his name, whilst the Princess of Wales was burned under the -effigy of a petticoat; or the Duke of Bedford, whose town house is -attacked by a mob, and who is only saved by a garrison of horse and -foot; Wilkes, whose papers the Government seize, and to whom the jury -assign one thousand pounds damages. Every morning appear newspapers and -pamphlets to discuss affairs, criticise characters, denounce by name -lords, orators, ministers, the king himself. He who wants to speak -speaks. In this wrangle of writings and associations opinion swells, -mounts like a wave, and falling upon Parliament and Court, drowns -intrigue and carries away all differences. After all, in spite of the -rotten boroughs, it is public opinion which rules. What though the king -be obstinate, the men in power band together? Public opinion growls, and -everything bends or breaks. The Pitts rose as high as they did only -because public opinion raised them, and the independence of the -individual ended in the sovereignty of the people.</p> - -<p>In such a state, "all passions being free, hatred, envy, jealousy, the -fervor for wealth and distinction, would be displayed in all their -fulness."<a name="NoteRef_558_558" id="NoteRef_558_558"></a><a href="#Note_558_558" class="fnanchor">[558]</a> We can imagine with what force and energy eloquence must -have been implanted and flourished. For the first time since the fall of -the ancient tribune, it found a soil in which it could take root and -live, and a harvest of orators sprang up, equal, in the diversity of -their talents, the energy of their convictions, and the magnificence of -their style, to that which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> once covered the Greek <i>agora</i> and the Roman -<i>forum.</i> For a long time it seemed that liberty of speech, experience in -affairs, the importance of the interests involved, and the greatness of -the rewards offered, should have forced its growth; but eloquence came -to nothing, encrusted in theological pedantry, or limited in local aims; -and the privacy of the parliamentary sittings deprived it of half its -force by removing from it the light of day. Now at last there was light; -publicity, at first incomplete, then entire, gives Parliament the nation -for an audience. Speech becomes elevated and enlarged at the same time -that the public is polished and more numerous. Classical art, become -perfect, furnishes method and development. Modern culture introduces -into technical reasoning freedom of discourse and a breadth of general -ideas. In place of arguing, men conversed; they were attorneys, they -became orators. With Addison, Steele, and Swift, taste and genius invade -politics. Voltaire cannot say whether the meditated harangues once -delivered in Athens and Rome excelled the unpremeditated speeches of -Windham, Carteret, and their rivals. In short, discourse succeeds in -overcoming the dryness of special questions and the coldness of -compassed action, which had so long restricted it; it boldly and -irregularly extends its force and luxuriance; and in contrast with the -fine abbés of the drawing-room, who in France compose their academical -compliments, we see appear the manly eloquence of Junius, Chatham, Fox, -Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan.</p> - -<p>I need not relate their lives nor unfold their characters; I should have -to enter upon political details. Three of them, Lord Chatham, Fox, and -Pitt, were ministers,<a name="NoteRef_559_559" id="NoteRef_559_559"></a><a href="#Note_559_559" class="fnanchor">[559]</a> and their eloquence is part of their power -and their acts. That eloquence is the concern of those men who may -record their political history; I can simply take note of its tone and -accent.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Parliamentary_Orators">Section VIII.—Parliamentary Orators</a></h4> - - -<p>An extraordinary afflatus, a sort of quivering of intense determination, -runs through all these speeches. Men speak, and they speak as if they -fought. No caution, politeness, restraint. They are unfettered, they -abandon themselves, they hurl themselves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> onward; and if they restrain -themselves, it is only that they may strike more pitilessly and more -forcibly. When the elder Pitt first filled the House with his vibrating -voice, he already possessed his indomitable audacity. In vain Walpole -tried to "muzzle him," then to crush him; his sarcasm was sent back to -him with a prodigality of outrages, and the all-powerful minister bent, -smitten with the truth of the biting insult which the young man -inflicted on him. A lofty haughtiness, only surpassed by that of his -son, an arrogance which reduced his colleagues to the rank of -subalterns, a Roman patriotism which demanded for England a universal -tyranny, an ambition lavish of money and men, gave the nation its -rapacity and its fire, and only saw rest in far vistas of dazzling glory -and limitless power, an imagination which brought into Parliament the -vehemence and declamation of the stage, the brilliancy of fitful -inspiration, the boldness of poetic imagery. Such are the sources of his -eloquence:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"'<i>But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world; now -none so poor to do her reverence!</i></p> - -<p>"<i>My lords, you cannot conquer America.</i></p> - -<p>"We shall be forced ultimately to retract; let us retract while we can, -not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent -oppressive Acts: they must be repealed—you will repeal them; I pledge -myself for it, that you will in the end repeal them; I stake my -reputation on it. I will consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are -not finally repealed.</p> - -<p>"You may swell every expense, and every effort, still more -extravagantly; pile and accumulate every assistance you can buy or -borrow; traffic and barter with every little pitiful German prince, that -sells and sends his subjects to the shambles of a foreign prince; your -efforts are for ever vain and impotent—doubly so from this mercenary -aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the -minds of your enemies. To overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine -and plunder; devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of -hireling cruelty! If I were an American as I am an Englishman, while a -foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my -arms—never—never—never!</p> - -<p>"But, my Lords, who is the man, that in addition to these disgraces and -mischiefs of our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms -the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? To call into civilised -alliance the wild and inhuman savage of the woods; to delegate to the -merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors -of barbarous war against our brethren? My Lords, these enormities cry -aloud for redress and punishment; unless thoroughly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> done away, it will -be a stain on the national character—it is a violation of the -constitution—I believe it is against law."<a name="NoteRef_560_560" id="NoteRef_560_560"></a><a href="#Note_560_560" class="fnanchor">[560]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>There is a touch of Milton and Shakespeare in this tragic pomp, in this -impassioned solemnity, in the sombre and violent brilliancy of this -overstrung and overloaded style. In such superb and blood-like purple -are English passions clad, under the folds of such a banner they fall -into battle array; the more powerfully that amongst them there is one -altogether holy, the sentiment of right, which rallies, occupies, and -ennobles them:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I rejoice that America has resisted. Three millions of people so dead -to all the feelings of liberty, as voluntarily to submit to be slaves, -would have been fit instruments to make slaves of the rest."<a name="NoteRef_561_561" id="NoteRef_561_561"></a><a href="#Note_561_561" class="fnanchor">[561]</a></p> - -<p>"Let the sacredness of this property remain inviolate; let it be taxable -only by their own consent given in their provincial assemblies; else it -will cease to be property.</p> - -<p>"This glorious spirit of Whiggism animates three millions in America, -who prefer poverty with liberty to gilded chains and sordid affluence, -and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as freemen. ... The -spirit which now resists your taxation in America is the same which -formerly opposed loans, benevolences, and ship money in England; the -same spirit which called all England on its legs, and by the Bill of -Rights vindicated the English constitution; the same spirit which -established the great fundamental, essential maxim of your liberties; -that no subject of England shall be taxed but by his own consent.</p> - -<p>"As an Englishman by birth and principle, I recognise to the Americans -their supreme unalienable right in their property, a right which they -are justified in the defence of to the last extremity."<a name="NoteRef_562_562" id="NoteRef_562_562"></a><a href="#Note_562_562" class="fnanchor">[562]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>If Pitt sees his own right, he sees that of others too; it was with this -idea that he moved and managed England. For it, he appealed to -Englishmen against themselves; and in spite of themselves they -recognized their dearest instinct in this maxim, that every human will -is inviolable in its limited and legal province, and that it must put -forth its whole strength against the slightest usurpation.</p> - -<p>Unrestrained passions and the most manly sentiment of right; such is the -abstract of all this eloquence. Instead of an orator, a public man, let -us take a writer, a private individual; let us look at the letters of -Junius, which, amidst national irritation and anxiety, fell one by one -like drops of fire on the fevered <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> limbs of the body politic. If he makes -his phrases concise, and selects his epithets, it was not from a love of -style, but in order the better to stamp his insult. Oratorical artifices -in his hand become instruments of torture, and when he files his periods -it was to drive the knife deeper and surer; with what audacity of -denunciation, with what sternness of animosity, with what corrosive and -burning irony, applied to the most secret corners of private life, with -what inexorable persistence of calculated and meditated persecution, the -quotations alone will show. He writes to the Duke of Bedford:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"My lord, you are so little accustomed to receive any marks of respect -or esteem from the public, that if, in the following lines, a compliment -or expression of applause should escape me, I fear you would consider it -as a mockery of your established character, and perhaps an insult to -your understanding."<a name="NoteRef_563_563" id="NoteRef_563_563"></a><a href="#Note_563_563" class="fnanchor">[563]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He writes to the Duke of Grafton:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is something in both your character and conduct which -distinguishes you not only from all other ministers, but from all other -men. It is not that you do wrong by design, but that you should never do -right by mistake. It is not that your indolence and your activity have -been equally misapplied, but that the first uniform principle, or, if I -may call it, the genius of your life, should have carried you through -every possible change and contradiction of conduct, without the -momentary imputation or colour of a virtue; and that the wildest spirit -of inconsistency should never once have betrayed you into a wise or -honourable action."<a name="NoteRef_564_564" id="NoteRef_564_564"></a><a href="#Note_564_564" class="fnanchor">[564]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Junius goes on, fiercer and fiercer; even when he sees the minister -fallen and dishonored, he is still savage.</p> - -<p>It is vain that he confesses aloud that in the state in which he is, the -Duke might "disarm a private enemy of his resentment." He grows worse:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"You have every claim to compassion that can arise from misery and -distress. The condition you are reduced to would disarm a private enemy -of his resentment, and leave no consolation to the most vindictive -spirit, but that such an object, as you are, would disgrace the dignity -of revenge.... For my own part, I do not pretend to understand those -prudent forms of decorum, those gentle rules of discretion, which some -men endeavour to unite with the conduct of the greatest and most -hazardous affairs.... I should scorn to provide for a future retreat, or -to keep terms with a man who preserves no measures with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> public. -Neither the abject submission of deserting his post in the hour of -danger, nor even the sacred shield of cowardice, should protect him. I -would pursue him through life, and try the last exertion of my abilities -to preserve the perishable infamy of his name, and make it -immortal."<a name="NoteRef_565_565" id="NoteRef_565_565"></a><a href="#Note_565_565" class="fnanchor">[565]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Except Swift, is there a human being who has more intentionally -concentrated and intensified in his heart the venom of hatred? Yet this -is not vile, for it thinks itself to be in the service of justice. -Amidst these excesses, this is the persuasion which enhances them; these -men tear one another; but they do not crouch; whoever their enemy be, -they take their stand in front of him. Thus Junius addresses the king:</p> - - -<p>"Sir: It is the misfortune of your life, and originally the cause of -every reproach and distress which has attended your government, that you -should never have been acquainted with the language of truth until you -heard it in the complaints of your people. It is not, however, too late -to correct the error of your education. We are still inclined to make an -indulgent allowance for the pernicious lessons you received in your -youth, and to form the most sanguine hopes from the natural benevolence -of your disposition. We are far from thinking you capable of a direct, -deliberate purpose to invade those original rights of your subjects on -which all their civil and political liberties depend. Had it been -possible for us to entertain a suspicion so dishonourable to your -character, we should long since have adopted a style of remonstrance -very distant from the humility of complaint.... The people of England -are loyal to the House of Hanover, not from a vain preference of one -family to another, but from a conviction that the establishment of that -family was necessary to the support of their civil and religious -liberties. This, Sir, is a principle of allegiance equally solid and -rational; fit for Englishmen to adopt, and well worthy of your Majesty's -encouragement. We cannot long be deluded by nominal distinctions. The -name of Stuart, of itself, is only contemptible:—armed with the -sovereign authority, their principles are formidable. The prince who -imitates their conduct, should be warned by their example; and while he -plumes himself upon the security of his title to the crown, should -remember that, as it was acquired by one revolution, it may be lost by -another."<a name="NoteRef_566_566" id="NoteRef_566_566"></a><a href="#Note_566_566" class="fnanchor">[566]</a></p> - - -<p>Let us look for less bitter souls, and try to encounter a sweeter -accent. There is one man, Charles James Fox, happy from his cradle, who -learned everything without study, whom his father trained in prodigality -and recklessness, whom, from the age of twenty-one, the public voice -proclaimed as the first in eloquence <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> and the leader of a great party, -liberal, humane, sociable, not frustrating these generous expectations, -whose very enemies pardoned his faults, whom his friends adored, whom -labor never wearied, whom rivals never embittered, whom power did not -spoil; a lover of converse, of literature, of pleasure, who has left the -impress of his rich genius in the persuasive abundance, in the fine -character, the clearness and continuous ease of his speeches. Behold him -rising to speak; think of the discretion he must use; he is a Statesman, -a premier, speaking in Parliament of the friends of the king, lords of -the bedchamber, the noblest families of the kingdom, with their allies -and connections around him; he knows that every one of his words will -pierce like a fiery arrow into the heart and honor of five hundred men -who sit to hear him. No matter, he has been betrayed; he will punish the -traitors, and here is the pillory in which he sets "the janizaries of -the bedchamber," who by the Prince's order have deserted him in the -thick of the fight:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The whole compass of language affords no terms sufficiently strong and -pointed to mark the contempt which I feel for their conduct. It is an -impudent avowal of political profligacy, as if that species of treachery -were less infamous than any other. It is not only a degradation of a -station which ought to be occupied only by the highest and most -exemplary honour, but forfeits their claim to the characters of -gentlemen, and reduces them to a level with the meanest and the basest -of the species; it insults the noble, the ancient, and the -characteristic independence of the English peerage, and is calculated to -traduce and vilify the British legislature in the eyes of all Europe, -and to the latest posterity. By what magic nobility can thus charm vice -into virtue, I know not nor wish to know; but in any other thing than -politics, and among any other men than lords of the bedchamber, such an -instance of the grossest perfidy would, as it well deserves, be branded -with infamy and execration."<a name="NoteRef_567_567" id="NoteRef_567_567"></a><a href="#Note_567_567" class="fnanchor">[567]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Then turning to the Commons:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"A Parliament thus fettered and controlled, without spirit and without -freedom, instead of limiting, extends, substantiates, and establishes -beyond all precedent, latitude, or condition, the prerogatives of the -crown. But though the British House of Commons were so shamefully -lost to its own weight in the constitution, were so unmindful of -its former struggles and triumphs in the great cause of liberty and -mankind, were so indifferent and treacherous to those primary objects and -concerns for which it was originally instituted, I trust the characteristic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> -spirit of this country is still equal to the trial; I trust Englishmen will -be as jealous of secret influence as superior to open violence; I trust -they are not more ready to defend their interests against foreign -depredation and insult, than to encounter and defeat this midnight -conspiracy against the constitution."<a name="NoteRef_568_568" id="NoteRef_568_568"></a><a href="#Note_568_568" class="fnanchor">[568]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>If such are the outbursts of a nature above all gentle and amiable, we -can judge what the others must have been. A sort of impassioned -exaggeration reigns in the debates to which the trial of Warren Hastings -and the French Revolution gave rise, in the acrimonious rhetoric and -forced declamation of Sheridan, in the pitiless sarcasm and sententious -pomp of the younger Pitt. These orators love the coarse vulgarity of -gaudy colors; they hunt out accumulations of big words, contrasts -symmetrically protracted, vast and resounding periods. They do not fear -to repel; they crave effect. Force is their characteristic, and the -characteristic of the greatest amongst them, the first mind of the age, -Edmund Burke, of whom Dr. Johnson said: "Take up whatever topic you -please, he (Burke) is ready to meet you."</p> - -<p>Burke did not enter Parliament, like Pitt and Fox, in the dawn of his -youth, but at thirty-five, having had time to train himself thoroughly -in all matters, learned in law, history, philosophy, literature, master -of such a universal erudition that he has been compared to Bacon. But -what distinguished him from all other men was a wide, comprehensive -intellect, which, exercised by philosophical studies and writings,<a name="NoteRef_569_569" id="NoteRef_569_569"></a><a href="#Note_569_569" class="fnanchor">[569]</a> -seized the general aspects of things, and, beyond text, constitutions, -and figures, perceived the invisible tendency of events and the inner -spirit, covering with his contempt those pretended statesmen, a vulgar -herd of common journeymen, denying the existence of everything not -coarse or material, and who, far from being capable of guiding the grand -movements of an empire, are not worthy to turn the wheel of a machine.</p> - -<p>Beyond all those gifts, he possessed one of those fertile and precise -imaginations which believe that finished knowledge is an inner view, -which never quit a subject without, having clothed it in its colors and -forms, and which, passing beyond statistics and the rubbish of dry -documents, recompose and reconstruct before the reader's eyes a distant -country and a foreign nation, with its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> monuments, dresses, landscapes, -and all the shifting detail of its aspects and manners. To all these -powers of mind, which constitute a man of system, he added all those -energies of heart which constitute an enthusiast. Poor, unknown, having -spent his youth in compiling for the publishers, he rose, by dint of -work and personal merit, with a pure reputation and an unscathed -conscience, ere the trials of his obscure life or the seductions of his -brilliant life had fettered his independence or tarnished the flower of -his loyalty. He brought to politics a horror of crime, a vivacity and -sincerity of conscience, a humanity, a sensibility, which seem only -suitable to a young man. He based human society on maxims of morality, -insisted upon a high and pure tone of feeling in the conduct of public -business, and seemed to have undertaken to raise and authorize the -generosity of the human heart. He fought nobly for noble causes; against -the crimes of power in England, the crimes of the people in France, the -crimes of monopolists in India. He defended, with immense research and -unimpeached disinterestedness, the Hindoos tyrannized over by English -greed:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Every man of rank and landed fortune being long since extinguished, the -remaining miserable last cultivator who grows to the soil after having -his back scored by the farmer, has it again flayed by the whip of the -assignee, and is thus by a ravenous because a short-lived succession of -claimants lashed from oppressor to oppressor, whilst a single drop of -blood is left as the means of extorting a single grain of corn."<a name="NoteRef_570_570" id="NoteRef_570_570"></a><a href="#Note_570_570" class="fnanchor">[570]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He made himself everywhere the champion of principle and the persecutor -of vice; and men saw him bring to the attack all the forces of his -wonderful knowledge, his lofty reason, his splendid style, with the -unwearying and untempered ardor of a moralist and a knight.</p> - -<p>Let us read him only several pages at a time: only thus he is great; -otherwise all that is exaggerated, commonplace, and strange, will arrest -and shock us; but if we give ourselves up to him, we will be carried -away and captivated. The enormous mass of his documents rolls -impetuously in a current of eloquence. Sometimes a spoken or written -discourse needs a whole volume to unfold the train of his multiplied -proofs and courageous anger. It is either the <i>exposé</i> of an -administration, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> or the whole history of British India, or the complete -theory of revolutions, and the political conditions, which comes down -like a vast, overflowing stream, to dash with its ceaseless effort and -accumulated mass against some crime that men would overlook, or some -injustice which they would sanction. Doubtless there is foam on its -eddies, mud in its bed: thousands of strange creatures sport wildly on -its surface. Burke does not select, he lavishes; he casts forth by -myriads his teeming fancies, his emphasized and harsh words, -declamations and apostrophes, jests and execrations, the whole grotesque -or horrible assemblage of the distant regions and populous cities which -his unwearied learning or fancy has traversed. He says, speaking of the -usurious loans, at forty-eight per cent, and at compound interest, by -which Englishmen had devastated India, that</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"That debt forms the foul putrid mucus, in which are engendered the -whole brood of creeping ascarides, all the endless involutions, the -eternal knot, added to a knot of those inexpugnable tape-worms which -devour the nutriment, and eat up the bowels of India."<a name="NoteRef_571_571" id="NoteRef_571_571"></a><a href="#Note_571_571" class="fnanchor">[571]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Nothing strikes him as excessive in speech, neither the description of -tortures, nor the atrocity of his images, nor the deafening racket of -his antitheses, nor the prolonged trumpet-blast of his curses, nor the -vast oddity of his jests. To the Duke of Bedford, who had reproached him -with his pension, he answers:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The grants to the house of Russell were so enormous, as not only to -outrage œconomy, but even to stagger credibility. The Duke of Bedford -is the leviathan among all the creatures of the crown. He tumbles about -his unwieldy bulk; he plays and frolics in the ocean of the royal -bounty. Huge as he is, and whilst 'he lies floating many a rood,' he is -still a creature. His ribs, his fins, his whalebone, his blubber, the -very spiracles through which he spouts a torrent of brine against his -origin, and covers me all over with the spray—everything of him and -about him is from the throne."<a name="NoteRef_572_572" id="NoteRef_572_572"></a><a href="#Note_572_572" class="fnanchor">[572]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Burke has no taste, nor have his compeers. The fine Greek or French -deduction has never found a place among the Germanic nations; with them -all is heavy or ill-refined. It is of no use for Burke to study Cicero, -and to confine his dashing force in the orderly channels of Latin -rhetoric; he continues half a barbarian, battening in exaggeration and -violence; but his fire is so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> sustained, his conviction so strong, his -emotion so warm and abundant, that we give way to him, forget our -repugnance, see in his irregularities and his outbursts only the -outpourings of a great heart and a deep mind, too open and too full; and -we wonder with a sort of strange veneration at this extraordinary -outflow, impetuous as a torrent, broad as a sea, in which the -inexhaustible variety of colors and forms undulates beneath the sun of a -splendid imagination, which lends to this muddy surge all the brilliancy -of its rays.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IX.--Doctrines_of_the_French_Revolution_Contrasted_with_the_Conservative_Tendencies_of_the_English_People">Section IX.—Doctrines of the French Revolution Contrasted -with the Conservative Tendencies of the English People</a></h4> - - -<p>If you wish for a comprehensive view of all these personages, study Sir -Joshua Reynolds,<a name="NoteRef_573_573" id="NoteRef_573_573"></a><a href="#Note_573_573" class="fnanchor">[573]</a> and then look at the fine French portraits of this -time, the cheerful ministers, gallant and charming archbishops, Marshal -de Saxe, who in the Strasburg monument goes down to his tomb with the -grace and ease of a courtier on the staircase at Versailles. In England, -under skies drowned in pallid mists, amid soft, vaporous clouds, appear -expressive or contemplative heads: the rude energy of the character has -not awed the artist; the coarse bloated animal; the strange and ominous -bird of prey; the growling jaws of the fierce bulldog—he has put them -all in: levelling politeness has not in his pictures effaced individual -asperities under uniform pleasantness. Beauty is there, but only in the -cold decision of look, in the deep seriousness and sad nobility of the -pale countenance, in the conscientious gravity and the indomitable -resolution of the restrained gesture. In place of Lely's courtesans, we -see by their side chaste ladies, sometimes severe and active; good -mothers surrounded by their little children, who kiss them and embrace -one another: morality is here, and with it the sentiment of home and -family, propriety of dress, a pensive air, the correct deportment of -Miss Burney's heroines. They are men who have done the world some -service: Bakewell transforms and reforms their cattle; Arthur Young -their agriculture; Howard their prisons; Arkwright and Watt their -industry; Adam Smith their political economy; Bentham their penal law; -Locke, Hutcheson, Ferguson, Bishop Butler, Reid, Stewart, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> Price, their -psychology and their morality. They have purified their private manners, -they now purify their public manners. They have settled their -government, they have established themselves in their religion. Johnson -is able to say with truth, that no nation in the world better tills its -soil and its mind. There is none so rich, so free, so well nourished, -where public and private efforts are directed with such assiduity, -energy, and ability towards the improvement of public and private -affairs. One point alone is wanting: lofty speculation. It is just this -point which, when all others are wanting, constitutes at this moment the -glory of France; and English caricatures show, with a good appreciation -of burlesque, face to face and in strange contrast, on one side the -Frenchman in a tumbledown cottage, shivering, with long teeth, thin, -feeding on snails and a handful of roots, but otherwise charmed with his -lot, consoled by a republican cockade and humanitarian programmes; on -the other, the Englishman, red and puffed out with fat, seated at his -table in a comfortable room, before a dish of most juicy roast-beef, -with a pot of foaming ale, busy in grumbling against the public distress -and the treacherous ministers, who are going to ruin everything.</p> - -<p>Thus Englishmen arrive on the threshold of the French Revolution, -Conservatives and Christians facing the French free-thinkers and -revolutionaries. Without knowing it, the two nations have rolled onwards -for two centuries towards this terrible shock; without knowing it, they -have only been working to make it worse. All their effort, all their -ideas, all their great men have accelerated the motion which hurls them -towards the inevitable conflict. A hundred and fifty years of politeness -and general ideas have persuaded the French to trust in human goodness -and pure reason. A hundred and fifty years of moral reflection and -political strife have attached the Englishman to positive religion and -an established constitution. Each has his contrary dogma and his -contrary enthusiasm. Neither understands and each detests the other. -What one calls reform, the other calls destruction; what one reveres as -the establishment of right, the other curses as the overthrow of right; -what seems to one the annihilation of superstition, seems to the other -the abolition of morality. Never was the contrast of two spirits and two -civilizations shown in clearer characters, and it was Burke who, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> with -the superiority of a thinker and the hostility of an Englishman, took it -in hand to show this to the French.</p> - -<p>He is indignant at this "tragi-comick farce," which at Paris is called -the regeneration of humanity. He denies that the contagion of such folly -can ever poison England. He laughs at the cockneys, who, roused by the -pratings of democratic societies, think themselves on the brink of a -revolution:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with -their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed -beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray -do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of -the field; that of course, they are many in number; or that, after all, -they are other than the little shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud -and troublesome insects of the hour."<a name="NoteRef_574_574" id="NoteRef_574_574"></a><a href="#Note_574_574" class="fnanchor">[574]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Real England hates and detests the maxims and actions of the French -Revolution:<a name="NoteRef_575_575" id="NoteRef_575_575"></a><a href="#Note_575_575" class="fnanchor">[575]</a></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The very idea of the fabrication of a new government is enough to fill -us with disgust and horror. We wished... to derive all we possess as an -inheritance from our forefathers.... (We claim) our franchises not as -the rights of men, but as the rights of Englishmen."<a name="NoteRef_576_576" id="NoteRef_576_576"></a><a href="#Note_576_576" class="fnanchor">[576]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Our rights do not float in the air, in the imagination of philosophers; -they are put down in Magna Charta. We despise this abstract verbiage, -which deprives man of all equity and respect to puff him up with -presumption and theories:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"We have not been drawn and trussed, in order that we may be filled, -like stuffed birds in a museum, with chaff and rags and paltry blurred -shreds of paper about the rights of men."<a name="NoteRef_577_577" id="NoteRef_577_577"></a><a href="#Note_577_577" class="fnanchor">[577]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Our constitution is not a fictitious contract, like that of Rousseau, -sure to be violated in three months, but a real contract, by which king, -nobles, people, church, everyone holds the other, and is himself held. -The crown of the prince and the privilege of the noble are as sacred as -the land of the peasant and the tool of the working-man. Whatever be the -acquisition or the inheritance, we respect it in every man, and our law -has but one object, which is, to preserve to each his property and his -rights. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"We fear God; we look up with awe to kings; with affection to -parliaments; with duty to magistrates; with reverence to priests; and -with respect to nobility."<a name="NoteRef_578_578" id="NoteRef_578_578"></a><a href="#Note_578_578" class="fnanchor">[578]</a></p> - -<p>"There is not one public man in this kingdom who does not reprobate the -dishonest, perfidious, and cruel confiscation which the National -Assembly has been compelled to make.... Church and State are ideas -inseparable in our minds.... Our education is in a manner wholly in the -hands of ecclesiasticks, and in all stages, from infancy to manhood.... -They never will suffer the fixed estate of the church to be converted -into a pension, to depend on the treasury.... They made their church -like their nobility, independent. They can see without pain or grudging -an archbishop precede a duke. They can see a Bishop of Durham or a -Bishop of Winchester in possession of ten thousand a year."<a name="NoteRef_579_579" id="NoteRef_579_579"></a><a href="#Note_579_579" class="fnanchor">[579]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We will never suffer the established domain of our church to be -converted into a pension, so as to place it in dependence on the -treasury. We have made our church as our king and our nobility, -independent. We are shocked at your robbery—first, because it is an -outrage upon property; next, because it is an attack upon religion. We -hold that there exists no society without belief, and we feel that, in -exhausting the source, you dry up the whole stream. We have rejected as -a poison the infidelity which defiled the beginning of our century and -of yours, and we have purged ourselves of it, whilst you have been -saturated with it.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Who, born within the last forty years, has read one word of Collins, -and Toland, and Tindal,... and that whole race who called themselves -Freethinkers?"<a name="NoteRef_580_580" id="NoteRef_580_580"></a><a href="#Note_580_580" class="fnanchor">[580]</a></p> - -<p>"We are Protestants, not from indifference, but from zeal.</p> - -<p>"Atheism is against not only our reason, but our instincts.</p> - -<p>"We are resolved to keep an established church, an established monarchy, -an established aristocracy, and an established democracy, each in the -degree it exists, and in no greater."<a name="NoteRef_581_581" id="NoteRef_581_581"></a><a href="#Note_581_581" class="fnanchor">[581]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We base our establishment upon the sentiment of right, and the sentiment -of right on reverence for God.</p> - -<p>In place of right and of God, whom do you, Frenchmen, acknowledge as -master? The sovereign people, that is, the arbitrary inconstancy of a -numerical majority. We deny that the majority has a right to destroy a -constitution. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The constitution of a country being once settled upon some compact, -tacit or expressed, there is no power existing of force to alter it, -without the breach of the covenant, or the consent of all the -parties."<a name="NoteRef_582_582" id="NoteRef_582_582"></a><a href="#Note_582_582" class="fnanchor">[582]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We deny that a majority has a right to make a constitution; unanimity -must first have conferred this right on the majority. We deny that brute -force is a legitimate authority, and that a populace is a nation.<a name="NoteRef_583_583" id="NoteRef_583_583"></a><a href="#Note_583_583" class="fnanchor">[583]</a></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"A true natural aristocracy is not a separate interest in the state or -separable from it.... When great multitudes act together under that -discipline of nature, I recognise the people;... when you separate the -common sort of men from their proper chieftains so as to form them into -an adverse army, I no longer know that venerable object called the -people in such a disbanded race of deserters and vagabonds."<a name="NoteRef_584_584" id="NoteRef_584_584"></a><a href="#Note_584_584" class="fnanchor">[584]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We detest with all our power of hatred the right of tyranny which you -give them over others, and we detest still more the right of -insurrection which you give them against themselves. We believe that a -constitution is a trust transmitted to this generation by the past, to -be handed down to the future, and that if a generation can dispose of it -as its own, it ought also to respect it as belonging to others. We hold -that, "by this unprincipled facility of changing the state as often, and -as much, and in as many ways as there are floating fancies and fashions, -the whole chain and continuity of the commonwealth would be broken. No -one generation could link with the other. Men would become little better -than the flies of a summer."<a name="NoteRef_585_585" id="NoteRef_585_585"></a><a href="#Note_585_585" class="fnanchor">[585]</a> We repudiate this meagre and coarse -reason, which separates a man from his ties, and sees in him only the -present, which separates a man from society, and counts him as only one -head in a flock. We despise these "metaphysics of an undergraduate and -the mathematics of an exciseman," by which you cut up the state and -man's rights according to square miles and numerical unities. We have a -horror of that cynical coarseness by which "all the decent drapery of -life is to be rudely torn off," by which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> "now a queen is but a woman, -and a woman is but an animal,"<a name="NoteRef_586_586" id="NoteRef_586_586"></a><a href="#Note_586_586" class="fnanchor">[586]</a> which cuts down chivalric and -religious spirit, the two crowns of humanity, to plunge them, together -with learning, into the popular mire, to be "trodden down under the -hoofs of a swinish multitude."<a name="NoteRef_587_587" id="NoteRef_587_587"></a><a href="#Note_587_587" class="fnanchor">[587]</a> We have a horror of this systematic -levelling which disorganizes civil society. Burke continues thus:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I am satisfied beyond a doubt that the project of turning a great -empire into a vestry, or into a collection of vestries, and of governing -it in the spirit of a parochial administration, is senseless and absurd, -in any mode, or with any qualifications. I can never be convinced that -the scheme of placing the highest powers of the state in churchwardens -and constables, and other such officers, guided by the prudence of -litigious attornies, and Jew brokers, and set in action by shameless -women of the lowest condition, by keepers of hotels, taverns, and -brothels, by pert apprentices, by clerks, shop-boys, hairdressers, -fiddlers, and dancers on the stage (who, in such a commonwealth as -yours, will in future overbear, as already they have overborne, the -sober incapacity of dull uninstructed men, of useful but laborious -occupations), can never be put into any shape that must not be both -disgraceful and destructive."<a name="NoteRef_588_588" id="NoteRef_588_588"></a><a href="#Note_588_588" class="fnanchor">[588]</a> "If monarchy should ever obtain an -entire ascendancy in France, it will probably be... the most completely -arbitrary power that has ever appeared on earth. France will be wholly -governed by the agitators in corporations, by societies in the towns -formed of directors in assignats,... attornies, agents, money-jobbers, -speculators, and adventurers, composing an ignoble oligarchy founded on -the destruction of the crown, the church, the nobility, and the -people."<a name="NoteRef_589_589" id="NoteRef_589_589"></a><a href="#Note_589_589" class="fnanchor">[589]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This is what Burke wrote in 1790 at the dawn of the first French -Revolution.<a name="NoteRef_590_590" id="NoteRef_590_590"></a><a href="#Note_590_590" class="fnanchor">[590]</a> Two years after the people of Birmingham destroyed the -houses of some English democrats, and the miners of Wednesbury went out -in a body from their pits to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> come to the succor of "king and church." If -we compare one crusade with another, scared England was as fanatical as -enthusiastic France. Pitt declared that they could not "treat with a -nation of atheists."<a name="NoteRef_591_591" id="NoteRef_591_591"></a><a href="#Note_591_591" class="fnanchor">[591]</a> Burke said that the war was not between people -and people, but between property and brute force. The rage of -execration, invective, and destruction mounted on both sides like a -conflagration.<a name="NoteRef_592_592" id="NoteRef_592_592"></a><a href="#Note_592_592" class="fnanchor">[592]</a> It was not the collision of the two governments, but -of the two civilizations and the two doctrines. The two vast machines, -driven with all their momentum and velocity, met face to face, not by -chance, but by fatality. A whole age of literature and philosophy had -been necessary to amass the fuel which filled their sides, and laid down -the rail which guided their course. In this thundering clash, amid these -ebullitions of hissing and fiery vapor, in these red flames which licked -the boilers, and whirled with a rumbling noise upwards to the heavens, -an attentive spectator may still discover the nature and the -accumulation of the force which caused such an outburst, dislocated such -iron plates, and strewed the ground with such ruins. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_483_483" id="Note_483_483"></a><a href="#NoteRef_483_483"><span class="label">[483]</span></a>1742, Report of Lord Lonsdale.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_484_484" id="Note_484_484"></a><a href="#NoteRef_484_484"><span class="label">[484]</span></a>In the present inflamed temper of the people, the Act could -not be carried into execution without an armed force.—"Speech of Sir -Robert Walpole."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_485_485" id="Note_485_485"></a><a href="#NoteRef_485_485"><span class="label">[485]</span></a>See Walpole's terrible speech against him, 1734.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_486_486" id="Note_486_486"></a><a href="#NoteRef_486_486"><span class="label">[486]</span></a>See, tor the truth of this statement, "Memoirs of Horace -Walpole," 2 vols, ed. E. Warburton, 1851, I. 381, note.—Tr.</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>Notes during a journey in England made in 1729 with Lord -Chesterfield.</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>Dr. W. King, "Political and Literary Anecdotes of his -own Times," 1818, 27.</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>Frederick died 1751. "Memoirs of Horace Walpole," I. 262.</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>Walpole's "Memoirs of George II," ed. Lord Holland, 3 vols. -2d ed. 1847, I. 77.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_491_491" id="Note_491_491"></a><a href="#NoteRef_491_491"><span class="label">[491]</span></a>See the character of Birton in Voltaire's "Jenny."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_492_492" id="Note_492_492"></a><a href="#NoteRef_492_492"><span class="label">[492]</span></a>The original letter is in French. Chesterfield's "Letters -to his Son," ed. Mahon, 4 vols. 1845; II. April 15, 1751, p. 127.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_493_493" id="Note_493_493"></a><a href="#NoteRef_493_493"><span class="label">[493]</span></a>Ibid. II. January 3, 1751, p. 72.</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>Ibid. II. November 12, 1750, p. 57.</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>Ibid. II. May 16, 1751, p. 146.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_496_496" id="Note_496_496"></a><a href="#NoteRef_496_496"><span class="label">[496]</span></a>Ibid. II. January 21, 1751, p. 81.</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>"They (the English) are commonly twenty years old before -they have spoken to anybody above their schoolmaster and the fellows of -their college. If they happen to have learning, it is only Greek and -Latin, but not one word of modern history or modern languages. Thus -prepared, they go abroad, as they call it; but, in truth, they stay at -home all that while: for, being very awkward, confoundedly ashamed, and -not speaking the languages, they go into no foreign company, at -least none good; but dine and sup with one another only at the -tavern."—"Chesterfield's Letters to his Son," I. May 10 (O. S.) 1748, -p. 136. "I could wish you would ask him (Mr. Burrish) for some letters -to young fellows of pleasure or fashionable coquettes, that you may be -dans l'honnete débauche de Munich."—Ibid. II. October 3 1753, p. 331.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_498_498" id="Note_498_498"></a><a href="#NoteRef_498_498"><span class="label">[498]</span></a>Speech of the Beggar in the Epilogue of the "Beggars' -Opera."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_499_499" id="Note_499_499"></a><a href="#NoteRef_499_499"><span class="label">[499]</span></a>Gay's Plays, "The Beggars' Opera," I, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_500_500" id="Note_500_500"></a><a href="#NoteRef_500_500"><span class="label">[500]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_501_501" id="Note_501_501"></a><a href="#NoteRef_501_501"><span class="label">[501]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_502_502" id="Note_502_502"></a><a href="#NoteRef_502_502"><span class="label">[502]</span></a>Ibid. III. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_503_503" id="Note_503_503"></a><a href="#NoteRef_503_503"><span class="label">[503]</span></a>Ibid. II. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_504_504" id="Note_504_504"></a><a href="#NoteRef_504_504"><span class="label">[504]</span></a>I cannot find these lines in the edition I have -consulted.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_505_505" id="Note_505_505"></a><a href="#NoteRef_505_505"><span class="label">[505]</span></a>In these Eclogues the ladies explain in good style that -their friends have their lackeys for lovers: "Her favours Sylvia shares -amongst mankind; such gen'rous Love could never be confin'd." Elsewhere -the servant girl says to her mistress: "Have you not fancy'd, in his -frequent kiss, th' ungrateful leavings of a filthy miss?"</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>Chesterfield's Letters, II. April 22 (O. S.) 1751, p. 131. -See, for a contrast, Swift's "Essay on Polite Conversation."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_507_507" id="Note_507_507"></a><a href="#NoteRef_507_507"><span class="label">[507]</span></a>Even in 1826, Sydney Smith, arriving at Calais, writes -("Life and Letters", II. 253, 254): "What pleases me is the taste and -ingenuity displayed in the shops, and the good manners and politeness -of the people. Such is the state of manners, that you appear almost to -have quitted a land of barbarians. I have not seen a cobbler who -is not better bred than an English gentleman."</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 in "Evelina," by Miss Burney, 3 vols. 1784, the -character of the poor, genteel Frenchman, M. Dubois, who is made to -tremble even whilst lying in the gutter. These very correct young -ladies go to see Congreve's "Love for Love"; their parents are not -afraid of showing them Miss Prue. See also, in "Evelina," by way of -contrast, the boorish character of the English captain; he throws Mrs. -Duval twice in the mud; he says to his daughter Molly: "I charge you, -as you value my favour, that you'll never again be so impertinent as to -have a taste of your own before my face" (I. 190). The change, -even from sixty years ago, is surprising.</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>Needham (1713-1781), a learned English naturalist, made and -published microscopical discoveries and remarks on the generation of -organic bodies.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_510_510" id="Note_510_510"></a><a href="#NoteRef_510_510"><span class="label">[510]</span></a>The title of a philosophical novel by Diderot.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_511_511" id="Note_511_511"></a><a href="#NoteRef_511_511"><span class="label">[511]</span></a>The title of a philosophical tale by Voltaire.—Tr.</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>"The consciousness of silent endurance, so dear to every -Englishman, of standing out against something and not giving in."—"Tom -Brown's School Days."</p></div> - -<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>William Penn.</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>On one tour he slept three weeks on the bare boards. One -day, at three in the morning, he said to Nelson, his companion: "Brother -Nelson, let us be of good cheer, I have one whole side yet; for the skin -is off but on one side."—Southey's "Life of Wesley," 2 vols, 1820, II. -ch. XV. 54.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_515_515" id="Note_515_515"></a><a href="#NoteRef_515_515"><span class="label">[515]</span></a>Southey's "Life of Wesley," II. 176.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_516_516" id="Note_516_516"></a><a href="#NoteRef_516_516"><span class="label">[516]</span></a>Ibid, I. 251.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_517_517" id="Note_517_517"></a><a href="#NoteRef_517_517"><span class="label">[517]</span></a>Ibid. I. ch. VI, 236.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_518_518" id="Note_518_518"></a><a href="#NoteRef_518_518"><span class="label">[518]</span></a>Southey's "Life of Wesley," II. ch. XVII. 111.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_519_519" id="Note_519_519"></a><a href="#NoteRef_519_519"><span class="label">[519]</span></a>Ibid. II. ch. XXIV. 320.</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>Tillotson's Sermons, 10 vols. 1760, I. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_521_521" id="Note_521_521"></a><a href="#NoteRef_521_521"><span class="label">[521]</span></a>Ibid. I. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_522_522" id="Note_522_522"></a><a href="#NoteRef_522_522"><span class="label">[522]</span></a>Tillotson's Sermons, III. 2.</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>Tillotson's Sermons, IV. 15-16; Sermon 55, "Of Sincerity -towards God and Man," John I. 47. This was the last sermon Tillotson -preached; July 29, 1694.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_524_524" id="Note_524_524"></a><a href="#NoteRef_524_524"><span class="label">[524]</span></a>Barrow's Theological Works, 6 vols. Oxford, 1818, I. -141-142; Sermon VIII. "The Duty of Thanksgiving," Eph. V. 20.</p> - -<p>"These words, although (as the very syntax doth immediately discover) -they bear a relation to, and have a fit coherence with, those that -precede, may yet (especially considering St. Paul's style and manner of -expression in the preceptive and exhortative parts of his Epistles), -without any violence or prejudice on either hand, be severed from the -context, and considered distinctly by themselves.... First, then, -concerning the duty itself, to give thanks, or rather to be -thankful (for εύχαριστέΐν doth not only signify gratias agere, -reddere, dicere, to give, render, or declare thanks, but also gratias -habere, grate affectum esse, to be thankfully disposed, to entertain a -grateful affection, sense, or memory)... I say, concerning this duty -itself (abstractedly considered), as it involves a respect to benefits -or good things received; so in its employment about them it imports, -requires, or supposes these following particulars."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_525_525" id="Note_525_525"></a><a href="#NoteRef_525_525"><span class="label">[525]</span></a>He was a mathematician of the highest order, and had -resigned his chair to Newton.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_526_526" id="Note_526_526"></a><a href="#NoteRef_526_526"><span class="label">[526]</span></a>Barrow's Theological Works, I. Sermon XXIII. 500-501.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_527_527" id="Note_527_527"></a><a href="#NoteRef_527_527"><span class="label">[527]</span></a>Barrow's Theological Works, I. 145; Sermon VIII. "The Duty -of Thanksgiving," Eph. V. 20.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_528_528" id="Note_528_528"></a><a href="#NoteRef_528_528"><span class="label">[528]</span></a>Ibid. I. 159-160, Sermon VIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_529_529" id="Note_529_529"></a><a href="#NoteRef_529_529"><span class="label">[529]</span></a>Jacques Bridaine (1701-1767), a celebrated and zealous -French preacher, whose sermons were always extempore, and hence not very -cultivated and refined in style.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_530_530" id="Note_530_530"></a><a href="#NoteRef_530_530"><span class="label">[530]</span></a>South's Sermons, 1715, II vols., VI. 110. The fourth and -last discourse from those words in Isaiah V. 20, "Woe unto them that call -evil good and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for -darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_531_531" id="Note_531_531"></a><a href="#NoteRef_531_531"><span class="label">[531]</span></a>South's Sermons, VI. 118.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_532_532" id="Note_532_532"></a><a href="#NoteRef_532_532"><span class="label">[532]</span></a>I thought it necessary to look into the Socinian pamphlets, -which have swarmed so much among us within a few years.—Stillingfleet, -"In Vindication of the Doctrine of the Trinity," 1697.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_533_533" id="Note_533_533"></a><a href="#NoteRef_533_533"><span class="label">[533]</span></a>John Hales of Eaton, Works, 3 vols., 12 mo, 1765, I. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_534_534" id="Note_534_534"></a><a href="#NoteRef_534_534"><span class="label">[534]</span></a>He examines, amongst other things, "the sin against the -Holy Ghost." They would very much like to know in what this consists. -But nothing is more obscure. Calvin and other theologians each gave a -different definition. After a minute dissertation, Hales concludes thus: -"And though negative proofs from Scripture are not demonstrative, yet -the general silence of the apostles may at least help to infer a -probability that the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost is not committable -by any Christian who lived not in the time of our Saviour" (1636). This -is a training for argument. So, in Italy, the discussion about giving -drawers to, or withholding them from the Capuchins, developed political -and diplomatic ability.—Ibid. I. 36.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_535_535" id="Note_535_535"></a><a href="#NoteRef_535_535"><span class="label">[535]</span></a>"The Scripture is a book of morality, and not of -philosophy. Everything there relates to practice.... It is evident, from -a cursory view of the Old and New Testament, that they are miscellaneous -books, some parts of which are history, others writ in a poetical style, -and others prophetical; but the design of them all, is professedly to -recommend the practice of true religion and virtue."—John Clarke, -Chaplain of the King, 1721. (I have not been able to find these exact -words in the edition of Clarke accessible to me.—Tr.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_536_536" id="Note_536_536"></a><a href="#NoteRef_536_536"><span class="label">[536]</span></a>Burke, "Reflections on the Revolution in France."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_537_537" id="Note_537_537"></a><a href="#NoteRef_537_537"><span class="label">[537]</span></a>Ray, Boyle Barrow, Newton.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_538_538" id="Note_538_538"></a><a href="#NoteRef_538_538"><span class="label">[538]</span></a>Bentley, Clarke, Warburton, Berkeley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_539_539" id="Note_539_539"></a><a href="#NoteRef_539_539"><span class="label">[539]</span></a>Locke, Addison, Swift, Johnson, Richardson.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_540_540" id="Note_540_540"></a><a href="#NoteRef_540_540"><span class="label">[540]</span></a>"Paupertina philosophia" says Leibnitz.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_541_541" id="Note_541_541"></a><a href="#NoteRef_541_541"><span class="label">[541]</span></a>After the constant conjunction of two objects—heat and -flame, for instance, weight and solidity—we are determined by custom -alone to expect the one from the appearance of the other. All inferences -from experience are effects of custom, not of reasoning.... "Upon the -whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one instance of -connection which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and -separate; one event follows another; but we can never observe any tie -between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected."—Hume's -Essays, 4 vols., 1760, III. 117.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_542_542" id="Note_542_542"></a><a href="#NoteRef_542_542"><span class="label">[542]</span></a>We must read Sir Robert Filmer's "Patriarcha," London, -1680, on the prevailing theory in order to see from what a quagmire of -follies people emerged. He said that Adam, on his creation, had received -an absolute and regal power over the universe; that in every society -of men there was one legitimate king, the direct heir of Adam. "Some say -it was by lot, and others that Noah sailed round the Mediterranean in -ten years, and divided the world into Asia, Africa, and Europe" -(p. 15)—portions for his three sons. Compare Bossuet, "Politique fondée -sur l'Ecriture." At this epoch moral science was being emancipated from -theology.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_543_543" id="Note_543_543"></a><a href="#NoteRef_543_543"><span class="label">[543]</span></a>Locke, "Of Civil Government," 1714, book II. ch. II. -sec. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_544_544" id="Note_544_544"></a><a href="#NoteRef_544_544"><span class="label">[544]</span></a>Ibid. sec. 13.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_545_545" id="Note_545_545"></a><a href="#NoteRef_545_545"><span class="label">[545]</span></a>Ibid. II. ch. VII. sec. 87.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_546_546" id="Note_546_546"></a><a href="#NoteRef_546_546"><span class="label">[546]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_547_547" id="Note_547_547"></a><a href="#NoteRef_547_547"><span class="label">[547]</span></a>Ibid. sec. 93.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_548_548" id="Note_548_548"></a><a href="#NoteRef_548_548"><span class="label">[548]</span></a>Ibid. II. ch. VIII. sec. 95.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_549_549" id="Note_549_549"></a><a href="#NoteRef_549_549"><span class="label">[549]</span></a>De Foe's estimate.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_550_550" id="Note_550_550"></a><a href="#NoteRef_550_550"><span class="label">[550]</span></a>"Their eating, indeed, amazes me; had I five hundred -heads, and were each head furnished with brains, yet would they all be -insufficient to compute the number of cows, pigs, geese, and turkies -which upon this occasion die for the good of their country!... On the -contrary, they seem to lose their temper as they lose their appetites; -every morsel they swallow serves to increase their animosity... The mob -meet upon the debate, fight themselves sober, and then draw off to get -drunk again, and charge for another encounter."—Goldsmith's "Citizen of -the World," Letter CXII. "An election described." See also Hogarth's -prints.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_551_551" id="Note_551_551"></a><a href="#NoteRef_551_551"><span class="label">[551]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_552_552" id="Note_552_552"></a><a href="#NoteRef_552_552"><span class="label">[552]</span></a>Montesquieu, "Notes sur l'Angleterre."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_553_553" id="Note_553_553"></a><a href="#NoteRef_553_553"><span class="label">[553]</span></a>Smollett, "Peregrine Pickle," ch. 40.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_554_554" id="Note_554_554"></a><a href="#NoteRef_554_554"><span class="label">[554]</span></a>See Hogarth's prints.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_555_555" id="Note_555_555"></a><a href="#NoteRef_555_555"><span class="label">[555]</span></a>Goldsmith's "Traveller."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_556_556" id="Note_556_556"></a><a href="#NoteRef_556_556"><span class="label">[556]</span></a>Chesterfield observes that a Frenchman of his time did not -understand the word Country; you must speak to him of his Prince.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_557_557" id="Note_557_557"></a><a href="#NoteRef_557_557"><span class="label">[557]</span></a>The executioner of Charles I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_558_558" id="Note_558_558"></a><a href="#NoteRef_558_558"><span class="label">[558]</span></a>Montesquieu, "De l'Esprit des Lois," book XIX. ch. 27.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_559_559" id="Note_559_559"></a><a href="#NoteRef_559_559"><span class="label">[559]</span></a>Junius wrote anonymously, and critics have not yet been -able with certainty to reveal his true name. Most probably he was Sir -Philip Francis.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_560_560" id="Note_560_560"></a><a href="#NoteRef_560_560"><span class="label">[560]</span></a>"Anecdotes and Speeches of the Earl of Chatham," 7th -ed. 3 vols. 1810, II. ch. 42 and 44.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_561_561" id="Note_561_561"></a><a href="#NoteRef_561_561"><span class="label">[561]</span></a>Ibid. II. ch. 29.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_562_562" id="Note_562_562"></a><a href="#NoteRef_562_562"><span class="label">[562]</span></a>Ibid. 42.</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>Junius's Letters, 2 vols. 1772, XXIII. I. 162.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_564_564" id="Note_564_564"></a><a href="#NoteRef_564_564"><span class="label">[564]</span></a>Ibid. XII. I. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_565_565" id="Note_565_565"></a><a href="#NoteRef_565_565"><span class="label">[565]</span></a>Junius's Letters, XXXVI. II. 56.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_566_566" id="Note_566_566"></a><a href="#NoteRef_566_566"><span class="label">[566]</span></a>Ibid. XXXV. II. 29.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_567_567" id="Note_567_567"></a><a href="#NoteRef_567_567"><span class="label">[567]</span></a>Fox's Speeches, 6 vols. 1815, II. 271; December 17, 1783.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_568_568" id="Note_568_568"></a><a href="#NoteRef_568_568"><span class="label">[568]</span></a>Fox's Speeches, 6 vols. 1815, II. 271; December 17, 1783.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_569_569" id="Note_569_569"></a><a href="#NoteRef_569_569"><span class="label">[569]</span></a>"An Inquiry into our Ideas of the Sublime and the -Beautiful."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_570_570" id="Note_570_570"></a><a href="#NoteRef_570_570"><span class="label">[570]</span></a>Burke's Works, 1808, 8 vols. IV. 286, "Speech on the -Nabob of Arcot's Debts."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_571_571" id="Note_571_571"></a><a href="#NoteRef_571_571"><span class="label">[571]</span></a>Burke's Works, IV. 282.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_572_572" id="Note_572_572"></a><a href="#NoteRef_572_572"><span class="label">[572]</span></a>Ibid. VIII. 35; "A Letter to a Noble Lord."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_573_573" id="Note_573_573"></a><a href="#NoteRef_573_573"><span class="label">[573]</span></a>Lord Heathfield, the Earl of Mansfield, Major Stringer -Lawrence, Lord Ashburton, Lord Edgecombe, and many others.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_574_574" id="Note_574_574"></a><a href="#NoteRef_574_574"><span class="label">[574]</span></a>Burke's Works, V. 165; "Reflections -on the Revolution in France."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_575_575" id="Note_575_575"></a><a href="#NoteRef_575_575"><span class="label">[575]</span></a>"I almost venture to affirm, that not one in a hundred -amongst us participates in the triumph of the revolution society."—Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_576_576" id="Note_576_576"></a><a href="#NoteRef_576_576"><span class="label">[576]</span></a>Ibid. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_577_577" id="Note_577_577"></a><a href="#NoteRef_577_577"><span class="label">[577]</span></a>Ibid. 166.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_578_578" id="Note_578_578"></a><a href="#NoteRef_578_578"><span class="label">[578]</span></a>Burke's "Reflections," V. 167.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_579_579" id="Note_579_579"></a><a href="#NoteRef_579_579"><span class="label">[579]</span></a>Ibid. 188.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_580_580" id="Note_580_580"></a><a href="#NoteRef_580_580"><span class="label">[580]</span></a>Ibid. 172.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_581_581" id="Note_581_581"></a><a href="#NoteRef_581_581"><span class="label">[581]</span></a>Ibid. 175.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_582_582" id="Note_582_582"></a><a href="#NoteRef_582_582"><span class="label">[582]</span></a>Burke's Works, VI. 201; "Appeal from the New to the Old -Whigs."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_583_583" id="Note_583_583"></a><a href="#NoteRef_583_583"><span class="label">[583]</span></a>"A government of five hundred country attornies and -obscure curates is not good for twenty-four millions of men, though it -were chosen by eight and forty millions.... As to the share of power, -authority, direction, which each individual ought to have in the -management of the state, that I must deny to be amongst the direct -original rights of man in civil society."—Ibid. v. 109; -"Reflections."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_584_584" id="Note_584_584"></a><a href="#NoteRef_584_584"><span class="label">[584]</span></a>Ibid. VI. 219; "Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_585_585" id="Note_585_585"></a><a href="#NoteRef_585_585"><span class="label">[585]</span></a>Ibid. V. 181 "Reflections."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_586_586" id="Note_586_586"></a><a href="#NoteRef_586_586"><span class="label">[586]</span></a>Burke's Works, V. 151; "Reflections."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_587_587" id="Note_587_587"></a><a href="#NoteRef_587_587"><span class="label">[587]</span></a>Ibid. 154.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_588_588" id="Note_588_588"></a><a href="#NoteRef_588_588"><span class="label">[588]</span></a>Ibid. VI. 5; "Letter to a Member of the National -Assembly."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_589_589" id="Note_589_589"></a><a href="#NoteRef_589_589"><span class="label">[589]</span></a>Ibid. V. 349; "Reflections."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_590_590" id="Note_590_590"></a><a href="#NoteRef_590_590"><span class="label">[590]</span></a>"The effect of liberty to individuals is, that they may -do what they please: we ought to see what it will please them to do, -before we risk congratulations which may be soon turned into -complaints.... Strange chaos of levity and ferocity,... monstrous -tragicomic scene.... After I have read the list of the persons and -descriptions elected into the Tiers-État, nothing which they afterwards -did could appear astonishing.... Of any practical experience in the -state, not one man was to be found. The best were only men of theory. -The majority was composed of practitioners in the law,... active -chicaners,... obscure provincial advocates, stewards of petty local -jurisdictions, country attornies, notaries, etc."—Ibid. V. 37 and 90. -That which offends Burke, and even makes him very uneasy, was, that no -representatives of the "natural landed interests" were among the -representatives of the Tiers-État. Let us give one quotation more, for -really this political clairvoyance is akin to genius: "Men are qualified -for civil liberty in exact proportion to their disposition to put moral -chains upon their own appetites.... Society cannot exist unless a -controlling power upon will and appetite be placed somewhere; and the -less of it there is within the more there must be without. It is -ordained in the eternal constitution of things that men of intemperate -minds cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_591_591" id="Note_591_591"></a><a href="#NoteRef_591_591"><span class="label">[591]</span></a>Pitt's Speeches, 3 vols. 1808, II. p. 81, on negotiating -for peace with France, January 26, 1795. Pitt says, however, in the same -speech: "God forbid that we should look on the body of the people of -France as atheists."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_592_592" id="Note_592_592"></a><a href="#NoteRef_592_592"><span class="label">[592]</span></a>"Letters to a Noble Lord; Letters on a Regicide Peace."</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FOURTH_III">CHAPTER FOURTH</a></h4> -<h4><a id="Addison">Addison</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Significance_of_the_Writings_of_Addison_and_Swift">Section I.—The Significance of the Writings of Addison and Swift</a></h4> - - -<p>In this vast transformation of mind which occupies the whole eighteenth -century, and gives England its political and moral standing, two eminent -men appear in politics and morality, both accomplished writers—the -most accomplished yet seen in England: both accredited mouthpieces of a -party, masters in the art of persuasion and conviction; both limited in -philosophy and art, incapable of considering sentiments in a -disinterested fashion: always bent on seeing in things motives for -approbation or blame; otherwise differing, and even in contrast with one -another; one happy, benevolent, beloved; the other hated, hating, and -most unfortunate: the one a partisan of liberty and the noblest hopes of -man; the other an advocate of a retrograde party, and an eager detractor -of humanity: the one measured, delicate, furnishing a model of the most -solid English qualities, perfected by continental culture; the other -unbridled and formidable, showing an example of the harshest English -instincts, luxuriating without limit or rule in every kind of -devastation and amid every degree of despair. To penetrate to the -interior of this civilization and this people, there are no means better -than to pause and dwell upon Swift and Addison.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Addisons_Character_and_Education">Section II.—Addison's Character and Education</a></h4> - - -<p>"I have often reflected," says Steele of Addison, "after a night spent -with him, apart from all the world, that I had had the pleasure of -conversing with an intimate acquaintance of Terence and Catullus, who -had all their wit and nature heightened with humor, more exquisite and -delightful than any other <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> man ever possessed."<a name="NoteRef_593_593" id="NoteRef_593_593"></a><a href="#Note_593_593" class="fnanchor">[593]</a> And Pope, a rival of -Addison, and a bitter rival, adds: "His conversation had something in it -more charming that I have found in any other man."<a name="NoteRef_594_594" id="NoteRef_594_594"></a><a href="#Note_594_594" class="fnanchor">[594]</a> These sayings -express the whole talent of Addison: his writings are conversations, -masterpieces of English urbanity and reason; nearly all the details of -his character and life have contributed to nourish this urbanity and -this reasoning.</p> - -<p>At the age of seventeen we find him at Oxford, studious and peaceful, -loving solitary walks under the elm-avenues, and amongst the beautiful -meadows on the banks of the Cherwell. From the thorny brake of school -education he chose the only flower—a withered one, doubtless, Latin -verse, but one which, compared to the erudition, to the theology, to the -logic of the time, is still a flower. He celebrates, in strophes or -hexameters, the peace of Ryswick, or the system of Dr. Burnet; he -composes little ingenious poems on a puppet-show, on the battle of the -pigmies and cranes; he learns to praise and jest—in Latin it is -true—but with such success that his verses recommend him for the -rewards of the ministry, and even come to the knowledge of Boileau. At -the same time he imbues himself with the Latin poets; he knows them by -heart, even the most affected, Claudian and Prudentius; presently in -Italy quotations will rain from his pen; from top to bottom, in all its -nooks, and under all its aspects, his memory is stuffed with Latin -verses. We see that he loves them, scans them with delight, that a fine -cæsura charms him, that every delicacy touches him, that no hue of art -or emotion escapes him, that his literary tact is refined, and prepared -to relish all the beauties of thought and expression. This inclination, -too long retained, is a sign of a little mind, I allow; a man ought not -to spend so much time in inventing centos. Addison would have done -better to enlarge his knowledge—to study Latin prose-writers, Greek -literature, Christian antiquity, modern Italy, which he hardly knew. But -this limited culture, leaving him weaker, made him more refined. He -formed his art by studying only the monuments of Latin urbanity; he -acquired a taste for the elegance and refinements, the triumphs and -artifices of style; he became self-contemplative, correct, capable of -knowing and perfecting his own tongue. In the designed reminiscences, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> -the happy allusions, the discreet tone of his little poems, I find -beforehand many traits of the "Spectator."</p> - -<p>Leaving the university, he travelled for a long time in the two most -polished countries in the world, France and Italy. He lived at Paris, in -the house of the ambassador, in the regular and brilliant society which -gave fashion to Europe; he visited Boileau, Malebranche, saw with -somewhat malicious curiosity the fine curtsies of the painted and -affected ladies of Versailles, the grave and almost stale civilities of -the fine speakers and fine dancers of the other sex. He was amused at -the complimentary intercourse of Frenchmen, and remarked that when a -tailor accosted a shoemaker, he congratulated himself on the honor of -saluting him. In Italy he admired the works of art, and praised them in -a letter,<a name="NoteRef_595_595" id="NoteRef_595_595"></a><a href="#Note_595_595" class="fnanchor">[595]</a> in which the enthusiasm is rather cold, but very well -expressed.<a name="NoteRef_596_596" id="NoteRef_596_596"></a><a href="#Note_596_596" class="fnanchor">[596]</a> He had the fine training which is now given to young men -of the higher ranks. And it was not the amusements of cockneys or the -racket of taverns which employed him. His beloved Latin poets followed -him everywhere. He had read them over before setting out; he recited -their verses in the places which they mention. "I must confess, it was -not one of the least entertainments that I met with in travelling, to -examine these several descriptions, as it were, upon the spot, and to -compare the natural face of the country with the landscapes that the -poets have given us of it."<a name="NoteRef_597_597" id="NoteRef_597_597"></a><a href="#Note_597_597" class="fnanchor">[597]</a> These were the pleasures of an epicure -in literature; there could be nothing more literary and less pedantic -than the account which he wrote on his return.<a name="NoteRef_598_598" id="NoteRef_598_598"></a><a href="#Note_598_598" class="fnanchor">[598]</a> Presently this -refined and delicate curiosity led him to coins. "There is a great -affinity," he says, "between them and poetry;" for they serve as a -commentary upon ancient authors; an effigy of the Graces makes a verse -of Horace visible. And on this subject he wrote a very agreeable -dialogue, choosing for personages well-bred men: "all three very well -versed in the politer parts of learning, and had travelled into the most -refined nations of Europe.... Their design was to pass away the heat of -the summer among the fresh breezes that rise from the river (the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> -Thames), and the agreeable mixture of shades and fountains in which the -whole country naturally abounds."<a name="NoteRef_599_599" id="NoteRef_599_599"></a><a href="#Note_599_599" class="fnanchor">[599]</a> Then, with a gentle and -well-tempered gayety, he laughs at pedants who waste life in discussing -the Latin toga or sandal, but pointed out, like a man of taste and wit, -the services which coins might render to history and the arts. Was there -ever a better education for a literary man of the world? He had already -a long time ago acquired the art of fashionable poetry, I mean the -correct verses, which are complimentary, or written to order. In all -polite society we look for the adornment of thought; we desire for it -rare, brilliant, beautiful dress, to distinguish it from vulgar -thoughts, and for this reason we impose upon it rhyme, metre, noble -expression; we keep for it a store of select terms, verified metaphors, -suitable images, which are like an aristocratic wardrobe, in which it is -hampered but must adorn itself. Men of wit are bound to make verses for -it, and in a certain style just as others must display their lace, and -that after a certain pattern. Addison put on this dress, and wore it -correctly and easily, passing without difficulty from one habit to a -similar one, from Latin to English verse. His principal piece, "The -Campaign,"<a name="NoteRef_600_600" id="NoteRef_600_600"></a><a href="#Note_600_600" class="fnanchor">[600]</a> is an excellent model of the agreeable and classical -style. Each verse is full, perfect in itself, with a clever antithesis, -a good epithet, or a concise picture. Countries have noble names; Italy -is Ausonia, the Black Sea is the Scythian Sea; there are mountains of -dead, and a thunder of eloquence sanctioned by Lucian; pretty turns of -oratorical address imitated from Ovid; cannons are mentioned in poetic -periphrases, as later in Delille.<a name="NoteRef_601_601" id="NoteRef_601_601"></a><a href="#Note_601_601" class="fnanchor">[601]</a> The poem is an official and -decorative amplification, like that which Voltaire wrote afterwards on -the battle of Fontenoy. Addison does yet better; he wrote an opera, a -comedy, a much admired tragedy on the death of Cato. Such writing was -always, in the last century; a passport to a good style and to -fashionable society. A young man in Voltaire's time, on leaving college, -had to write <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> his tragedy as now he must write an article on political -economy; it was then a proof that he could converse with ladies, as now -it is a proof that he can argue with men. He learned the art of being -amusing, of touching the heart, of talking of love; he thus escaped from -dry or special studies; he could choose among events or sentiments those -which interest or please; he was able to hold his own in good society, -to be sometimes agreeable there, never to offend. Such is the culture -which these works gave Addison; it is of slight importance that they are -poor. In them he dealt with the passions, with humor. He produced in his -opera some lively and smiling pictures; in his tragedy some noble or -moving accents; he emerged from reasoning and pure dissertation; he -acquired the art of rendering morality visible and truth expressive; he -knew how to give ideas a physiognomy, and that an attractive one. Thus -was the finished writer perfected by contact with ancient and modern, -foreign and national urbanity, by the sight of the fine arts, by -experience of the world and study of style, by continuous and delicate -choice of all that is agreeable in things and men, in life and art.</p> - -<p>His politeness received from his character a singular bent and charm. It -was not external, simply voluntary and official; it came from the heart. -He was gentle and kind, of refined sensibility, so shy even as to remain -silent and seem dull in a large company or before strangers, only -recovering his spirits before intimate friends, and confessing that only -two persons can converse together. He could not endure an acrimonious -discussion; when his opponent was intractable, he pretended to approve, -and for punishment, plunged him discreetly into his own folly. He -withdrew by preference from political arguments; being invited to deal -with them in the "Spectator," he contented himself with inoffensive and -general subjects, which could interest all whilst offending none. It -would have pained him to give others pain. Though a very decided and -steady Whig, he continued moderate in polemics; and in an age when the -winners in the political fight were ready to ruin their opponents or to -bring them to the block, he confined himself to show the faults of -argument made by the Tories, or to rail courteously at their prejudices. -At Dublin he went first of all to shake hands with Swift, his great and -fallen adversary. Insulted bitterly by Dennis and Pope, he refused to -employ against them his influence or his wit, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> and praised Pope to the -end. What can be more touching, when we have read his life, than his -essay on kindness? we perceive that he is unconsciously speaking of -himself:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is no society or conversation to be kept up in the world without -good-nature, or something which must bear its appearance, and supply its -place. For this reason mankind have been forced to invent a kind of -artificial humanity, which is what we express by the word -good-breeding.... The greatest wits I have conversed with are men -eminent for their humanity.... Good-nature is generally born with us; -health, prosperity, and kind treatment from the world are great -cherishers of it where they find it."<a name="NoteRef_602_602" id="NoteRef_602_602"></a><a href="#Note_602_602" class="fnanchor">[602]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>It so happens that he is involuntarily describing his own charm and his -own success. It is himself that he is unveiling; he was very prosperous, -and his good fortune spread itself around him in affectionate -sentiments, in constant consideration for others, in calm cheerfulness. -At college he was distinguished; his Latin verses made him a fellow at -Oxford; he spent ten years there in grave amusements and in studies -which pleased him. Dryden, the prince of literature, praised him in the -highest terms, when Addison was only twenty-two. When he left Oxford, -the ministry gave him a pension of three hundred pounds to finish his -education, and prepare him for public service. On his return from his -travels, his poem on Blenheim placed him in the first rank of the Whigs. -He became twice Secretary for Ireland, Under-Secretary of State, a -member of Parliament, one of the principal Secretaries of State. Party -hatred spared him; amid the almost universal defeat of the Whigs, he was -re-elected member of Parliament; in the furious war of Whigs and Tories, -both united to applaud his tragedy of "Cato"; the most cruel -pamphleteers respected him; his uprightness, his talent, seemed exalted -by common consent above discussion. He lived in abundance, activity, and -honors, wisely and usefully, amid the assiduous admiration and constant -affection of learned and distinguished friends, who could never have too -much of his conversation, amid the applause of all the good men and all -the cultivated minds of England. If twice the fall of his party seemed -to destroy or retard his fortune, he maintained his position without -much effort, by reflection and coolness, prepared for all that might -happen, accepting mediocrity, confirmed in a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> natural and acquired -calmness, accommodating himself without yielding to men, respectful to -the great without degrading himself, free from secret revolt or internal -suffering. These are the sources of his talent; could any be purer or -finer? could anything be more engaging than worldly polish and elegance, -without the factitious ardor and the complimentary falsehoods of the -world? Where shall we look for more agreeable conversation than that of -a good and happy man, whose knowledge, taste, and wit, are only employed -to give us pleasure?</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Addisons_Seriousness.--His_Nobility_of_Character">Section III.—Addison's Seriousness.—His Nobility of Character</a></h4> - - -<p>This pleasure will be useful to us. Our interlocutor is as grave as he -is polite; he will and can instruct as well as amuse us; his education -has been as solid as it has been elegant; he even confesses in the -"Spectator" that he prefers the serious to the humorous style. He is -naturally reflective, silent, attentive. He has studied literature, men, -and things, with the conscientiousness of a scholar and an observer. -When he travelled in Italy, it was in the English style, noting the -difference of manners, the peculiarities of the soil, the good and ill -effects of various governments; providing himself with precise memoirs, -circumstantial statistics on taxes, buildings, minerals, climate, -harbors, administration, and on a great many other things.<a name="NoteRef_603_603" id="NoteRef_603_603"></a><a href="#Note_603_603" class="fnanchor">[603]</a> An -English lord, who travels in Holland, goes simply into a cheese-shop, in -order to see, for himself all the stages of the manufacture; he returns, -like Addison, provided with exact statistics; complete notes; this mass -of verified information is the foundation of the common-sense of -Englishmen. Addison added to it experience of business, having been -successively, or at the same time, a journalist, a member of Parliament, -a statesman, hand and heart in all the fights and chances of party. Mere -literary education only makes good talkers, able to adorn and publish -ideas which they do not possess, and which others furnish for them. If -writers wish to invent, they must look to events and men, not to books -and drawing-rooms; the conversation of special men is more useful to -them than the study of perfect periods; they cannot think for -themselves, but in so far as they <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> have lived or acted. Addison knew how -to act and live. When we read his reports, letters, and discussions, we -feel that politics and government have given him half his mind. To -exercise patronage, to handle money, to interpret the law, to divine the -motives of men, to foresee the changes of public opinion, to be -compelled to judge rightly, quickly, and twenty times a day, on present -and great interests, looked after by the public and under the espionage -of enemies; all this nourished his reason and sustained his discourses. -Such a man might judge and counsel his fellows; his judgments were not -amplifications arranged by a process of the brain, but observations -controlled by experience: he might be listened to on moral subjects as a -natural philosopher was on subjects connected with physics; we feel that -he spoke with authority, and that we were instructed.</p> - -<p>After having listened a little, people felt themselves better; for they -recognized in him from the first a singularly lofty soul, very pure, so -much attached to uprightness that he made it his constant care and his -dearest pleasure. He naturally loved beautiful things, goodness and -justice, science and liberty. From an early age he had joined the -Liberal party, and he continued in it to the end, hoping the best of -human virtue and reason, noting the wretchedness into which nations fell -who abandoned their dignity with their independence.<a name="NoteRef_604_604" id="NoteRef_604_604"></a><a href="#Note_604_604" class="fnanchor">[604]</a> He followed -the grand discoveries of the new physical sciences, so as to give him -more exalted ideas of the works of God. He loved the deep and serious -emotions which reveal to us the nobility of our nature and the infirmity -of our condition. He employed all his talent and all his writings in -giving us the notion of what we are worth, and of what we ought to be. -Of two tragedies which he composed or contemplated, one was on the death -of Cato, the most virtuous of the Romans; the other on that of Socrates, -the most virtuous of the Greeks. At the end of the first he felt some -scruples; and for fear of being accused of finding an excuse for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> -suicide, he gave Cato some remorse. His opera of "Rosamond" ends with -the injunction to prefer pure love to forbidden joys; the "Spectator," -the "Tatler," the "Guardian," are mere lay sermons. Moreover, he put his -maxims into practice. When he was in office, his integrity was perfect; -he conferred often obligations on those whom he did not know—always -gratuitously, refusing presents, under whatever form they were offered. -When out of office, his loyalty was perfect; he maintained his opinions -and friendships without bitterness or baseness, boldly praising his -fallen protectors,<a name="NoteRef_605_605" id="NoteRef_605_605"></a><a href="#Note_605_605" class="fnanchor">[605]</a> fearing not thereby to expose himself to the -loss of his only remaining resources. He possessed an innate nobility of -character, and reason aided him in keeping it. He considered that there -is common-sense in honesty. His first care, as he said, was to range his -passions on the side of truth. He had made for himself a portrait of a -rational creature, and he conformed his conduct to this by reflection as -much as by instinct. He rested every virtue on an order of principles -and proofs. His logic fed his morality, and the uprightness of his mind -completed the singleness of his heart. His religion, English in every -sense, was after the like fashion. He based his faith on a regular -succession of historical discussions:<a name="NoteRef_606_606" id="NoteRef_606_606"></a><a href="#Note_606_606" class="fnanchor">[606]</a> he established the existence -of God by a regular series of moral deductions; minute and solid -demonstration was throughout the guide and foundation of his beliefs and -emotions. Thus disposed, he loved to conceive God as the rational head -of the world; he transformed accidents and necessities into calculations -and directions; he saw order and providence in the conflict of things, -and felt around him the wisdom which he attempted to establish in -himself. Addison, good and just himself, trusted in God, also a being -good and just. He lived willingly in His knowledge and presence, and -thought of the unknown future which was to complete human nature and -accomplish moral order. When the end came, he went over his life, and -discovered that he had done some wrong or other to Gay: this wrong was -doubtless slight, since Gay had never thought of it. Addison begged him -to come to his bedside, and asked his pardon. When he was about to die, -he wished still to be useful, and sent for his step-son, Lord Warwick, -whose careless life had caused him some uneasiness. He was so weak that -at first he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> could not speak. The young man, after waiting awhile, said -to him: "Dear sir, you sent for me, I believe; I hope that you have some -commands; I shall hold them most sacred." The dying man with an effort -pressed his hand, and replied gently: "See in what peace a Christian can -die."<a name="NoteRef_607_607" id="NoteRef_607_607"></a><a href="#Note_607_607" class="fnanchor">[607]</a> Shortly afterwards he expired.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--The_Morality_of_Addisons_Essays">Section IV.—The Morality of Addison's Essays</a></h4> - - -<p>"The great and only end of these speculations," says Addison, one of his -"Spectators, is to banish vice and ignorance out of the territories of -Great Britain." And he kept his word. His papers are wholly -moral—advices to families, reprimands to thoughtless women, a sketch -of an honest man, remedies for the passions, reflections on God and a -future life. I hardly know, or father I know very well, what success a -newspaper full of sermons would have in France. In England it was -extraordinary, equal to that of the most popular modern novelists. In -the general downfall of the daily and weekly papers ruined by the Stamp -Act,<a name="NoteRef_608_608" id="NoteRef_608_608"></a><a href="#Note_608_608" class="fnanchor">[608]</a> the "Spectator" doubled its price, and held its ground.<a name="NoteRef_609_609" id="NoteRef_609_609"></a><a href="#Note_609_609" class="fnanchor">[609]</a> -This was because it offered to Englishmen the picture of English reason: -the talent and the teaching were in harmony with the needs of the age -and of the country. Let us endeavor to describe this reason, which -became gradually eliminated from Puritanism and its rigidity, from the -Restoration and its excess. The mind attained its balance, together with -religion and the state. It conceived the rule, and disciplined its -conduct; it diverged from a life of excess, and confirmed itself in a -sensible life; it shunned physical and prescribed moral existence. -Addison rejects with scorn gross corporeal pleasure, the brutal joy of -noise and motion: "I would nevertheless leave to the consideration of -those who are the patrons of this monstrous trial of skill, whether or -no they are not guilty, in some measure, of an affront to their species, -in treating after this manner the human face divine."<a name="NoteRef_610_610" id="NoteRef_610_610"></a><a href="#Note_610_610" class="fnanchor">[610]</a> "Is it -possible that human nature can rejoice in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> its disgrace, and take -pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into -forms that raise horror and aversion? There is something disingenuous -and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight."<a name="NoteRef_611_611" id="NoteRef_611_611"></a><a href="#Note_611_611" class="fnanchor">[611]</a> Of course he -sets himself against deliberate shamelessness and the systematic -debauchery which were the taste and the shame of the Restoration. He -wrote whole articles against young fashionable men, "a sort of vermin" -who fill London with their bastards; against professional seducers, who -are the "knights-errant" of vice. "When men of rank and figure pass away -their lives in these criminal pursuits and practices, they ought to -consider that they render themselves more vile and despicable than any -innocent man can be, whatever low station his fortune or birth have -placed him in."<a name="NoteRef_612_612" id="NoteRef_612_612"></a><a href="#Note_612_612" class="fnanchor">[612]</a> He severely jeers at women who expose themselves to -temptations, and whom he calls "salamanders": "A salamander is a kind of -heroine in chastity, that treads upon fire, and lives in the midst of -flames without being hurt. A salamander knows no distinction of sex in -those she converses with, grows familiar with a stranger at first sight, -and is not so narrow-spirited as to observe whether the person she talks -to be in breeches or petticoats. She admits a male visitant to her -bedside, plays with him a whole afternoon at picquet, walks with him two -or three hours by moonlight."<a name="NoteRef_613_613" id="NoteRef_613_613"></a><a href="#Note_613_613" class="fnanchor">[613]</a> He fights like a preacher against the -fashion of low dresses, and gravely demands the tucker and modesty of -olden times: "To prevent these saucy familiar glances, I would entreat -my gentle readers to sew on their tuckers again, to retrieve the modesty -of their characters, and not to imitate the nakedness, but the -innocence, of their mother Eve. In short, modesty gives the maid greater -beauty than even the bloom of youth; it bestows in the wife the dignity -of a matron, and reinstates the widow in her virginity."<a name="NoteRef_614_614" id="NoteRef_614_614"></a><a href="#Note_614_614" class="fnanchor">[614]</a> We find -also lectures on masquerades which end with rendezvous; precepts on the -number of glasses people might drink, and the dishes of which they might -eat: condemnations of licentious professors of irreligion and -immorality; all maxims now somewhat stale, but then new and useful -because Wycherley and Rochester had put into practice and made popular -the opposite maxims. Debauchery passed for French and fashionable: this -is why Addison proscribes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> in addition all French frivolities. He laughs -at women who receive visitors in their dressing-rooms, and speak aloud -at the theatre: "There is nothing which exposes a woman to greater -dangers, than that gayety and airiness of temper, which are natural to -most of the sex. It should be therefore the concern of every wise and -virtuous woman to keep this sprightliness from degenerating into levity. -On the contrary, the whole discourse and behavior of the French is to -make the sex more fantastical, or (as they are pleased to term it) more -awakened, than is consistent either with virtue or discretion."<a name="NoteRef_615_615" id="NoteRef_615_615"></a><a href="#Note_615_615" class="fnanchor">[615]</a> We -see already in these strictures the portrait of the sensible housewife, -the modest Englishwoman, domestic and grave, wholly taken up with her -husband and children. Addison returns a score of times to the artifices, -the pretty affected babyisms, the coquetry, the futilities of women. He -cannot suffer languishing or lazy habits. He is full of epigrams against -flirtations, extravagant toilets, useless visits.<a name="NoteRef_616_616" id="NoteRef_616_616"></a><a href="#Note_616_616" class="fnanchor">[616]</a> He writes a -satirical journal of a man who goes to his club, learns the news, yawns, -studies the barometer, and thinks his time well occupied. He considers -that time is capital, business duty, and life a task.</p> - -<p>Is life only a task? If Addison holds himself superior to sensual life, -he falls short of philosophical life. His morality, thoroughly English, -always drags along among commonplaces, discovering no principles, making -no deductions. The fine and lofty aspects of the mind are wanting. He -gives useful advice, clear instruction, justified by what happened -yesterday, useful for to-morrow. He observes that fathers must not be -inflexible, and that they often repent driving their children to -despair. He finds that bad books are pernicious, because their -durability carries their poison to future ages. He consoles a woman who -has lost her sweetheart, by showing her the misfortunes of so many other -people who are suffering the greatest evils at the same time. His -"Spectator" is only an honest man's manual, and is often like the -"Complete Lawyer." It is practical, its aim being not to amuse, but to -correct us. The conscientious Protestant, nourished with dissertations -and morality, demands an effective monitor and guide; he would like his -reading to influence his conduct, and his newspaper to suggest a -resolution. To this end Addison seeks motives everywhere. He thinks of -the future life, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> but does not forget the present; he rests virtue on -interest rightly understood. He strains no principle to its limits; he -accepts them all, as they are to be met with everywhere, according to -their manifest goodness, drawing from them only the primary -consequences, shunning the powerful logical pressure which spoils all by -expressing too much. Let us observe him establishing a maxim, -recommending constancy, for instance; his motives are mixed and -incongruous: first, inconstancy exposes us to scorn; next, it puts us in -continual distraction; again, it hinders us as a rule from attaining our -end; moreover, it is the great feature of a human and mortal being; -finally, it is more opposed to the inflexible nature of God, who ought -to be our model. The whole is illustrated at the close by a quotation -from Dryden and a verse from Horace. This medley and jumble describe the -ordinary mind which remains on the level of its audience, and the -practical mind, which knows how to dominate over its audience. Addison -persuades the public, because he draws from the public sources of -belief. He is powerful because he is vulgar, and useful because he is -narrow.</p> - -<p>Let us picture now this mind, so characteristically mediocre, limited to -the discovery of good motives of action. What a reflective man, always -calm and dignified! What a store he has of resolutions and maxims! All -rapture, instinct, inspiration, and caprice, are abolished or -disciplined. No case surprises or carries him away. He is always ready -and protected; so much so, that he is like an automaton. Argument has -frozen and invaded him. Consider, for instance, how he puts us on our -guard against involuntary hypocrisy, announcing, explaining, -distinguishing the ordinary and extraordinary modes, dragging on with -exordiums, preparations, methods, allusions to Scripture.<a name="NoteRef_617_617" id="NoteRef_617_617"></a><a href="#Note_617_617" class="fnanchor">[617]</a> After -having read six lines of this morality, a Frenchman would go out for a -mouthful of fresh air. What in the name of heaven would he do, if, in -order to move him to piety, he was told<a name="NoteRef_618_618" id="NoteRef_618_618"></a><a href="#Note_618_618" class="fnanchor">[618]</a> that God's omniscience and -omnipresence furnished us with three kinds of motives, and then -subdivided these motives into first, second, and third? To put -calculation at every stage; to come with weights, scales, and figures, -into the thick of human passions, to label them, classify them like -bales, to tell the public that the inventory is complete; to lead them, -with the reckoning <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> in their hand, and by the mere virtue of statistics, -to honor and duty—such is the morality of Addison and of England. It is -a sort of commercial common-sense applied to the interests of the soul; -a preacher here is only an economist in a white tie, who treats -conscience like food, and refutes vice because its introduction is -prohibited.</p> - -<p>There is nothing sublime or chimerical in the end which he sets before -us; all is practical, that is, business-like and sensible; the question -is, how "to be easy here and happy afterwards." To be easy is a word -which has no French equivalent, meaning that comfortable state of the -mind, a middle state between calm satisfaction, approved action and -serene conscience. Addison makes it consist in labor and manly -functions, carefully and regularly discharged. We must see with what -complacency he; paints in the "Freeholder" and Sir Roger the grave -pleasures of a citizen and proprietor:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have rather chosen this title (the Freeholder) than any other, -because it is what I most glory in, and what most effectually calls to -my mind the happiness of that government under which I live. As a -British freeholder, I should not scruple taking place of a French -marquis; and when I see one of my countrymen amusing himself in his -little cabbage-garden, I naturally look upon him as a greater person -than the owner of the richest vineyard in Champagne.... There is an -unspeakable pleasure in calling anything one's own. A freehold, though -it be but in ice and snow, will make the owner pleased in the -possession, and stout in the defence of it.... I consider myself as one -who give my consent to every law which passes.... A free-holder is but -one remove from a legislator, and for that reason ought to stand up in -the defence of those laws which are in some degree of his own -making."<a name="NoteRef_619_619" id="NoteRef_619_619"></a><a href="#Note_619_619" class="fnanchor">[619]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>These are all English feelings, made up of calculation and pride, -energetic and austere; and this portrait is capped by that of the -married man:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Nothing is more gratifying to the mind of man than power or dominion; -and this I think myself amply possessed of, as I am the father of a -family. I am perpetually taken up in giving out orders, in prescribing -duties, in hearing parties, in administering justice, and in -distributing rewards and punishments.... I look upon my family as a -patriarchal sovereignty, in which I am myself both king and priest."</p> - -<p>"... When I see my little troop before me, I rejoice in the additions -which I have made to my species, to my country, and to my religion, in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> -having produced such a number of reasonable creatures, citizens, and -Christians. I am pleased to see myself thus perpetuated; and as there is -no production comparable to that of a human creature, I am more proud of -having been the occasion of ten such glorious productions, than if I had -built a hundred pyramids at my own expense, or published as many volumes -of the finest wit and learning."<a name="NoteRef_620_620" id="NoteRef_620_620"></a><a href="#Note_620_620" class="fnanchor">[620]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>If now we take the man away from his estate and his household, alone -with himself, in moments of idleness or reverie, we will find him just -as positive. He observes, that he may cultivate his own reasoning power, -and that of others; he stores himself with morality; he wishes to make -the most of himself and of existence, that is the reason why he thinks -of death. The northern races willingly direct their thoughts to final -dissolution and the dark future. Addison often chose for his promenade -gloomy Westminster Abbey, with its many tombs: "Upon my going into the -church I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in -every shovel-full of it that was thrown up the fragment of a bone or -skull intermixt with a kind of fresh mouldering earth that some time or -other had a place in the composition of a human body.... I consider that -great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our -appearance together."<a name="NoteRef_621_621" id="NoteRef_621_621"></a><a href="#Note_621_621" class="fnanchor">[621]</a> And suddenly his emotion is transformed into -profitable meditations. Underneath his morality is a pair of scales -which weigh quantities of happiness. He stirs himself by mathematical -comparisons to prefer the future to the present. He tries to realize, -amidst an assemblage of dates, the disproportion of our short life to -infinity. Thus arises this religion, a product of melancholic -temperament and acquired logic, in which man, a sort of calculating -Hamlet, aspires to the ideal by making a good business of it, and -maintains his poetical sentiments by financial calculations.</p> - -<p>In such a subject these habits are offensive. We ought not to try and -over-define or prove God; religion is rather a matter of feeling than of -science; we compromise it by exacting too rigorous demonstrations, and -too precise dogmas. It is the heart which sees heaven; if a man would -make me believe in it, as he makes me believe in the antipodes, by -geographical accounts and probabilities, I shall barely or not at all -believe. Addison has little more than his college or edifying arguments, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> -very like those of the Abbé Pluche,<a name="NoteRef_622_622" id="NoteRef_622_622"></a><a href="#Note_622_622" class="fnanchor">[622]</a> which let in objections at -every chink, and which we can only regard as dialectical essays or -sources of emotion. When we add to these arguments, motives of interest -and calculations of prudence, which can make recruits, but not converts, -we possess all his proofs. There is an element of coarseness in this -fashion of treating divine things, and we like still less the exactness -with which he explains God, reducing him to a mere magnified man. This -preciseness and this narrowness go so far as to describe heaven:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Though the Deity be thus essentially present through all the immensity -of space, there is one part of it in which he discovers himself in a -most transcendent and visible glory.... It is here where the glorified -body of our Saviour resides, and where all the celestial hierarchies, -and the innumerable hosts of angels, are represented as perpetually -surrounding the seat of God with hallelujahs and hymns of praise.... -With how much skill must the throne of God be erected! ... How great -must be the majesty of that place, where the whole art of creation has -been employed, and where God has chosen to shew himself in the most -magnificent manner! What must be the architecture of infinite power -under the direction of infinite wisdom?"<a name="NoteRef_623_623" id="NoteRef_623_623"></a><a href="#Note_623_623" class="fnanchor">[623]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Moreover, the place must be very grand, and they have music there: it is -a noble palace; perhaps there are antechambers. We had better not -continue the quotation. The same dull and literal precision makes him -inquire what sort of happiness the elect have.<a name="NoteRef_624_624" id="NoteRef_624_624"></a><a href="#Note_624_624" class="fnanchor">[624]</a> They will be -admitted into the councils of Providence, and will understand all its -proceedings: "There is, doubtless, a faculty in spirits by which they -apprehend one another as our senses do material objects; and there is no -question but our souls, when they are disembodied, or placed in -glorified bodies, will by this faculty, in whatever part of space they -reside, be always sensible of the Divine Presence."<a name="NoteRef_625_625" id="NoteRef_625_625"></a><a href="#Note_625_625" class="fnanchor">[625]</a> This grovelling -philosophy repels us. One word of Addison will justify it, and make us -understand it: "The business of mankind in this life is rather to act -than to know." Now, such a philosophy is as useful in action as poor in -science. All its faults of speculation become merits in practice. It -follows in a prosy manner positive religion.<a name="NoteRef_626_626" id="NoteRef_626_626"></a><a href="#Note_626_626" class="fnanchor">[626]</a> What support does it -not attain from the authority of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> an ancient tradition, a national -institution, an established priesthood, outward ceremonies, every-day -customs! It employs as arguments public utility, the example of great -minds, heavy logic, literal interpretation, and unmistakable texts. What -better means of governing the crowd than to degrade proofs to the -vulgarity of its intelligence and needs? It humanizes the Divinity: is -it not the only way to make men understand Him? It defines almost -obviously a future life: is it not the only way to cause it to be wished -for? The poetry of lofty philosophical deductions is weak compared to -the inner persuasion, rooted by so many positive and detailed -descriptions. In this way an active piety is born and religion thus -constructed doubles the force of the moral spring. Addison's is -admirable, because it is so strong. Energy of feeling rescues -wretchedness of dogma. Beneath his dissertations we feel that he is -moved; minutiæ, pedantry disappear. We see in him now only a soul -deeply penetrated with adoration and respect; no more a preacher -classifying God's attributes, and pursuing his trade as a good logician; -but a man who naturally, and of his own bent, returns to a lofty -spectacle, goes with awe into all its aspects, and leaves it only with a -renewed or overwhelmed heart. The sincerity of his emotions makes us -respect even his catechetical prescriptions. He demands fixed days of -devotion and meditation to recall us regularly to the thought of our -Creator and of our faith. He inserts prayers in his paper. He forbids -oaths, and recommends to keep always before us the idea of a sovereign -Master:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Such an habitual homage to the Supreme Being would, in a particular -manner, banish from among us that prevailing impiety of using his name -on the most trivial occasions.... What can we then think of those who -make use of so tremendous a name in the ordinary expressions of their -anger, mirth, and most impertinent passions? of those who admit it into -the most familiar questions, and assertions, ludicrous phrases, and -works of humour? not to mention those who violate it by solemn -perjuries! It would be an affront to reason to endeavour to set forth -the horror and profaneness of such a practice."<a name="NoteRef_627_627" id="NoteRef_627_627"></a><a href="#Note_627_627" class="fnanchor">[627]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>If a Frenchman was forbidden to swear, he would probably laugh at the -first word of the admonition; in his eyes that is a matter of good -taste, not of morality. But if he had heard Addison himself pronouncing -what I have written, he would laugh no longer. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--How_Addison_made_Morality_Fashionable.--Characteristics_of_his_Style">Section V.—How Addison made Morality Fashionable.—Characteristics -of His Style</a></h4> - - -<p>It is no small thing to make morality fashionable. Addison did it, and -it remained in fashion. Formerly honest men were not polished, and -polished men were not honest; piety was fanatical, and urbanity -depraved; in manners, as in literature, a man could meet only Puritans -or libertines. For the first time Addison reconciled virtue, with -elegance, taught duty in an accomplished style, and made pleasure -subservient to reason:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"It was said of Socrates that he brought Philosophy down from heaven, to -inhabit among men; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that -I have brought Philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and -colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in -coffee-houses. I would therefore, in a very particular manner, recommend -these my speculations to all well-regulated families, and set apart an -hour in every morning for tea and bread and butter; and would earnestly -advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually served -up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea-equipage."<a name="NoteRef_628_628" id="NoteRef_628_628"></a><a href="#Note_628_628" class="fnanchor">[628]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this passage we may detect an inclination to smile, a little irony -tempers the serious idea; it is the tone of a polished man, who, at the -first sign of ennui, turns round, delicately laughs, even at himself, -and tries to please. It is Addison's general tone.</p> - -<p>What an amount of art is necessary to please! First, the art of making -one's self understood, at once, always, completely, without difficulty -to the reader, without reflection, without attention. Let us figure to -ourselves men of the world reading a page between two mouthfuls of -"bohea-rolls," ladies interrupting a phrase to ask when the ball begins: -three technical or learned words would make them throw the paper down. -They only desire distinct terms, in common use, into which wit enters -all at once, as it enters ordinary converse; in fact, for them reading -is only a conversation, and a better one than usual. For the select -world refines language. It does not suffer the risks and approximations -of extempore and inexperienced speaking. It requires a knowledge of -style, like a knowledge of external forms. It will have exact words to -express the fine shades of thought, and measured words to preclude -offensive or extreme impressions. It wishes for developed phrases, -which, presenting the same idea, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> under several aspects, impress it -easily upon its desultory mind. It demands harmonies of words, which, -presenting a known idea in a smart form, may introduce it in a lively -manner to its desultory imagination. Addison gives it all that it -desires; his writings are the pure source of classical style; men never -spoke better in England. Ornaments abound, and never has rhetoric a -share in them. Throughout we have precise contrasts, which serve only -for clearness, and are not too prolonged; happy expressions, easily hit -on, which give things a new and ingenious turn; harmonious periods, in -which the sounds flow into one another with the diversity and sweetness -of a quiet stream; a fertile vein of invention and fancy, through which -runs the most amiable irony. We trust one example will suffice:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"He is not obliged to attend her (Nature) in the slow advance which she -makes from one season to another, or to observe her conduct in the -successive production of plants and flowers. He may draw into his -description all the beauties of the spring and autumn, and make the -whole year contribute something to render it the more agreeable. His -rose-trees, woodbines, and jessamines may flower together, and his beds -be covered at the same time with lilies, violets, and amaranths. His -soil is not restrained to any particular set of plants, but is proper -either for oaks or myrtles, and adapts itself to the products of every -climate. Oranges may grow wild in it; myrrh may be met with in every -hedge; and if he thinks it proper to have a grove of spices, he can -quickly command sun enough to raise it. If all this will not furnish an -agreeable scene, he can make several new species of flowers, with richer -scents and higher colours, than any that grow in the gardens of nature. -His concerts of birds may be as full and harmonious, and his woods as -thick and gloomy as he pleases. He is at no more expense in a long vista -than a short one, and can as easily throw his cascades from a precipice -of half a mile high as from one of twenty yards. He has his choice of -the winds, and can turn the course of his rivers in all the variety of -meanders that are most delightful to the reader's imagination."<a name="NoteRef_629_629" id="NoteRef_629_629"></a><a href="#Note_629_629" class="fnanchor">[629]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>I find here that Addison profits by the rights which he grants to -others, and is amused in explaining to us how we may amuse ourselves. -Such is the charming tone of society. Reading the "Spectator," we fancy -it still more amiable than it is: no pretension; no efforts; endless -contrivances employed unconsciously, and obtained without asking; the -gift of being lively and agreeable; a refined banter, raillery without -bitterness, a sustained gayety; the art of finding in everything the -most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> blooming and the freshest flower, and to smell it without bruising -or sullying it; science, politics, experience, morality, bringing their -finest fruits, adorning them, offering them at a chosen moment, ready to -withdraw them as soon as conversation has enjoyed them, and before it is -tired of them; ladies placed in the first rank,<a name="NoteRef_630_630" id="NoteRef_630_630"></a><a href="#Note_630_630" class="fnanchor">[630]</a> arbiters of -refinement, surrounded with homage, crowning the politeness of men and -the brilliancy of society by the attraction of their toilets, the -delicacy of their wit, and the charm of their smiles; such is the -familiar spectacle in which the writer has formed and delighted himself.</p> - -<p>So many advantages are not without their inconvenience. The compliments -of society, which attenuate expressions, blunt the style; by regulating -what is instinctive and moderating what is vehement, they make speech -threadbare and uniform. We must not always seek to please, above all, to -please the ear. M. de Chateaubriand boasted of not admitting a single -elision into the song of "Cymodocée"; so much the worse for -"Cymodocée." So the commentators who have noted in Addison the balance -of his periods, do him an injustice.<a name="NoteRef_631_631" id="NoteRef_631_631"></a><a href="#Note_631_631" class="fnanchor">[631]</a> They explain thus why he -slightly wearies us. The rotundity of his phrases is a scanty merit and -mars the rest. To calculate longs and shorts, to be always thinking of -sounds, of final cadences—all these classical researches spoil a -writer. Every idea has its accent, and all our labor ought to be to put -it down free and simple on paper, as it is in our mind. We ought to copy -and mark our thought with the flow of emotions and images, which raise -it, caring for nothing but its exactness and clearness. One true phrase -is worth a hundred periods: the first is a document which fixes forever -a movement of the heart or the senses; the other is a toy to amuse the -empty heads of verse-makers. I would give twenty pages of Fléchier for -three lines of Saint-Simon. Regular rhythm mutilates the impetus of -natural invention; the shades of inner vision vanish; we see no more a -soul which thinks or feels, but fingers which count measures whilst -scanning. The continuous period is like the shears of La Quintinie,<a name="NoteRef_632_632" id="NoteRef_632_632"></a><a href="#Note_632_632" class="fnanchor">[632]</a> -which clip all the trees round under pretence of beautifying. This is -why there is some coldness and monotony in Addison's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> style. He seems to -be listening to himself. He is too measured and correct. His most -touching stories, like that of "Theodosius and Constantia," touch us -only partially. Who could feel inclined to weep over such periods as -these?</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Constantia, who knew that nothing but the report of her marriage could -have driven him to such extremities, was not to be comforted: she now -accused herself for having so tamely given an ear to the proposal of a -husband, and looked upon the new lover as the murderer of Theodosius: in -short, she resolved to suffer the utmost effects of her father's -displeasure, rather than to comply with a marriage which appeared to her -so full of guilt and horror."<a name="NoteRef_633_633" id="NoteRef_633_633"></a><a href="#Note_633_633" class="fnanchor">[633]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Is this the way to paint horror and guilt? Where are the passionate -emotions which Addison pretends to paint? The story is related, not -seen.</p> - -<p>The classical writer simply cannot see. Always measured and rational, -his first care is to proportion and arrange. He has his rules in his -pocket, and brings them out for everything. He does not rise to the -source of the beautiful at once, like genuine artists, by force and -lucidity of natural inspiration; he lingers in the middle regions, amid -precepts, subject to taste and common-sense. This is why Addison's -criticism is so solid and so poor. They who seek ideas will do well not -to read his "Essays on Imagination,"<a name="NoteRef_634_634" id="NoteRef_634_634"></a><a href="#Note_634_634" class="fnanchor">[634]</a> so much praised, so well -written, but so scant of philosophy, and so commonplace, dragged down by -the intervention of final causes. His celebrated commentary on "Paradise -Lost" is little better than the dissertations of Batteux and Bossu. In -one place he compares, almost in a line, Homer, Vergil, and Ovid. The -fine arrangement of a poem is with him the highest merit. The pure -classics enjoy better arrangement and good order than artless truth and -strong originality. They have always their poetic manual in their hands: -if we agree with the prearranged pattern, we have genius; if not, we -have none. Addison, in praise of Milton, establishes that, according to -the rule of epic poetry, the action of "Paradise Lost" is one, complete -and great; that its characters are varied and of universal interest, and -its sentiments natural, appropriate, and elevated; the style clear, -diversified, and sublime. Now we may admire <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> Milton; he has a testimonial -from Aristotle. Listen, for instance, to cold details of classical -dissertation:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Had I followed Monsieur Bossu's method in my first paper on Milton, I -should have dated the action of 'Paradise Lost' from the beginning of -Raphael's speech in this book."<a name="NoteRef_635_635" id="NoteRef_635_635"></a><a href="#Note_635_635" class="fnanchor">[635]</a></p> - -<p>"But, notwithstanding the fineness of this allegory (Sin and Death) may -atone for it (the defect in the subject of his poem) in some measure, I -cannot think that persons of such a chimerical existence are proper -actors in an epic poem."<a name="NoteRef_636_636" id="NoteRef_636_636"></a><a href="#Note_636_636" class="fnanchor">[636]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Further on Addison defines poetical machines, the conditions of their -structure, the advantage of their use. He seems to me a carpenter -inspecting a staircase. Do not suppose that artificiality shocks him; on -the contrary, he rather admires it. He finds the violent declamations of -the Miltonic divinity and the royal compliments indulged in by the -persons of the Trinity, sublime. The camps of the angels, their bearing -in chapel and barrack, their scholastic disputes, their bitter -puritanical or pious royalistic style, do not strike him as false or -disagreeable. Adam's pedantry and household lectures appear to him -suitable to the state of innocence. In fact, the classics of the last -two centuries never looked upon the human mind, except in its cultivated -state. The child, the artist, the barbarian, the inspired man, escaped -them; so, of course, did all who were beyond humanity; their world was -limited to the earth, and to the earth of the study and drawing-rooms; -they rose neither to God nor nature, or if they did, it was to transform -nature into a well-regulated garden-plot, and God into a moral -scrutator. They reduced genius to eloquence, poetry to discourse, the -drama to a dialogue. They regarded reason as if it were beauty, a sort -of middle faculty, not apt for invention, potent in rules, balancing -imagination like conduct, and making taste the arbiter of letters, as it -made morality the arbiter of actions. They dispensed with the play on -words, the sensual grossness, the flights of imagination, the -unlikelihood, the atrocities, and all the bad accompaniments of -Shakespeare;<a name="NoteRef_637_637" id="NoteRef_637_637"></a><a href="#Note_637_637" class="fnanchor">[637]</a> but they only half followed him in the deep intuitions -by which he pierced the human heart, and discovered therein the god and -the animal. They wanted to be moved, but not overwhelmed; they <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> allowed -themselves to be impressed, but demanded to be pleased. To please -rationally was the object of their literature. Such is Addison's -criticism, which resembles his art; born, like his art, of classical -urbanity; fit, like his art, for the life of the world, having the same -solidity and the same limits, because it had the same sources, namely, -order and relaxation.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Addisons_Gallantry.--His_Humor.--Sir_Roger_de_Coverley.--The_Vision_of_Mirza">Section VI.—Addison's Gallantry.—His Humor.—Sir Roger -de Coverley.—The Vision of Mirza</a></h4> - - -<p>But we must consider that we are in England, and that we find there many -things not agreeable to a Frenchman. In France, the classical age -attained perfection; so that, compared to it, other countries lack -somewhat of finish. Addison, elegant in his own native country, is not -quite so in France. Compared with Tillotson, he is the most charming man -possible; compared to Montesquieu, he is only half polished. His -converse is hardly sparkling enough; the quick movement, the easy change -of tone, the facile smile, readily dropped and readily resumed, are -hardly visible. He drags on in long and too uniform phrases; his periods -are too square; we might cull a load of useless words. He tells us what -he is going to say: he marks divisions and subdivisions; he quotes -Latin, even Greek; he displays and protracts without end the serviceable -and sticky plaster of his morality. He has no fear of being wearisome. -That is not what Englishmen fear. Men who love demonstrative sermons -three hours long are not difficult to amuse. Remember that here the -women like to go to meeting, and are entertained by listening for half a -day to discourses on drunkenness, or on the sliding scale for taxes; -these patient creatures do not require that conversation should be -always lively and piquant. Consequently they can put up with a less -refined politeness and less disguised compliments. When Addison bows to -them, which happens often, it is gravely, and his reverence is always -accompanied by a warning. Take the following on their gaudy dresses:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I looked with as much pleasure upon this little party-coloured -assembly, as upon a bed of tulips, and did not know at first whether it -might not be an embassy of Indian queens; but upon my going about into -the pit, and taking them in front, I was immediately undeceived and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> saw -so much beauty in every face, that I found them all to be English. Such -eyes and lips, cheeks and foreheads, could be the growth of no other -country. The complexion of their faces hindered me from observing any -further the colour of their hoods, though I could easily perceive, by -that unspeakable satisfaction which appeared in their looks, that their -own thoughts were wholly taken up on those pretty ornaments they wore -upon their heads."<a name="NoteRef_638_638" id="NoteRef_638_638"></a><a href="#Note_638_638" class="fnanchor">[638]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this discreet raillery, modified by an almost official admiration, we -perceive an English mode of treating women: man, by her side, is always -a lay-preacher; they are for him charming children, or useful -housewives, never queens of the drawing-room, or equals, as amongst the -French. When Addison wishes to bring back the Jacobite ladies to the -Protestant party, i he treats them almost like little girls, to whom we -promise, if they will be good, to restore their doll or their cake:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"They should first reflect on the great sufferings and persecutions to -which they expose themselves by the obstinacy of their behaviour. They -lose their elections in every club where they are set up for toasts. -They are obliged by their principles to stick a patch on the most -unbecoming side of their foreheads. They forego the advantage of -birthday suits.... They receive no benefit from the army, and are never -the better for all the young fellows that wear hats and feathers. They -are forced to live in the country and feed their chickens; at the same -time that they might show themselves at court, and appear in brocade, if -they behaved themselves well. In short, what must go to the heart of -every fine woman, they throw themselves quite out of the fashion. ... A -man is startled when he sees a pretty bosom heaving with such -party-rage, as is disagreeable even in that sex which is of a more -coarse and rugged make. And yet such is our misfortune, that we -sometimes see a pair of stays ready to burst with sedition; and hear the -most masculine passions expressed in the sweetest voices.... Where a -great number of flowers grow, the ground at distance seems entirely -covered with them, and we must walk into it before we can distinguish -the several weeds that spring up in such a beautiful mass of -colours."<a name="NoteRef_639_639" id="NoteRef_639_639"></a><a href="#Note_639_639" class="fnanchor">[639]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>This gallantry is too deliberate; we are somewhat shocked to see a woman -touched by such thoughtful hands. It is the urbanity of a moralist; -albeit he is well-bred, he is not quite amiable; and if a Frenchman can -receive from him lessons of pedagogy and conduct, Addison might come -over to France to find models of manners and conversation.</p> - -<p>If the first care of a Frenchman in society is to be amiable, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> that of an -Englishman is to be dignified; their mood leads them to immobility, as -ours to gestures; and their pleasantry is as grave as ours is gay. -Laughter with them is inward; they shun giving themselves up to it; they -are amused silently. Let us make up our mind to understand this kind of -temper, it will end by pleasing us. When phlegm is united to gentleness, -as in Addison, it is as agreeable as it is piquant. We are charmed to -meet a lively man, who is yet master of himself. We are astonished to -see these contrary qualities together. Each heightens and modifies the -other. We are not repelled by venomous bitterness, as in Swift, or by -continuous buffoonery, as in Voltaire. We enjoy altogether the rare -union, which for the first time combines serious bearing and good humor. -Read this little satire against the bad taste of the stage and the -public:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"There is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of greater -amusement to the town than Signor Nicolini's combat with a lion in the -Haymarket, which has been very often exhibited to the general -satisfaction of most of the nobility and gentry in the kingdom of Great -Britain.... The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who being a fellow of a -testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself -to be killed so easily as he ought to have done.... The second lion was -a tailor by trade, who belonged to the playhouse, and had the character -of a mild and peaceable man in his profession. If the former was too -furious, this was too sheepish for his part; insomuch that, after a -short modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of -Hydaspes, without grappling with him, and giving him an opportunity of -shewing his variety of Italian trips. It is said, indeed, that he once -gave him a rip in his flesh-coloured doublet; but this was only to make -work for himself, in his private character of a tailor.... The acting -lion at present is as I am informed, a country gentleman, who does it -for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says, very -handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he -indulges an innocent pleasure in it; and that it is better to pass away -an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking.... This -gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and -the choleric, that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn -together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man. -... In the meantime I have related this combat of the lion, to show what -are at present the reigning entertainments of the politer part of Great -Britain."<a name="NoteRef_640_640" id="NoteRef_640_640"></a><a href="#Note_640_640" class="fnanchor">[640]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>There is much originality in this grave gayety. As a rule, singularity -is in accordance with the taste of the nation; they <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> like to be impressed -strongly by contrasts. French literature seems to them threadbare; and -the French find them often not very delicate. A number of the -"Spectator" which seemed pleasant to London ladies would have shocked -people in Paris. Thus, Addison relates in the form of a dream the -dissection of a beau's brain:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The pineal gland, which many of our modern philosophers suppose to be -the seat of the soul, smelt very strongly of essence and orange-flower -water, and was encompassed with a kind of horny substance, cut into a -thousand little faces or mirrors, which were imperceptible to the naked -eye: insomuch that the soul, if there had been any here, must have been -always taken up in contemplating her own beauties. We observed a large -antrim or cavity in the sinciput, that was filled with ribbons, lace, -and embroidery.... We did not find anything very remarkable in the eye, -saving only, that the <i>musculi amatorii</i>, or, as we may translate it -into English, the ogling muscles, were very much worn, and decayed with -use; whereas on the contrary, the elevator, or the muscle which turns -the eye towards heaven, did not appear to have been used at all."<a name="NoteRef_641_641" id="NoteRef_641_641"></a><a href="#Note_641_641" class="fnanchor">[641]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>These anatomical details, which would disgust the French, amuse a -matter-of-fact mind; harshness is for him only accuracy; accustomed to -precise images, he finds no objectionable odor in the medical style. -Addison does not share our repugnance. To rail at a vice, he becomes a -mathematician, an economist, a pedant, an apothecary. Technical terms -amuse him. He sets up a court to judge crinolines, and condemns -petticoats in legal formulas. He teaches how to handle a fan as if he -were teaching to prime and load muskets. He draws up a list of men dead -or injured by love, and the ridiculous causes which have reduced them to -such a condition:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Will Simple, smitten at the Opera by the glance of an eye that was -aimed at one who stood by him.</p> - -<p>"Sir Christopher Crazy, Bart., hurt by the brush of a whalebone -petticoat.</p> - -<p>"Ned Courtly, presenting Flavia with her glove (which she had dropped on -purpose), she received it and took away his life with a curtsey.</p> - -<p>"John Gosselin, having received a slight hurt from a pair of blue eyes, -as he was making his escape, was dispatched by a smile."<a name="NoteRef_642_642" id="NoteRef_642_642"></a><a href="#Note_642_642" class="fnanchor">[642]</a></p></blockquote> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Other statistics, with recapitulations and tables of numbers, relate -the history of the Leucadian leap:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Aridæus a beautiful youth of Epirus, in love with Praxinoe, the wife -of the Thespis, escaped without damage, saving only that two of his fore -teeth were struck out, and his nose a little flatted.</p> - -<p>"Hipparchus, being passionately fond of his own wife, who was enamoured -of Bathyllus, leaped and died of his fall; upon which his wife married -her gallant."<a name="NoteRef_643_643" id="NoteRef_643_643"></a><a href="#Note_643_643" class="fnanchor">[643]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We see this strange mode of painting human folly: in England it is -called humor. It consists of an incisive good sense, the habit of -restraint, business habits, but above all a fundamental energy of -invention. The race is less refined, but stronger than the French; and -the pleasures which content its mind and taste are like the liquors -which suit its palate and its stomach.</p> - -<p>This potent Germanic spirit breaks out even in Addison through his -classical and Latin exterior. Albeit he relishes art, he still loves -nature. His education, which loaded him with maxims, has not destroyed -his virgin sentiment of truth. In his travels in France he preferred the -wildness of Fontainebleau to the correctness of Versailles. He shakes -off worldly refinement to praise the simplicity of the old national -ballads. He explains to his public the sublime images, the vast -passions, the deep religion of "Paradise Lost." It is curious to see -him, compass in hand, kept back by Bossu, fettered in endless arguments -and academical phrases, attaining with one spring, through the strength -of natural emotion, the lofty unexplored regions to which Milton rose by -the inspiration of faith and genius. Addison does not say, as Voltaire -does, that the allegory of Sin and Death is enough to make people sick. -He has a foundation of grand imagination, which makes him indifferent to -the little refinements of social civilization. He sojourns willingly -amid the grandeur and marvels of the other world. He is penetrated by -the presence of the Invisible, he must escape from the interests and -hopes of the petty life in which we crawl.<a name="NoteRef_644_644" id="NoteRef_644_644"></a><a href="#Note_644_644" class="fnanchor">[644]</a> This source of faith -gushes from him in all directions; in vain is it enclosed in the regular -channel of official dogma; the text and arguments with which it is -covered <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> do not hide its true origin. It springs from the grave and -fertile imagination which can only be satisfied with a sight of what is -beyond.</p> - -<p>Such a faculty swallows a man up; and if we descend to the examination -of literary qualities, we find it at the bottom as well as at the top. -Nothing in Addison is more varied and rich than the changes and the -scenery. The driest morality is transformed under his hand into pictures -and stories. There are letters from all kinds of men, clergymen, common -people, men of fashion, who keep their own style, and disguise their -advice under the form of a little novel. An ambassador from Bantam -jests, like Montesquieu, at the lies of European politeness. Greek or -Oriental tales, imaginary travels, the vision of a Scottish seer, the -memoirs of a rebel, the history of ants, the transformations of an ape, -the journal of an idle man, a walk in Westminster, the genealogy of -humor, the laws of ridiculous clubs; in short, an inexhaustible mass of -pleasant or solid fictions. The allegories are most frequent. We feel -that the author delights in their magnificent and fantastic world; he is -acting for himself a sort of opera; his eyes must look on colors. Here -is a paper on religions, very Protestant, but as sparkling as it is -ingenious: relaxation in England does not consist, as in France, in the -vivacity and variety of tone, but in the splendor and correctness of -invention:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The middle figure, which immediately attracted the eyes of the whole -company, and was much bigger than the rest, was formed like a matron, -dressed in the habit of an elderly woman of quality in Queen Elizabeth's -days. The most remarkable parts of her dress were the beaver with the -steeple crown, the scarf that was darker than sable, and the lawn apron -that was whiter than ermine. Her gown was of the richest black velvet, -and just upon her heart studded with large diamonds of an inestimable -value, disposed in the form of a cross. She bore an inexpressible -cheerfulness and dignity in her aspect; and though she seemed in years, -appeared with so much spirit and vivacity, as gave her at the same time -an air of old age and immortality. I found my heart touched with so much -love and reverence at the sight of her, that the tears ran down my face -as I looked upon her; and still the more I looked upon her, the more my -heart was melted with the sentiments of filial tenderness and duty. I -discovered every moment something so charming in this figure, that I -could scarce take my eyes off it. On its right hand there sat the figure -of a woman so covered, with ornaments, that her face, her body, and her -hands were almost entirely hid under them. The little you could see of -her face was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> painted, and what I thought very odd, had something in it -like artificial wrinkles; but I was the less surprised at it, when I saw -upon her forehead an old-fashioned tower of grey hairs. Her head-dress -rose very high by three several stories or degrees; her garments had a -thousand colours in them, and were embroidered with crosses in gold, -silver, and silk; she had nothing on, so much as a glove or a slipper, -which was not marked with this figure; nay, so superstitiously fond did -she appear of it, that she sat cross-legged.... The next to her was a -figure which somewhat puzzled me; it was that of a man looking with -horror in his eyes, upon a silver bason filled with water. Observing -something in his countenance that looked like lunacy, I fancied at first -that he was to express that kind of distraction which the physicians -call the Hydrophobia; but considering what the intention of the show -was, I immediately recollected myself, and concluded it to be -Anabaptism."<a name="NoteRef_645_645" id="NoteRef_645_645"></a><a href="#Note_645_645" class="fnanchor">[645]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The reader must guess what these two first figures mean. They will -please a member of the Episcopal Church more than a Roman Catholic; but -I think that a Roman Catholic himself cannot help recognizing the -fulness and freshness of the fiction.</p> - -<p>Genuine imagination naturally ends in the invention of characters. For, -if we clearly represent to ourselves a situation or an action, we will -see at the same time the whole network of its connection; the passion -and faculties, all the gestures and tones of voice, all details of -dress, dwelling, social intercourse, which flow from it, will be -connected in our mind, and bring their precedents and their -consequences; and this multitude of ideas, slowly organized, will at -last be concentrated in a single sentiment, from which, as from a deep -spring, will break forth the portrait and the history of a complete -character. There are several such in Addison; the quiet observer Will -Honeycomb, the country Tory Sir Roger de Coverley, which are not -satirical theses, like those of La Bruyère, but genuine individuals, -like, and sometimes equal to, the characters of the great contemporary -novels. In reality, he invents the novel without suspecting it, at the -same time, and in the same way as his most illustrious neighbors. His -characters are taken from life, from the manners and conditions of the -age, described at length and minutely in all the details of their -education and surroundings, with a precise and positive observation, -marvellously real and English. A masterpiece as well as an historical <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> -record is Sir Roger de Coverley, the country gentleman, a loyal servant -of State and Church, a justice of the peace, with a chaplain of his own, -and whose estate shows on a small scale the structure of the English -nation. This domain is a little kingdom, paternally governed, but still -governed. Sir Roger rates his tenants, passes them in review in church, -knows their affairs, gives them advice, assistance, commands; he is -respected, obeyed, loved, because he lives with them, because the -simplicity of his tastes and education puts him almost on a level with -them; because as a magistrate, a landed proprietor of many years' -standing, a wealthy man, a benefactor and neighbor, he exercises a moral -and legal, a useful and respected authority. Addison at the same time -shows in him the solid and peculiar English character, built of heart of -oak, with all the ruggedness of the primitive bark, which can neither be -softened nor planed down, a great fund of kindness which extends even to -animals, a love for the country and for bodily exercises, an inclination -to command and discipline, a feeling of subordination and respect, much -common-sense and little finesse, a habit of displaying and practising in -public his singularities and oddities, careless of ridicule, without -thought of bravado, solely because these men acknowledge no judge but -themselves. A hundred traits depict the times; a lack of love for -reading, a lingering belief in witches, rustic and sporting manners, the -ignorances of an artless or backward mind. Sir Roger gives the children, -who answer their catechism well, a Bible for themselves, and half a -flitch of bacon for their mothers. When a verse pleases him, he sings it -for half a minute after the congregation has finished. He kills eight -fat pigs at Christmas, and sends a pudding and a pack of cards to each -poor family in the parish. When he goes to the theatre, he supplies his -servants with cudgels to protect themselves from the thieves which, he -says, infest London. Addison returns a score of times to the old knight, -always showing some new aspect of his character, a disinterested -observer of humanity, curiously assiduous and discerning, a true -creator, having but one step farther to go to enter, like Richardson and -Fielding, upon the great work of modern literature, the novel of manners -and customs.</p> - -<p>There is an undercurrent of poetry in all this. It has flowed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> through -his prose a thousand times more sincere and beautiful than in his -verses. Rich oriental fancies are displayed, not with a shower of sparks -as in Voltaire, but in a calm and abundant light, which makes the -regular folds of their purple and gold undulate.<a name="NoteRef_646_646" id="NoteRef_646_646"></a><a href="#Note_646_646" class="fnanchor">[646]</a> The music of the -vast cadenced and tranquil phrases leads the mind gently amidst romantic -splendors and enchantments, and the deep sentiment of ever young nature -recalls the happy quietude of Spenser. Through gentle railleries or -moral essays we feel that the author's imagination is happy, delighted -in the contemplation of the swaying to and fro of the forest-tops which -clothe the mountains, the eternal verdure of the valleys, invigorated by -fresh springs, and the wide view undulating far away on the distant -horizon. Great and simple sentiments naturally join these noble images, -and their measured harmony creates a unique spectacle, worthy to -fascinate the heart of a good man by its gravity and sweetness. Such are -the visions of Mirza, which I will give almost entire:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my -forefathers I always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered -up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdad, in order -to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here -airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound -contemplation of the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought -to another: Surely, said I, man is but a shadow and life a dream. Whilst -I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was -not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with -a musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him he applied it to -his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding -sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly -melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They -put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed -souls of good men upon their first arrival in Paradise, to wear out the -impressions of the last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of -that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures....</p> - -<p>"He (the Genius) then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and -placing me on the top of it, Cast thy eyes eastward, said he, and tell -me what thou seest. I see, said I, a huge valley, and a prodigious tide -of water rolling through it. The valley that thou seest, said he, is the -vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the -great tide of Eternity. What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see -rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick -mist at the other? What thou seest, said he, is that portion of Eternity -which is called Time, measured out by the Sun, and reaching from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> -beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now, said he, this -sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou -discoverest in it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in the midst of the -tide. The bridge thou seest, said he, is human life; consider it -attentively. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it -consisted of three score and ten entire arches, with several broken -arches, which added to those that were entire, made up the number about -an hundred. As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that this -bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood -swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now -beheld it. But tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I -see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud -hanging on each end of it. As I looked more attentively, I saw several -of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that -flowed underneath it; and upon further examination, perceived there were -innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the -passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the -tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very -thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner -broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew -thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together -towards the end of the arches that were entire.</p> - -<p>"There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that -continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell -through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a -walk.</p> - -<p>"I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, -and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled -with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst -of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them to -save themselves. Some were looking up towards the Heavens in a -thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a Speculation stumbled and fell -out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that -glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but often when they -thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed and -down they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with -scimitars in their hands, and others with urinals, who ran to and fro -upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap-doors which did not -seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped had they not -been thus forced upon them....</p> - -<p>"I here fetched a deep sigh. Alas, said I, man was made in vain! How is -he given away to misery and mortality! tortured in life, and swallowed -up in death! The Genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bid me -quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, on man in the -first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast -thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several -generations of mortals that fall into it. I directed my sight as I was -ordered, and (whether or no the good Genius strengthened it with any -supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> before too -thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther -end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of -adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal -parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could -discover nothing in it: but the other appeared to me a vast ocean -planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and -flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran -among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits, with -garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the -sides of the fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a -confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and -musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so -delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly -away to those happy seas; but the Genius told me there was no passage to -them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment -upon the bridge. The islands, said he, that lie so fresh and green -before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted -as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the -sea-shore; there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here -discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination, -can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who -according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are -distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of -different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of -those who are settled in them: every island is a paradise accommodated -to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth -contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee -opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will -convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, -who has such an eternity reserved for him. I gazed with inexpressible -pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, shew me now, I -beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which -cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of Adamant. The Genius -making me no answer, I turned me about to address myself to him a second -time, but I found that he had left me; I then turned again to the vision -which I had been so long contemplating: but instead of the rolling tide, -the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long -hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the -sides of it."<a name="NoteRef_647_647" id="NoteRef_647_647"></a><a href="#Note_647_647" class="fnanchor">[647]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this ornate moral sketch, this fine reasoning, so correct and so -eloquent, this ingenious and noble imagination, I find an epitome of all -Addison's characteristics. These are the English tints which distinguish -this classical age from that of the French: a narrower and more -practical argument, a more poetical and less eloquent urbanity, a -structure of mind more inventive and more rich, less sociable and less -refined. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_593_593" id="Note_593_593"></a><a href="#NoteRef_593_593"><span class="label">[593]</span></a>Addison's Works, ed. Hurd, 6 vols. v. 151; Steele's Letter -to Mr. Congreve.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_594_594" id="Note_594_594"></a><a href="#NoteRef_594_594"><span class="label">[594]</span></a>Ibid. VI. 729.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_595_595" id="Note_595_595"></a><a href="#NoteRef_595_595"><span class="label">[595]</span></a>Addison's Works, 4 vols. 4 to, Tonson, 1721, vol. I. 43. A -letter to Lord Halifax (1701).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_596_596" id="Note_596_596"></a><a href="#NoteRef_596_596"><span class="label">[596]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Renowned in verse, each shady thicket grows,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And every stream in heavenly numbers flows....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And softened into flesh the rugged stone....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here pleasing airs my ravisht soul confound</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With circling notes and labyrinths of sound."—Ibid.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_597_597" id="Note_597_597"></a><a href="#NoteRef_597_597"><span class="label">[597]</span></a>Preface to "Remarks on Italy," II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_598_598" id="Note_598_598"></a><a href="#NoteRef_598_598"><span class="label">[598]</span></a>"Remarks on Italy."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_599_599" id="Note_599_599"></a><a href="#NoteRef_599_599"><span class="label">[599]</span></a>"First Dialogue on Medals," I. 435.</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>On the victory of Blenheim, I. 63.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_601_601" id="Note_601_601"></a><a href="#NoteRef_601_601"><span class="label">[601]</span></a> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The marshes stagnate and the rivers swell.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mountains of slain, etc......</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Rows of hollow brass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tube behind tube the dreadful entrance keep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep...."</span><br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"... Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes."—Vol. I. 63-82.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_602_602" id="Note_602_602"></a><a href="#NoteRef_602_602"><span class="label">[602]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 169.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_603_603" id="Note_603_603"></a><a href="#NoteRef_603_603"><span class="label">[603]</span></a>See, for instance, his chapter on the republic of San -Marino.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_604_604" id="Note_604_604"></a><a href="#NoteRef_604_604"><span class="label">[604]</span></a>Letter from Italy to Lord Halifax:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O Liberty, thou Goddess heavenly bright,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile."—I. 53.</span></p> - -<p>About the republic of San Marino he writes:</p> - -<p>"Nothing can be a greater instance of the natural love that mankind has -for liberty, and of their aversion to an arbitrary government, than such -a savage mountain covered with people, and the Campagna of Rome, which -lies in the same country, almost destitute of inhabitants."—"Remarks on -Italy," II. 48.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_605_605" id="Note_605_605"></a><a href="#NoteRef_605_605"><span class="label">[605]</span></a>Halifax, for instance.</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>"Of the Christian Religion."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_607_607" id="Note_607_607"></a><a href="#NoteRef_607_607"><span class="label">[607]</span></a>Addison's Works, Hurd, VI. 525.</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>The Stamp Act (1712; 10 Anne, C. 19) put a duty of a -halfpenny on every printed half sheet or less, and a penny on a -whole sheet, besides twelve pence on every advertisement. This Act was -repealed in 1855. Swift writes to Stella (August 7, 1712), "Do you know -that all Grub Street is ruined by the Stamp Act."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_609_609" id="Note_609_609"></a><a href="#NoteRef_609_609"><span class="label">[609]</span></a>The sale of the "Spectator" was considerably diminished -through its forced increase of price, and it was discontinued in 1713, the -year after the Stamp Act was passed.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_610_610" id="Note_610_610"></a><a href="#NoteRef_610_610"><span class="label">[610]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 173.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_611_611" id="Note_611_611"></a><a href="#NoteRef_611_611"><span class="label">[611]</span></a>"Tatler," No. 108.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_612_612" id="Note_612_612"></a><a href="#NoteRef_612_612"><span class="label">[612]</span></a>"Guardian," No. 123.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_613_613" id="Note_613_613"></a><a href="#NoteRef_613_613"><span class="label">[613]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 198.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_614_614" id="Note_614_614"></a><a href="#NoteRef_614_614"><span class="label">[614]</span></a>"Guardian," No. 100.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_615_615" id="Note_615_615"></a><a href="#NoteRef_615_615"><span class="label">[615]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 45.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_616_616" id="Note_616_616"></a><a href="#NoteRef_616_616"><span class="label">[616]</span></a>Ibid. Nos. 317 and 323.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_617_617" id="Note_617_617"></a><a href="#NoteRef_617_617"><span class="label">[617]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 399.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_618_618" id="Note_618_618"></a><a href="#NoteRef_618_618"><span class="label">[618]</span></a>Ibid. No. 57.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_619_619" id="Note_619_619"></a><a href="#NoteRef_619_619"><span class="label">[619]</span></a>"Freeholder," No. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_620_620" id="Note_620_620"></a><a href="#NoteRef_620_620"><span class="label">[620]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 500.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_621_621" id="Note_621_621"></a><a href="#NoteRef_621_621"><span class="label">[621]</span></a>Ibid. Nos. 26 and 573.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_622_622" id="Note_622_622"></a><a href="#NoteRef_622_622"><span class="label">[622]</span></a>The abbé Pluche (1688-1761) was the author of a "Système -de la Nature" and several other works.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_623_623" id="Note_623_623"></a><a href="#NoteRef_623_623"><span class="label">[623]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 580; see also No. 531.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_624_624" id="Note_624_624"></a><a href="#NoteRef_624_624"><span class="label">[624]</span></a>Ibid. Nos. 237, 571, 600.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_625_625" id="Note_625_625"></a><a href="#NoteRef_625_625"><span class="label">[625]</span></a>Ibid. No. 571; see also Nos. 237, 600.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_626_626" id="Note_626_626"></a><a href="#NoteRef_626_626"><span class="label">[626]</span></a>"Tatler," No. 257.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_627_627" id="Note_627_627"></a><a href="#NoteRef_627_627"><span class="label">[627]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 531.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_628_628" id="Note_628_628"></a><a href="#NoteRef_628_628"><span class="label">[628]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 10.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_629_629" id="Note_629_629"></a><a href="#NoteRef_629_629"><span class="label">[629]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 418.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_630_630" id="Note_630_630"></a><a href="#NoteRef_630_630"><span class="label">[630]</span></a>"Spectator," Nos. 423, 265.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_631_631" id="Note_631_631"></a><a href="#NoteRef_631_631"><span class="label">[631]</span></a>See, in the notes of No. 409 of the "Spectator," the -pretty minute analysis of Hurd, the decomposition of the period, the -proportion of long and short syllables, the study of the finals. A -musician could not have done better.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_632_632" id="Note_632_632"></a><a href="#NoteRef_632_632"><span class="label">[632]</span></a>La Quintinie (1626-1688), a celebrated gardener under -Louis XIV, planned the gardens of Versailles.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_633_633" id="Note_633_633"></a><a href="#NoteRef_633_633"><span class="label">[633]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 164.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_634_634" id="Note_634_634"></a><a href="#NoteRef_634_634"><span class="label">[634]</span></a>See Ibid. Nos. 411-421.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_635_635" id="Note_635_635"></a><a href="#NoteRef_635_635"><span class="label">[635]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 327.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_636_636" id="Note_636_636"></a><a href="#NoteRef_636_636"><span class="label">[636]</span></a>Ibid. No. 273.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_637_637" id="Note_637_637"></a><a href="#NoteRef_637_637"><span class="label">[637]</span></a>Ibid. Nos. 39, 40, 58.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_638_638" id="Note_638_638"></a><a href="#NoteRef_638_638"><span class="label">[638]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 265.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_639_639" id="Note_639_639"></a><a href="#NoteRef_639_639"><span class="label">[639]</span></a>"Freeholder," No. 26.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_640_640" id="Note_640_640"></a><a href="#NoteRef_640_640"><span class="label">[640]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 13.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_641_641" id="Note_641_641"></a><a href="#NoteRef_641_641"><span class="label">[641]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 275.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_642_642" id="Note_642_642"></a><a href="#NoteRef_642_642"><span class="label">[642]</span></a>Ibid. No. 377.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_643_643" id="Note_643_643"></a><a href="#NoteRef_643_643"><span class="label">[643]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 233.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_644_644" id="Note_644_644"></a><a href="#NoteRef_644_644"><span class="label">[644]</span></a>See the last thirty numbers of the "Spectator."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_645_645" id="Note_645_645"></a><a href="#NoteRef_645_645"><span class="label">[645]</span></a>"Tatler," No. 257.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_646_646" id="Note_646_646"></a><a href="#NoteRef_646_646"><span class="label">[646]</span></a>See the history of Alnaschar in the "Spectator," No. 535, -and also that of Hilpa in the same paper, Nos. 584, 585.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_647_647" id="Note_647_647"></a><a href="#NoteRef_647_647"><span class="label">[647]</span></a>"Spectator," No. 159.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_FIFTH_III">CHAPTER FIFTH</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="Swift">Swift</a></h4> - - -<p>In 1685, in the great hall of Dublin University, the professors engaged -in examining for the bachelor's degree beheld a singular spectacle: a -poor scholar, odd, awkward, with hard blue eyes, an orphan, friendless, -dependent on the precarious charity of an uncle, having failed once -before to take his degree on account of his ignorance of logic, had come -up again without having condescended to read logic. To no purpose his -tutor set before him the most respectable folios—Smiglecius, -Keckermannus, Burgerdiscius. He turned over a few pages, and shut them -directly. When the argumentation came on, the proctor was obliged to -"reduce his replies into syllogism." He was asked how he could reason -well without rules; he replied that he did reason pretty well without -them. This folly shocked them; yet he was received, though with some -difficulty, <i>speciali gratiâ</i>, says the college register, and the -professors went away, doubtless with pitying smiles, lamenting the -feeble brain of Jonathan Swift.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--Concerning_Swifts_Life_and_Character">Section I.—Concerning Swift's Life and Character</a></h4> - - -<p>This was his first humiliation and his first rebellion. His whole life -was like this moment, overwhelmed and made wretched by sorrow and -hatred. To what excess they rose, his portrait and his history alone can -show. He fostered an exaggerated and terrible pride, and made the -haughtiness of the most powerful ministers and greatest lords bend -beneath his arrogance. Though only a literary man, possessing nothing -but a small Irish living, he treated them on a footing of equality. -Harley, the Prime Minister, having sent him a bank-bill of fifty pounds -for his first articles, he was offended at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> being taken for a hack -writer, returned the money, demanded an apology, received it, and wrote -in his journal: "I have taken Mr. Harley into favour again."<a name="NoteRef_648_648" id="NoteRef_648_648"></a><a href="#Note_648_648" class="fnanchor">[648]</a> On -another occasion, having observed that the Secretary of State, St. John, -looked upon him coldly, he rebuked him for it:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"One thing I warned him of, never to appear cold to me, for I would not -be treated like a school-boy; that I expected every great minister who -honoured me with his acquaintance, if he heard or saw anything to my -disadvantage, would let me know in plain words, and not put me in pain -to guess by the change or coldness of his countenance or behaviour; for -it was what I would hardly bear from a crowned head; and I thought no -subject's favour was worth it: and that I designed to let my Lord Keeper -and Mr. Harley know the same thing, that they might use me -accordingly."<a name="NoteRef_649_649" id="NoteRef_649_649"></a><a href="#Note_649_649" class="fnanchor">[649]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>St. John, approved of this, made excuses, said that he had passed -several nights at "business, and one night at drinking," and that his -fatigue might have seemed like ill-humor. In the minister's drawing-room -Swift went up and spoke to some obscure person, and compelled the lords -to come and speak to him:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Mr. Secretary told me the Duke of Buckingham had been talking to him -much about me, and desired my acquaintance. I answered, it could not be, -for he had not made sufficient advances. Then the Duke of Shrewsbury -said he thought the Duke was not used to make advances. I said I could -not help that; for I always expected advances in proportion to men's -quality, and more from a Duke than other men."<a name="NoteRef_650_650" id="NoteRef_650_650"></a><a href="#Note_650_650" class="fnanchor">[650]</a></p> - -<p>"Saw Lord Halifax at court, and we joined and talked, and the Duchess of -Shrewsbury came up and reproached me for not dining with her: I said -that was not so soon done; for I expected more advances from ladies, -especially duchesses: She promised to comply.... Lady Oglethorpe -brought me and the Duchess of Hamilton together to-day in the -drawing-room, and I have given her some encouragement, but not -much."<a name="NoteRef_651_651" id="NoteRef_651_651"></a><a href="#Note_651_651" class="fnanchor">[651]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He triumphed in his arrogance, and said with a restrained joy, full of -vengeance: "I generally am acquainted with about thirty in the -drawing-room, and am so proud that I make all the lords come up to me. -One passes half an hour pleasant <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> enough." He carried his triumph to the -verge of brutality and tyranny; writing to the Duchess of Queensberry, -he says: "I am glad you know your duty; for it has been a known and -established rule above twenty years in England, that the first advances -have been constantly made me by all ladies who aspired to my -acquaintance, and the greater their quality, the greater were their -advances."<a name="NoteRef_652_652" id="NoteRef_652_652"></a><a href="#Note_652_652" class="fnanchor">[652]</a> The famous General Webb, with his crutch and cane, -limped up two flights of stairs to congratulate him and invite him to -dinner; Swift accepted, then an hour later withdrew his consent, -preferring to dine elsewhere. He seemed to look upon himself as a -superior being, exempt from the necessity of showing his respects to -anyone, entitled to homage, caring neither for sex, rank, nor fame, -whose business it was to protect and destroy, distributing favors, -insults, and pardons. Addison, and after him Lady Gifford, a friend of -twenty years' standing, having offended him, he refused to take them -back into his favor until they had asked his pardon. Lord Lansdowne, -Secretary for War, being annoyed at an expression of the "Examiner," -Swift says: "This I resented highly that he should complain of me before -he spoke to me. I sent him a peppering letter, and would not summon him -by a note, as I did the rest; nor ever will have anything to say to him, -till he begs my pardon."<a name="NoteRef_653_653" id="NoteRef_653_653"></a><a href="#Note_653_653" class="fnanchor">[653]</a> He treated art like man, writing a thing -off, scorning the wretched necessity of reading it over, putting his -name to nothing, letting every piece make its way on its own merits, -unassisted, without the prestige of his name, recommended by none. He -had the soul of a dictator, thirsting after power, and saying openly: -"All my endeavors, from a boy, to distinguish myself were only for want -of a great title and fortune, that I might be treated like a lord.... -whether right or wrong, it is no great matter; and so the reputation of -wit or great learning does the office of a blue ribbon, or of a coach -and six horses."<a name="NoteRef_654_654" id="NoteRef_654_654"></a><a href="#Note_654_654" class="fnanchor">[654]</a> But he thought this power and rank due to him; he -did not ask, but expected them. "I will never beg for myself, though I -often do it for others." He desired ruling power, and acted as if he had -it. Hatred and misfortune find a congenial soil in these despotic minds. -They live like fallen kings, always insulting and offended, having all -the miseries but none of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> consolations of pride, unable to relish -either society or solitude, too ambitious to be content with silence, -too haughty to use the world, born for rebellion and defeat, destined by -their passions and impotence to despair and to talent.</p> - -<p>Sensitiveness in Swift's case aggravated the stings of pride. Under this -outward calmness of countenance and style raged furious passions. There -was within him a ceaseless tempest of wrath and desire: "A person of -great honour in Ireland (who was pleased to stoop so low as to look into -my mind) used to tell me that my mind was like a conjured spirit, that -would do mischief, if I would not give it employment." Resentment sunk -deeper in him than in other men. Listen to the profound sigh of joyful -hatred with which he sees his enemies under his feet: "The Whigs were -ravished to see me, and would lay hold on me as a twig while they are -drowning; and the great men making me their clumsy apologies."<a name="NoteRef_655_655" id="NoteRef_655_655"></a><a href="#Note_655_655" class="fnanchor">[655]</a> "It -is good to see what a lamentable confession the Whigs all make of my -ill-usage."<a name="NoteRef_656_656" id="NoteRef_656_656"></a><a href="#Note_656_656" class="fnanchor">[656]</a> And soon after: "Rot them, for ungrateful dogs; I will -make them repent their usage before I leave this place."<a name="NoteRef_657_657" id="NoteRef_657_657"></a><a href="#Note_657_657" class="fnanchor">[657]</a> He is -satiated and has glutted his appetite; like a wolf or a lion, he cares -for nothing else.</p> - -<p>This impetuosity led him to every sort of madness and violence. His -"Drapier's Letters" had roused Ireland against the government, and the -government had issued a proclamation offering a reward to anyone who -would denounce the Drapier. Swift came suddenly into the -reception-chamber, elbowed the groups, went up to the lord-lieutenant, -with indignation on his countenance, and in a thundering voice, said: -"So, my lord, this is a glorious exploit that you performed yesterday, -in suffering a proclamation against a poor shopkeeper, whose only crime -is an honest endeavor to save his country from ruin."<a name="NoteRef_658_658" id="NoteRef_658_658"></a><a href="#Note_658_658" class="fnanchor">[658]</a> And he broke -out into railing amidst general silence and amazement. The -lord-lieutenant, a man of sense, answered calmly. Before such a torrent -men turned aside. This chaotic and self-devouring heart could not -understand the calmness of his friends; he asked them: "Do not the -corruptions and villanies of men eat your flesh, and exhaust your -spirits?"<a name="NoteRef_659_659" id="NoteRef_659_659"></a><a href="#Note_659_659" class="fnanchor">[659]</a></p> - -<p>Resignation was repulsive to him. His actions, abrupt and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> strange, broke -out amidst his silent moods like flashes of lightning. He was eccentric -and violent in everything, in his pleasantry, in his private affairs, -with his friends, with unknown people; he was often taken for a madman. -Addison and his friends had seen for several days at Button's -coffee-house a singular parson, who laid his hat on the table, walked -for half-an-hour backward and forward, paid his money, and left, having -attended to nothing and said nothing. They called him the mad parson. -One day this parson perceives a gentleman "just come out of the -country," went straight up to him, "and in a very abrupt manner, without -any previous salute, asked him, 'Pray sir, do you remember any good -weather in the world?' The country gentleman, after staring a little at -the singularity of his (Swift's) manner and the oddity of the question, -answered, 'Yes, sir, I thank God, I remember a great deal of good -weather in my time.' 'That is more,' said Swift, 'than I can say; I -never remember any weather that was not too hot or too cold, too wet or -too dry; but, however, God Almighty contrives it, at the end of the year -'tis all very well.'"<a name="NoteRef_660_660" id="NoteRef_660_660"></a><a href="#Note_660_660" class="fnanchor">[660]</a> Another day, dining with the Earl of -Burlington, the Dean said to the mistress of the house, "Lady -Burlington, I hear you can sing; sing me a song." The lady looked on -this unceremonious manner of asking a favor with distaste, and -positively refused. He said, "she should sing, or he would make her. -Why, madam, I suppose you take me for one of your poor English -hedge-parsons; sing when I bid you!" As the earl did nothing but laugh -at this freedom, the lady was so vexed that she burst into tears, and -retired. His first compliment to her, when he saw her again, was, "Pray, -madam, are you as proud and as ill-natured now as when I saw you -last?"<a name="NoteRef_661_661" id="NoteRef_661_661"></a><a href="#Note_661_661" class="fnanchor">[661]</a> People were astonished or amused at these outbursts; I see -in them sobs and cries, the explosion of long, overwhelming and bitter -thoughts; they are the starts of a mind unsubdued, shuddering, -rebelling, breaking the barriers, wounding, crushing, or bruising -everyone on its road, or those who wish to stop it. Swift became mad at -last; he felt this madness coming on, he has described it in a horrible -manner; beforehand he has tasted all the disgust and bitterness of it; -he showed it on his tragic face, in his terrible and wan eyes. This is -the powerful and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> mournful genius which nature gave up as a prey to -society and life; society and life poured all their poisons into him.</p> - -<p>He knew what poverty and scorn were, even at that age when the mind -expands, when the heart is full of pride,<a name="NoteRef_662_662" id="NoteRef_662_662"></a><a href="#Note_662_662" class="fnanchor">[662]</a> when he was hardly -maintained by the alms of his family, gloomy and without hope, feeling -his strength and the dangers of his strength.<a name="NoteRef_663_663" id="NoteRef_663_663"></a><a href="#Note_663_663" class="fnanchor">[663]</a> At twenty-one, as -secretary to Sir William Temple, he had twenty pounds a year salary, sat -at the same table with the upper servants,<a name="NoteRef_664_664" id="NoteRef_664_664"></a><a href="#Note_664_664" class="fnanchor">[664]</a> wrote Pindaric odes in -honor of his master, spent ten years amidst the humiliations of -servitude and the familiarity of the servants' hall, obliged to adulate -a gouty and flattered courtier, to submit to my lady his sister, acutely -pained "when Sir William Temple would look cold and out of humor,"<a name="NoteRef_665_665" id="NoteRef_665_665"></a><a href="#Note_665_665" class="fnanchor">[665]</a> -lured by false hopes, forced after an attempt at independence to resume -the livery which was choking him. "When you find years coming on, -without hopes of a place at court,... I directly advise you to go upon -the road, which is the only post of honour left you; there you will meet -many of your old comrades, and live a short life and a merry one."<a name="NoteRef_666_666" id="NoteRef_666_666"></a><a href="#Note_666_666" class="fnanchor">[666]</a> -This is followed by instructions as to the conduct servants ought to -display when led to the gallows. Such are his "Directions to Servants"; -he was relating what he had suffered. At the age of thirty-one, -expecting a place from William III, he edited the works of his patron, -dedicating them to the sovereign, sent him a memorial, got nothing, and -fell back upon the post of chaplain and private secretary to the Earl of -Berkeley. He soon remained only chaplain to that nobleman, feeling all -the disgust which the part of ecclesiastical valet must inspire in a man -of feeling. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p> - -<p>Says the chambermaid in the well-known "Petition":</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a parson's wife.... And -over and above, that I may have your excellency's letter With an order -for the chaplain aforesaid, or instead of him a better."<a name="NoteRef_667_667" id="NoteRef_667_667"></a><a href="#Note_667_667" class="fnanchor">[667]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The earl, having promised him the deanery of Derry, gave it to another. -Driven to politics, he wrote a Whig pamphlet, "A Discourse on the -Contests and Dissensions in Athens and Rome," received from Lord Halifax -and the party leaders a score of fine promises, and was neglected. -Twenty years of insults without revenge, and humiliations without -respite; the inner tempest of fostered and crushed hopes, vivid and -brilliant dreams, suddenly withered by the necessity of a mechanical -duty; the habit of suffering and hatred, the necessity of concealing -these, the baneful consciousness of superiority, the isolation of genius -and pride, the bitterness of accumulated wrath and pent-up scorn—these -were the goads which pricked him like a bull. More than a thousand -pamphlets in four years, stung him still more, with such designations as -renegade, traitor, and atheist. He crushed them all, set his foot on the -Whig party, solaced himself with the poignant pleasure of victory. If -ever a soul was satiated with the joy of tearing, outraging, and -destroying, it was his. Excess of scorn, implacable irony, crushing -logic, the cruel smile of the foeman, who sees beforehand the spot where -he will wound his enemy mortally, advances towards him, tortures him -deliberately, eagerly, with enjoyment—such were the feelings which had -leavened him, and which broke from him with such harshness that he -hindered his own career;<a name="NoteRef_668_668" id="NoteRef_668_668"></a><a href="#Note_668_668" class="fnanchor">[668]</a> and that of so many high places for which -he stretched out his hands, there remained for him only a deanery in -poor Ireland. The accession of George I exiled him thither; the -accession of George II, on which he had counted, confined him there. He -contended there first against popular hatred, then against the -victorious minister, then against entire humanity, in sanguinary -pamphlets, despairing satires;<a name="NoteRef_669_669" id="NoteRef_669_669"></a><a href="#Note_669_669" class="fnanchor">[669]</a> he tasted there once more the -pleasure of fighting and wounding; he suffered there to the end, soured -by the advance of years, by the spectacle of oppression and misery, by <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> -the feeling of his own impotence, enraged to have to live amongst "an -enslaved people," chained and vanquished. He says: "I find myself -disposed every year, or rather every month, to be more angry and -revengeful; and my rage is so ignoble, that it descends even to resent -the folly and baseness of the enslaved people among whom I live."<a name="NoteRef_670_670" id="NoteRef_670_670"></a><a href="#Note_670_670" class="fnanchor">[670]</a> -This cry is the epitome of his public life; these feelings are the -materials which public life furnished to his talent.</p> - -<p>He experienced these feelings also in private life, more violent and -more inwardly. He had brought up and purely loved a charming, -well-informed, modest young girl, Esther Johnson, who from infancy had -loved and reverenced him alone. She lived with him, he had made her his -confidante. From London, during his political struggles, he sent her the -full journal of his slightest actions; he wrote to her twice a day, with -extreme ease and familiarity, with all the playfulness, vivacity, -petting and caressing names of the tenderest attachment. Yet another -girl, beautiful and rich, Miss Vanhomrigh, attached herself to him, -declared her passion, received from him several marks of his own, -followed him to Ireland, sometimes jealous, sometimes submissive, but so -impassioned, so unhappy, that her letters might have broken a harder -heart: "If you continue to treat me as you do, you will not be made -uneasy by me long.... I am sure I could have borne the rack much better, -than those killing, killing words of you.... Oh, that you may have but -so much regard for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul with -pity!"<a name="NoteRef_671_671" id="NoteRef_671_671"></a><a href="#Note_671_671" class="fnanchor">[671]</a> She pined and died. Esther Johnson, who had so long -possessed Swift's whole heart, suffered still more. All was changed in -Swift's house. "At my first coming (at Laracor) I thought I should have -died with discontent, and was horribly melancholy while they were -installing me."<a name="NoteRef_672_672" id="NoteRef_672_672"></a><a href="#Note_672_672" class="fnanchor">[672]</a> He found tears, distrust, resentment, cold silence, -in place of familiarity and tenderness. He married Miss Johnson from a -feeling of duty, but in secret, and on condition that she should only be -his wife in name. She was twelve years dying; Swift went away to England -as often as he could. His house was a hell to him; it is thought that -some secret physical cause had influenced his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> loves and his marriage. -Delany, his biographer, having once found him talking with Archbishop -King, saw the archbishop in tears, and Swift rushing by, with a -countenance full of grief, and a distracted air. "Sir," said the -prelate, "you have just met the most unhappy man upon earth; but on the -subject of his wretchedness you must never ask a question." Esther -Johnson died. Swift's anguish, the spectres by which he was haunted, the -remembrance of the two women, slowly ruined and killed by his fault, -continually encompassed him with such horrors, that only his end reveals -them. "It is time for me to have done with the world... and so I -would... and not die here in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a -hole."<a name="NoteRef_673_673" id="NoteRef_673_673"></a><a href="#Note_673_673" class="fnanchor">[673]</a> Overwork and excess of emotion had made him ill from his -youth; he was subject to giddiness; he lost his hearing. He had long -felt that reason was deserting him. One day he was observed "gazing -intently at the top of a lofty elm, the head of which had been blasted. -Upon his friend's approach, he pointed to it, significantly adding, 'I -shall be like that tree, and die first at the top.'"<a name="NoteRef_674_674" id="NoteRef_674_674"></a><a href="#Note_674_674" class="fnanchor">[674]</a> His memory -left him; he received the attentions of others with disgust, sometimes -with rage. He lived alone, gloomy, unable to read. It is said that he -passed a whole year without uttering a word, hating the sight of a human -being, walking ten hours a day, a maniac, then an idiot. A tumor came on -one of his eyes, so that he continued a month without sleeping, and five -men were needed to prevent his tearing out the eye with his nails. One -of his last words was, "I am a fool." When his will was opened, it was -found that he had left his whole fortune to build a mad-house.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Swifts_Prosaic_and_Positive_Mind">Section II.—Swift's Prosaic and Positive Mind</a></h4> - - -<p>These passions and these miseries were necessary to inspire "Gulliver's -Travels" and the "Tale of a Tub."</p> - -<p>A strange and powerful form of mind, too, was necessary, as English as -his pride and his passions. Swift has the style of a surgeon and a -judge, cold, grave, solid, unadorned, without vivacity or passion, manly -and practical. He desired neither to please, nor to divert, nor to carry -people away, nor to move the feelings; he never hesitated, nor was -redundant, nor was excited, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> nor made an effort. He expressed his -thoughts in a uniform tone, with exact, precise, often harsh terms, with -familiar comparisons, levelling all within reach of his hand, even the -loftiest things—especially the loftiest—with a brutal and always -haughty coolness. He knows life as a banker knows accounts; and his -total once made up, he scorns or knocks down the babblers who dispute it -in his presence.</p> - -<p>He knows the items as well as the sum total. He not only familiarly and -vigorously seized on every object, but he also decomposed it, and kept -an inventory of its details. His imagination was as minute as it was -energetic. He could give you a statement of dry facts on every event and -object, so connected and natural as to deceive any man. "Gulliver's -Travels" read like a log-book. Isaac Bickerstaff's predictions were -taken literally by the inquisition in Portugal. His account of M. du -Baudrier seems an authentic translation. He gives to an extravagant -romance the air of a genuine history. By this thorough knowledge of -details he imports into literature the positive spirit of men of -business and experience. Nothing could be more vigorous, narrow, -unhappy, for nothing could be more destructive. No greatness, false or -true, can stand before him; whatsoever he fathoms and takes in hand -loses at once its prestige and value. Whilst he decomposes he displays -the real ugliness, and removes the fictitious beauty of objects. Whilst -he brings them to the level of common things, he suppresses their real -beauty, and gives them a fictitious ugliness. He presents all their -gross features, and nothing but their gross features. Look with him into -the physical details of science, religion, state, and with him reduce -science, religion, state, to the low standing of every-day events; with -him you will see here a Bedlam of shrivelled-up dreamers, narrow and -chimerical brains, busy in contradicting each other, picking up -meaningless phrases in mouldy books, inventing conjectures, and crying -them up for truth; there, a band of enthusiasts, mumbling phrases which -they do not understand, adoring figures of rhetoric as mysteries, -attaching ideas of holiness or impiety to lawn-sleeves or postures, -spending in persecutions or genuflections the surplus of sheepish or -ferocious folly with which an evil fate has crammed their brains; there, -again, flocks of idiots pouring out their blood and treasure for the -whims or plots of a carriage-drawn aristocrat, out of respect <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> for the -carriage which they themselves have given him. What part of human nature -or existence can continue great and beautiful, before a mind which, -penetrating all details, perceives men eating, sleeping, dressing, in -all mean and low actions, degrading everything to the level of vulgar -events, trivial circumstances of dress and cookery? It is not enough for -the positive mind to see the springs, pulleys, lamps, and whatever there -is objectionable in the opera at which he is present; he makes it more -objectionable by calling it a show. It is not enough not to ignore -anything; we must also refuse to admire. He treats things like domestic -utensils; after reckoning up their materials, he gives them a vile name. -Nature for him is but a caldron, and he knows the proportion and number -of the ingredients simmering in it. In this power and this weakness we -see beforehand the misanthropy and the talent of Swift.</p> - -<p>There are, indeed, but two modes of agreeing with the world: mediocrity -of mind and superiority of intelligence—the one for the public and the -fools, the other for artists and philosophers: the one consists in -seeing nothing, the other in seeing all. We will respect the -respectable, if we see only the surface—if we take them as they are, if -we let ourselves be duped by the fine show which they never fail to -present. We will revere the gold-embroidered garments with which our -masters bedizen themselves, and we will never dream of examining the -stains hidden under the embroidery. We will be moved by the big words -which they pronounce in a sublime voice, and we will never see in their -pockets the hereditary phrase-book from which they have taken them. We -will punctiliously bring them our money and our services; the custom -will seem to us just, and we will accept the goose-dogma, that a goose -is bound to be roasted. But, on the other hand, we will tolerate and -even love the world, if, penetrating to its nature, we take the trouble -to explain or imitate its mechanism. We will be interested in passions -by an artist's sympathy or a philosopher's comprehension; we will find -them natural whilst admitting their force, or we will find them -necessary whilst computing their connection; we will cease to be -indignant against the powers which produce fine spectacles, or will -cease to be roused by the rebounds which the law of cause and effect had -foretold. We will admire the world as a grand drama, or as an invincible -development; and we will be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> preserved by imagination or by logic from -slander or disgust. We will extract from religion the lofty truths which -dogmas hide, and the generous instincts which superstition conceals. We -will perceive in the state the infinite benefits which no tyranny -abolishes, and the sociable inclinations which no wickedness uproots. We -will distinguish in science the solid doctrines which discussion never -shakes, the liberal notions which the shock of systems purifies and -unfolds, the splendid promises which the progress of the present time -opens up to the ambition of the future. We can thus escape hatred by the -nullity or the greatness of the prospect, by the inability to discover -contrasts, or by the power to discover the harmony of contrasts. Raised -above the first, sunk beneath the last, seeing evil and disorder, -ignoring goodness and harmony, excluded from love and calmness, given up -to indignation and bitterness, Swift found neither a cause to cherish, -nor a doctrine to establish;<a name="NoteRef_675_675" id="NoteRef_675_675"></a><a href="#Note_675_675" class="fnanchor">[675]</a> he employs the whole force of an -excellently armed mind and a thoroughly trained character in decrying -and destroying: all his works are pamphlets.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--Swift_as_a_Political_Pamphleteer">Section III.—Swift as a Political Pamphleteer</a></h4> - - -<p>At this time, and in his hands, the newspaper in England attained its -proper character and its greatest force. Literature entered the sphere -of politics. To understand what the one became, we must understand what -the other was: art depended upon political business, and the spirit of -parties made the spirit of writers.</p> - -<p>In France a theory arises—eloquent, harmonious, and generous; the young -are enamored of it, wear a cap and sing songs in its honor: at night, -the citizens, while digesting their dinner, read it and delight in it; -some, hot-headed, accept it, and prove to themselves their strength of -mind by ridiculing those who are behind the times. On the other hand, -the established people, prudent and timid, are mistrustful: being well -off, they find that everything is well, and demand that things shall -continue as they are. Such are the two parties in France, very old, as -we all know; not very earnest, as everybody can see. They must talk, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> be -enthusiastic, reason on speculative opinions, glibly, about an hour a -day, indulging but outwardly in this taste; but these parties are so -equally levelled, that they are at bottom all the same; when we -understand them rightly, we will find in France only two parties, the -men of twenty and the men of forty. English parties, on the other hand, -were always compact and living bodies, united by interests of money, -rank, and conscience, receiving theories only as standards or as a -balance, a sort of secondary states, which, like the two old orders in -Rome, legally endeavor to monopolize the government. So, the English -constitution was never more than a transaction between distinct powers, -compelled to tolerate each other, disposed to encroach on each other, -occupied in treating with each other. Politics for them are a domestic -interest, for the French an occupation of the mind; Englishmen make them -a business, the French a discussion.</p> - -<p>Thus their pamphlets, notably Swift's, seem to us only half literary. -For an argument to be literary, it must not address itself to an -interest or a faction, but to the pure mind: it must be based on -universal truths, rest on absolute justice, be able to touch all human -reasons; otherwise, being local, it is simply useful; nothing is -beautiful but what is general. It must also be developed regularly by -analysis, and with exact divisions; its distribution must give a picture -of pure reason; the order of ideas must be inviolable; every mind must -be able to draw thence with ease a complete conviction; its method, its -principles, must be sensible throughout, in all places and at all times. -The desire to prove well must be added to the art of proving well; the -writer must announce his proof, recall it, present it under all its -faces, desire to penetrate minds, pursue them persistently in all their -retreats; but at the same time he must treat his hearers like men worthy -of comprehending and applying general truths; his discourse must be -lively, noble, polished, and fervid, so as to suit such subjects and -such minds. It is thus that classical prose and French prose are -eloquent, and that political dissertations or religious controversies -have endured as models of art.</p> - -<p>This good taste and philosophy are wanting in the positive mind; it -wishes to attain not eternal beauty, but present success. Swift does not -address men in general, but certain men. He does not speak to reasoners, -but to a party; he does not care to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> teach a truth, but to make an -impression; his aim is not to enlighten that isolated part of man, -called his mind, but to stir up the mass of feelings and prejudices -which constitute the actual man. Whilst he writes, his public is before -his eyes; fat squires, puffed out with port wine and beef, accustomed at -the end of their meals to bawl loyally for church and king; gentlemen -farmers, bitter against London luxury and the new importance of -merchants; clergymen bred on pedantic sermons, and old-established -hatred of dissenters and papists. These people have not mind enough to -pursue a fine deduction or understand an abstract principle. A writer -must calculate the facts they know, the ideas they have received, the -interests that move them, and recall only these facts, reason only from -these ideas, set in motion only these interests. It is thus Swift -speaks, without development, without logical hits, without rhetorical -effects, but with extraordinary force and success, in phrases whose -accuracy his contemporaries inwardly felt, and which they accepted at -once, because they simply told them in a clear form and openly, what -they murmured obscurely and to themselves. Such was the power of the -"Examiner," which in one year transformed the opinion of three kingdoms; -and particularly of the "Drapier's Letters," which made a government -withdraw one of its measures.</p> - -<p>Small change was lacking in Ireland, and the English ministers had given -a certain William Wood a patent to coin one hundred and eight thousand -pounds of copper money. A commission, of which Newton was a member, -verified the pieces made, found them good, and several competent judges -still think that the measure was loyal and serviceable to the land. -Swift roused the people against it, spoke to them in an intelligible -style, and triumphed over common-sense and the state.<a name="NoteRef_676_676" id="NoteRef_676_676"></a><a href="#Note_676_676" class="fnanchor">[676]</a></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Brethren, friends, countrymen, and fellow-subjects, what I intend now -to say to you is, next to your duty to God and the care of your -salvation, of the greatest concern to you and your children: your bread -and clothing, and every common necessary of life depend upon it. -Therefore I do most earnestly exhort you as men, as, Christians, as -parents, and as lovers of your country, to read this paper with the -utmost attention, or get it read to you by others; which that you may do <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> -at the less expence, I have ordered the printer to sell it at the lowest -rate."<a name="NoteRef_677_677" id="NoteRef_677_677"></a><a href="#Note_677_677" class="fnanchor">[677]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>We see popular distrust spring up at a glance; this is the style which -reaches workmen and peasants; this simplicity, these details, are -necessary to penetrate their belief. The author is like a draper, and -they trust only men of their own condition. Swift goes on to accuse -Wood, declaring that his copper pieces are not worth one-eighth of their -nominal value. There is no trace of proof: no proofs are required to -convince the people; it is enough to repeat the same accusation again -and again, to abound in intelligible examples, to strike eye and ear. -The imagination once gained, they will go on shouting, convincing -themselves by their own cries, and incapable of reasoning. Swift says to -his adversaries:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Your paragraph relates further that Sir Isaac Newton reported an assay -taken at the Tower of Wood's metal; by which it appears that Wood had in -all respects performed his contract. His contract! With whom? Was it -with the Parliament or people of Ireland? Are not they to be the -purchasers? But they detest, abhor, and reject it as corrupt, -fraudulent, mingled with dirt and trash."<a name="NoteRef_678_678" id="NoteRef_678_678"></a><a href="#Note_678_678" class="fnanchor">[678]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>And a little further on:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"His first proposal is, that he will be content to coin no more (than -forty thousand pounds), unless the exigencies of the trade require it, -although his patent empowers him to coin a far greater quantity.... To -which if I were to answer, it should be thus: let Mr. Wood and his crew -of founders and tinkers coin on, till there is not an old kettle left in -the kingdom; let them coin old leather, tobacco-pipe clay, or the dirt -in the street, and call their trumpery by what name they please from a -guinea to a farthing; we are not under any concern to know how he and -his tribe of accomplices think fit to employ themselves. But I hope, and -trust, that we are all, to a man, fully determined to have nothing to do -with him or his ware."<a name="NoteRef_679_679" id="NoteRef_679_679"></a><a href="#Note_679_679" class="fnanchor">[679]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Swift gets angry and does not answer. In fact, this is the best way to -answer; to move such hearers we must stir up their blood and their -passions; then shopkeepers and farmers will turn up their sleeves, -double their fists; and the good arguments of their opponents will only -increase their desire to knock them down. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now see how a mass of examples make a gratuitous assertion probable:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Your Newsletter says that an assay was made of the coin. How impudent -and insupportable is this! Wood takes care to coin a dozen or two -halfpence of good metal, sends them to the Tower, and they are approved; -and these must answer all that he has already coined, or shall coin for -the future. It is true, indeed, that a gentleman often sends to my shop -for a pattern of stuff; I cut it fairly off, and if he likes it, he -comes or sends and compares the pattern with the whole piece, and -probably we come to a bargain. But if I were to buy a hundred sheep, and -the grazier should bring me one single wether, fat and well fleeced, by -way of pattern, and expect the same price round for the whole hundred, -without suffering me to see them before he was paid, or giving me good -security to restore my money for those that were lean, or shorn, or -scabby, I would be none of his customer. I have heard of a man who had a -mind to sell his house, and therefore carried a piece of brick in his -pocket, which he showed as a pattern to encourage purchasers; and this -is directly the case in point with Mr. Wood's assay."<a name="NoteRef_680_680" id="NoteRef_680_680"></a><a href="#Note_680_680" class="fnanchor">[680]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>A burst of laughter follows; butchers and bricklayers were gained over. -As a finish, Swift showed them a practical expedient, suited to their -understanding and their rank in life:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The common soldier, when he goes to the market or ale-house, will offer -his money; and if it be refused, perhaps he will swagger and hector, and -threaten to beat the butcher or alewife, or take the goods by force, and -throw them the bad halfpence. In this and the like cases, the shopkeeper -or victualler, or any other tradesman, has no more to do than to demand -ten times the price of his goods, if it is to be paid in Wood's money; -for example, twenty-pence of that money for a quart of ale, and so in -all things else, and never part with his goods till he gets the -money."<a name="NoteRef_681_681" id="NoteRef_681_681"></a><a href="#Note_681_681" class="fnanchor">[681]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Public clamor overcame the English government; they withdrew the money -and paid Wood a large indemnity. Such is the merit of Swift's arguments; -good tools, trenchant and handy, neither elegant nor bright, but whose -value is proved by their effect.</p> - -<p>The whole beauty of these pamphlets is in their tone. They have neither -the generous fire of Pascal, nor the bewildering gayety of Beaumarchais, -nor the chiselled delicacy of Paul Louis Courier, but an overwhelming -air of superiority and a bitter and terrible rancor. Vast passion and -pride, like the positive <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> "Drapier's" mind just now described, have given -all the blows their force. We should read his "Public Spirit of the -Whigs," against Steele. Page by page Steele is torn to pieces with a -calmness and scorn never equalled. Swift approaches regularly, leaving -no part untouched, heaping wound on wound, every blow sure, knowing -beforehand their reach and depth. Poor Steele, a vain, thoughtless -fellow, is in his hands like Gulliver amongst the giants; it is a pity -to see a contest so unequal; and this contest is pitiless. Swift crushes -him carefully and easily, like an obnoxious animal. The unfortunate man, -formerly an officer and a semi-literary man, had make awkward use of -constitutional words:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Upon this rock the author... is perpetually splitting, as often as he -ventures out beyond the narrow bounds of his literature. He has a -confused remembrance of words since he left the university, but has lost -half their meaning, and puts them together with no regard, except to -their cadence; as I remember, a fellow nailed up maps in a gentleman's -closet, some sidelong, others upside down, the better to adjust them to -the pannels."<a name="NoteRef_682_682" id="NoteRef_682_682"></a><a href="#Note_682_682" class="fnanchor">[682]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>When he judges he is worse than when he proves; witness his "Short -Character of Thomas Earl of Wharton." He pierces him with the formulas -of official politeness; only an Englishman is capable of such phlegm and -such haughtiness:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have had the honour of much conversation with his lordship, and am -thoroughly convinced how indifferent he is to applause, and how -insensible of reproach.... He is without the sense of shame, or glory, -as some men are without the sense of smelling; and therefore, a good -name to him is no more than a precious ointment would be to these. -Whoever, for the sake of others, were to describe the nature of a -serpent, a wolf, a crocodile or a fox, must be understood to do it -without any personal love or hatred for the animals themselves. In the -same manner his excellency is one whom I neither personally love nor -hate. I see him at court, at his own house, and sometimes at mine, for I -have the honour of his visits; and when these papers are public, it is -odds but he will tell me, as he once did upon a like occasion, 'that he -is damnably mauled,' and then, with the easiest transition in the world, -ask about the weather, or time of the day; so that I enter on the work -with more cheerfulness, because I am sure neither to make him angry, nor -any way hurt his reputation; a pitch of happiness and security to which -his excellency has arrived, and which no philosopher <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> before him could -reach. Thomas, Earl of Wharton, lord-lieutenant of Ireland, by the force -of a wonderful constitution, has some years passed his grand climacteric -without any visible effects of old age, either on his body or his mind; -and in spite of a continual prostitution to those vices which usually -wear out both.... Whether he walks or whistles, or swears, or talks -bawdy, or calls names, he acquits himself in each, beyond a templar of -three years' standing. With the same grace, and in the same style, he -will rattle his coachman in the midst of the street, where he is -governor of the kingdom; and all this is without consequence, because it -is in his character, and what everybody expects.... The ends he has -gained by lying, appear to be more owing to the frequency, than the art -of them; his lies being sometimes detected in an hour, often in a day, -and always in a week.... He swears solemnly he loves and will serve you; -and your back is no sooner turned, but he tells those about him, you are -a dog and a rascal. He goes constantly to prayers in the forms of his -place, and will talk bawdy and blasphemy at the chapel door. He is a -presbyterian in politics, and an atheist in religion; but he chooses at -present to whore with a papist. In his commerce with mankind, his -general rule is, to endeavour to impose on their understandings, for -which he has but one receipt, a composition of lies and oaths.... He -bears the gallantries of his lady with the indifference of a stoick; and -thinks them well recompensed, by a return of children to support his -family, without the fatigues of being a father.... He was never yet -known to refuse or keep a promise, as I remember he told a lady, but -with an exception to the promise he then made (which was to get her a -pension), yet he broke even that, and, I confess, deceived us both. But -here I desire to distinguish between a promise and a bargain; for he -will be sure to keep the latter, when he has the fairest offer.... But -here I must desire the reader's pardon, if I cannot digest the following -facts in so good a manner as I intended; because it is thought -expedient, for some reasons, that the world should be informed of his -excellency's merits as soon as possible. ... As they are, they may serve -for hints to any person who may hereafter have a mind to write memoirs -of his excellency's life."<a name="NoteRef_683_683" id="NoteRef_683_683"></a><a href="#Note_683_683" class="fnanchor">[683]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Throughout this piece Swift's voice has remained calm; not a muscle of -his face has moved; we perceive neither smile, flash of the eye, nor -gesture; he speaks like a statue; but his anger grows by constraint, and -burns the more that it shines the less.</p> - -<p>This is why his ordinary style is grave irony. It is the weapon of -pride, meditation, and force. The man who employs it is self-contained -whilst a storm is raging within him; he is too proud to make a show of -his passion; he does not take the public into his confidence; he elects -to be solitary in his soul; he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> would be ashamed to confide in any man; -he means and knows how to keep absolute possession of himself. Thus -collected, he understands better and suffers more; no fit of passion -relieves his wrath or draws away his attention; he feels all the points -and penetrates to the depths of the opinion which he detests; he -multiplies his pain and his knowledge, and spares himself neither wound -nor reflection. We must see Swift in this attitude, impassive in -appearance, but with stiffening muscles, a heart scorched with hatred, -writing with a terrible smile such pamphlets as this:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"It may perhaps be neither safe nor prudent, to argue against the -abolishing of Christianity, at a juncture, when all parties appear so -unanimously determined upon the point.... However, I know not how, -whether from the affectation of singularity, or the perverseness of -human nature, but so it unhappily falls out, that I cannot be entirely -of this opinion. Nay, though I were sure an order were issued for my -immediate prosecution by the attorney-general, I should still confess, -that in the present posture of our affairs, at home or abroad, I do not -yet see the absolute necessity of extirpating the Christian religion -from among us. This perhaps may appear too great a paradox, even for our -wise and paradoxical age to endure; therefore I shall handle it with all -tenderness, and with the utmost deference to that great and profound -majority, which is of another sentiment.... I hope no reader imagines me -so weak to stand up in the defence of real Christianity, such as used, -in primitive times (if we may believe the authors of those ages), to -have an influence upon men's belief and actions; to offer at the -restoring of that, would indeed be a wild project; it would be to dig up -foundations; to destroy at one blow all the wit, and half the learning -of the kingdom.... Every candid reader will easily understand my -discourse to be intended only in defence of nominal Christianity; the -other having been for some time wholly laid aside by general consent, as -utterly inconsistent with our present schemes of wealth and power."<a name="NoteRef_684_684" id="NoteRef_684_684"></a><a href="#Note_684_684" class="fnanchor">[684]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Let us then examine the advantages which this abolition of the title and -name of Christian might have:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom -above ten thousand parsons, whose revenues, added to those of my lords -the bishops, would suffice to maintain at least two hundred young -gentlemen of wit and pleasure, and free-thinking, enemies to -priestcraft, narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices, who might be -an ornament to the court and town."<a name="NoteRef_685_685" id="NoteRef_685_685"></a><a href="#Note_685_685" class="fnanchor">[685]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It is likewise proposed as a great advantage to the public that if we -once discard the system of the gospel, all religion will of course be -banished for ever; and consequently along with it, those grievous -prejudices of education, which under the names of virtue, conscience, -honour, justice, and the like, are so apt to disturb the peace of human -minds, and the notions whereof are so hard to be eradicated, by right -reason, or free-thinking."<a name="NoteRef_686_686" id="NoteRef_686_686"></a><a href="#Note_686_686" class="fnanchor">[686]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Then he concludes by doubling the insult:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I am very sensible how much the gentlemen of wit and pleasure are apt -to murmur, and be choked at the sight of so many daggled-tail parsons, -who happen to fall in their way, and offend their eyes; but at the same -time, these wise reformers do not consider what an advantage and -felicity it is for great wits to be always provided with objects of -scorn and contempt, in order to exercise and improve their talents, and -divert their spleen from falling on each other, or on themselves; -especially when all this may be done, without the least imaginable -danger to their persons. And to urge another argument of a parallel -nature: if Christianity were once abolished, how could the -free-thinkers, the strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning, -be able to find another subject, so calculated in all points whereon to -display their abilities? what wonderful productions of wit should we be -deprived of, from those, whose genius, by continual practice, has been -wholly turned upon raillery and invectives, against religion, and would, -therefore, never be able to shine or distinguish themselves upon any -other subject! we are daily complaining of the great decline of wit -among us, and would we take away the greatest, perhaps the only topic we -have left?"<a name="NoteRef_687_687" id="NoteRef_687_687"></a><a href="#Note_687_687" class="fnanchor">[687]</a></p> - -<p>"I do very much apprehend, that in six months time after the act is -passed for the extirpation of the gospel, the Bank and East India Stock -may fall at least one per cent. And since that is fifty times more, than -ever the wisdom of our age thought fit to venture, for the preservation -of Christianity, there is no reason we should be at so great a loss, -merely for the sake of destroying it."<a name="NoteRef_688_688" id="NoteRef_688_688"></a><a href="#Note_688_688" class="fnanchor">[688]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Swift is only a combatant, I admit; but when we glance at this -common-sense and this pride, this empire over the passions of others, -and this empire over himself; this force and this employment of hatred, -we judge that there have rarely been such combatants. He is a -pamphleteer as Hannibal was a <i>condottiere.</i> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Swift_as_a_Humorist.--As_a_Poet">Section IV.—Swift as a Humorist.—As a Poet</a></h4> - - -<p>On the night after the battle we usually unbend; we sport, we make fun, -we talk in prose and verse; but with Swift this night is a continuation -of the day, and the mind which leaves its trace in matters of business -leaves also its trace in amusements.</p> - -<p>What is gayer than Voltaire's <i>soirées?</i> He rails; but do we find any -murderous intention in his railleries? He gets angry; but do we perceive -a malignant or evil character in his passions? In him all is amiable. In -an instant, through the necessity of action, he strikes, caresses, -changes a hundred times his tone, his face, with abrupt movements, -impetuous sallies, sometimes as a child, always as a man of the world, -of taste and conversation. He wishes to entertain us; he conducts us at -once through a thousand ideas, without effort, to amuse himself, to -amuse us. What an agreeable host is this Voltaire, who desires to please -and who knows how to please, who only dreads ennui, who does not -distrust us, who is not constrained, who is always himself, who is -brimful of ideas, naturalness, liveliness! If we were with him, and he -rallied us, we should not be angry; we should adopt his style, we should -laugh at ourselves, we should feel that he only wished to pass an -agreeable hour, that he was not angry with us, that he treated us as -equals and guests, that he broke out into pleasantries as a winter fire -into sparks, and that he was none the less pleasant, wholesome, amusing.</p> - -<p>Heaven grant that Swift may never jest at our expense. The positive mind -is too solid and too cold to be gay and amiable. When such mind takes to -ridicule, it does not sport with it superficially, but studies it, goes -into it gravely, masters it, knows all its subdivisions and its proofs. -This profound knowledge can only produce a withering pleasantry. -Swift's, at bottom, is but a <i>reductio ad absurdum</i>, altogether -scientific. For instance, "The Art of Political Lying"<a name="NoteRef_689_689" id="NoteRef_689_689"></a><a href="#Note_689_689" class="fnanchor">[689]</a> is a -didactic treatise, whose plan might serve for a model. "In the first -chapter of this excellent treatise he (the author) reasons -philosophically concerning the nature of the soul of man, and those -qualities which render it susceptible of lies. He supposes the soul to -be of the nature of a piano-cylindrical speculum, or looking-glass.... -The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> plane side represents objects just as they are; and the cylindrical -side, by the rules of catoptrics, must needs represent true objects -false, and false objects true. In his second chapter he treats of the -nature of political lying; in the third of the lawfulness of political -lying. The fourth chapter is wholly employed in this question, 'Whether -the right of coinage of political lies be wholly in the government.'" -Again, nothing could be stranger, more worthy of an archaeological -society, than the argument in which he proves that a humorous piece of -Pope's<a name="NoteRef_690_690" id="NoteRef_690_690"></a><a href="#Note_690_690" class="fnanchor">[690]</a> is an insidious pamphlet against the religion of the state. -His "Art of Sinking in Poetry"[<a name="NoteRef_691_691" id="NoteRef_691_691"></a><a href="#Note_691_691" class="fnanchor">[691]</a> has all the appearance of good -rhetoric; the principles are laid down, the divisions justified; the -examples chosen with extraordinary precision and method; it is perfect -reason employed in the service of folly.</p> - -<p>His passions, like his mind, were too strong. If he wishes to scratch, -he tears; his pleasantry is gloomy; by way of a joke, he drags his -reader through all the disgusting details of sickness and death. -Partridge, formerly a shoemaker, had turned astrologer, Swift, -imperturbably cool, assumes an astrologer's title, writes maxims on the -duties of the profession, and to inspire confidence, begins to predict:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"My first prediction is but a trifle; yet I will mention it to show how -ignorant those sottish pretenders to astrology are in their own -concerns: it relates to Partridge the almanack-maker; I have consulted -the star of his nativity by my own rules, and find he will infallibly -die upon the 29th of March next, about eleven at night, of a raging -fever; therefore I advise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs -in time."<a name="NoteRef_692_692" id="NoteRef_692_692"></a><a href="#Note_692_692" class="fnanchor">[692]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>The twenty-ninth of March being past, he relates how the undertaker came -to hang Partridge's rooms "in close mourning"; then Ned, the sexton, -asking "whether the grave is to be plain or bricked"; then Mr. White, -the carpenter, to screw down the coffin; then the stone-cutter with his -monument. Lastly, a successor comes and sets up in the neighborhood, -saying in his printed directions, "that he lives in the house of the -late ingenious Mr. John Partridge, an eminent practitioner in leather, -physic, and astrology."<a name="NoteRef_693_693" id="NoteRef_693_693"></a><a href="#Note_693_693" class="fnanchor">[693]</a> We can tell beforehand the protestations <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> of -poor Partridge. Swift in his reply proves that he is dead, and is -astonished at his hard words:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"To call a man a fool and villain, an impudent fellow, only for -differing from him in a point merely speculative, is, in my humble -opinion, a very improper style for a person of his education.... I will -appeal to Mr. Partridge himself, whether it be probable I could have -been so indiscreet, to begin my predictions, with the only falsehood -that ever was pretended to be in them? and this in an affair at home, -where I had so many opportunities to be exact."<a name="NoteRef_694_694" id="NoteRef_694_694"></a><a href="#Note_694_694" class="fnanchor">[694]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Mr. Partridge is mistaken, or deceives the public, or would cheat -his heirs.</p> - -<p>This gloomy pleasantry becomes elsewhere still more gloomy. Swift -pretends that his enemy, the bookseller Curll, has just been poisoned, -and relates his agony. A house-surgeon of a hospital would not write a -more repulsive diary more coldly. The details, worked out with the -completeness of a Hogarth, are admirably minute, but disgusting. We -laugh, or rather we grin, as before the vagaries of a madman in an -asylum, but in reality we feel sick at heart. Swift in his gayety is -always tragical; nothing unbends him; even when he serves, he pains you. -In his "Journal to Stella" there is a sort of imperious austerity; his -condescension is that of a master to a child. The charm and happiness of -a young girl of sixteen cannot soften him. She has just married him, and -he tells her that love is a "ridiculous passion, which has no being but -in playbooks and romances"; then he adds, with perfect brutality:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I never yet knew a tolerable woman to be fond of her sex;... your sex -employ more thought, memory, and application to be fools than would -serve to make them wise and useful.... When I reflect on this, I cannot -conceive you to be human creatures, but a sort of species hardly a -degree above a monkey; who has more diverting tricks than any of you, is -an animal less mischievous and expensive, might in time be a tolerable -critic in velvet and brocade, and, for aught I know, would equally -become them."<a name="NoteRef_695_695" id="NoteRef_695_695"></a><a href="#Note_695_695" class="fnanchor">[695]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Will poetry calm such a mind? Here, as elsewhere, he is most -unfortunate. He is excluded from great transports of imagination, as -well as from the lively digressions of conversation. He can attain -neither the sublime nor the agreeable; he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> has neither the artist's -rapture, nor the entertainment of the man of the world. Two similar -sounds at the end of two equal lines have always consoled the greatest -troubles: the old muse, after three thousand years, is a young and -divine nurse; and her song lulls the sickly nations whom she still -visits, as well as the young, flourishing races amongst whom she has -appeared. The involuntary music, in which thought wraps itself, hides -ugliness and unveils beauty. Feverish man, after the labors of the -evening and the anguish of the night, sees at morning the beaming -whiteness of the opening heaven; he gets rid of himself, and the joy of -nature from all sides enters with oblivion into his heart. If misery -pursues him, the poetic afflatus, unable to wipe it out, transforms it; -it becomes ennobled, he loves it, and thenceforth he bears it; for the -only thing to which he cannot resign himself is littleness. Neither -Faust nor Manfred have exhausted human grief; they drank from the cruel -cup a generous wine, they did not reach the dregs. They enjoyed -themselves, and nature; they tasted the greatness which was in them, and -the beauty of creation; they pressed with their bruised hands all the -thorns with which necessity has made our way thorny, but they saw them -blossom with roses, fostered by the purest of their noble blood. There -is nothing of the sort in Swift: what is wanting most in his verses is -poetry. The positive mind can neither love nor understand it; it sees -therein only a kind of mechanism or a fashion, and employs it only for -vanity and conventionality. When in his youth Swift attempted Pindaric -odes, he failed lamentably. I cannot remember a line of his which -indicates a genuine sentiment of nature: he saw in the forests only logs -of wood, and in the fields only sacks of corn. He employed mythology, as -we put on a wig, ill-timed, wearily and scornfully. His best piece, -"Cadenus and Vanessa,"<a name="NoteRef_696_696" id="NoteRef_696_696"></a><a href="#Note_696_696" class="fnanchor">[696]</a> is a poor, threadbare allegory. To praise -Vanessa, he supposes that the nymphs and shepherds pleaded before Venus, -the first against men, the second against women; and that Venus, wishing -to end the debates, made in Vanesso a model of perfection. What can such -a conception furnish but flat apostrophes and pedantic comparisons? -Swift, who elsewhere gives a recipe for an epic poem, is here the first -to make use of it. And even his rude prosaic freaks tear this Greek -frippery at every turn. He puts a legal procedure <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> into heaven; he makes -Venus use all kinds of technical terms. He introduces witnesses, -"questions on the fact, bill with costs dismissed," etc. They talk so -loud that the goddess fears to lose her influence, to be driven from -Olympus, or else</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Shut out from heaven and earth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fly to the sea, my place of birth:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There live with daggled mermaids pent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And keep on fish perpetual Lent."<a name="NoteRef_697_697" id="NoteRef_697_697"></a><a href="#Note_697_697" class="fnanchor">[697]</a></span></p> - - -<p>When he relates the touching history of "Baucis and Philemon," he -degrades it by a travesty. He does not love the ancient nobleness and -beauty; the two gods become in his hands begging friars, Philemon and -Baucis Kentish peasants. For a recompense, their house becomes a church, -and Philemon a parson:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"His talk was now of tithes and dues;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He smoked his pipe and read the news....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Against dissenters would repine,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And stood up firm for 'right divine.'"<a name="NoteRef_698_698" id="NoteRef_698_698"></a><a href="#Note_698_698" class="fnanchor">[698]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Wit luxuriates, incisive, in little compact verses, vigorously coined, -of extreme conciseness, facility, precision; but compared to La -Fontaine, it is wine turned into vinegar. Even when he comes to the -charming Vanessa, his vein is still the same: to praise her childhood, -he puts her name first on the list, as a little model girl, just like a -schoolmaster:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And all their conduct would be tried</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By her, as an unerring guide:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Offending daughters oft would hear</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vanessa's praise rung in their ear:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Miss Betty, when she does a fault,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will thus be by her mother chid:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis what Vanessa never did!'"<a name="NoteRef_699_699" id="NoteRef_699_699"></a><a href="#Note_699_699" class="fnanchor">[699]</a></span></p> - - -<p>A strange way of admiring Vanessa, and of proving his admiration for -her. He calls her a nymph, and treats her like a schoolgirl! Cadenus -"now could praise, esteem, approve, but understood not what was love!" -Nothing could be truer, and Stella felt it, like others. The verses' -which he writes every year on her birthday, are a pedagogue's censures -and praises; if he gives her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> any good marks, it is with restrictions. -Once he inflicts on her a little sermon on want of patience; again, by -way of compliment, he concocts this delicate warning:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Stella, this day is thirty-four</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(We shan't dispute a year or more).</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">However, Stella, be not troubled,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Although thy size and years are doubled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Since first I saw thee at sixteen,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The brightest virgin on the green;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So little is thy form declin'd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Made up so largely in thy mind."</span></p> - - -<p>And he insists with exquisite taste:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"O, would it please the gods to split</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No age could furnish out a pair</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair."<a name="NoteRef_700_700" id="NoteRef_700_700"></a><a href="#Note_700_700" class="fnanchor">[700]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Decidedly this man is an artisan, strong of arm, terrible at his work -and in a fray, but narrow of soul, treating a woman as if she were a log -of wood. Rhyme and rhythm are only businesslike tools, which have served -him to press and launch his thought; he has put nothing but prose into -them: poetry was too fine to be grasped by those coarse hands.</p> - -<p>But in prosaic subjects, what truth and force! How this masculine -nakedness crushes the affected elegance and artificial poetry of Addison -and Pope! There are no epithets; he leaves his thought as he conceived -it, valuing it for and by itself, needing neither ornaments, nor -preparation, nor extension; above the tricks of the profession, -scholastic conventionalisms, the vanity of the rhymester, the -difficulties of the art; master of his subject and of himself. This -simplicity and naturalness astonish us in verse. Here, as elsewhere, his -originality is entire, and his genius creative; he surpasses his -classical and timid age; he tyrannizes over form, breaks it, dare utter -anything, spares himself no strong word. Acknowledge the greatness of -this invention and audacity; he alone is a superior being, who finds -everything and copies nothing. What a biting comicality in the "Grand -Question Debated "! He has to represent the entrance of a captain into a -castle, his airs, his insolence, his folly, and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> admiration caused by -these qualities! The lady serves him first; the servants stare at him:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"The parsons for envy are ready to burst;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The servants amazed are scarce ever able</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To keep off their eyes, as they wait at the table;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Molly and I have thrust in our nose</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To peep at the captain in all his fine clo'es.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dear madam, be sure he's a fine spoken man,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Do but hear on the clergy how glib his tongue ran:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'And madam,' says he, 'if such dinners you give,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You'll ne'er want for parsons as long as you live.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I ne'er knew a parson without a good nose:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But the devil's as welcome wherever he goes;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">G—d—n me! they bid us reform and repent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But, z—s! by their looks they never keep Lent:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mister curate, for all your grave looks, I'm afraid</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">You cast a sheep's eye on her ladyship's maid:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In mending your cassock, and smoothing your band'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(For the dean was so shabby, and look'd like a ninny,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That the captain suppos'd he was curate to Jinny).</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Whenever you see a cassock and gown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A hundred to one but it covers a clown.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Observe how a parson comes into a room,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">G—d—n me, he hobbles as bad as my groom;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A scholard, when just from his college broke loose,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goose;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your Noveds and Bluturks and Omurs,<a name="NoteRef_701_701" id="NoteRef_701_701"></a><a href="#Note_701_701" class="fnanchor">[701]</a> and stuff,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By G—, they don't signify this pinch of snuff;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To give a young gentleman right education,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The army's the only good school in the nation."<a name="NoteRef_702_702" id="NoteRef_702_702"></a><a href="#Note_702_702" class="fnanchor">[702]</a></span></p> - - -<p>This has been <i>seen</i>, and herein lies the beauty of Swift's verses: they -are personal; they are not developed themes, but impressions felt and -observations collected. Read "The Journal of a Modern Lady, The -Furniture of a Woman's Mind," and other pieces by the dozen: they are -dialogues transcribed or opinions put on paper after quitting a -drawing-room. "The Progress of Marriage" represents a dean of fifty-two -married to a young worldly coquette; do we not see in this title alone -all the fears of the bachelor of St. Patrick's? What diary is more -familiar and more pungent than his verses on his own death?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Before the passing bell begun,</span><br /> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The news through half the town has run;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'O may we all for death prepare!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What has he left? and who's his heir?'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'I know no more than what the news is;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis all bequeathed to public uses.'</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'To public uses! there's a whim!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What had the public done for him?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Mere envy, avarice, and pride:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He gave it all—but first he died.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And had the Dean in all the nation</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No worthy friend, no poor relation?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So ready to do strangers good,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forgetting his own flesh and blood!'...</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A week, and Arbuthnot a day....</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My female friends, whose tender hearts</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have better learn'd to act their parts,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Receive the news in doleful dumps:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The Dean is dead (pray what is trumps?)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Then, Lord, have mercy on his soul!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(I wish I knew what king to call.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Madam, your husband will attend</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The funeral of so good a friend?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No, madam, 'tis a shocking sight,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he's engaged to-morrow night:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My Lady Club will take it ill,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If he should fail her at quadrille.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He lov'd the Dean—(I lead a heart),</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But dearest friends they say must part.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His time was come: he ran his race;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We hope he's in a better place."<a name="NoteRef_703_703" id="NoteRef_703_703"></a><a href="#Note_703_703" class="fnanchor">[703]</a></span></p> - - -<p>Such is the inventory of human friendships. All poetry exalts the mind, -but this depresses it; instead of concealing reality, it unveils it; -instead of creating illusions, it removes them. When he wishes to give a -description of the morning,<a name="NoteRef_704_704" id="NoteRef_704_704"></a><a href="#Note_704_704" class="fnanchor">[704]</a> he shows us the street-sweepers, the -"watchful bailiffs," and imitates the different street cries. When he -wishes to paint the rain,<a name="NoteRef_705_705" id="NoteRef_705_705"></a><a href="#Note_705_705" class="fnanchor">[705]</a> he describes "filth of all hues and -odors," the "swelling kennels," the "dead cats, turnip-tops, stinking -sprats," which "come tumbling down the flood." His long verses whirl all -this filth in their eddies. We smile to see poetry degraded to this use; -we seem to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> be at a masquerade; it is a queen travestied into a rough -country girl. We stop, we look on, with the sort of pleasure we feel in -drinking a bitter draught. Truth is always good to know, and in the -splendid piece which artists show us we need a manager to tell us the -number of the hired applauders and of the supernumeraries. It would be -well if he only drew up such a list! Numbers look ugly, but they only -affect the mind; other things, the oil of the lamps, the odors of the -side scenes, all that we cannot name, remains to be told. I cannot do -more than hint at the length to which Swift carries us; but this I must -do, for these extremes are the supreme effort of his despair and his -genius: we must touch upon them in order to measure and know him. He -drags poetry not only through the mud, but into the filth; he rolls in -it like a raging madman, he enthrones himself in it, and bespatters all -passers-by. Compared with his, all foul words are decent and agreeable. -In Aretin and Brantôme, in La Fontaine and Voltaire, there is a -<i>soupçon</i> of pleasure. With the first, unchecked sensuality, with the -others, malicious gayety, are excuses; we are scandalized, not -disgusted; we do not like to see in a man a bull's fury or an ape's -buffoonery; but the bull is so eager and strong, the ape so funny and -smart, that we end by looking on or being amused. Then, again, however -coarse their pictures may be, they speak of the accompaniments of love: -Swift touches only upon the results of digestion, and that merely with -disgust and revenge; he pours them out with horror and sneering at the -wretches whom he describes. He must not in this be compared to Rabelais; -that good giant, that drunken doctor, rolls himself joyously about on -his dunghill, thinking no evil; the dunghill is warm, convenient, a fine -place to philosophize and sleep off one's wine. Raised to this enormity, -and enjoyed with this heedlessness, the bodily functions become -poetical. When the casks are emptied down the giant's throat, and the -viands are gorged, we sympathize with so much bodily comfort; in the -heavings of this colossal belly and the laughter of this Homeric mouth, -we see as through a mist, the relics of bacchanal religions, the -fecundity, the monstrous joy of nature; these are the splendors and -disorders of its first births. The cruel positive mind, on the contrary, -clings only to vileness; it will only see what is behind things; armed -with sorrow and boldness, it spares no ignoble detail, no obscene <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> word. -Swift enters the dressing-room,<a name="NoteRef_706_706" id="NoteRef_706_706"></a><a href="#Note_706_706" class="fnanchor">[706]</a> relates the disenchantments of -love,<a name="NoteRef_707_707" id="NoteRef_707_707"></a><a href="#Note_707_707" class="fnanchor">[707]</a> dishonors it by a medley of drugs and physic,<a name="NoteRef_708_708" id="NoteRef_708_708"></a><a href="#Note_708_708" class="fnanchor">[708]</a> describes -the cosmetics and a great many more things.<a name="NoteRef_709_709" id="NoteRef_709_709"></a><a href="#Note_709_709" class="fnanchor">[709]</a> He takes his evening -walk by solitary walls,<a name="NoteRef_710_710" id="NoteRef_710_710"></a><a href="#Note_710_710" class="fnanchor">[710]</a> and in these pitiable pryings has his -microscope ever in his hand. Judge what he sees and suffers; this is his -ideal beauty and his jesting conversation, and we may fancy that he has -for philosophy, as for poetry and politics, execration and disgust.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Swift_as_a_Narrator_and_Philosopher">Section V.—Swift as a Narrator and Philosopher</a></h4> - - -<p>Swift wrote the "Tale of a Tub" at Sir William Templet, amidst all kind -of reading, as an abstract of truth and science. Hence this tale is the -satire of all science and all truth.</p> - -<p>Of religion first. He seems here to defend the Church of England; but -what church and what creed are not involved in his attack? To enliven -his subject, he profanes and reduces questions of dogma to a question of -clothes. A father had three sons, Peter, Martin, and Jack; he left each -of them a coat at his death,<a name="NoteRef_711_711" id="NoteRef_711_711"></a><a href="#Note_711_711" class="fnanchor">[711]</a> warning them to wear it clean and -brush it often. The three brothers obeyed for some time and travelled -sensibly, slaying "a reasonable quantity of giants and dragons."<a name="NoteRef_712_712" id="NoteRef_712_712"></a><a href="#Note_712_712" class="fnanchor">[712]</a> -Unfortunately, having come up to town, they adopted its manners, fell in -love with several fashionable ladies, the Duchess d'Argent, Mme de -Grands Titres, and the Countess d'Orgueil,<a name="NoteRef_713_713" id="NoteRef_713_713"></a><a href="#Note_713_713" class="fnanchor">[713]</a> and to gain their favors -began to live as gallants, taking snuff, swearing, rhyming, and -contracting debts, keeping horses, fighting duels, whoring, killing -bailiffs. A sect was established who</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Held the universe to be a large suit of clothes, which invests -everything: that the earth is invested by the air; the air is invested -by the stars, and the stars are invested by the primum mobile.... What -is that which some call land, but a fine coat faced with green? or the -sea, but a waistcoat of water-tabby?... You will find how curious -journeyman Nature has been, to trim up the vegetable beaux: observe how -sparkish a periwig adorns the head of a beech, and what a fine doublet -of white sattin is worn by the birch.... Is not religion <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> a cloak; -honesty a pair of shoes worn out in the dirt; self-love a surtout; -vanity a shirt; and conscience a pair of breeches; which, though a cover -for lewdness as well as nastiness, is easily slipt down for the service -of both?... If certain ermines and furs be placed in a certain position, -we style them a judge; and so an apt conjunction of lawn and black -sattin, we entitle a bishop."<a name="NoteRef_714_714" id="NoteRef_714_714"></a><a href="#Note_714_714" class="fnanchor">[714]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Others held also "that the soul was the outward, and the body the inward -clothing.... This last they proved by Scripture, because in them we -live, and move, and have our being." Thus our three brothers, having -only very simple clothes, were embarrassed. For instance, the fashion at -this time was for shoulder-knots,<a name="NoteRef_715_715" id="NoteRef_715_715"></a><a href="#Note_715_715" class="fnanchor">[715]</a> and their father's will expressly -forbade them to "add to or diminish from their coats one thread":</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"In this unhappy case they went immediately to consult their father's -will, read it over and over, but not a word of the Shoulder-knot.... -After much thought, one of the brothers, who happened to be more -book-learned than the other two, said, he had found an expedient. 'It is -true,' said he, 'there is nothing in this will, <i>totidem verbis</i>, making -mention of Shoulder-Knots; but I dare conjecture, we may find them -inclusive, or <i>totidem syllabis.</i>' This distinction was immediately -approved by all; and so they fell again to examine;<a name="NoteRef_716_716" id="NoteRef_716_716"></a><a href="#Note_716_716" class="fnanchor">[716]</a> but their evil -star had so directed the matter, that the first syllable was not to be -found in the whole writings. Upon which disappointment, he, who found -the former evasion, took heart and said: 'Brothers, there are yet hopes, -for though we cannot find them <i>totidem verbis</i>, nor <i>totidem syllabis</i>, -I dare engage we shall make them out <i>tertio modo</i> or <i>totidem -litteris.</i>' This discovery was also highly commended; upon which they -fell once more to the scrutiny, and picked out S, H, O, U, L, D, E, R, -when the same planet, enemy to their repose, had wonderfully contrived -that a K was not to be found. Here was a weighty difficulty; but the -distinguishing brother... now his hand was in, proved by a very good -argument, that K was a modern illegitimate letter, unknown to the -learned ages, nor anywhere to be found in ancient manuscripts.... Upon -this all farther difficulty vanished; shoulder-knots were made clearly -out to be <i>jure paterno</i>, and our three gentlemen swaggered with as -large and flaunting ones as the best."<a name="NoteRef_717_717" id="NoteRef_717_717"></a><a href="#Note_717_717" class="fnanchor">[717]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Other interpretations admitted gold lace, and a codicil authorized -flame colored satin linings:<a name="NoteRef_718_718" id="NoteRef_718_718"></a><a href="#Note_718_718" class="fnanchor">[718]</a></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Next winter a player, hired for the purpose by the corporation of -fringe-makers, acted his part in a new comedy, all covered with silver -fringe, and according to the laudable custom gave rise to that fashion. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> -Upon which the brothers consulting their father's will, to their great -astonishment found these words: 'Item, I charge and command my said -three sons to wear no sort of silver fringe upon or about their said -coats,' etc.... However, after some pause, the brother so often -mentioned for his erudition, who was well skilled in criticisms, had -found in a certain author, which he said should be nameless, that the -same word, which in the will is called fringe, does also signify a -broomstick: and doubtless ought to have the same interpretation in this -paragraph. This another of the brothers disliked, because of that -epithet silver, which could not, he humbly conceived, in propriety of -speech, be reasonably applied to a broomstick; but it was replied upon -him that this epithet was understood in a mythological and allegorical -sense. However, he objected again, why their father should forbid them -to wear a broomstick on their coats, a caution that seemed unnatural and -impertinent; upon which he was taken up short, as one who spoke -irreverently of a mystery, which doubtless was very useful and -significant, but ought not to be over-curiously pried into, or nicely -reasoned upon."<a name="NoteRef_719_719" id="NoteRef_719_719"></a><a href="#Note_719_719" class="fnanchor">[719]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In the end the scholastic brother grew weary of searching further -"evasions," locked up the old will in a strong box,<a name="NoteRef_720_720" id="NoteRef_720_720"></a><a href="#Note_720_720" class="fnanchor">[720]</a> authorized by -tradition the fashions which became him, and having contrived to be left -a legacy, styled himself My Lord Peter. His brothers, treated like -servants, were discarded from his house; they reopened the will of their -father, and began to understand it. Martin (Luther), to reduce his -clothes to the primitive simplicity, brought off a large handful of -points, stripped away ten dozen yards of fringe, rid his coat of a huge -quantity of gold-lace, but kept a few embroideries, which could not "be -got away without damaging the cloth." Jack (Calvin) tore off all in his -enthusiasm, and was found in tatters, besides being envious of Martin, -and half mad. He then joined the Æolists, or inspired admirers of the -wind, who pretend that the spirit, or breath, or wind, is heavenly, and -contains all knowledge:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"First, it is generally affirmed or confessed that learning puffeth men -up; and secondly they proved it by the following syllogism: words are -but wind; and learning is nothing but words; ergo learning is nothing -but wind.... This, when blown up to its perfection, ought not to be -covetously hoarded up, stifled, or hid under a bushel, but freely -communicated to mankind. Upon these reasons, and others of equal weight, -the wise Æolists affirm the gift of belching to be the noblest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> act of a -rational creature.... At certain seasons of the year, you might behold -the priests among them in vast number... linked together in a circular -chain, with every man a pair of bellows applied to his neighbour's -breech, by which they blew each other to the shape and size of a tun; -and for that reason with great propriety of speech, did usually call -their bodies their vessels."<a name="NoteRef_721_721" id="NoteRef_721_721"></a><a href="#Note_721_721" class="fnanchor">[721]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>After this explanation of theology, religious quarrels, and mystical -inspirations, what is left, even of the Anglican Church? She is a -sensible, useful, political cloak, but what else? Like a stiff brush -used with too strong a hand, the buffoonery has carried away the cloth -as well as the stain. Swift has put out a fire, I allow; but, like -Gulliver at Liliput, the people saved by him must hold their nose, to -admire the right application of the liquid, and the energy of the engine -that saves them.</p> - -<p>Religion being drowned, Swift turns against science; for the digressions -with which he interrupts his story to imitate and mock the modern sages -are most closely connected with his tale. The book opens with -introductions, prefaces, dedications, and other appendices generally -applied to swell books—violent caricatures heaped up against the vanity -and prolixity of authors. He professes himself one of them, and -announces their discoveries. Admirable discoveries! The first of their -commentaries will be on</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"'Tom Thumb,' whose author was a Pythagorean philosopher. This dark -treatise contains the whole scheme of the Metempsychosis, deducing the -progress of the soul through all her stages. 'Whittington and his Cat' -is the work of that mysterious rabbi Jehuda Hannasi, containing a -defence of the gemara of the Jerusalem misna, and its just preference to -that of Babylon, contrary to the vulgar opinion."<a name="NoteRef_722_722" id="NoteRef_722_722"></a><a href="#Note_722_722" class="fnanchor">[722]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>He himself announces that he is going to publish "A Panegyrical Essay -upon the Number Three"; a "General History of Ears"; a "Modest Defence -of the Proceedings of the Rabble in all Ages"; an "Essay on the Art of -Canting, Philosophically, Physically, and Musically Considered"; and he -engages his readers to try by their entreaties to get from him these -treatises, which will change the appearance of the world. Then, turning -against the philosophers and the critics, sifters of texts, he proves to -them, according to their own fashion, that the ancients mentioned <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> them. -Can we find anywhere a more biting parody on forced interpretations:</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 EARLY PRINTING AND ENGRAVING.<br /> -Fac-similes from Rare and Curious Books.<br /> -<i>PAGE FROM THE CHRONICLES OF HUNGARY.</i></p> -<blockquote> -<p>This fine work was printed by Ratdolt after his return from Venice to -his native Augsburg in 1488. The page before us is not only beautiful, -but highly original in conception. The infantry fight, which is the -subject of the illustration, shows how a master's hand can, by the -simplest means, produce an effect full of life and expression. The form -of the type is bold and clear. Our illustration is from the unique copy -in the British Museum.</p></blockquote></div> - - - -<blockquote> -<p>"The types are so apposite and the applications so necessary and -natural, that it is not easy to conceive how any reader of a modern eye -or taste could overlook them.... For first; Pausanias is of opinion, -that the perfection of writing correct was entirely owing to the -institution of critics; and, that he can possibly mean no other than the -true critic, is, I think, manifest enough from the following -description. He says, they were a race of men, who delighted to nibble -at the superfluities and excrescences of books; which the learned at -length observing, took warning, of their own accord, to lop the -luxuriant, the rotten, the dead, the sapless, and the overgrown branches -from their works. But now, all this he cunningly shades under the -following allegory; that the Nauplians in Argos learned the art of -pruning their vines, by observing that when an <i>ass</i> had browsed upon -one of them, it thrived the better and bore fairer fruits. But -Herodotus, holding the very same hieroglyph, speaks much plainer, and -almost in <i>terminis.</i> He has been so bold as to tax the true critics of -ignorance and malice; telling us openly, for I think nothing can be -plainer, that in the western part of Libya there were asses with -horns."<a name="NoteRef_723_723" id="NoteRef_723_723"></a><a href="#Note_723_723" class="fnanchor">[723]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Then follow a multitude of pitiless sarcasms. Swift has the genius of -insult; he is an inventor of irony, as Shakespeare of poetry; and as -beseems an extreme force, he goes to extremes in his thought and art. He -lashes reason after science, and leaves nothing of the whole human mind. -With a medical seriousness he establishes that vapors are exhaled from -the whole body, which, "getting possession of the brain," leave it -healthy if they are not abundant, but excite it if they are; that in the -first case they make peaceful individuals, in the second great -politicians, founders of religions, and deep philosophers, that is, -madmen, so that madness is the source of all human genius and all the -institutions of the universe. This is why it is very wrong to keep men -shut up in Bedlam, and a commission appointed to examine them would find -in this academy many imprisoned geniuses "which might produce admirable -instruments for the several offices in a state ecclesiastical, civil, -and military."</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Is any student tearing his straw in piece-meal, swearing and -blaspheming, biting his grate, foaming at the mouth?... let the right -worshipful commissioners of inspection give him a regiment of dragoons, -and send him into Flanders among the rest.... You will find a third -gravely taking the dimensions of his kennel; a person of foresight <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> and -insight, though kept quite in the dark.... He walks duly in one pace... -talks much of hard times and taxes and the whore of Babylon; bars up the -wooden window of his cell constantly at eight o'clock, dreams of -fire.... Now what a figure would all those acquirements amount to if the -owner were sent into the city among his brethren?... Now is it not -amazing to think the society of Warwick-lane should have no more concern -for the recovery of so useful a member?... I shall not descend so -minutely, as to insist upon the vast number of beaux, fiddlers, poets, -and politicians that the world might recover by such a reformation.... -Even I myself, the author of these momentous truths, am a person whose -imaginations are hard-mouthed, and exceedingly disposed to run away with -his reason, which I have observed, from long experience, to be a very -light rider, and easily shaken off; upon which account my friends will -never trust me alone, without a solemn promise to vent my speculations -in this, or the like manner, for the universal benefit of mankind."<a name="NoteRef_724_724" id="NoteRef_724_724"></a><a href="#Note_724_724" class="fnanchor">[724]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>What a wretched man is he who knows himself and mocks himself! What -madman's laughter, and what a sob in this hoarse gayety! What remains -for him but to slaughter the remainder of human invention? Who does not -see here the despair from which sprang the academy of Lagado? Is there -not here a foretaste of madness in this intense meditation of absurdity? -His mathematician, who, to teach geometry, makes his pupils swallow -wafers on which he writes his theorems; his moralist, who, to reconcile -political parties, proposes to saw off the occiputs and brain of each -"opposite party-man," and "to let the occiputs thus cut off be -interchanged"; his economist again, who tries "to reduce human excrement -to its original food." Swift is akin to these, and is the most wretched -of all, because he nourishes his mind, like them, on filth and folly, -and because he possesses what they have not, knowledge and disgust.</p> - -<p>It is sad to exhibit human folly, it is sadder to exhibit human -perversity: the heart is more a part of ourselves than reason: we suffer -less in seeing extravagance and folly than wickedness or baseness, and I -find Swift more agreeable in his "Tale of a Tub" than in "Gulliver."</p> - -<p>All his talent and all his passions are assembled in this book; the -positive mind has impressed upon it its form and force. There is nothing -agreeable in the fiction or the style. It is the diary of an ordinary -man, a surgeon, then a captain, who describes coolly and sensibly the -events and objects which he has <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> just seen, but who has no feeling for -the beautiful, no appearance of admiration or passion, no delivery. Sir -Joseph Banks and Captain Cook relate thus. Swift only seeks the natural, -and he attains it. His art consists in taking an absurd supposition, and -deducing seriously the effects which it produces. It is the logical and -technical mind of a mechanician, who, imagining the decrease or increase -in a wheelwork, perceives the result of the changes, and writes down the -record. His whole pleasure is in seeing these results clearly, and by a -solid reasoning. He marks the dimensions, and so forth, like a good -engineer and a statistician, omitting no trivial and positive detail, -explaining cookery, stabling, politics: in this he has no equal but De -Foe. The lodestone machine which sustains the flying island, the -entrance of Gulliver into Liliput, and the inventory of his property, -his arrival and maintenance among the Yahoos, carry us with them; no -mind knew better the ordinary laws of nature and human life; no mind -shut itself up, more strictly in this knowledge; none was ever more -exact or more limited.</p> - -<p>But what a vehemence underneath this aridity! How ridiculous our -interests and passions seem, degraded to the littleness of Liliput, or -compared to the vastness of Brobdignag? What is beauty, when the -handsomest body, seen with piercing eyes, seems horrible? What is our -power, when an insect, king of an ant-hill, can be called, like our -princes, "sublime majesty, delight and terror of the universe"? What is -our homage worth, when a pygmy "is taller, by almost the breadth of a -nail, than any of his court, which alone is enough to strike an awe into -his beholders"? Three-fourths of our sentiment are follies, and the -weakness of our organs is the only cause of our veneration or love.</p> - -<p>Society repels us still more than man. At Laputa, at Liliput, amongst -the horses and giants, Swift rages against it, and is never tired of -abusing and reviling it. In his eyes, "ignorance, idleness, and vice are -the proper ingredients for qualifying a legislator; laws are best -explained, interpreted, and applied by those whose interest and -abilities lie in perverting, confounding, and eluding them."<a name="NoteRef_725_725" id="NoteRef_725_725"></a><a href="#Note_725_725" class="fnanchor">[725]</a> A -noble is a wretch, corrupted body and soul, "combining in himself all -the diseases and vices transmitted by ten generations of rakes and -rascals. A lawyer is a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> hired liar, wont by twenty years of roguery to -pervert the truth if he is an advocate, and to sell it if he is a judge. -A minister of state is a go-between, who, having disposed of his wife," -or brawled for the public good, is master of all offices; and who, in -order better to rob the money of the nation, buys members of the House -of Commons with the same money. A king is a practiser of all the vices, -unable to employ or love an honest man, persuaded that "the royal throne -could not be supported without corruption, because that positive, -confident, restive temper, which virtue infused into a man, was a -perpetual clog to public business."<a name="NoteRef_726_726" id="NoteRef_726_726"></a><a href="#Note_726_726" class="fnanchor">[726]</a> At Liliput the king chooses as -his ministers those who dance best upon the tight-rope. At Luggnagg he -compels all those, who are presented to him, to crawl on their bellies -and lick the dust.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"When the king has a mind to put any of his nobles to death in a gentle, -indulgent manner, he commands the floor to be strewed with a certain -brown powder of a deadly composition, which, being licked up, infallibly -kills him in twenty-four hours. But in justice to this prince's great -clemency, and the care he has of his subjects' lives (wherein it were -much to be wished that the monarchs of Europe would imitate him), it -must be mentioned for his honour, that strict orders are given to have -the infected parts of the floor well washed after every such -execution.... I myself heard him give directions that one of his pages -should be whipped, whose turn it was to give notice about washing the -floor after an execution, but maliciously had omitted it; by which -neglect, a young lord of great hopes coming to an audience, was -unfortunately poisoned, although the King at that time had no design -against his life. But this good prince was so gracious as to forgive the -poor page his whipping, upon promise that he would do so no more, -without special orders."<a name="NoteRef_727_727" id="NoteRef_727_727"></a><a href="#Note_727_727" class="fnanchor">[727]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>All these fictions of giants, pygmies, flying islands, are means for -depriving human nature of the veils with which habit and imagination -cover it, to display it in its truth and its ugliness. There is still -one cloak to remove, the most deceitful and familiar. Swift must take -away that appearance of reason in which we deck ourselves. He must -suppress the sciences, arts, combinations of society, inventions of -industries, whose brightness dazzles us. He must discover the Yahoo in -man. What a spectacle!</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"At last I beheld several animals in a field, and one or two of the same -kind sitting in trees. Their shape was very singular and deformed.... <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> -Their heads and breasts were covered with a thick hair, some frizzled, -and others lank; they had beards like goats, and a long ridge of hair -down their backs, and the forepart of their legs and feet; but the rest -of their bodies was bare, so that I might see their skins, which were of -a brown buff colour.... They climbed high trees as nimbly as a squirrel, -for they had strong extended claws before and behind, terminating in -sharp points and hooked.... The females... had long lank hair on their -head, but none on their faces, nor anything more than a sort of down on -the rest of their bodies. ... Upon the whole I never beheld in all my -travels so disagreeable an animal, or one against which I naturally -conceived so great an antipathy."<a name="NoteRef_728_728" id="NoteRef_728_728"></a><a href="#Note_728_728" class="fnanchor">[728]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>According to Swift, such are our brothers. He finds in them all our -instincts. They hate each other, tear each other with their talons, with -hideous contortions and yells! such is the source of our quarrels. If -they find a dead cow, although they are but five, and there is enough -for fifty, they strangle and wound each other: such is a picture of our -greed and our wars. They dig up precious stones and hide them in their -kennels, and watch them "with great caution," pining and howling when -robbed: such is the origin of our love of gold. They devour -indifferently "herbs, berries, roots, the corrupted flesh of animals," -preferring "what they could get by rapine or stealth," gorging -themselves till they vomit or burst: such is the portrait of our -gluttony and injustice. They have a kind of juicy and unwholesome root, -which they "would suck with great delight," till they "howl, and grin, -and chatter," embracing or scratching each other, then reeling, -hiccoughing, wallowing in the mud: such is a picture of our drunkenness.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"In most herds there was a sort of ruling Yahoo, who was always more -deformed in body, and mischievous in disposition, than any of the rest: -that this leader had usually a favourite as like himself as he could -get, whose employment was to lick his master's feet,... and drive the -female Yahoos to his kennel; for which he was now and then rewarded with -a piece of ass's flesh.... He usually continues in office till a worse -can be found."<a name="NoteRef_729_729" id="NoteRef_729_729"></a><a href="#Note_729_729" class="fnanchor">[729]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Such is an abstract of our government. And yet he gives preference to -the Yahoos over men, saying that our wretched reason has aggravated and -multiplied these vices, and concluding with the king of Brobdignag that -our species is "the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> most pernicious race of little odious vermin that -nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the earth."<a name="NoteRef_730_730" id="NoteRef_730_730"></a><a href="#Note_730_730" class="fnanchor">[730]</a></p> - -<p>Five years after this treatise on man, he wrote in favor of unhappy -Ireland a pamphlet which is like the last effort of his despair and his -genius.<a name="NoteRef_731_731" id="NoteRef_731_731"></a><a href="#Note_731_731" class="fnanchor">[731]</a> I give it almost whole; it deserves it. I know nothing like -it in any literature:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"It is a melancholy object to those who walk through this great town, or -travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads, and -cabin-doors crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three, -four, or six children, all in rags, and importuning every passenger for -an alms.... I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious -number of children... is, in the present deplorable state of the -kingdom, a very great additional grievance; and therefore, whoever could -find out a fair, cheap, and easy method of making these children sound, -useful members of the Commonwealth, would deserve so well of the public, -as to have his statue set up for a preserver of the nation. . . I shall -now, therefore, humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be -liable to the least objection."<a name="NoteRef_732_732" id="NoteRef_732_732"></a><a href="#Note_732_732" class="fnanchor">[732]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>When we know Swift, such a beginning frightens us:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in -London, that a young healthy child, well nursed, is, at a year old, a -most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, -baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a -fricassee or a ragout.</p> - -<p>"I do therefore humbly offer it to public consideration, that of the -hundred and twenty thousand children already computed, twenty thousand -may be reserved for breed, whereof only one-fourth part to be males;... -that the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in -sale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always -advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so -as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two -dishes at an entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, -the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with -a little pepper or salt, will be very good boiled on the fourth day, -especially in winter."</p> - -<p>I have reckoned, upon a medium, that a child just born will weigh -twelve pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, will increase -to twenty-eight pounds.</p> - -<p>"I have already computed the charge of nursing a beggar's child (in -which list I reckon all cottagers, labourers, and four-fifths of the -farmers), to be about two shillings per annum, rags included; and I -believe no gentleman would repine to give ten shillings for the carcass <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> -of a good fat child, which, as I have said, will make four dishes of -excellent nutritive meat.</p> - -<p>"Those who are more thrifty (as I must confess the times require), may -flay the carcass; the skin of which, artificially dressed, will make -admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine gentlemen.</p> - -<p>"As to our city of Dublin, shambles may be appointed for this purpose in -the most convenient parts of it; and butchers we may be assured will not -be wanting; although I rather recommend buying the children alive, than -dressing them hot from the knife, as we do roasting pigs....</p> - -<p>"I think the advantages by the proposal which I have made, are obvious -and many, as well as of the highest importance. For first, as I have -already observed, it would greatly lessen the number of Papists, with -whom we are yearly overrun, being the principal breeders of the nation, -as well as our most dangerous enemies.... Thirdly, whereas the -maintenance of a hundred thousand children, from two years old and -upward, cannot be computed at less than ten shillings a piece per annum, -the nation's stock will be thereby increased fifty thousand pounds per -annum, beside the profit of a new dish introduced to the tables of all -gentlemen of fortune in the kingdom, who have any refinement in taste. -And the money will circulate among ourselves, the goods being entirely -of our own growth and manufacture.... Sixthly, this would be a great -inducement to marriage, which all wise nations have either encouraged by -rewards, or enforced by laws and penalties. It would increase the care -and tenderness of mothers toward their children, when they were sure of -a settlement for life to the poor babes, provided in some sort by the -public, to their annual profit or expense. ... Many other advantages -might be enumerated, for instance, the addition of some thousand -carcasses in our exportation of barrelled beef; the propagation of -swine's flesh, and the improvement in the art of making good bacon.... -But this, and many others, I omit, being studious of brevity.</p> - -<p>"Some persons of desponding spirit are in great concern about that vast -number of poor people who are aged, diseased, or maimed; and I have been -desired to employ my thoughts, what course may be taken to ease the -nation of so grievous an encumbrance. But I am not in the least pain -upon that matter; because it is very well known, that they are every day -dying and rotting, by cold and famine, and filth and vermin, as fast as -can be reasonably expected. And as to the young labourers, they are now -in almost as hopeful a condition; they cannot get work, and consequently -pine away for want of nourishment, to a degree, that, if at any time -they are accidentally hired to common labour, they have not strength to -perform it; and thus the country and themselves are happily delivered -from the evils to come."<a name="NoteRef_733_733" id="NoteRef_733_733"></a><a href="#Note_733_733" class="fnanchor">[733]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Swift ends with the following ironic lines, worthy of a cannibal: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I profess, in the sincerity of my heart that I have not the least -personal interest in endeavouring to promote this necessary work, having -no other motive than the public good of my country, by advancing our -trade, providing for infants, relieving the poor, and giving some -pleasure to the rich. I have no children by which I can propose to get a -single penny; the youngest being nine years old and my wife past -child-bearing."<a name="NoteRef_734_734" id="NoteRef_734_734"></a><a href="#Note_734_734" class="fnanchor">[734]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Much has been said of unhappy great men, Pascal, for instance. I think -that his cries and his anguish are faint compared to this calm treatise.</p> - -<p>Such was this great and unhappy genius, the greatest of the classical -age, the most unhappy in history, English throughout, whom the excess of -his English qualities inspired and consumed, having this intensity of -desires, which is the main feature of the race, the enormity of pride -which the habit of liberty, command, and success has impressed upon the -nation, the solidity of the positive mind which habits of business have -established in the country; precluded from power and action by his -unchecked passions and his intractable pride; excluded from poetry and -philosophy by the clear-sightedness and narrowness of his common-sense; -deprived of the consolations offered by contemplative life, and the -occupation furnished by practical life; too superior to embrace heartily -a religious sect or a political party, too narrow-minded to rest in the -lofty doctrines which conciliate all beliefs, or in the wide sympathies -which embrace all parties; condemned by his nature and surroundings to -fight without loving a cause, to write without taking a liking to -literature, to think without feeling the truth of any dogma, warring as -a <i>condottiere</i> against all parties, a misanthrope disliking all men, a -sceptic denying all beauty and truth. But these very surroundings, and -this very nature, which expelled him from happiness, love, power, and -science, raised him, in this age of French imitation and classical -moderation, to a wonderful height, where, by the originality and power -of his inventions, he is the equal of Byron, Milton, and Shakespeare, -and shows pre-eminently the character and mind of his nation. -Sensibility, a positive mind, and pride, forged for him a unique style, -of terrible vehemence, withering calmness, practical effectiveness, -hardened by scorn, truth and hatred, a weapon of vengeance and war which -made his enemies cry out and die under its point and its poison. A <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> -pamphleteer against opposition and government, he tore or crushed his -adversaries with his irony or his sentences, with the tone of a judge, a -sovereign, and a hangman. A man of the world and a poet, he invented a -cruel pleasantry, funereal laughter, a convulsive gayety of bitter -contrasts; and whilst dragging the mythological trappings, as if it were -rags he was obliged to wear, he created a personal poetry by painting -the crude details of trivial life, by the energy of a painful -grotesqueness, by the merciless revelation of the filth we conceal. A -philosopher against all philosophy, he created a realistic poem, a grave -parody, deduced like geometry, absurd as a dream, credible as a law -report, attractive as a tale, degrading as a dishclout placed like a -crown on the head of a divinity. These were his miseries and his -strength: we quit such a spectacle with a sad heart, but full of -admiration; and we say that a palace is beautiful even when it is on -fire. Artists will add: especially when it is on fire. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_648_648" id="Note_648_648"></a><a href="#NoteRef_648_648"><span class="label">[648]</span></a>In Swift's Works, ed. W. Scott, 19 vols. 1814; "Journal to -Stella," II. February 13 (1710-11). He says also (February 6 and 7): "I -will not see him (Mr. Harley) till he makes amends.... I was deaf to all -entreaties, and have desired Lewis to go to him, and let him know that I -expect farther satisfaction. If we let these great ministers pretend too -much, there will be no governing them."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_649_649" id="Note_649_649"></a><a href="#NoteRef_649_649"><span class="label">[649]</span></a>Ibid. April 3, 1711.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_650_650" id="Note_650_650"></a><a href="#NoteRef_650_650"><span class="label">[650]</span></a>Ibid. May 19, 1711.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_651_651" id="Note_651_651"></a><a href="#NoteRef_651_651"><span class="label">[651]</span></a>Ibid. October 7, 1711.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_652_652" id="Note_652_652"></a><a href="#NoteRef_652_652"><span class="label">[652]</span></a>"Journal to Stella," XVII. p. 352.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_653_653" id="Note_653_653"></a><a href="#NoteRef_653_653"><span class="label">[653]</span></a>Ibid. III. March 27, 1711-12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_654_654" id="Note_654_654"></a><a href="#NoteRef_654_654"><span class="label">[654]</span></a>Letter to Bolingbroke, Dublin, April 5, 1729.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_655_655" id="Note_655_655"></a><a href="#NoteRef_655_655"><span class="label">[655]</span></a>"Journal to Stella," II. September 9, 1710.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_656_656" id="Note_656_656"></a><a href="#NoteRef_656_656"><span class="label">[656]</span></a>Ibid. September 30, 1710.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_657_657" id="Note_657_657"></a><a href="#NoteRef_657_657"><span class="label">[657]</span></a>Ibid. November 8, 1710.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_658_658" id="Note_658_658"></a><a href="#NoteRef_658_658"><span class="label">[658]</span></a>"Swift's Life," by Roscoe, I. 56.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_659_659" id="Note_659_659"></a><a href="#NoteRef_659_659"><span class="label">[659]</span></a>"Swift's Life," by W. Scott, I. 379.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_660_660" id="Note_660_660"></a><a href="#NoteRef_660_660"><span class="label">[660]</span></a>Sheridan's "Life of Swift."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_661_661" id="Note_661_661"></a><a href="#NoteRef_661_661"><span class="label">[661]</span></a>W. Scott's "Life of Swift," I. 477.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_662_662" id="Note_662_662"></a><a href="#NoteRef_662_662"><span class="label">[662]</span></a>At that time he had already begun the "Tale of a Tub."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_663_663" id="Note_663_663"></a><a href="#NoteRef_663_663"><span class="label">[663]</span></a>He addresses his muse thus, in "Verses occasioned by Sir -William Temple's late illness and recovery," XIV. 45:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Wert thou right woman, thou should'st</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">scorn to look</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On an abandoned wretch by hopes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">forsook;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forsook by hopes, ill fortune's last</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">relief.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Assign'd for life to unremitting grief;</span><br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To thee I owe that fatal bent of mind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still to unhappy restless thoughts</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">inclined;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To thee, what oft I vainly strive to</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">hide,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That scorn of fools, by fools mistook</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.6em;">for pride."</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_664_664" id="Note_664_664"></a><a href="#NoteRef_664_664"><span class="label">[664]</span></a>These assertions have been denied. See Roscoe's "Life of -Swift," I. 14.—-Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_665_665" id="Note_665_665"></a><a href="#NoteRef_665_665"><span class="label">[665]</span></a>"Don't you remember how I used to be in pain when Sir -William Temple would look cold and out of humour for three or four days, -and I used to suspect a hundred reasons? I have plucked up my spirit -since then, faith; he spoiled a fine gentleman."—"Journal to Stella," -April 4, 1710-11.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_666_666" id="Note_666_666"></a><a href="#NoteRef_666_666"><span class="label">[666]</span></a>"Directions to Servants," XII. ch. III. 434.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_667_667" id="Note_667_667"></a><a href="#NoteRef_667_667"><span class="label">[667]</span></a>"Mrs. Harris's Petition," XIV. 52.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_668_668" id="Note_668_668"></a><a href="#NoteRef_668_668"><span class="label">[668]</span></a>By the "Tale of a Tub" with the clergy, and by the -"Prophecy of Windsor" with the Queen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_669_669" id="Note_669_669"></a><a href="#NoteRef_669_669"><span class="label">[669]</span></a>"The Drapier's Letters, Gulliver's Travels, Rhapsody on -Poetry, A modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of poor People in -Ireland from being a Burden to their Parents or Country, and for Making -them beneficial to the Public," and several pamphlets on Ireland.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_670_670" id="Note_670_670"></a><a href="#NoteRef_670_670"><span class="label">[670]</span></a>Letter to Lord Bolingbroke, Dublin. March 21, 1728. XVII. -274.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_671_671" id="Note_671_671"></a><a href="#NoteRef_671_671"><span class="label">[671]</span></a>Letter of Miss Vanhomrigh, Dublin, 1714, XIX. 421.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_672_672" id="Note_672_672"></a><a href="#NoteRef_672_672"><span class="label">[672]</span></a>These words are taken from a letter to Miss Vanhomrigh, -July 8, 1713, and cannot refer to her death, which took place in -1721.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_673_673" id="Note_673_673"></a><a href="#NoteRef_673_673"><span class="label">[673]</span></a>Letter to Bolingbroke, Dublin, March 21, 1728, XVII. 276.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_674_674" id="Note_674_674"></a><a href="#NoteRef_674_674"><span class="label">[674]</span></a>Roscoe's "Life of Swift," I. 80.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_675_675" id="Note_675_675"></a><a href="#NoteRef_675_675"><span class="label">[675]</span></a>In his "Thoughts on Religion" (VIII. 173) he says: "The -want of belief is a defect that ought to be concealed, when it cannot be -overcome. I look upon myself, in the capacity of a clergyman, to be one -appointed by Providence for defending a post assigned me, and for gaining -over as many enemies as I can."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_676_676" id="Note_676_676"></a><a href="#NoteRef_676_676"><span class="label">[676]</span></a>Whatever has been said, I do not think that he wrote the -"Drapier's Letters," whilst thinking the introduction of small copper -coin an advantage for Ireland. It was possible, for Swift more than for -another, to believe in a ministerial job. He seems to me to have been at -bottom an honest man.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_677_677" id="Note_677_677"></a><a href="#NoteRef_677_677"><span class="label">[677]</span></a>"Drapier's Letters," VII; Letter I, 97.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_678_678" id="Note_678_678"></a><a href="#NoteRef_678_678"><span class="label">[678]</span></a>Ibid. VII; Letter 2, 114.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_679_679" id="Note_679_679"></a><a href="#NoteRef_679_679"><span class="label">[679]</span></a>Ibid, VII; Letter 2, 115.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_680_680" id="Note_680_680"></a><a href="#NoteRef_680_680"><span class="label">[680]</span></a>"Drapier's Letters," VII; Letter 2, 114.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_681_681" id="Note_681_681"></a><a href="#NoteRef_681_681"><span class="label">[681]</span></a>Ibid. VII; Letter 1, 101.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_682_682" id="Note_682_682"></a><a href="#NoteRef_682_682"><span class="label">[682]</span></a>"The Public Spirit of the Whigs," IV. 405. See also in -the "Examiner" the pamphlet against Marlborough under the name of Crassus, -and the comparison between Roman generosity and English meanness.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_683_683" id="Note_683_683"></a><a href="#NoteRef_683_683"><span class="label">[683]</span></a>Swift's Works, IV. 148.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_684_684" id="Note_684_684"></a><a href="#NoteRef_684_684"><span class="label">[684]</span></a>"An Argument to prove that the Abolishing of Christianity -might be attended with some Inconveniences," VIII. 184. The Whigs were -herein attacked as the friends of freethinkers.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_685_685" id="Note_685_685"></a><a href="#NoteRef_685_685"><span class="label">[685]</span></a>Ibid. 188.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_686_686" id="Note_686_686"></a><a href="#NoteRef_686_686"><span class="label">[686]</span></a>"An Argument," etc., VIII. 192.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_687_687" id="Note_687_687"></a><a href="#NoteRef_687_687"><span class="label">[687]</span></a>Ibid. 196.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_688_688" id="Note_688_688"></a><a href="#NoteRef_688_688"><span class="label">[688]</span></a>Ibid. 200; final words of the Argument.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_689_689" id="Note_689_689"></a><a href="#NoteRef_689_689"><span class="label">[689]</span></a>VI. 415.—Arbuthnot is said to have written the whole or at -least part of it.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_690_690" id="Note_690_690"></a><a href="#NoteRef_690_690"><span class="label">[690]</span></a>"The Rape of the Lock."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_691_691" id="Note_691_691"></a><a href="#NoteRef_691_691"><span class="label">[691]</span></a>XIII. 17.—Pope, Arbuthnot, and Swift wrote it, together.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_692_692" id="Note_692_692"></a><a href="#NoteRef_692_692"><span class="label">[692]</span></a>"Predictions for the Year 1708 by Isaac Bickerstaff," IX. -156.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_693_693" id="Note_693_693"></a><a href="#NoteRef_693_693"><span class="label">[693]</span></a>These quotations are taken from a humorous pamphlet, -"Squire Bickerstaff Detected," written by Dr. Yalden. See Swift's Works, -IX. 176.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_694_694" id="Note_694_694"></a><a href="#NoteRef_694_694"><span class="label">[694]</span></a>"A Vindication of Isaac Bickerstaff," IX. 186.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_695_695" id="Note_695_695"></a><a href="#NoteRef_695_695"><span class="label">[695]</span></a>"Letter to a Very Young Lady on her Marriage," IX. -420-422.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_696_696" id="Note_696_696"></a><a href="#NoteRef_696_696"><span class="label">[696]</span></a>"Cadenus and Vanessa," XIV. 441.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_697_697" id="Note_697_697"></a><a href="#NoteRef_697_697"><span class="label">[697]</span></a>"Cadenus and Vanessa," XIV. 441.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_698_698" id="Note_698_698"></a><a href="#NoteRef_698_698"><span class="label">[698]</span></a>"Baucis and Philemon," XIV. 83.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_699_699" id="Note_699_699"></a><a href="#NoteRef_699_699"><span class="label">[699]</span></a>"Cadenus and Vanessa," XIV. 448.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_700_700" id="Note_700_700"></a><a href="#NoteRef_700_700"><span class="label">[700]</span></a>"Verses on Stella's Birthday," March 13, 1718-19, XIV. -469.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_701_701" id="Note_701_701"></a><a href="#NoteRef_701_701"><span class="label">[701]</span></a>Ovids, Plutarchs, Homers.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_702_702" id="Note_702_702"></a><a href="#NoteRef_702_702"><span class="label">[702]</span></a>"The Grand Question Debated," XV. 153.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_703_703" id="Note_703_703"></a><a href="#NoteRef_703_703"><span class="label">[703]</span></a>"On the Death of Dr. Swift," XIV. 331.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_704_704" id="Note_704_704"></a><a href="#NoteRef_704_704"><span class="label">[704]</span></a>Swift's Works, XIV. 93.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_705_705" id="Note_705_705"></a><a href="#NoteRef_705_705"><span class="label">[705]</span></a>"A Description of a City Shower," XIV. 94.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_706_706" id="Note_706_706"></a><a href="#NoteRef_706_706"><span class="label">[706]</span></a>"The Lady's Dressing-room."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_707_707" id="Note_707_707"></a><a href="#NoteRef_707_707"><span class="label">[707]</span></a>"Strephon and Chloe."</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>"A Love Poem from a Physician."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_709_709" id="Note_709_709"></a><a href="#NoteRef_709_709"><span class="label">[709]</span></a>"The Progress of Beauty."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_710_710" id="Note_710_710"></a><a href="#NoteRef_710_710"><span class="label">[710]</span></a>"The Problem," and "The Examination of Certain Abuses."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_711_711" id="Note_711_711"></a><a href="#NoteRef_711_711"><span class="label">[711]</span></a>Christian truth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_712_712" id="Note_712_712"></a><a href="#NoteRef_712_712"><span class="label">[712]</span></a>Persecutions and contests of the primitive church.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_713_713" id="Note_713_713"></a><a href="#NoteRef_713_713"><span class="label">[713]</span></a>Covetousness, ambition, and pride; the three vices that -the ancient fathers inveighed against.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_714_714" id="Note_714_714"></a><a href="#NoteRef_714_714"><span class="label">[714]</span></a>"A Tale of a Tub," IX. sec. 2, 79, 81.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_715_715" id="Note_715_715"></a><a href="#NoteRef_715_715"><span class="label">[715]</span></a>Innovations.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_716_716" id="Note_716_716"></a><a href="#NoteRef_716_716"><span class="label">[716]</span></a>The Will.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_717_717" id="Note_717_717"></a><a href="#NoteRef_717_717"><span class="label">[717]</span></a>"A Tale of a Tub," XI. sec. 2, 83.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_718_718" id="Note_718_718"></a><a href="#NoteRef_718_718"><span class="label">[718]</span></a>Purgatory.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_719_719" id="Note_719_719"></a><a href="#NoteRef_719_719"><span class="label">[719]</span></a>"A Tale of a Tub," 88.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_720_720" id="Note_720_720"></a><a href="#NoteRef_720_720"><span class="label">[720]</span></a>The prohibition of the laity's reading the Scriptures.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_721_721" id="Note_721_721"></a><a href="#NoteRef_721_721"><span class="label">[721]</span></a>"A Tale of a Tub," sec. 8, 146.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_722_722" id="Note_722_722"></a><a href="#NoteRef_722_722"><span class="label">[722]</span></a>Ibid. Introduction, 72.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_723_723" id="Note_723_723"></a><a href="#NoteRef_723_723"><span class="label">[723]</span></a>"A Tale of a Tub," sec. 3; "A Digression concerning -Critics," 97.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_724_724" id="Note_724_724"></a><a href="#NoteRef_724_724"><span class="label">[724]</span></a>"A Tale of a Tub; A Digression concerning Madness," -sec. 2, 167.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_725_725" id="Note_725_725"></a><a href="#NoteRef_725_725"><span class="label">[725]</span></a>Swift's Works, XII. "Gulliver's Travels," Part 2, ch. 6, -p. 171.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_726_726" id="Note_726_726"></a><a href="#NoteRef_726_726"><span class="label">[726]</span></a>"Gulliver's Travels," Part 3, ch. 8, p. 258.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_727_727" id="Note_727_727"></a><a href="#NoteRef_727_727"><span class="label">[727]</span></a>Ibid. Part 3, ch. 9, p. 264.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_728_728" id="Note_728_728"></a><a href="#NoteRef_728_728"><span class="label">[728]</span></a>"Gulliver's Travels," Part 4, ch. 1, p. 286.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_729_729" id="Note_729_729"></a><a href="#NoteRef_729_729"><span class="label">[729]</span></a>Ibid. Part 4, ch. 7, p. 337.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_730_730" id="Note_730_730"></a><a href="#NoteRef_730_730"><span class="label">[730]</span></a>"Gulliver's Travels," Part 2, ch. 6, p. 172.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_731_731" id="Note_731_731"></a><a href="#NoteRef_731_731"><span class="label">[731]</span></a>"A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of the -poor People in Ireland from being a Burden to their Parents or Country, -and for Making them Beneficial to the Public," 1729.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_732_732" id="Note_732_732"></a><a href="#NoteRef_732_732"><span class="label">[732]</span></a>Ibid. VII. 454.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_733_733" id="Note_733_733"></a><a href="#NoteRef_733_733"><span class="label">[733]</span></a>"A Modest Proposal," etc., 461.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_734_734" id="Note_734_734"></a><a href="#NoteRef_734_734"><span class="label">[734]</span></a>"A Modest Proposal," etc., 466.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_SIXTH_III">CHAPTER SIXTH</a></h4> -<h4><a id="The_Novelists">The Novelists</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_I.--The_Anti-Romantic_Novel">Section I.—The Anti-Romantic Novel</a></h4> - - -<p>Amidst these finished and perfect writings a new kind makes its -appearance, suited to the public tendencies and circumstances of the -time, the anti-romantic novel, the work and the reading of positive -minds, observers and moralists, not intended to exalt and amuse the -imagination, like the novels of Spain and the Middle Ages, not to -reproduce or embellish conversation, like the novels of France and the -seventeenth century, but to depict real life, to describe characters, to -suggest plans of conduct, and judge motives of action. It was a strange -apparition, and like the voice of a people buried underground, when, -amidst the splendid corruption of high life, this severe emanation of -the middle class welled up, and when the obscenities of Mrs Aphra Behn, -still the diversion of ladies of fashion, were found on the same table -with De Foe's "Robinson Crusoe."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_II.--Daniel_De_Foe">Section II.—Daniel De Foe</a></h4> - - -<p>De Foe, a dissenter, a pamphleteer, a journalist, a novel-writer, -successively a hosier, a tile-maker, an accountant, was one of those -indefatigable laborers and obstinate combatants, who, ill-treated, -calumniated, imprisoned, succeeded by their uprightness, common-sense, -and energy, in gaining England over to their side. At twenty-three, -having taken arms for Monmouth, he was fortunate in not being hung or -sent out of the country. Seven years later he was ruined and obliged to -hide. In 1702, for a pamphlet not rightly understood, he was condemned -to pay a fine, was set in the pillory, imprisoned two years in Newgate, -and only the charity of Godolphin prevented his wife and six <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> children -from dying of hunger. Being released and sent as a commissioner to -Scotland to treat about the union of the two countries, he narrowly -escaped being stoned. Another pamphlet, which was again misconstrued, -sent him to prison, compelled him to pay a fine of eight hundred pounds, -and only just in time he received the Queen's pardon. His works were -copied, he was robbed, and slandered. He was obliged to protest against -the plagiarists, who printed and altered his works for their benefit; -against the neglect of the Whigs, who did not find him tractable enough; -against the animosity of the Tories, who saw in him the chief champion -of the Whigs. In the midst of his self-defence he was struck with -apoplexy, and continued to defend himself from his bed. Yet he lived on, -but with great difficulty; poor and burdened with a family, he turned, -at fifty-five, to fiction, and wrote successively "Moll Flanders," -"Captain Singleton, Duncan Campbell, Colonel Jack," the "History of -the Great Plague in London," and many others. This vein exhausted, he -diverged and tried another—the "Complete English Tradesman, A Tour -through Great Britain." Death came; poverty remained. In vain had he -written in prose, in verse, on all subjects political and religious, -accidental or moral, satires and novels, histories and poems, travels -and pamphlets, commercial essays and statistical information, in all two -hundred and ten works, not of verbiage, but of arguments, documents, and -facts crowded and piled one upon another with such prodigality, that the -memory, thought, and application of one man seemed too small for such a -labor; he died penniless, in debt. However we regard his life, we see -only prolonged efforts and persecutions. Joy seems to be wanting; the -idea of the beautiful never enters. When he comes to fiction, it is like -a Presbyterian and a plebeian, with low subjects and moral aims, to -treat of the adventures, and reform the conduct of thieves and -prostitutes, workmen and sailors. His whole delight was to think that he -had a service to perform and that he was performing it: "He that opposes -his own judgment against the current of the times ought to be backed -with unanswerable truth; and he that has truth on his side is a fool as -well as a coward if he is afraid to own it, because of the multitude of -other men's opinions. 'Tis hard for a man to say, all the world is -mistaken but himself. But if it be so, who can help it?" Nobody can help -it, but then a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> man must walk straight ahead, and alone, amidst blows and -throwing of mud. De Foe is like one of those brave, obscure, and useful -soldiers who, with empty belly and burdened shoulders, go through their -duties with their feet in the mud, pocket blows, receive the whole day -long the fire of the enemy, and sometimes that of their friends into the -bargain, and die sergeants, happy if it has been their good fortune to -get hold of the Legion of Honor.</p> - -<p>De Foe had the kind of mind suitable to such a hard service, solid, -exact, entirely destitute of refinement, enthusiasm, agreeableness.<a name="NoteRef_735_735" id="NoteRef_735_735"></a><a href="#Note_735_735" class="fnanchor">[735]</a> -His imagination was that of a man of business, not of an artist, crammed -and, as it were, jammed down with facts. He tells them as they come to -him, without arrangement or style, like a conversation, without dreaming -of producing an effect, or composing a phrase, employing technical terms -and vulgar forms, repeating himself at need, using the same thing two or -three times, not seeming to imagine that there are methods of amusing, -touching, engrossing, or pleasing, with no desire but to pour out on -paper the fulness of the information with which he is charged. Even in -fiction his information is as precise as in history. He gives dates, -year, month, and day; notes the wind, north-east, south-west, -north-west; he writes a logbook, an invoice, attorneys' and shopkeepers' -bills, the number of moidores, interest, specie payments, payments in -kind, cost and sale prices, the share of the king, of religious houses, -partners, brokers, net totals, statistics, the geography and hydrography -of the island, so that the reader is tempted to take an atlas and draw -for himself a little map of the place, to enter into all the details of -the history, and to see the objects as clearly and fully as the author. -It seems as though our author had performed all Crusoe's labors, so -exactly does he describe them, with numbers, quantities, dimensions, -like a carpenter, potter, or an old tar. Never was such a sense of the -real before or since. Our realists of to-day, painters, anatomists, who -enter deliberately on their business, are very far from this -naturalness; art and calculation crop out amidst their too minute -descriptions. De Foe creates illusion; for it is not the eye which -deceives us, but the mind, and that literally: his account of the great -plague <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> has more than once passed for true; and Lord Chatham mistook his -"Memoirs of a Cavalier" for an authentic narrative. This was his aim. In -the preface to the old edition of "Robinson Crusoe" it is said: "The -story is told... to the instruction of others by this example, and to -justify and honour the wisdom of Providence. The editor believes the -thing to be a just history of facts; neither is there any appearance of -fiction in it." All his talents lie in this, and thus even his -imperfections aid him; his lack of art becomes a profound art; his -negligence, repetitions, prolixity, contribute to the illusion: we -cannot imagine that such and such a detail, so minute, so dull, is -invented; an inventor would have suppressed it; it is too tedious to -have been put in on purpose; art chooses, embellishes, interests; art, -therefore, cannot have piled up this heap of dull and vulgar accidents; -it is the truth.</p> - -<p>Read, for instance, "A True Relation of the Apparition of one Mrs Veal, -the next Day after her Death, to one Mrs Bargrave, at Canterbury, the -8th of September 1705; which Apparition recommends the perusal of -Drelincourt's Book of Consolation against the Fear of Death."<a name="NoteRef_736_736" id="NoteRef_736_736"></a><a href="#Note_736_736" class="fnanchor">[736]</a> The -old little chap books, read by aged needlewomen, are not more -monotonous. There is such an array of circumstantial and guaranteed -details, such a file of witnesses quoted, referred to, registered, -compared, such a perfect appearance of tradesman-like honesty, plain, -vulgar common-sense, that a man would take the author for an honest -retired hosier, with too little brains to invent a story; no writer -careful of his reputation would have printed such nonsense. In fact, it -was not his reputation that De Foe cared for; he had other motives in -his head; we literary men of the present time cannot guess them, being -literary men only. But he wanted to sell a pious book of Drelincourt, -which would not sell of itself, and in addition, to confirm people in -their religious belief by advocating the appearance of ghosts. It was -the grand proof then brought to bear on sceptics. Grave Dr Johnson -himself tried to see a ghost, and no event of that time was more suited -to the belief of the middle class. Here, as elsewhere, De Foe, like -Swift, is a man of action; effect, not noise touches him; he composed -"Robinson Crusoe" to warn the impious, as Swift <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> wrote the life of the -last man hung to inspire thieves with terror! In that positive and -religious age, amidst these political and puritanic citizens, practice -was of such importance as to reduce art to the condition of its tool.</p> - -<p>Never was art the tool of a more moral or more thoroughly English work. -Robinson Crusoe is quite a man of his race, and might instruct it even -in the present day. He has that force of will, inner enthusiasm, hidden -ferment of a violent imagination; which formerly produced the sea-kings, -and now produces emigrants and squatters. The misfortunes of his two -brothers, the tears of his relatives, the advice of his friends, the -remonstrances of his reason, the remorse of his conscience, are all -unable to restrain him: there was "a something fatal in his nature"; he -had conceived the idea, he must go to sea. To no purpose is he seized -with repentance during the first storm; he drowns in punch these "fits" -of conscience. To no purpose is he warned by shipwreck and a narrow -escape from death; he is hardened, and grows obstinate. To no purpose -captivity among the Moors and the possession of a fruitful plantation -invite repose; the indomitable instinct returns; he was born to be his -own destroyer, and embarks again. The ship goes down; he is cast alone -on a desert island; then his native energy found its vent and its -employment; like his descendants, the pioneers of Australia and America, -he must recreate and remaster one by one the inventions and acquisitions -of human industry; one by one he does so. Nothing represses his effort; -neither possession nor weariness:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I had the biggest magazine of all kinds now that ever was laid up, I -believe, for one man; but I was not satisfied still; for, while the ship -sat upright in that posture, I thought I ought to get everything out of -her that I could.... I got most of the pieces of cable ashore, and some -of the iron, though with infinite labour; for I was fain to dip for it -into the water; a work which fatigued me very much.... I believe, -verily, had the calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole -ship, piece by piece."<a name="NoteRef_737_737" id="NoteRef_737_737"></a><a href="#Note_737_737" class="fnanchor">[737]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In his eyes, work is natural. When, in order "to barricade himself, he -goes to cut the piles in the woods, and drives them into the earth, -which cost a great deal of time and labour," he says:</p> - -<p>"A very laborious and tedious work. But what need I have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> been concerned -at the tediousness of anything I had to do, seeing I had time enough to -do it in?... My time or labor was little worth, and so it was as well -employed one way as another."<a name="NoteRef_738_738" id="NoteRef_738_738"></a><a href="#Note_738_738" class="fnanchor">[738]</a> Application and fatigue of head and -arms give occupation to his superfluous activity and force; the -mill-stone must find grist to grind, without which, turning round empty, -it would wear itself away. He works, therefore, all day and night, at -once carpenter, oarsman, porter, hunter, tiller of the ground, potter, -tailor, milkman, basketmaker, grinder, baker, invincible in -difficulties, disappointments, expenditure of time and toil. Having but -a hatchet and an adze, it took him forty-two days to make a board. He -occupied two months in making his first two jars; five months in making -his first boat; then, "by dint of hard labour," he levelled the ground -from his timber-yard to the sea, then, not being able to bring his boat -to the sea, he tried to bring the sea up to his boat, and began to dig a -canal; then, reckoning that he would require ten or twelve years to -finish the task, he builds another boat at another place, with another -canal half a mile long, four feet deep, six wide. He spends two years -over it; "I bore with this.... I went through that by dint of hard -labour.... Many a weary stroke it had cost.... This will testify that I -was not idle.... As I had learned not to despair of anything I never -grudged my labour." These strong expressions of indomitable patience are -ever recurring. These stout-hearted men are framed for labor, as their -sheep are for slaughter and their horses for racing. Even now we may -hear their mighty hatchet and pickaxe sounding in the claims of -Melbourne and in the log-houses of the Salt Lake. The reason of their -success is the same there as here; they do everything with calculation -and method; they rationalize their energy, which is like a torrent they -make a canal for. Crusoe sets to work only after deliberate calculation -and reflection. When he seeks a spot for his tent, he enumerates the -four conditions of the place he requires. When he wishes to escape -despair, he draws up impartially, "like debtor and creditor," the list -of his advantages and disadvantages, putting them in two columns, active -and passive, item for item, so that the balance is in his favor. His -courage is only the servant of his common-sense: "By stating and -squaring everything by reason, and by making the most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> rational judgment -of things, every man may be in time master of every mechanic art. I had -never handled a tool in my life, and yet in time, by labour, -application, and contrivance, I found at last that I wanted nothing but -I could have made, especially if I had had tools."<a name="NoteRef_739_739" id="NoteRef_739_739"></a><a href="#Note_739_739" class="fnanchor">[739]</a> There is a grave -and deep pleasure in this painful success, and in this personal -acquisition. The squatter, like Crusoe, takes pleasure in things, not -only because they are useful, but because they are his work. He feels -himself a man, whilst finding everywhere about him the sign of his labor -and thought; he is pleased: "I had everything so ready at my hand, that -it was a great pleasure to me to see all my goods in such order, and -especially to find my stock of all necessaries so great."<a name="NoteRef_740_740" id="NoteRef_740_740"></a><a href="#Note_740_740" class="fnanchor">[740]</a> He -returns to his home willingly, because he is there a master and creator -of all the comforts he has around him; he takes his meals there gravely -and "like a king."</p> - -<p>Such are the pleasures of home. A guest enters there to fortify these -natural inclinations by the ascendancy of duty. Religion appears, as it -must, in emotions and visions: for this is not a calm soul; imagination -breaks out into it at the least shock, and carries it to the threshold -of madness. On the day when Robinson Crusoe saw the "print of a man's -naked foot on the shore," he stood "like one thunderstruck," and fled -"like a hare to cover"; his ideas are in a whirl, he is no longer master -of them; though he is hidden and barricaded, he thinks himself -discovered; he intends "to throw down the enclosures, turn all the tame -cattle wild into the woods, dig up the corn-fields." He has all kinds of -fancies; he asks himself if it is not the devil who has left this -footmark; and reasons upon it:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I considered that the devil might have found out abundance of other -ways to have terrified me;... that, as I lived quite on the other side -of the island, he would never have been so simple to leave a mark in a -place, where it was ten thousand to one whether I should ever see it or -not, and in the sand too, which the first surge of the sea upon a high -wind would have defaced entirely. All this seemed inconsistent with the -thing itself, and with all notions we usually entertain of the subtlety -of the devil."<a name="NoteRef_741_741" id="NoteRef_741_741"></a><a href="#Note_741_741" class="fnanchor">[741]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>In this impassioned and uncultivated mind, which for eight years had -continued without a thought, and as it were stupid, engrossed in manual -labor and bodily wants, belief took root, fostered <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> by anxiety and -solitude. Amidst the risks of all-powerful nature, in this great -uncertain upheaving, a Frenchman, a man bred as we are, would cross his -arms gloomily, like a Stoic, or would wait like an Epicurean for the -return of physical cheerfulness. As for Crusoe, at the sight of the ears -of barley which have suddenly made their appearance, he weeps, and -thinks at first "that God had miraculously caused this grain to grow." -Another day he has a terrible vision: in a fever of excitement he -repents of his sins; he opens the Bible, and finds these words, which -"were very apt to his case": "Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will -deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me."<a name="NoteRef_742_742" id="NoteRef_742_742"></a><a href="#Note_742_742" class="fnanchor">[742]</a>] Prayer then rises to his -lips, true prayer, the converse of the heart with a God who answers, and -to whom we listen. He also read the words: "I will never leave thee nor -forsake thee."<a name="NoteRef_743_743" id="NoteRef_743_743"></a><a href="#Note_743_743" class="fnanchor">[743]</a> "Immediately it occurred that these words were to -me. Why else should they be directed in such a manner, just at the -moment when I was mourning over my condition, as one forsaken of God and -man?"<a name="NoteRef_744_744" id="NoteRef_744_744"></a><a href="#Note_744_744" class="fnanchor">[744]</a> Thenceforth spiritual life begins for him. To reach its very -foundation, the squatter needs only his Bible; with it he carries about -his faith, his theology, his worship; every evening he finds in it some -application to his present condition: he is no longer alone: God speaks -to him, and provides for his energy matter for a second labor to sustain -and complete the first. For he now undertakes against his heart the -combat which he has maintained against nature; he wants to conquer, -transform, ameliorate, pacify the one as he has done with the other. -Robinson Crusoe fasts, observes the Sabbath, three times a day he reads -the Scripture, and says: "I gave humble and hearty thanks... that he -(God) could fully make up to me the deficiencies of my solitary state, -and the want of human society by his presence, and the communication of -his grace to my soul, supporting, comforting, and encouraging me to -depend upon his providence, and hope for his eternal presence -hereafter."<a name="NoteRef_745_745" id="NoteRef_745_745"></a><a href="#Note_745_745" class="fnanchor">[745]</a> In this disposition of mind there is nothing a man -cannot endure or do; heart and hand come to the assistance of the arms; -religion consecrates labor, piety feeds patience; and man, supported on -one side by his instincts, on the other by his belief, finds himself -able to clear the land, to people, to organize and civilize continents. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_III.--The_Evolution_of_the_Eighteenth_Century_Novel">Section III—The Evolution of the Eighteenth Century Novel</a></h4> - - -<p>It was by chance that De Foe, like Cervantes, lighted on a novel of -character: as a rule, like Cervantes, he only wrote novels of adventure; -he knew life better than the soul, and the general course of the world -better than the idiosyncrasies of an individual. But the impulse was -given, nevertheless, and now the rest followed. Chivalrous manners had -been blotted out, carrying with them the poetical and picturesque drama. -Monarchical manners had been blotted out, carrying with them the witty -and licentious drama. Citizen manners had been established, bringing -with them domestic and practical reading. Like society, literature -changed its course. Books were needed to read by the fireside, in the -country, amongst the family: invention and genius turn to this kind of -writing. The sap of human thought, abandoning the old dried-up branches, -flowed into the unseen boughs, which it suddenly made to grow and turn -green, and the fruits which it produced bear witness at the same time to -the surrounding temperature and the native stock. Two features are -common and proper to them. All these novels are character novels. -Englishmen, more reflective than others, more inclined to the melancholy -pleasure of concentrated attention and inner examination, find around -them human medals more vigorously struck, less worn by friction with the -world, whose uninjured face is more visible than that of others. All -these novels are works of observation, and spring from a moral design. -The men of this time, having fallen away from lofty imagination, and -being immersed in active life, desire to cull from books solid -instruction, just examples, powerful emotions, feelings of practical -admiration, and motives of action.</p> - -<p>We have but to look around; the same inclination begins on all sides the -same task. The novel springs up everywhere, and shows the same spirit -under all forms. At this time<a name="NoteRef_746_746" id="NoteRef_746_746"></a><a href="#Note_746_746" class="fnanchor">[746]</a> appear the "Tatler, Spectator, -Guardian," and all those agreeable and serious essays which, like the -novel, look for readers at home, to supply them with examples and -provide them with counsels; which, like the novel, describe manners, -paint characters, and try to correct the public which, finally, like the -novel, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> turn spontaneously to fiction and portraiture. Addison, like a -delicate amateur of moral curiosities, complacently follows the amiable -oddities of his darling Sir Roger de Coverley, smiles, and with discreet -hand guides the excellent knight through all the awkward predicaments -which may bring out his rural prejudices and his innate generosity; -whilst by his side the unhappy Swift, degrading man to the instincts of -the beast of prey and beast of burden, tortures humanity by forcing it -to recognize itself in the execrable portrait of the Yahoo. Although -they differ, both authors are working at the same task. They only employ -imagination in order to study characters, and to suggest plans of -conduct. They bring down philosophy to observation and application. They -only dream of reforming or chastising vice. They are only moralists and -psychologists. They both confine themselves to the consideration of vice -and virtue; the one with calm benevolence, the other with savage -indignation. The same point of view produces the graceful portraits of -Addison and the slanderous pictures of Swift. Their successors do the -like, and all diversities of mood and talent do not hinder their works -from acknowledging a similar source, and concurring in the same effect.</p> - -<p>Two principal ideas can rule, and have ruled, morality in England. Now -it is conscience which is accepted as a sovereign; now it is instinct -which is taken for a guide. Now they have recourse to grace; now they -rely on nature. Now they wholly enslave everything to rule; now they -give everything up to liberty. The two opinions have successively -reigned in England; and the human frame, at once too vigorous and too -unyielding, successively justifies their ruin and their success. Some, -alarmed by the fire of an over-fed temperament, and by the energy of -unsocial passions, have regarded nature as a dangerous beast, and placed -conscience with all its auxiliaries, religion, law, education, -proprieties, as so many armed sentinels to repress its least outbreaks. -Others, repelled by the harshness of an incessant constraint, and by the -minuteness of a morose discipline, have overturned guards and barriers, -and let loose captive nature to enjoy the free air and sun, deprived of -which it was being choked. Both by their excesses have deserved their -defeats and raised up their adversaries. From Shakespeare to the -Puritans, from Milton to Wycherley, from Congreve <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> to De Foe, from -Sheridan to Burke, from Wilberforce to Lord Byron, irregularity has -provoked constraint and tyranny revolt. This great contest of rule and -nature is developed again in the writings of Fielding and Richardson.</p> - - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IV.--Samuel_Richardson">Section IV.—Samuel Richardson</a></h4> - - -<p>"Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded: in a series of familiar letters from a -beautiful young damsel to her parents, published in order to cultivate -the principles of virtue and religion in the minds of the youth of both -sexes; a narrative which has its foundation in truth and at the same -time that it agreeably entertains by a variety of curious and affecting -incidents, is entirely divested of all those images which, in too many -pieces calculated for amusement only, tend to inflame the minds they -should instruct."<a name="NoteRef_747_747" id="NoteRef_747_747"></a><a href="#Note_747_747" class="fnanchor">[747]</a> We can make no mistake, the title is clear. The -preachers rejoiced to see assistance coming to them from the very spot -where there was danger; and Dr. Sherlock, from his pulpit, recommended -the book. Men inquired about the author. He was a printer and -bookseller, a joiner's son, who, at the age of fifty, and in his leisure -moments, wrote in his shop parlor: a laborious man, who, by work and -good conduct, had raised himself to a competency and had educated -himself; delicate moreover, gentle, nervous, often ill, with a taste for -the society of women, accustomed to correspond for and with them, of -reserved and retired habits, whose only fault was a timid vanity. He was -severe in principles, and had acquired perspicacity by his rigor. In -reality, conscience is a lamp; a moralist is a psychologist; Christian -casuistry is a sort of natural history of the soul. He who through -anxiety of conscience busies himself in drawing out the good or evil -motives of his manifest actions, who sees vices and virtues at their -birth, who follows the gradual progress of culpable thoughts, and the -secret confirmation of good resolves, who can mark the force, nature, -and moment of temptation and resistance, 'holds in his hand almost all -the moving strings of humanity, and has only to make them vibrate -regularly to draw from them the most powerful harmonies. In this -consists the art of Richardson; he combines whilst he observes; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> his -meditation develops the ideas of the moralist. No one in this age has -equalled him in these detailed and comprehensive conceptions, which, -grouping to a single end the passions of thirty characters, twine and -color the innumerable threads of the whole canvas, to bring out a -figure, an action, or a lesson.</p> - -<p>This first novel is a flower—one of those flowers which only bloom in -a virgin imagination, at the dawn of original invention, whose charm and -freshness surpass all that the maturity of art and genius can afterwards -cultivate or arrange. Pamela is a child of fifteen, brought up by an old -lady, half servant and half favorite, who, after the death of her -mistress, finds herself exposed to the growing seductions and -persecutions of the young master of the house. She is a genuine child, -frank and artless as Goethe's Margaret, and of the same family. After -twenty pages, we involuntarily see this fresh rosy face, always -blushing, and her laughing eyes, so ready with tears. At the smallest -kindness she is confused; she knows not what to say; she changes color, -casts down her eyes, as she makes a curtsy; the poor innocent heart is -troubled or melts.<a name="NoteRef_748_748" id="NoteRef_748_748"></a><a href="#Note_748_748" class="fnanchor">[748]</a> No trace of the bold vivacity, the nervous -coolness, which are the elements of the French girl. She is "a lambkin," -loved, loving, without pride, vanity, bitterness; timid, always humble. -When her master tries forcibly to kiss her, she is astonished; she will -not believe that the world is so wicked. "This gentleman has degraded -himself to offer freedoms to his poor servant."<a name="NoteRef_749_749" id="NoteRef_749_749"></a><a href="#Note_749_749" class="fnanchor">[749]</a> She is afraid of -being too free with him; reproaches herself, when she writes to her -relatives, with saying too often <i>he</i> and <i>him</i> instead of His Honor; -"but it is his fault if I do, for why did he lose all his dignity with -me?"<a name="NoteRef_750_750" id="NoteRef_750_750"></a><a href="#Note_750_750" class="fnanchor">[750]</a> No outrage exhausts her submissiveness: he has kissed her, and -took hold of her arm so rudely that it was "black and blue"; he has -tried worse, he has behaved like a ruffian and a knave. To cap all, he -slanders her circumstantially before the servants; he insults her -repeatedly, and provokes her to speak; she does not speak, will not fail -in her duty to her master. "It is for you, sir, to say what you please, -and for me only to say, God bless your honor!"<a name="NoteRef_751_751" id="NoteRef_751_751"></a><a href="#Note_751_751" class="fnanchor">[751]</a> She falls on her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> -knees, and thanks him for sending her away. But in so much submission -what resistance! Everything is against her; he is her master; he is a -justice of the peace, secure against all intervention—a sort of -divinity to her, with all the superiority and authority of a feudal -prince. Moreover, he has the brutality of the times; he rates her, -speaks to her like a slave, and yet thinks himself very kind. He shuts -her up alone for several months, with "a wicked creature," his -housekeeper, who beats and threatens her. He tries on her influence of -fear, loneliness, surprise, money, gentleness. And what is more -terrible, her own heart is against her: she loves him secretly; her -virtues injure her; she dare not lie, when she most needs it;<a name="NoteRef_752_752" id="NoteRef_752_752"></a><a href="#Note_752_752" class="fnanchor">[752]</a> and -piety keeps her from suicide, when that seems her only resource. One by -one the issues close around her, so that she loses hope, and the readers -of her adventures think her lost and ruined. But this native innocence -has been strengthened by Puritanic faith. She sees temptations in her -weaknesses; she knows that "Lucifer always is ready to promote his own -work and workmen";<a name="NoteRef_753_753" id="NoteRef_753_753"></a><a href="#Note_753_753" class="fnanchor">[753]</a> she is penetrated by the great Christian idea, -which makes all souls equal before the common salvation and the final -judgment. She says: "My soul is of equal importance to the soul of a -princess, though my quality is inferior to that of the meanest -slave."<a name="NoteRef_754_754" id="NoteRef_754_754"></a><a href="#Note_754_754" class="fnanchor">[754]</a> Wounded, stricken, abandoned, betrayed, still the knowledge -and thought of a happy or unhappy eternity are two defences which no -assault can carry. She knows it well; she has no other means of -explaining vice than to suppose them absent. She considers that wicked -Mrs Jewkes is an atheist. Belief in God, the heart's belief—not the -wording of the catechism, but the inner feeling, the habit of picturing -justice as ever living and ever present—this is the fresh blood which -the Reformation caused to flow into the veins of the old world, and -which alone could give it a new life and a new youth.</p> - -<p>She is, as it were, animated by this feeling; in the most perilous as in -the sweetest moments, this grand sentiment returns to her, so much is it -entwined with all the rest, so much has it multiplied its tendrils and -buried its roots in the innermost folds of her heart. Her young master -thinks of marrying her now, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> and wishes to be sure that she loves him. -She dares not say so, being afraid to give him a hold upon her. She is -greatly troubled by his kindness, and yet she must answer. Religion -comes to veil love in a sublime half-confession: "I fear not, sir, the -grace of God supporting me, that any acts of kindness would make me -forget what I owe to my virtue; but... my nature is too frank and open -to make me wish to be ungrateful; and if I should be taught a lesson I -never yet learnt, with what regret should I descend to the grave, to -think that I could not hate my undoer; and that, at the last great day, -I must stand up as an accuser of the poor unhappy soul, that I could -wish it in my power to save!"<a name="NoteRef_755_755" id="NoteRef_755_755"></a><a href="#Note_755_755" class="fnanchor">[755]</a> He is softened and vanquished, -descends from that vast height where aristocratic customs placed him, -and thenceforth, day by day, the letters of the happy child record the -preparations for their marriage. Amidst this triumph and happiness she -continues humble, devoted, and tender; her heart is full, and gratitude -fills it from every source: "This foolish girl must be, after twelve -o'clock this day, as much his wife as if he were to marry a -duchess."<a name="NoteRef_756_756" id="NoteRef_756_756"></a><a href="#Note_756_756" class="fnanchor">[756]</a> She "had the boldness to kiss his hand."<a name="NoteRef_757_757" id="NoteRef_757_757"></a><a href="#Note_757_757" class="fnanchor">[757]</a> "My heart -is so wholly yours, that I am afraid of nothing but that I may be -forwarder than you wish."<a name="NoteRef_758_758" id="NoteRef_758_758"></a><a href="#Note_758_758" class="fnanchor">[758]</a> Shall the marriage take place Monday, or -Tuesday, or Wednesday? She dare not say yes; she blushes and trembles: -there is a delightful charm in this timid modesty, these restrained -effusions. For a wedding present she obtains the pardon of the wicked -creatures who have ill-treated her: "I clasped my arms about his neck, -and was not ashamed to kiss him once, and twice, and three times, once -for each forgiven person."<a name="NoteRef_759_759" id="NoteRef_759_759"></a><a href="#Note_759_759" class="fnanchor">[759]</a> Then they talk over their plans: she -shall remain at home; she will not frequent grand parties; she is not -fond of cards; she will keep the "family accounts," and distribute her -husband's charities; she will help the housekeeper in "the making -jellies, comfits, sweetmeats, marmalades, cordials, and to pot, and -candy, and preserve,"<a name="NoteRef_760_760" id="NoteRef_760_760"></a><a href="#Note_760_760" class="fnanchor">[760]</a> to get up the linen; she will look after the -breakfast and dinner, especially when there are guests; she knows how to -carve; she will wait for her husband, who perhaps will be so good as now -and then to give her an hour or two of his "agreeable conversation," -"and will be indulgent to the impertinent overflowings <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> of my grateful -heart."<a name="NoteRef_761_761" id="NoteRef_761_761"></a><a href="#Note_761_761" class="fnanchor">[761]</a> In his absence she will read—"that will help to polish my -mind, and make me worthier of your company and conversation";<a name="NoteRef_762_762" id="NoteRef_762_762"></a><a href="#Note_762_762" class="fnanchor">[762]</a> and -she will pray to God, she says, in order "that I may be enabled to -discharge my duty to my husband."<a name="NoteRef_763_763" id="NoteRef_763_763"></a><a href="#Note_763_763" class="fnanchor">[763]</a> Richardson has sketched here the -portrait of the English wife—a good housekeeper and sedentary, studious -and obedient, loving and pious—and Fielding will finish it in his -"Amelia."</p> - -<p>Pamela's adventures describe a contest: the novel of Clarissa Harlowe -represents one still greater. Virtue, like force of every kind, is -proportioned according to its power of resistance; and we have only to -subject it to more violent tests, to give it its greatest prominence. -Let us look in passions of the English for foes capable of assailing -virtue, calling it forth, and strengthening it. The evil and the good of -the English character is a too strong will.<a name="NoteRef_764_764" id="NoteRef_764_764"></a><a href="#Note_764_764" class="fnanchor">[764]</a> When tenderness and -lofty reason fail, the native energy becomes sternness, obstinacy, -inflexible tyranny, and the heart a den of malevolent passions, eager to -rave and tear each other. Against a family, having such passions, -Clarissa Harlowe has to struggle. Her father never would be "controlled, -nor yet persuaded."<a name="NoteRef_765_765" id="NoteRef_765_765"></a><a href="#Note_765_765" class="fnanchor">[765]</a> He never "did give up one point he thought he -had a right to carry."<a name="NoteRef_766_766" id="NoteRef_766_766"></a><a href="#Note_766_766" class="fnanchor">[766]</a> He has broken down the will of his wife, and -degraded her to the part of a dumb servant: he wishes to break down the -will of his daughter, and to give her for a husband a coarse and -heartless fool. He is the head of the family, master of all his people, -despotic and ambitious as a Roman patrician, and he wishes to found a -house. He is stern in these two harsh resolves, and inveighs against the -rebellious daughter. Above the outbursts of his voice we hear the loud -wrath of his son, a sort of plethoric, over-fed bull-dog, excited by his -greed, his youth, his fiery temper, and his premature authority; the -shrill outcry of the eldest daughter, a coarse, plain-looking girl, with -"a plump, high-fed face," exactingly jealous, prone to hate, who, being -neglected by Lovelace, revenges herself on her beautiful sister; the -churlish growling of the two uncles, narrow-minded old bachelors, -vulgar, pigheaded, through their notions of male authority; the grievous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> -importunities of the mother, the aunt, the old nurse, poor timid slaves, -reduced one by one to become instruments of persecution. The whole -family have bound themselves to favor Mr. Solmes's proposal to marry -Clarissa. They do not reason, they simply express their will. By dint of -repetition, only one idea has fixed itself in their brain, and they -become furious when anyone endeavors to oppose it. "Who at the long run -must submit?" asks her mother; "all of us to you, or you to all of -us?"<a name="NoteRef_767_767" id="NoteRef_767_767"></a><a href="#Note_767_767" class="fnanchor">[767]</a> Clarissa offers to remain single, never to marry at all; she -consents to give up her property. But her family answered: "They had a -right to her obedience upon their own terms; her proposal was an -artifice, only to gain time; nothing but marrying Mr. Solmes should -do;... they should not be at rest till it was done."<a name="NoteRef_768_768" id="NoteRef_768_768"></a><a href="#Note_768_768" class="fnanchor">[768]</a> It must be -done, they have promised it; it is a point of honor with them. A girl, a -young, inexperienced, insignificant girl, to resist men, old men, people -of position and consideration, nay, her whole family—monstrous! So they -persist, like brutes as they are, blindly, putting on the screw with all -their stupid hands together, not seeing that at every turn they bring -the child nearer to madness, dishonor, or death. She begs them, implores -them, one by one, with every argument and prayer; racks herself to -discover concessions, goes on her knees, faints, makes them weep. It is -all useless. The indomitable, crushing will oppresses her with its daily -increasing mass. There is no example of such a varied moral torture, so -incessant, so obstinate. They persist in it, as if it were a task, and -are vexed to find that she makes their task so long. They refuse to see -her, forbid her to write, are afraid of her tears. Her sister Arabella, -with the venomous bitterness of an offended, ugly woman, tries to make -her insults more stinging:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"'The <i>witty</i>, the <i>prudent</i>, nay the <i>dutiful</i> and pious (so she -sneeringly pronounced the word) Clarissa Harlowe, should be so strangely -fond of a profligate man, that her parents were forced to lock her up, -in order to hinder her from running into his arms.' 'Let me ask you, my -dear,' said she, 'how you now keep your account of the disposition of -your time? How many hours in the twenty-four do you devote to your -needle? How many to your prayers? How many to letter-writing? And how -many to love? I doubt, I doubt, my little dear, the latter article is -like Aaron's rod, and swallows up all the rest.... You must therefore -bend or break, that is all, child.'<a name="NoteRef_769_769" id="NoteRef_769_769"></a><a href="#Note_769_769" class="fnanchor">[769]</a>... <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'What, not speak yet? Come, my sullen, silent dear, speak one word to -me. You must say two very soon to Mr. Solmes, I can tell you that.... -Well, well (insultingly wiping my averted face with her handkerchief)... -Then you think you may be brought to speak the two words.'"<a name="NoteRef_770_770" id="NoteRef_770_770"></a><a href="#Note_770_770" class="fnanchor">[770]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>She continues thus:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"'<i>This</i>, Clary, is a pretty pattern enough. But <i>this</i> is quite -charming?—And <i>this</i>, were I you, should be my wedding nightgown. But, -Clary, won't you have a velvet suit? It would cut a great figure in a -country church, you know. Crimson velvet, suppose! Such a fine -complexion as yours, how it would be set off by it!—And do you sigh, -love? Black velvet, so fair as you are, with those charming eyes, -gleaming through a wintry cloud, like an April sun. Does not Lovelace -tell you they are charming eyes?'"<a name="NoteRef_771_771" id="NoteRef_771_771"></a><a href="#Note_771_771" class="fnanchor">[771]</a></p></blockquote> - - -<p>Then, when Arabella is reminded that, three months ago, she did not find -Lovelace so worthy of scorn, she nearly chokes with passion; she wants -to beat her sister, cannot speak, and says to her aunt, "with great -violence": "Let us go, madam; let us leave the creature so swell till she -burst with her own poison."<a name="NoteRef_772_772" id="NoteRef_772_772"></a><a href="#Note_772_772" class="fnanchor">[772]</a> It reminds us of a pack of hounds in -full cry after a deer, which is caught, and wounded; whilst the pack -grow more eager and more ferocious, because they have tasted blood.</p> - -<p>At the last moment, when she thinks to escape them, a new chase begins, -more dangerous than the other. Lovelace has all the evil passions of -Harlowe, and in addition a genius which sharpens and aggravates them. -What; a character! How English! how different from the Don Juan of -Mozart or of Molière! Before everything he wishes to have the cruel -fair one in his power: then come the desire to bend others, a combative -spirit, a craving for triumph; only after all these come the senses. He -spares an innocent, young girl, because he knows she is easy to conquer, -and the grandmother "has besought him to be merciful to her. The -<i>Debellare superbos</i> should be my motto,"<a name="NoteRef_773_773" id="NoteRef_773_773"></a><a href="#Note_773_773" class="fnanchor">[773]</a> he writes to his friend -Belford; and in another letter he says, "I always considered opposition -and resistance as a challenge to do my worst."<a name="NoteRef_774_774" id="NoteRef_774_774"></a><a href="#Note_774_774" class="fnanchor">[774]</a> At bottom, pride', -infinite, insatiable, senseless, is the mainspring, the only motive of -all his actions. He acknowledges "that he only wanted Cæsar's -outsetting to make <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> a figure among his contemporaries,"<a name="NoteRef_775_775" id="NoteRef_775_775"></a><a href="#Note_775_775" class="fnanchor">[775]</a> and that he -only stoops to private conquests out of mere whim. He declares that he -would not marry the first princess on earth, if he but thought she -balanced a minute in her choice of him or of an emperor. He is held to -be gay, brilliant, conversational; but this petulance of animal vigor is -only external; he is cruel, jests savagely, in cool blood, like a -hangman, about the harm which he has done or means to do. He reassures a -poor servant who is troubled at having given up Clarissa to him in the -following words: "The affair of Miss Betterton was a youthful -frolick.... I went into mourning for her, though abroad at the time—a -distinction I have ever paid to those worthy creatures who died in -child-bed by me.... Why this squeamishness, then, honest Joseph?"<a name="NoteRef_776_776" id="NoteRef_776_776"></a><a href="#Note_776_776" class="fnanchor">[776]</a> -The English roisterers of those days threw the human body in the sewers. -One gentleman, a friend of Lovelace, "tricked a farmer's daughter, a -pretty girl, up to town,... drank her light-hearted,... then to the -play... then to the bagnio, ruined her; kept her on a fortnight or three -weeks; then left her to the mercy of the people of the bagnio (never -paying for anything), who stript her of all her cloaths, and because she -would not take on, threw her into prison, where she died in want and in -despair."<a name="NoteRef_777_777" id="NoteRef_777_777"></a><a href="#Note_777_777" class="fnanchor">[777]</a> The rakes in France were only rascals,<a name="NoteRef_778_778" id="NoteRef_778_778"></a><a href="#Note_778_778" class="fnanchor">[778]</a> here they -were villains; wickedness with them poisoned love. Lovelace hates -Clarissa even more than he loves her. He has a book in which he sets -down, he says, "all the family faults and the infinite trouble she -herself has given me. When my heart is soft, and all her own, I can but -turn to memoranda, and harden myself at once."<a name="NoteRef_779_779" id="NoteRef_779_779"></a><a href="#Note_779_779" class="fnanchor">[779]</a> He is angry because -she dares to defend herself, says that he'll teach her to vie with him -in inventions, to make plots against and for her conqueror. It is a -struggle between them without truce or halting. Lovelace says of -himself: "What an industrious spirit have I! Nobody can say that I eat -the bread of idleness;... certainly, with this active soul, I should -have made a very great figure in whatever station I had filled."<a name="NoteRef_780_780" id="NoteRef_780_780"></a><a href="#Note_780_780" class="fnanchor">[780]</a> He -assaults and besieges her, spends whole nights outside her house, gives -the Harlowes servants of his own, invents stories, introduces personages -under a false <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> name, forges letters. There is no expense, fatigue, plot, -treachery which he will not undertake. All weapons are the same to him. -He digs and plans even when away, ten, twenty, fifty saps, which all -meet in the same mine. He provides against everything; he is ready for -everything; divines, dares everything, against all duty, humanity, -common-sense, in spite of the prayers of his friends, the entreaties of -Clarissa, his own remorse. Excessive will, here as with the Harlowes, -becomes an iron wheel, which twists out of shape and breaks to pieces -what it ought to bend, so that at last, by blind impetuosity, it is -broken by its own impetus, over the ruins it has made.</p> - -<p>Against such assaults what resources has Clarissa? A will as determined -as Lovelace's. She also is armed for war, and admits that she has as -much of her father's spirit as of her mother's gentleness. Though -gentle, though readily driven into Christian humility, she has pride; -she "had hoped to be an example to young persons" of her sex; she -possesses the firmness of a man, and above all a masculine -reflection.<a name="NoteRef_781_781" id="NoteRef_781_781"></a><a href="#Note_781_781" class="fnanchor">[781]</a> What self-scrutiny! what vigilance! what minute and -indefatigable observation of her conduct, and that of others!<a name="NoteRef_782_782" id="NoteRef_782_782"></a><a href="#Note_782_782" class="fnanchor">[782]</a> No -action, or word, involuntary or other gesture of Lovelace is unobserved -by her, uninterpreted, unjudged, with the perspicacity and clearness of -mind of a diplomatist and a moralist! We must read these long -conversations, in which no word is used without calculation, genuine -duels daily renewed, with death, nay, with dishonor before her. She -knows it, is not disturbed, remains ever mistress of herself, never -exposes herself, is not dazed, defends every inch of ground, feeling -that all the world is on his side, no one for her, that she loses -ground, and will lose more, that she will fall, that she is falling. And -yet she bends not. What a change since Shakespeare! Whence comes this -new and original idea of woman? Who has encased these yielding and -tender innocents with such heroism and calculation? Puritanism -transferred to the laity. Clarissa "never looked upon any duty, much -less a voluntary vowed one, with indifference." <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> She has passed her whole -life in looking at these duties. She has placed certain principles -before her, has reasoned upon them, applied them to the various -circumstances of life, has fortified herself on every point with maxims, -distinctions, and arguments. She has set round her, like bristling and -multiplied ramparts, a numberless army of inflexible precepts. We can -only reach her by turning over her whole mind and her whole past. This -is her force, and also her weakness; for she is so carefully defended by -her fortifications, that she is a prisoner; her principles are a snare -to her, and her virtue destroys her. She wishes to preserve too much -decorum. She refuses to apply to a magistrate, for it would make public -the family quarrels. She does not resist her father openly; that would -be against filial humility. She does not repel Solmes violently, like a -hound, as he is; it would be contrary to feminine delicacy. She will not -leave home with Miss Howe; that might injure the character of her -friend. She reproves Lovelace when he swears,<a name="NoteRef_783_783" id="NoteRef_783_783"></a><a href="#Note_783_783" class="fnanchor">[783]</a> a good Christian -ought to protest against scandal. She is argumentative and pedantic, a -politician and a preacher; she wearies us, she does not act like a -woman. When a room is on fire, a young girl flies barefooted, and does -not do what Miss Clarissa does—ask for her slippers. I am very sorry -for it, but I say it with bated breath, the sublime Clarissa had a -little mind; her virtue is like the piety of devotees, literal and -over-nice. She does not carry us away, she has always her guide of -deportment in her hand; she does not discover her duties, but follows -instructions; she has not the audacity of great resolutions, she -possesses more conscience and firmness than enthusiasm and genius.<a name="NoteRef_784_784" id="NoteRef_784_784"></a><a href="#Note_784_784" class="fnanchor">[784]</a> -This is the advantage of morality pushed to an extreme, no matter what -the school or the aim is. By dint of regulating man, we narrow him.</p> - -<p>Poor Richardson, unsuspiciously, has been at pains to set the thing -forth in broad light, and has created Sir Charles Grandison "a man of -true honor." I cannot say whether this model has converted many. There -is nothing so insipid as an edifying hero. This Sir Charles is as -correct as an automaton; he passes his life in weighing his duties, and -"with an air of gallantry."<a name="NoteRef_785_785" id="NoteRef_785_785"></a><a href="#Note_785_785" class="fnanchor">[785]</a> When <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> he goes to visit a sick person, he -has scruples about going on a Sunday, but reassures his conscience by -saying; "I am afraid I must borrow of the Sunday some hours on my -journey; but visiting the sick is an act of mercy."<a name="NoteRef_786_786" id="NoteRef_786_786"></a><a href="#Note_786_786" class="fnanchor">[786]</a> Would anyone -believe that such a man could fall in love? Such is the case, however, -but in a manner of his own. Thus he writes to his betrothed: "And now, -loveliest and dearest of women, allow me to expect the honour of a line, -to let me know how much of the tedious month from last Thursday you will -be so good to abate.... My utmost gratitude will ever be engaged by the -condescension, whenever you shall distinguish the day of the year, -distinguished as it will be to the end of my life that shall give me the -greatest blessing of it and confirm me—forever yours, Charles -Grandison."<a name="NoteRef_787_787" id="NoteRef_787_787"></a><a href="#Note_787_787" class="fnanchor">[787]</a> A wax figure could not be more proper. All is in the -same taste. There are eight wedding-coaches, each with four horses; Sir -Charles is attentive to old people; at table, the gentlemen, each with a -napkin under his arm, wait upon the ladies; the bride is ever on the -point of fainting; he throws himself at her feet with the utmost -politeness: "What, my love! In compliment to the best of parents resume -your usual presence of mind. I, else, who shall glory before a thousand -witnesses in receiving the honor of your hand, shall be ready to regret -that I acquiesced so cheerfully with the wishes of those parental -friends for a public celebration."<a name="NoteRef_788_788" id="NoteRef_788_788"></a><a href="#Note_788_788" class="fnanchor">[788]</a> Courtesies begin, compliments -fly about; a swarm of proprieties flutters around, like a troop of -little love-cherubs, and their devout wings serve to sanctify the -blessed tendernesses of the happy couple. Tears abound; Harriet bemoans -the fate of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, whilst Sir Charles, "in a soothing, -tender, and respectful manner, put his arm round me, and taking my own -handkerchief, unresisted, wiped away the tears as they fell on my cheek. -Sweet humanity! Charming sensibility! Check not the kindly gush. -Dewdrops of heaven! (wiping away my tears, and kissing the -handkerchief), dewdrops of heaven, from a mind like that heaven mild and -gracious!"<a name="NoteRef_789_789" id="NoteRef_789_789"></a><a href="#Note_789_789" class="fnanchor">[789]</a> It is too much; we are surfeited, we say to ourselves -that these phrases should be accompanied by a mandoline. The most -patient of mortals feels himself sick at heart <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> when he has swallowed a -thousand pages of his sentimental twaddle, and all the milk and water of -love. To crown all, Sir Charles, seeing Harriet embrace her rival, -sketches the plan of a little temple, dedicated to Friendship, to be -built on the very spot; it is the triumph of mythological bad taste. At -the end, bouquets shower down as at the opera; all the characters sing -in unison a chorus in praise of Sir Charles, and his wife says: "But -could he be otherwise than the best of husbands, who was the most -dutiful of sons, who is the most affectionate of brothers; the most -faithful of friends: who is good upon principle in every relation of -life!"<a name="NoteRef_790_790" id="NoteRef_790_790"></a><a href="#Note_790_790" class="fnanchor">[790]</a> He is great, he is generous, delicate, pious, -irreproachable; he has never done a mean action, nor made a wrong -gesture. His conscience and his wig are unsullied. Amen! Let us canonize -him, and stuff him with straw.</p> - -<p>Nor, my dear Richardson, have you, great as you are, exactly all the wit -which is necessary in order to have enough. By seeking to serve -morality, you prejudice it. Do you know the effect of these edifying -advertisements which you stick on at the beginning or end of your books? -We are repelled, feel our emotion diminish, see the black-gowned -preacher come snuffling out of the worldly dress which he had assumed -for an hour; we are annoyed by the deceit. Insinuate morality, but do -not inflict it. Remember there is a substratum of rebellion in the human -heart, and that if we too openly set ourselves to wall it up with -discipline, it escapes and looks for free air outside. You print at the -end of "Pamela" the catalogue of the virtues of which she is an example; -the reader yawns, forgets his pleasure, ceases to believe, and asks -himself if the heavenly heroine was not an ecclesiastical puppet, -trotted out to give him a lesson. You relate at the end of "Clarissa -Harlowe" the punishment of all the wicked, great and small, sparing -none; the reader laughs, says that things happen otherwise in this -world, and bids you put in here like Arnolphe,<a name="NoteRef_791_791" id="NoteRef_791_791"></a><a href="#Note_791_791" class="fnanchor">[791]</a> a description "of -the cauldrons in which the souls of those who have led evil lives are to -boil in the infernal regions. We are not such fools as you take us for. -There is no need that you should shout to make us afraid; that you -should write out the lesson by itself, and in capitals, in order to -distinguish it. We love art, and you have a scant amount of it; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> we want -to be pleased, and you don't care to please us. You copy all the -letters, detail the conversations, tell everything, prune nothing; your -novels fill many volumes; spare us, use the scissors; be a skilled -literary workman, not a registrar of the Rolls office. Do not pour out -your library of documents on the high-road. Art is different from -nature; the latter draws out, the first condenses. Twenty letters of -twenty pages do not display a character; but one brilliant saying does. -You are weighed down by your conscience, which compels you to move step -by step and slow; you are afraid of your genius; you rein it in; you -dare not use loud cries and free speech at the very moment when passion -is most virulent; you flounder into emphatic and well-written -phrases;<a name="NoteRef_792_792" id="NoteRef_792_792"></a><a href="#Note_792_792" class="fnanchor">[792]</a> you will not show nature as it is, as Shakespeare shows -it, when, stung by passion as by a hot iron, it cries out, rears, and -bounds over your barriers. You cannot love it, and your punishment is -that you cannot see it."<a name="NoteRef_793_793" id="NoteRef_793_793"></a><a href="#Note_793_793" class="fnanchor">[793]</a></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_V.--Henry_Fielding">Section V.—Henry Fielding</a></h4> - - -<p>Fielding protests on behalf of nature; and certainly, to see his actions -and his persons, we think him made expressly for that purpose, a robust, -strongly built man, above six feet high, sanguine, with an excess of -good humor and animal spirits, loyal, generous, affectionate, and brave, -but imprudent, extravagant, a drinker, a roisterer, ruined as his father -was before him, having seen the ups and downs of life, not always clean, -but always jolly. Lady Wortley Montague says of him: "His happy -constitution made him forget everything when he was before a venison -pasty, or over a flask of champagne."<a name="NoteRef_794_794" id="NoteRef_794_794"></a><a href="#Note_794_794" class="fnanchor">[794]</a> Natural impulse, somewhat -coarse but generous, sways him. It does not restrain itself, it flows -freely, it follows its own bent, not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> choice in its course, not confining -itself to banks, miry but copious, and in a broad channel. From the -outset an abundance of health and physical impetuosity plunges Fielding -into gross jovial excess, and the immoderate sap of youth bubbles up in -him until he marries and becomes ripe in years. He is gay, and seeks -gayety; he is careless, and has not even literary vanity. One day -Garrick begged him to cut down an awkward scene, and told him "that a -repulse would flurry him so much, he should not be able to do justice to -the part. If the scene is not a good one, let them find that out," -said Fielding; just as was foreseen, the house made a violent uproar, -and the performer tried to quell it by retiring to the green-room, where -the author was supporting his spirits with a bottle of champagne. "What -is the matter, Garrick? are they hissing me now? Yes, just the same -passage that I wanted you to retrench. Oh," replied the author, "I did -not give them credit for it: they have found it out, have they?"<a name="NoteRef_795_795" id="NoteRef_795_795"></a><a href="#Note_795_795" class="fnanchor">[795]</a> In -this easy manner he took all mischances. He went ahead without feeling -the bruises much, like a confident man, whose heart expands and whose -skin is thick. When he inherited some money he feasted, gave dinners to -his neighbors, kept a pack of hounds and a lot of magnificent lackeys in -yellow livery. In three years he had spent it all; but courage remained, -he finished his law studies, prepared a voluminous Digest of the -Statutes at Large, in two folio volumes, which remained unpublished, -became a magistrate, destroyed bands of robbers, and earned in the most -insipid of labors "the dirtiest money upon earth." Disgust, weariness -did not affect him; he was too solidly made to have the nerves of a -woman. Force, activity, invention, tenderness, all overflowed in him. He -had a mother's fondness for his children, adored his wife, became almost -mad when he lost her, found no other consolation than to weep with his -maid-servant, and ended by marrying that good and honest girl, that he -might give a mother to his children; the last trait in the portrait of -this valiant plebeian heart, quick in telling all, having no dislikes, -but all the best parts of man except delicacy. We read his books as we -drink a pure, wholesome, and rough wine, which cheers and fortifies us, -and which wants nothing but bouquet.</p> - -<p>Such a man was sure to dislike Richardson. He who loves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> expansive and -liberal nature, drives from him like foes the solemnity, sadness, and -pruderies of the Puritans. His first literary work was to caricature -Richardson. His first hero, Joseph, is the brother of Pamela, and -resists the proposals of his mistress, as Pamela does those of her -master. The temptation, touching in the case of a girl, becomes comical -in that of a young man, and the tragic turns into the grotesque. -Fielding laughs heartily, like Rabelais, or Scarron. He imitates the -emphatic style; ruffles the petticoats and bobs the wigs; upsets with -his rude jests all the seriousness of conventionality. If we are -refined, or simply well dressed, don't let us go along with him. He will -take us to prisons, inns, dunghills, the mud of the roadside; he will -make us flounder among rollicking, scandalous, vulgar adventures, and -crude pictures. He has plenty of words at command, and his sense of -smell is not delicate. Mr. Joseph Andrews, after leaving Lady Booby, is -felled to the ground, left naked, in a ditch, for dead; a stage-coach -came by; a lady objects to receive a naked man inside; and the -gentlemen, "though there were several greatcoats about the coach," could -not spare them; the coachman, who had two greatcoats spread under him, -refused to lend either, lest they should be made bloody.<a name="NoteRef_796_796" id="NoteRef_796_796"></a><a href="#Note_796_796" class="fnanchor">[796]</a> This is -but the outset, judge of the rest. Joseph and his friend, the good -Parson Adams, give and receive a vast number of cuffs; blows resound; -cans of pig's blood are thrown at their heads; dogs tear their clothes -to pieces; they lose their horse. Joseph is so good-looking, that he is -assailed by the maid-servant, "obliged to take her in his arms and to -shut her out of the room";<a name="NoteRef_797_797" id="NoteRef_797_797"></a><a href="#Note_797_797" class="fnanchor">[797]</a> they have never any money; they are -threatened with being sent to prison. Yet they go on in a merry fashion, -like their brothers in Fielding's other novels, Captain Booth and Tom -Jones. These hailstorms of blows, these tavern brawls, this noise of -broken warming-pans and basins flung at heads, this medley of incidents -and down-pouring of mishaps, combine to make the most joyous music. All -these honest folk fight well, walk well, eat well, drink still better. -It is a pleasure to observe these potent stomachs; roast-beef goes down -into them as to its natural place. Let us not say that these good arms -practise too much on their neighbors' skins: the neighbors' hides are -tough, and always heal quickly. Decidedly life is a good <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> thing, and we -will go along with Fielding, smiling by the way, with a broken head and -a bellyful.</p> - -<p>Shall we merely laugh? There are many things to be seen on our journey: -the sentiment of nature is a talent, like the understanding of certain -rules; and Fielding, turning his back on Richardson, opens up a domain -as wide as that of his rival. What we call nature is this brood of -secret passions, often malicious, generally vulgar, always blind, which -tremble and fret within us, ill-covered by the cloak of decency and -reason under which we try to disguise them; we think we lead them, and -they lead us; we think our actions our own, they are theirs. They are so -many, so strong, so interwoven, so ready to rise, break forth, be -carried away, that their movements elude all our reasoning and our -grasp. This is Fielding's domain; his art and pleasure, like Molière's -are in lifting a corner of the cloak; his characters parade with a -rational air, and suddenly, through a vista, the reader perceives the -inner turmoil of vanities, follies, lusts, and secret rancors which make -them move. Thus, when Tom Jones's arm is broken, philosopher Square -comes to console him by an application of stoical maxims; but in proving -to him that "pain was the most contemptible thing in the world," he -bites his tongue, and lets slip an oath or two; whereupon Parson -Thwackum, his opponent and rival, assures him that his mishap is a -warning of Providence, and both in consequence are nearly coming to -blows.<a name="NoteRef_798_798" id="NoteRef_798_798"></a><a href="#Note_798_798" class="fnanchor">[798]</a> In the "Life of Mr. Jonathan Wild," the prison chaplain -having aired his eloquence, and entreated the condemned man to repent, -accepts from him a bowl of punch, because "it is nowhere spoken against -in Scripture"; and after drinking, repeats his last sermon against the -pagan philosophers. Thus unveiled, natural impulse has a grotesque -appearance; the people advance gravely, cane in hand, but in our eyes -they are all naked. Understand, they are every whit naked; and some of -their attitudes are very lively. Ladies will do well not to enter here. -This powerful genius, frank and joyous, loves boorish feasts like -Rubens; the red faces, beaming with good humor, sensuality, and energy, -move about his pages, flutter hither and thither, and jostle each other, -and their overflowing instincts break forth in violent actions. Out of -such he creates his chief characters. He has none more lifelike than -these, more broadly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> sketched in bold and dashing outline, with a more -wholesome color. If sober people like Allworthy remain in a corner of -his vast canvas, characters full of natural impulse, like Western, stand -out with a relief and brightness, never seen since Falstaff. Western is -a country squire, a good fellow in the main, but a drunkard, always in -the saddle, full of oaths, ready with coarse language, blows, a sort of -dull carter, hardened and excited by the brutality of the race, the -wildness of a country life, by violent exercise, by abuse of coarse food -and strong drink, full of English and rustic pride and prejudice, having -never been disciplined by the constraint of the world, because he lives -in the country; nor by that of education, since he can hardly read; nor -of reflection, since he cannot put two ideas together; nor of authority, -because he is rich and a justice of the peace, and given up, like a -noisy and creaking weathercock, to every gust of passion. When -contradicted, he grows red, foams at the mouth, wishes to thrash -someone. "Doff thy clothes." They are even obliged to stop him by main -force. He hastens to go to Allworthy to complain of Tom Jones, who has -dared to faff in love with his daughter: "It's well for un I could not -get at un: I'd a licked un; I'd a spoiled his caterwauling; I'd a taught -the son of a whore to meddle with meat for his master. He shan't ever -have a morsel of meat of mine, or a varden to buy it. If she will ha un, -one smock shall be her portion. I'd sooner give my estate to the sinking -fund, that it may be sent to Hanover, to corrupt our nation with."<a name="NoteRef_799_799" id="NoteRef_799_799"></a><a href="#Note_799_799" class="fnanchor">[799]</a> -Allworthy says he is very sorry for it: "Pox o' your sorrow. It will do -me abundance of good, when I have lost my only child, my poor Sophy that -was the joy of my heart, and all the hope and comfort of my age. But I -am resolved I will turn her out o' doors; she shall beg, and starve, and -rot in the streets. Not one hapenny, not a hapenny shall she ever hae o' -mine. The son of a bitch was always good at finding a hare sitting and -be rotted to'n; I little thought what puss he was looking after. But it -shall be the worst he ever vound in his life. She shall be no better -than carrion; the skin o'er it is all he shall ha, and zu you may tell -un."<a name="NoteRef_800_800" id="NoteRef_800_800"></a><a href="#Note_800_800" class="fnanchor">[800]</a> His daughter tries to reason with him; he storms. Then she -speaks of tenderness and obedience; he leaps about the room for joy, and -tears come to his eyes. Then she recommences her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> prayers; he grinds his -teeth, clenches his fist, stamps his feet; "I am determined upon this -match, and ha him<a name="NoteRef_801_801" id="NoteRef_801_801"></a><a href="#Note_801_801" class="fnanchor">[801]</a> you shall, damn me, if shat unt. Damn me, if shat -unt, though dost hang thyself the next morning."<a name="NoteRef_802_802" id="NoteRef_802_802"></a><a href="#Note_802_802" class="fnanchor">[802]</a> He can find no -reason; he can only tell her to be a good girl. He contradicts himself, -defeats his own plans; is like a blind bull, which butts to right and -left, doubles on his path, touches no one, and paws the ground. At the -least sound he rushes head foremost, offensively, not knowing why. His -ideas are only starts or transports of flesh and blood. Never has the -animal so completely covered and absorbed the man. It makes him -grotesque; he is so natural and so brute-like: he allows himself to be -led, and speaks like a child. He Says: "I don't know how 'tis, but, -Allworthy, you make me do always just as you please; and yet I have as -good an estate as you, and am in the commission of the peace just as -yourself."<a name="NoteRef_803_803" id="NoteRef_803_803"></a><a href="#Note_803_803" class="fnanchor">[803]</a> Nothing holds or lasts with him; he is impulsive in -everything; he lives but for the moment. Rancor, interest, no passions -of long continuance affect him. He embraces people whom he just before -wanted to knock down. Everything with him disappears in the fire of the -momentary passion, which floods his brain, as it were, in sudden waves, -and drowns the rest. Now that he is reconciled to Tom Jones, he cannot -rest until Tom marries his daughter: "To her, boy, to her, go to her. -That's it, little honeys, O that's it. Well, what, is it all over? Hath -she appointed the day, boy? What, shall it be to-morrow or next day? I -shan't be put off a minute longer than next day; I am resolved.... I -tell thee it is all flimflam. Zoodikers! she'd have the wedding to-night -with all her heart. Would'st not, Sophy?... Where the devil is -Allworthy;... Harkee, Allworthy, I'll bet thee five pounds to a crown, -we have a boy to-morrow nine months. But prithee, tell me what wut ha? -Burgundy, champagne, or what? For please Jupiter, we'll make a night -on't."<a name="NoteRef_804_804" id="NoteRef_804_804"></a><a href="#Note_804_804" class="fnanchor">[804]</a> And when he becomes a grandfather, he spends his time in the -nursery, "where he declares the tattling of his little granddaughter, -who is above a year and a half old, is sweeter music than the finest cry -of dogs in England."<a name="NoteRef_805_805" id="NoteRef_805_805"></a><a href="#Note_805_805" class="fnanchor">[805]</a> This is pure nature, and no one has displayed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> -it more free, more impetuous, ignoring all rule, more abandoned to -physical passions than Fielding.</p> - -<p>It is not because he loves it like the great impartial artists, -Shakespeare and Goethe; on the contrary, he is eminently a moralist; and -it is one of the great marks of the age, that reformatory designs are as -decided with him as with others. He gives his fictions a practical aim, -and commends them by saying that the serious and tragic tone sours, -whilst the comic style disposes men to be "more full of good humour and -benevolence."<a name="NoteRef_806_806" id="NoteRef_806_806"></a><a href="#Note_806_806" class="fnanchor">[806]</a> Moreover, he satirizes vice; he looks upon the -passions not as simple forces, but as objects of approbation or blame. -At every step he suggests moral conclusions; he wants us to take sides; -he discusses, excuses, or condemns. He writes an entire novel in an -ironical style,<a name="NoteRef_807_807" id="NoteRef_807_807"></a><a href="#Note_807_807" class="fnanchor">[807]</a> to attack and destroy rascality and treason. He is -more than a painter, he is a judge, and the two parts agree in him. For -a psychology produces a morality: where there is an idea of man, there -is an ideal of man; and Fielding, who has seen in man nature as opposed -to rule, praises in man nature as opposed to rule; so that, according to -him, virtue is but an instinct. Generosity in his eyes is, like all -sources of action, a primitive inclination; like all sources of action, -it flows on receiving no good from catechisms and phrases; like all -sources of action, it flows at times too copious and quick. Take it as -it is, and do not try to oppress it under a discipline, or to replace it -by an argument. Mr. Richardson, your heroes, so correct, constrained, so -carefully made up with their impedimenta of maxims, are cathedral -vergers, of use but to drone in a procession. Square or Thwackum, your -tirades on philosophical or Christian virtue are mere words, only fit to -be heard after dinner. Virtue is in the mood and the blood; a gossipy -education and cloistral severity do not assist it. Give me a man, not a -show-manikin or a mere machine, to spout phrases. My hero is the man who -is born generous, as a dog is born affectionate, and a horse brave. I -want a living heart, full of warmth and force, not a dry pedant, bent on -squaring all his actions. This ardent and impulsive character will -perhaps carry the hero too far; I pardon his escapades. He will get -drunk unawares; he will pick up a girl on his way; he will hit out with -a zest; he will not refuse a duel; he will suffer a fine lady <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> to -appreciate him, and will accept her purse; he will be imprudent, will -injure his reputation, like Tom Jones; he will be a bad manager, and -will get into debt, like Captain Booth. Pardon him for having muscles, -nerves, senses, and that overflow of anger or ardor which urges forward -animals of a noble breed. But he will let himself be beaten till the -blood flows, before he betrays a poor gamekeeper. He will pardon his -mortal enemy readily, from sheer kindness, and will send him money -secretly. He will be loyal to his mistress, and will be faithful to her, -spite of all offers, in the worst destitution, and without the least -hope of winning her. He will be liberal with his purse, his trouble, his -sufferings, his blood; he will not boast of it; he will have neither -pride, vanity, affectation, nor dissimulation; bravery and kindness will -abound in his heart, as good water in a good spring. He may be stupid -like Captain Booth, a gambler even, extravagant, unable to manage his -affairs, liable one day through temptation to be unfaithful to his wife; -but he will be so sincere in his repentance, his error will be so -involuntary, he will be so carefully, genuinely tender, that she will -love him exceedingly,<a name="NoteRef_808_808" id="NoteRef_808_808"></a><a href="#Note_808_808" class="fnanchor">[808]</a> and in good truth he will deserve it. He will -be a nurse to her when she is ill, behave as a mother to her; he will -himself see to her lying-in; he will feel towards her the adoration of a -lover, always, before all the world, even before Miss Matthews, who -seduced him. He says, "If I had the world, I was ready to lay it at my -Amelia's feet; and so, heaven knows, I would ten thousand worlds."<a name="NoteRef_809_809" id="NoteRef_809_809"></a><a href="#Note_809_809" class="fnanchor">[809]</a> -He weeps like a child on thinking of her; he listens to her like a -little child. "I believe I am able to recollect much the greatest part -(of what she uttered); for the impression is never to be effaced from my -memory."<a name="NoteRef_810_810" id="NoteRef_810_810"></a><a href="#Note_810_810" class="fnanchor">[810]</a> He dressed himself "with all the expedition imaginable, -singing, whistling, hurrying, attempting by every method to banish -thought,"<a name="NoteRef_811_811" id="NoteRef_811_811"></a><a href="#Note_811_811" class="fnanchor">[811]</a> and galloped away, whilst his wife was asleep, because he -cannot endure her tears. In this soldier's body, under this brawler's -thick breastplate, there is a true woman's heart, which melts, which a -trifle disturbs, when she whom he loves <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> is in question; timid in its -tenderness, inexhaustible in devotion, in trust, in self-denial, in the -communication of its feelings. When a man possesses this, overlook the -rest; with all his excesses and his follies, he is better than your -well-dressed devotees.</p> - -<p>To this we reply: You do well to defend nature, but let it be on -condition that you suppress nothing. One thing is wanting in your -strongly built folks—refinement; delicate dreams, enthusiastic -elevation, and trembling delicacy exist in nature equally with coarse -vigor, noisy hilarity, and frank kindness. Poetry is true, like prose; -and if there are eaters and boxers, there are also knights and artists. -Cervantes, whom you imitate, and Shakespeare, whom you recall, had this -refinement, and they have painted it; in this abundant harvest, which -you have gathered so plentifully, you have forgotten the flowers. We -tire at last of your fisticuffs and tavern bills. You flounder too -readily in cow-houses, among the ecclesiastical pigs of Parson -Trulliber. We would fain see you have more regard for the modesty of -your heroines; wayside accidents raise their tuckers too often; and -Fanny, Sophia, Mrs. Heartfree, may continue pure, yet we cannot help -remembering the assaults which have lifted their petticoats. You are so -coarse yourself, that you are insensible to what is atrocious. You -persuade Tom Jones falsely, yet for an instant, that Mrs. Waters, whom -he has made his mistress, is his own mother, and you leave the reader -during a long time buried in the shame of this supposition. And then you -are obliged to become unnatural in order to depict love; you can give -but constrained letters; the transports of your Tom Jones are only the -author's phrases. For want of ideas he declaims odes. You are only aware -of the impetuosity of the senses, the upwelling of the blood, the -effusion of tenderness, but you are unacquainted with nervous exaltation -and poetic rapture. Man, such as you conceive him, is a good buffalo; -and perhaps he is the hero required by a people which gives itself the -nickname "John Bull." <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VI.--Tobias_Smollett">Section VI.—Tobias Smollett</a></h4> - - -<p>At all events this hero is powerful and formidable; and if at this -period we collect in our mind the scattered features of the faces which -the novel-writers have made pass before us, we will feel ourselves -transported into a half-barbarous world, and to a race whose energy must -terrify or revolt all our gentleness. Now let us open a more literal -copyist of life: they are doubtless all such, and declare—Fielding -amongst them—that if they imagine a feature, it is because they have -seen it; but Smollett has this advantage, that, being mediocre, he -chalks out the figures tamely, prosaically, without transforming them by -the illumination of genius: the joviality of Fielding and the rigor of -Richardson are not there to light up or ennoble the pictures. Let us -observe carefully Smollett's manners; let us listen to the confessions -of this imitator of Le Sage, who reproaches that author with being gay, -and jesting with the mishaps of his hero. He says: "The disgraces of Gil -Blas are, for the most part, such as rather excite mirth than -compassion: he himself laughs at them, and his transitions from distress -to happiness, or at least ease, are so sudden that neither the reader -has time to pity him, nor himself to be acquainted with affliction. This -conduct... prevents that generous indignation which ought to animate the -reader against the sordid and vicious disposition of the world. I have -attempted to represent modest merit struggling with every difficulty to -which a friendless orphan is exposed from his own want of experience as -well as from the selfishness, envy, malice, and base indifference of -mankind."<a name="NoteRef_812_812" id="NoteRef_812_812"></a><a href="#Note_812_812" class="fnanchor">[812]</a> We hear no longer merely showers of blows, but also knife -and sword thrusts, as well as pistol shots. In such a world, when a girl -goes out she runs the risk of coming back a woman; and when a man goes -out, he runs the risk of not coming back at all. The women bury their -nails in the faces of the men; the well-bred gentlemen, like Peregrine -Pickle, whip other gentlemen soundly, Having deceived a husband, who -refuses to demand satisfaction, Peregrine calls his two servants, "and -ordered them to duck him in the canal."<a name="NoteRef_813_813" id="NoteRef_813_813"></a><a href="#Note_813_813" class="fnanchor">[813]</a> Misrepresented by a curate, -whom he has horsewhipped, he gets an innkeeper "to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> rain a shower of -blows upon his (the parson's) carcase," who also "laid hold of one of -his ears with his teeth, and bit it unmercifully."<a name="NoteRef_814_814" id="NoteRef_814_814"></a><a href="#Note_814_814" class="fnanchor">[814]</a> I could quote -from memory a score more of outrages begun or completed. Savage insults; -broken jaws, men on the ground beaten with sticks, the churlish sourness -of conversations, the coarse brutality of jests, give an idea of a pack -of bull-dogs eager to fight each other, who, when they begin to get -lively, still amuse themselves by tearing away pieces of flesh. A -Frenchman can hardly endure the story of "Roderick Random," or rather -that of Smollett, when he is on board a man-of-war. He is pressed, that -is to say, carried off by force, knocked down, attacked with "cudgels -and drawn cutlasses, pinioned like a malefactor," and rolled on board, -covered with blood, before the sailors, who laugh at his wounds; and one -of them, "seeing my hair clotted together with blood, as it were, into -distinct cords, took notice that my bows were manned with the red ropes, -instead of my side."<a name="NoteRef_815_815" id="NoteRef_815_815"></a><a href="#Note_815_815" class="fnanchor">[815]</a> Roderick "desired one of his fellow-captives, -who was unfettered, to take a handkerchief out of his pocket, and tie it -round his head to stop the bleeding; he (the fellow) pulled out my -handkerchief, 'tis true, but sold it before my face to a bum-boat woman -for a quart of gin." Captain Oakum declares he will have no more sick in -his ship, ordered them to be brought on the quarterdeck, commanded that -some should receive a round dozen; some spitting blood, others fainting -from weakness, whilst not a few became delirious; many died, and of the -sixty-one sick, only a dozen remained alive.<a name="NoteRef_816_816" id="NoteRef_816_816"></a><a href="#Note_816_816" class="fnanchor">[816]</a> To get into this dark, -suffocating hospital, swarming with vermin, it is necessary to creep -under the close hammocks, and forcibly separate them with the shoulders, -before the doctor can reach his patients. Read the story of Miss -Williams, a wealthy young girl, of good family, reduced to become a -prostitute, robbed, hungry, sick, shivering, strolling about the streets -in the long winter nights, amongst "a number of naked wretches reduced -to rags and filth, huddled together like swine, in the corner of a dark -alley," who depend "upon the addresses of the lowest class, and are fain -to allay the rage of hunger and cold with gin; degenerate into a brutal -insensibility, rot and die upon a dunghill."<a name="NoteRef_817_817" id="NoteRef_817_817"></a><a href="#Note_817_817" class="fnanchor">[817]</a> She was thrown into -Bridewell, where, she says, "in the midst of a hellish crew I was -subjected <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> to the tyranny of a barbarian, who imposed upon me tasks that -I could not possibly perform, and then punished my incapacity with the -utmost rigour and inhumanity. I was often whipped into a swoon, and -lashed out of it, during which miserable intervals I was robbed by my -fellow-prisoners of everything about me, even to my cap, shoes, and -stockings: I was not only destitute of necessaries, but even of food, so -that my wretchedness was extreme." One night she tried to hang herself. -Two of her fellow-prisoners, who watched her, prevented her. "In the -morning my attempt was published among the prisoners, and punished with -thirty stripes, the pain of which co-operating with my disappointment -and disgrace, bereft me of my senses, and threw me into an ectasy of -madness, during which I tore the flesh from my bones with my teeth, and -dashed my head against the pavement."<a name="NoteRef_818_818" id="NoteRef_818_818"></a><a href="#Note_818_818" class="fnanchor">[818]</a> In vain we turn our eyes on -the hero of the novel, Roderick Random, to repose a little after such a -spectacle. He is sensual and coarse, like Fielding's heroes, but not -good and jovial as these. Pride and resentment are the two principal -points in his character. The generous wine of Fielding, in Smollett's -hands becomes common brandy. His heroes are selfish; they revenge -themselves barbarously. Roderick oppresses the faithful Strap, and ends -by marrying him to a prostitute. Peregrine Pickle attacks by a most -brutal and cowardly plot the honor of a young girl, whom he wants to -marry, and who is the sister of his best friend. We get to hate his -rancorous, concentrated, obstinate character, which is at once that of -an absolute king accustomed to please himself at the expense of others' -happiness, and that of a boor with only the varnish of education. We -should be uneasy at living near him; he is good for nothing but to shock -or tyrannize over others. We avoid him as we would a dangerous beast; -the sudden rush of animal passion and the force of his firm will are so -overpowering in him, that when he fails he becomes outrageous. He draws -his sword against an innkeeper; he must bleed him, grows mad. -Everything, even to his generosities, is spoilt by pride; all, even to -his gayeties, is clouded by harshness. Peregrine's amusements are -barbarous, and those of Smollett are after the same style. He -exaggerates caricature; he thinks to amuse us by showing up mouths -gaping <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> to the ears, and noses half a foot long; he magnifies a national -prejudice or a professional trick until it absorbs the whole character; -he jumbles together the most repulsive oddities—a Lieutenant Lismahago -half roasted by Red Indians; old jacktars who pass their life in -shouting and travestying all sorts of ideas into their nautical jargon; -old maids as ugly as monkeys, as fleshless as skeletons, and as sour as -vinegar; eccentric people steeped in pedantry, hypochondria, -misanthropy, and silence. Far from sketching them slightly, as Le Sage -does in "Gil Bias," he brings into prominent relief each disagreeable -feature, overloads it with details, without considering whether they are -too numerous, without recognizing that they are excessive, without -feeling that they are odious, without perceiving that they are -disgusting. The public whom he addresses is on a level with his energy -and his coarseness; and in order to move such nerves, a writer cannot -strike too hard.<a name="NoteRef_819_819" id="NoteRef_819_819"></a><a href="#Note_819_819" class="fnanchor">[819]</a></p> - -<p>But, at the same time, to civilize this barbarity and to control this -violence, a faculty appears, common to all, authors and public: serious -reflection intent to observe character. Their eyes are turned toward the -inner man. They note exactly the individual peculiarities, and stamp -them with such a precise mark that their personage becomes a type, which -cannot be forgotten. They are psychologists. The title of a comedy of -old Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," indicates how old and -national this taste is amongst them. Smollett writes a whole novel, -"Humphrey Clinker," on this idea. There is no action in it; the book is -a collection of letters written during a tour in Scotland and England. -Each of the travellers, after his bent of mind, judges variously of the -same objects. A generous, grumbling old gentleman, who employs his spare -time by thinking himself ill, a crabbed old maid in search of a husband; -a lady's maid, simple and vain, who bravely bungles her spelling; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span> a -series of eccentric people, who one after another bring their oddities -on the scene—such are the characters: the pleasure of the reader -consists in recognizing their humor in their style, in foreseeing their -follies, in perceiving the thread which pulls each of their motions, in -verifying the connection between their ideas and their actions. When we -push this study of human peculiarities to excess we will come upon the -origin of Sterne's talent.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VII.--Laurence_Sterne">Section VII.—Laurence Sterne</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us figure to ourselves a man who goes on a journey, with a pair of -marvellously magnifying spectacles on his eyes. A hair on his hand, a -speck on a table-cloth, a fold of a moving garment, will interest him: -at this rate he will not go very far; he will go six steps in a day, and -will not quit his room. So Sterne writes four volumes to record the -birth of his hero. He perceives the infinitely little, and describes the -imperceptible. A man parts his hair on one side; this, according to -Sterne, depends on his whole character, which is of a piece with that of -his father, his mother, his uncle, and his whole ancestry; it depends on -the structure of his brain, which depends on the circumstances of his -conception and his birth, and these on the hobbies of his parents, the -humor of the moment, the talk of the preceding hour, the difficulties of -the parson, a cut thumb, twenty knots made on a bag; I know not how many -things besides. The six or eight volumes of "Tristram Shandy" are -employed in summing them up; for the smallest and dullest incident, a -sneeze, a badly shaven beard, drags after it an inextricable network of -inter-involved causes, which from above, below, right and left, by -invisible prolongations and ramifications, sink into the depths of a -character and in the remote vistas of events. Instead of extracting, -like the novel-writers, the principal root, Sterne, with marvellous -devices and success, devotes himself to drawing out the tangled skein of -numberless threads, which are sinuously immersed and dispersed, so as to -suck in from all sides the sap and the life. Slender, intertwined, -buried as they are, he finds them; he extricates them without breaking, -brings them to the light; and there, where we fancied but a stalk, we -see with wonder the underground mass and vegetation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> of the multiplied -fibres and fibrils, by which the visible plant grows and is supported.</p> - -<p>This is truly a strange talent, made up of blindness and insight, which -resembles those diseases of the retina in which the over-excited nerve -becomes at once dull and penetrating, incapable of seeing what the most -ordinary eyes perceive, capable of observing what the most piercing -sight misses. In fact, Sterne is a sickly and eccentric humorist, a -clergyman and a libertine, a fiddler and a philosopher, who preferred -"whining over a dead ass to relieving a living mother,"<a name="NoteRef_820_820" id="NoteRef_820_820"></a><a href="#Note_820_820" class="fnanchor">[820]</a> selfish in -act, selfish in word, who in everything takes a contrary view of himself -and of others. His book is like a great storehouse of articles of <i>vertu</i>, -where curiosities of all ages, kinds, and countries lie jumbled in a -heap; forms of excommunication, medical consultations, passages of -unknown or imaginary authors, scraps of scholastic erudition, strings of -absurd histories, dissertations, addresses to the reader. His pen leads -him; he has neither sequence nor plan; nay, when he lights upon anything -orderly, he purposely contorts it; with a kick he sends the pile of -folios next to him over the history he has commenced, and dances on the -top of them. He delights in disappointing us, in sending us astray by -interruptions and delays.<a name="NoteRef_821_821" id="NoteRef_821_821"></a><a href="#Note_821_821" class="fnanchor">[821]</a> Gravity displeases him, he treats it as a -hypocrite: to his liking folly is better, and he paints himself in -Yorick. In a well-constituted mind ideas march one after another, with -uniform motion or acceleration; in this odd brain they jump about like a -rout of masks at a carnival, in troops, each dragging his neighbor by -the feet, head, coat, amidst the most general and unforeseen hubbub. All -his little lopped phrases are somersaults; we pant as we read. The tone -is never for two minutes the same; laughter comes, then the beginning of -emotion, then scandal, then wonder, then sensibility, then laughter -again. The mischievous joker pulls and entangles the threads of all our -feelings, and makes us go higher, thither, in a whimsical manner, like -puppets. Amongst these various threads there are two which he pulls more -willingly than the rest. Like all men who have nerves, he is subject to -sensibility; not that he is really <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> kindly and tender-hearted; on the -contrary, his life is that of an egotist; but on certain days he must -needs weep, and he makes us weep with him. He is moved on behalf of a -captive bird, of a poor ass, which, accustomed to blows, "looked up -pensive," and seemed to say, "Don't thrash me with it (the halter); but -if you will, you may."<a name="NoteRef_822_822" id="NoteRef_822_822"></a><a href="#Note_822_822" class="fnanchor">[822]</a> He will write a couple of pages on the -attitude of this donkey, and Priam at the feet of Achilles was not more -touching. Thus in a silence, in an oath, in the most trifling domestic -action, he hits upon exquisite refinements and little heroisms, a -variety of charming flowers, invisible to everybody else, which grow in -the dust of the driest road. One day Uncle Toby, the invalided captain, -catches, after "infinite attempts," a big buzzing fly, who has cruelly -tormented him all dinner-time; he gets up, crosses the room on his -suffering leg, and opening the window, cries: "Go, poor devil, get thee -gone; why should I hurt thee? This world surely is wide enough to hold -both thee and me."<a name="NoteRef_823_823" id="NoteRef_823_823"></a><a href="#Note_823_823" class="fnanchor">[823]</a> This womanish sensibility is too fine to be -described; we should have to give a whole story—that of Lefèvre, for -instance—that the perfume might be inhaled; this perfume evaporates as -soon as we touch it, and is like the weak fleeting odor of flowers, -brought for one moment into a sick-chamber. What still more increases -this sad sweetness is the contrast of the free and easy waggeries which, -like a hedge of nettles, encircle them on all sides. Sterne, like all -men whose mechanism is over-excited, has odd desires. He loves the nude, -not from a feeling of the beautiful, and in the manner of painters, not -from sensuality and frankness like Fielding, not from a search after -pleasure like Dorat, Boufflers, and all those refined epicures, who at -that time were rhyming and enjoying themselves in France. If he goes -into dirty places, it is because they are forbidden and not frequented. -What he seeks there is singularity and scandal. The allurement of this -forbidden fruit is not the fruit, but the prohibition; for he bites by -preference where the fruit is half rotten or worm-eaten. That an -epicurean delights in detailing the pretty sins of a pretty woman is -nothing wonderful; but that a novelist takes pleasure in watching the -bedroom of a musty, fusty old couple, in observing the consequences of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> -the fall of a burning chestnut in a pair of breeches,<a name="NoteRef_824_824" id="NoteRef_824_824"></a><a href="#Note_824_824" class="fnanchor">[824]</a> in detailing -the questions of Mrs. Wadman on the consequences of wounds in the -groin,<a name="NoteRef_825_825" id="NoteRef_825_825"></a><a href="#Note_825_825" class="fnanchor">[825]</a> can only be explained by the aberration of a perverted -fancy, which finds its amusement in repugnant ideas, as spoiled palates -are pleased by the pungent flavor of decayed cheese.<a name="NoteRef_826_826" id="NoteRef_826_826"></a><a href="#Note_826_826" class="fnanchor">[826]</a> Thus, to read -Sterne we should wait for days when we are in a peculiar kind of humor, -days of spleen, rain, or when through nervous irritation we are -disgusted with rationality. In fact his characters are as unreasonable -as himself. He sees in man nothing but fancy, and what he calls the -hobby-horse—Uncle Toby's taste for fortifications, Mr. Shandy's fancy -for oratorical tirades and philosophical systems. This hobby-horse, -according to him, is like a wart, so small at first that we hardly -perceive it, and only when it is in a strong light; but it gradually -increases, becomes covered with hairs, grows red, and buds out all -around: its possessor, who is pleased with and admires it, nourishes it, -until at last it is changed into a vast wen, and the whole face -disappears under the invasion of the parasite excrescence. No one has -equalled Sterne in the history of these human hypertrophies; he puts -down the seed, feeds it gradually, makes the propagating threads creep -round about, shows the little veins and microscopic arteries which -inosculate within, counts the palpitations of the blood which passes -through them, explains their changes of color and increase of bulk. -Psychological observation attains here one of its extreme developments. -A far advanced art is necessary to describe, beyond the confines of -regularity and health, the exception or the degeneration; and the -English novel is completed here by adding to the representation of form -the picture of malformations.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_VIII.--Oliver_Goldsmith">Section VIII.—Oliver Goldsmith</a></h4> - - -<p>The moment approaches when purified manners will, by purifying the -novel, give it its final impress and character. Of the two great -tendencies manifested by it, native brutality and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> intense reflection, -one at last conquers the other; when literature became severe it -expelled from fiction the coarseness of Smollett and the indecencies of -Sterne; and the novel, in every respect moral, before falling into the -most prudish hands of Miss Burney, passes into the noble hands of -Goldsmith. His "Vicar of Wakefield" is "a prose idyl," somewhat spoilt -by phrases too rhetorical, but at bottom as homely as a Flemish picture. -Observe in Terburg's or Mieris's paintings a woman at market or a -burgomaster emptying his long glass of beer: the faces are vulgar, the -ingenuousness is comical, the cookery occupies the place of honor; yet -these good folks are so peaceful, so contented with their small ordinary -happiness, that we envy them. The impression left by Goldsmith's book is -pretty much the same. The excellent Dr. Primrose is a country clergyman, -the whole of whose adventures have for a long time consisted in -"migrations from the blue bed to the brown." He has cousins, "even to -the fortieth remove," who come to eat his dinner and sometimes to borrow -a pair of boots. His wife, who has all the education of the time, is a -perfect cook, can almost read, excels in pickling and preserving, and at -dinner gives the history of every dish. His daughters aspire to -elegance, and even "make a wash for the face over the fire." His son -Moses gets cheated at the fair, and sells a colt for a gross of green -spectacles. Dr. Primrose himself writes pamphlets, which no one buys, -against second marriages of the clergy; writes beforehand in his wife's -epitaph, though she was still living, that she was "the only wife of Dr. -Primrose," and by way of encouragement, places this piece of eloquence -in an elegant frame over the chimney-piece. But the household continues -the even tenor of its way; the daughters and the mother slightly -domineer over the father of the family; he lets them do so, because he -is an easy-going man; now and again fires off an innocent jest, and -busies himself in his new farm, with his two horses, wall-eyed -Blackberry and the other without a tail: "nothing could exceed the -neatness of my enclosures, the elms and hedge-rows appearing with -inexpressible beauty ... Our little habitation was situated at the foot -of a sloping hill, sheltered with a beautiful underwood behind, and a -prattling river before; on one side a meadow, on the other a green.... -(It) consisted but of one story, and was covered with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> thatch, which gave -it an air of great snugness: the walls on the inside were nicely -whitewashed.... Though the same room served us for parlour and kitchen, -that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it was kept with the utmost -neatness, the dishes, plates, and coppers, being well scoured, and all -disposed in bright rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably relieved, -and did not want richer furniture."<a name="NoteRef_827_827" id="NoteRef_827_827"></a><a href="#Note_827_827" class="fnanchor">[827]</a> They make hay all together, sit -under the honeysuckle to drink a bottle of gooseberry wine; the girls -sing, the two little ones read; and the parents "would stroll down the -sloping field, that was embellished with blue bells and centaury": "But -let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life, and Moses, gives us a -good song. What thanks do we not owe to heaven for thus bestowing -tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself happier now than -the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fireside, nor such -pleasant faces about it."<a name="NoteRef_828_828" id="NoteRef_828_828"></a><a href="#Note_828_828" class="fnanchor">[828]</a></p> - -<p>Such is moral happiness. Their misfortune is no less moral. The poor -vicar has lost his fortune, and, removing to a small living, turns -farmer. The squire of the neighborhood seduces and carries off his -eldest daughter; his house takes fire; his arm was burnt in a terrible -manner in saving his two little children. He is put in prison for debt, -amongst wretches and rogues, who swear and blaspheme, in a vile -atmosphere, sleeping on straw, feeling that his illness increases, -foreseeing that his family will soon be without bread, learning that his -daughter is dying. Yet he does not give way: he remains a priest and the -head of a family, prescribes to each of them his duty; encourages, -consoles, provides for, orders, preaches to the prisoners, endures their -coarse jests, reforms them; establishes in the prison useful work, and -"institutes fines for punishment and rewards for industry." It is not -hardness of heart nor a morose temperament which gives him strength; he -has the most paternal soul, the most sociable, humane, open to gentle -emotions and familiar tenderness. He says: "I have no resentment now; -and though he (the squire) has taken from me what I held dearer than all -his treasures, though he has wrung my heart (for I am sick almost to -fainting, very sick, my fellow-prisoner), yet that shall never inspire -me with vengeance.... If this (my) submission can do him any pleasure, -let him know, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> that if I have done him any injury, I am sorry for it.... -I should detest my own heart, if I saw either pride or resentment -lurking there. On the contrary, as my oppressor has been once my -parishioner, I hope one day to present him up an unpolluted soul at the -eternal tribunal."<a name="NoteRef_829_829" id="NoteRef_829_829"></a><a href="#Note_829_829" class="fnanchor">[829]</a> But the hard-hearted squire haughtily repulses -the noble application of the vicar, and in addition causes his second -daughter to be carried off, and the eldest son to be thrown into prison -under a false accusation of murder. At this moment all the affections of -the father are wounded, all his consolations lost, all his hopes ruined. -"His heart weeps to behold" all this misery, he was going to curse the -cause of it all; but soon, returning to his profession and his duty, he -thinks how he will prepare to fit his son and himself for eternity, and -by way of being useful to as many people as he can, he wishes at the -same time to exhort his fellow-prisoners. He "made an effort to rise on -the straw, but wanted strength, and was able only to recline against the -wall; my son and his mother supported me on either side."<a name="NoteRef_830_830" id="NoteRef_830_830"></a><a href="#Note_830_830" class="fnanchor">[830]</a> In this -condition he speaks, and his sermon, contrasting with his condition, is -the more moving. It is a dissertation in the English style, made up of -close reasoning, seeking only to establish that "Providence has given to -the wretched two advantages over the happy in this life," greater -felicity in dying; and in heaven all that superiority of pleasure which -arises from contrasted enjoyments.<a name="NoteRef_831_831" id="NoteRef_831_831"></a><a href="#Note_831_831" class="fnanchor">[831]</a> We see the sources of this -virtue, born of Christianity and natural kindness, but long nourished by -inner reflection. Meditation, which usually produces only phrases, -results with Dr. Primrose in actions. Verily reason has here taken the -helm, and it has taken it without oppressing other feelings; a rare and -eloquent spectacle, which, uniting and harmonizing in one character the -best features of the manners and morals of that time and country, -creates an admiration and love for pious and orderly, domestic and -disciplined, laborious and rural life. Protestant and English virtue has -not a more approved and amiable exemplar. Religious, affectionate, -rational, the Vicar unites predilections which seemed irreconcilable; a -clergyman, a farmer, a head of a family, he enhances those characters -which appeared fit only for comic or homely parts. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_IX.--Samuel_Johnson">Section IX.—Samuel Johnson</a></h4> - - -<p>We now come upon a strange character, the most esteemed of his time, a -sort of literary dictator. Richardson was his friend, and gave him -essays for his paper; Goldsmith, with an artless vanity, admires him, -whilst suffering to be continually outshone by him; Miss Burney imitates -his style, and reveres him as a father. Gibbon the historian, Reynolds -the painter, Garrick the actor, Burke the orator, Sir William Jones the -Orientalist, come to his club to converse with him. Lord Chesterfield, -who had lost his favor, vainly tried to regain it, by proposing to -assign to him, on every word in the language, the authority of a -dictator.<a name="NoteRef_832_832" id="NoteRef_832_832"></a><a href="#Note_832_832" class="fnanchor">[832]</a> Boswell dogs his steps, sets down his opinions, and at -night fills quartos with them. His criticism becomes law; men crowd to -hear him talk; he is the arbiter of style. Let us transport in -imagination this ruler of mind, Dr. Samuel Johnson, into France, among -the pretty drawing-rooms, full of elegant philosophers and epicurean -manners; the violence of the contrast will mark better than all argument -the bent and predilections of the English mind.</p> - -<p>There appears then before us a man whose "person was large, robust, -approaching to the gigantic, and grown unwieldy from corpulency,"<a name="NoteRef_833_833" id="NoteRef_833_833"></a><a href="#Note_833_833" class="fnanchor">[833]</a> -with a gloomy and unpolished air, "his countenance disfigured by the -king's evil," and blinking with one of his eyes, "in a full suit of -plain brown clothes," and with not overclean linen, suffering from -morbid melancholy since his birth, and moreover a hypochondriac.<a name="NoteRef_834_834" id="NoteRef_834_834"></a><a href="#Note_834_834" class="fnanchor">[834]</a> In -company he would sometimes retire to a window or corner of a room, and -mutter a Latin verse or a prayer.<a name="NoteRef_835_835" id="NoteRef_835_835"></a><a href="#Note_835_835" class="fnanchor">[835]</a> At other times, in a recess, he -would roll his head, sway his body backward and forward, stretch out and -then convulsively draw back his leg. His biographer relates that it "was -his constant anxious care to go out or in at a door or passage,... so as -that either his right or his left foot should constantly make the first -actual movement; ... when he had neglected or gone wrong in this sort of -magical movement, I have seen him go back again, put himself in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> the -proper posture to begin the ceremony, and having gone through it, walk -briskly on and join his companion."<a name="NoteRef_836_836" id="NoteRef_836_836"></a><a href="#Note_836_836" class="fnanchor">[836]</a> People are sitting at table, -when suddenly, in a moment of abstraction, he stoops, and clenching hold -of the foot of a lady, draws off her shoe.<a name="NoteRef_837_837" id="NoteRef_837_837"></a><a href="#Note_837_837" class="fnanchor">[837]</a> Hardly is the dinner -served when he darts on the food; "his looks seemed rivetted to his -plate; nor would he, unless when in very high company, say one word, or -even pay the least attention to what was said by others; (he) indulged -with such intenseness, that, while in the act of eating, the veins of -his forehead swelled, and generally a strong perspiration was -visible."<a name="NoteRef_838_838" id="NoteRef_838_838"></a><a href="#Note_838_838" class="fnanchor">[838]</a> If by chance the hare was high, or the pie had been made -with rancid butter, he no longer ate, but devoured. When at last his -appetite was satisfied, and he consented to speak, he disputed, shouted, -made a sparring-match of his conversation, triumphed no matter how, laid -down his opinion dogmatically, and ill-treated those whom he was -refuting. "Sir, I perceive you are a vile Whig."<a name="NoteRef_839_839" id="NoteRef_839_839"></a><a href="#Note_839_839" class="fnanchor">[839]</a> "My dear lady (to -Mrs. Thrale), talk no more of this; nonsense can be defended but by -nonsense."<a name="NoteRef_840_840" id="NoteRef_840_840"></a><a href="#Note_840_840" class="fnanchor">[840]</a> "One thing I know, which you don't seem to know, that -you are very uncivil."<a name="NoteRef_841_841" id="NoteRef_841_841"></a><a href="#Note_841_841" class="fnanchor">[841]</a> In the intervals of articulating he made -various sounds with his mouth, sometimes as if ruminating,... sometimes -giving a half whistle, sometimes making his tongue play backwards from -the roof of his mouth, as if clucking like a hen.... Generally, when he -had concluded a period, in the course of a dispute,... he used to blow -out his breath like a whale,<a name="NoteRef_842_842" id="NoteRef_842_842"></a><a href="#Note_842_842" class="fnanchor">[842]</a> and swallow several cups of tea.</p> - -<p>Then in a low voice, cautiously, men would ask Garrick or Boswell the -history and habits of this strange being. He had lived like a cynic and -an eccentric, having passed his youth reading miscellaneously, -especially Latin folios, even those least known, such as Macrobius; he -had found on a shelf in his father's shop the Latin works of Petrarch, -whilst he was looking for apples, and had read them;<a name="NoteRef_843_843" id="NoteRef_843_843"></a><a href="#Note_843_843" class="fnanchor">[843]</a> "he published -proposals for printing by subscription the Latin poems of -Politian."<a name="NoteRef_844_844" id="NoteRef_844_844"></a><a href="#Note_844_844" class="fnanchor">[844]</a> At twenty-five he had married for love a woman of about -fifty, "very fat, with swelled cheeks, of a florid red, produced by -thick painting, flaring and fantastic in her dress,"<a name="NoteRef_845_845" id="NoteRef_845_845"></a><a href="#Note_845_845" class="fnanchor">[845]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> and who had -children as old as himself. Having come to London to earn his bread, -some people, seeing his convulsive grimaces, took him for an idiot; -others, seeing his robust frame, advised him to buy a porter's -knot.<a name="NoteRef_846_846" id="NoteRef_846_846"></a><a href="#Note_846_846" class="fnanchor">[846]</a> For thirty years he worked like a hack for the publishers, -whom he used to thrash when they became impertinent;<a name="NoteRef_847_847" id="NoteRef_847_847"></a><a href="#Note_847_847" class="fnanchor">[847]</a> always shabby, -having once fasted two days;<a name="NoteRef_848_848" id="NoteRef_848_848"></a><a href="#Note_848_848" class="fnanchor">[848]</a> content when he could dine on "a cut -of meat for sixpence, and bread for a penny";<a name="NoteRef_849_849" id="NoteRef_849_849"></a><a href="#Note_849_849" class="fnanchor">[849]</a> having written -"Rasselas" in eight nights, to pay for his mother's funeral. Now -pensioned<a name="NoteRef_850_850" id="NoteRef_850_850"></a><a href="#Note_850_850" class="fnanchor">[850]</a> by the king, freed from his daily labors, he gave way to -his natural indolence, lying in bed often till midday and after. He is -visited at that hour. We mount the stairs of a gloomy house on the north -side of Fleet Street, the busy quarter of London, in a narrow and -obscure court; and as we enter, we hear the scoldings of four old women -and an old quack doctor, poor penniless creatures, bad in health and in -disposition, whom he has rescued, whom he supports, who vex or insult -him. We ask for the Doctor, a negro opens the door; we gather round the -master's bed: there are always many distinguished people at his levee, -including even ladies. Thus surrounded, "he declaims, then went to -dinner at a tavern, where he commonly stays late,"<a name="NoteRef_851_851" id="NoteRef_851_851"></a><a href="#Note_851_851" class="fnanchor">[851]</a> talks all the -evening, goes out to enjoy in the streets the London mud and fog, picks -up a friend to talk again, and is busy pronouncing oracles and -maintaining his opinion till four in the morning.</p> - -<p>Whereupon we ask if it is the freedom of his opinions which is -fascinating. His friends answer, that there is no more indomitable -partisan of order. He is called the Hercules of Toryism. From infancy he -detested the Whigs, and he never spoke of them but as public -malefactors. He insults them even in his Dictionary. He exalts Charles -II and James II as two of the best kings who have ever reigned.<a name="NoteRef_852_852" id="NoteRef_852_852"></a><a href="#Note_852_852" class="fnanchor">[852]</a> He -justifies the arbitrary taxes which Government presumes to levy on the -Americans.<a name="NoteRef_853_853" id="NoteRef_853_853"></a><a href="#Note_853_853" class="fnanchor">[853]</a> He declares that "Whigism is a negation of all -principle";<a name="NoteRef_854_854" id="NoteRef_854_854"></a><a href="#Note_854_854" class="fnanchor">[854]</a> that "the first Whig was the devil";<a name="NoteRef_855_855" id="NoteRef_855_855"></a><a href="#Note_855_855" class="fnanchor">[855]</a> that "the -Crown <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> has not power enough";<a name="NoteRef_856_856" id="NoteRef_856_856"></a><a href="#Note_856_856" class="fnanchor">[856]</a> that "mankind are happier in a state -of inequality and subordination."<a name="NoteRef_857_857" id="NoteRef_857_857"></a><a href="#Note_857_857" class="fnanchor">[857]</a> Frenchmen of the present time, -admirers of the "Contrat Social," soon feel, on reading or hearing all -this, that they are no longer in France. And what must they feel when, a -few moments later, the Doctor says: "I think him (Rousseau) one of the -worst of men; a rascal who ought to be hunted out of society, as he has -been. ... I would sooner sign a sentence for his transportation, than -that of any felon who has gone from the Old Bailey these many years. -Yes, I should like to have him work in the plantations."<a name="NoteRef_858_858" id="NoteRef_858_858"></a><a href="#Note_858_858" class="fnanchor">[858]</a>....</p> - -<p>It seems that in England people do not like philosophical innovators. -Let us see if Voltaire will be treated better: "It is difficult to -settle the proportion of iniquity between them (Rousseau and -Voltaire)."<a name="NoteRef_859_859" id="NoteRef_859_859"></a><a href="#Note_859_859" class="fnanchor">[859]</a> In good sooth, this is clear. But can we not look for -truth outside an Established Church? No; "no honest man could be a -Deist; for no man could be so after a fair examination of the proofs of -Christianity."<a name="NoteRef_860_860" id="NoteRef_860_860"></a><a href="#Note_860_860" class="fnanchor">[860]</a> Here is a peremptory Christian; there are scarcely -any in France so decisive. Moreover, he is an Anglican, with a passion -for the hierarchy, an admirer of established order, an enemy of -Dissenters. We see him bow to an archbishop with peculiar -veneration.<a name="NoteRef_861_861" id="NoteRef_861_861"></a><a href="#Note_861_861" class="fnanchor">[861]</a> We hear him reprove one of his friends "for saying -grace without mention of the name of our Lord Jesus Christ."<a name="NoteRef_862_862" id="NoteRef_862_862"></a><a href="#Note_862_862" class="fnanchor">[862]</a> If we -speak to him of a Quakers' meeting, and of a woman preaching, he will -tell us that "a woman preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind -legs; it is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at -all."<a name="NoteRef_863_863" id="NoteRef_863_863"></a><a href="#Note_863_863" class="fnanchor">[863]</a> He is a Conservative, and does not fear being considered -antiquated. He went at one o'clock in the morning into St. John's -Church, Clerkenwell, to interrogate a tormented spirit, which had -promised to "give a token of her presence there by a knock upon her -coffin."<a name="NoteRef_864_864" id="NoteRef_864_864"></a><a href="#Note_864_864" class="fnanchor">[864]</a> If we look at Boswell's life of him, we will find there -fervent prayers, examinations of conscience, and rules of conduct. -Amidst prejudices and ridicule he has a deep conviction, an active -faith, a severe moral piety. He is a Christian from his heart and -conscience, reason and practice. The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> thought of God, the fear of the -last judgment, engross and reform him. He said one day to Garrick: "I'll -come no more behind your scenes, David, for the silk stockings and white -bosoms of your actresses excite my amorous propensities." He reproaches -himself with his indolence, implores God's pardon, is humble, has -scruples. All this is very strange. We ask men what can please them in -this grumbling bear, with the manners of a beadle and the inclinations -of a constable? They answer, that in London people are less exacting -than in Paris, as to manners and politeness; that in England they allow -energy to be rude and virtue odd; that they put up with a combative -conversation; that public opinion is all on the side of the constitution -and Christianity; and that society was right to take for its master a -man who, by his style and precepts, best suited its bent.</p> - -<p>We now send for his books, and after an hour we observe, that whatever -the work be, tragedy or dictionary, biography or essay, he always writes -in the same style. "Dr. Johnson," Goldsmith said one day to him, "if you -were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales."<a name="NoteRef_865_865" id="NoteRef_865_865"></a><a href="#Note_865_865" class="fnanchor">[865]</a> In -fact, his phraseology rolls ever in solemn and majestic periods, in -which every substantive marches ceremoniously, accompanied by its -epithet; grand, pompous words peal like an organ; every proposition is -set forth balanced by a proposition of equal length; thought is -developed with the compassed regularity and official splendor of a -procession. Classical prose attains its perfection in him, as classical -poetry in Pope. Art cannot be more finished, or nature more forced. No -one has confined ideas in more strait compartments; none has given -stronger relief to dissertation and proof; none has imposed more -despotically on story and dialogue the forms of argumentation and -violent declamation; none has more generally mutilated the flowing -liberty of conversation and life by antitheses and technical words. It -is the completion and the excess, the triumph and the tyranny of -oratorical style.<a name="NoteRef_866_866" id="NoteRef_866_866"></a><a href="#Note_866_866" class="fnanchor">[866]</a> We understand now that an oratorical age <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> would -recognize him as a master, and attribute to him in eloquence the mastery -which it attributed to Pope in verse.</p> - -<p>We wish to know what ideas have made him popular. Here the astonishment -of a Frenchman redoubles. We vainly turn over the pages of his -Dictionary, his eight volumes of essays, his many volumes of -biographies, his numberless articles, his conversation so carefully -collected; we yawn. His truths are too true; we already know his -precepts by heart. We learn from him that life is short, and we ought to -improve the few moments granted to us;<a name="NoteRef_867_867" id="NoteRef_867_867"></a><a href="#Note_867_867" class="fnanchor">[867]</a> that a mother ought not to -bring up her son as a fop; that a man ought to repent of his faults, and -yet avoid superstition; that in everything we ought to be active, and -not hurried. We thank him for these sage counsels, but we mutter to -ourselves that we could have done very well without them. We should like -to know who could have been the lovers of ennui who have bought up -thirteen thousand copies of his works. We then remember that sermons are -liked in England, and that these essays are sermons. We discover that -men of reflection do not need bold or striking ideas, but palpable and -profitable truths. They desire to be furnished with a useful provision -of authentic examples on man and his existence, and demand nothing more. -No matter if the idea is vulgar; meat and bread are vulgar too, and are -no less good. They wish to be taught the kinds and degrees of happiness -and unhappiness, the varieties and results of character and condition, -the advantages and inconveniences of town and country, knowledge and -ignorance, wealth and moderate circumstances, because they are moralists -and utilitarians; because they look in a book for the knowledge to turn -them from folly, and motives to confirm them in uprightness; because -they cultivate in themselves sense, that is common, practical reason. A -little fiction, a few portraits, the least amount of amusement, will -suffice to adorn it. This substantial food only needs a very simple -seasoning. It is not the novelty of the dishes, nor dainty cookery, but -solidity and wholesomeness, which they seek. For this reason essays are -Johnson's national food. It is because they are insipid and dull for -Frenchmen that they suit the taste of an Englishman. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> We understand now -why they take for a favorite the respectable, the tiresome Dr. Samuel -Johnson.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="SECTION_X.--William_Hogarth">Section X.—William Hogarth</a></h4> - - -<p>I would fain bring together all these features, see these figures; only -colors and forms complete an idea; in order to know, we must see. Let us -go to the picture-gallery. Hogarth, the national painter, the friend of -Fielding, the contemporary of Johnson, the exact imitator of manners, -will show us the outward, as these authors have shown us the inward.</p> - -<p>We enter these great galleries of art. Painting is a noble thing! It -embellishes all, even vice. On the four walls, under transparent and -brilliant glass, the torsos rise, flesh palpitates, the blood's warm -current circulates under the veined skin, speaking likenesses stand out -in the light; it seems that the ugly, the vulgar, the odious, have -disappeared from the world. I no more criticise characters; I have done -with moral rules. I am no longer tempted to approve or to hate. A man -here is but a smudge of color, at most a handful of muscles; I know no -longer if he be a murderer.</p> - -<p>Life, the happy, complete, overflowing display, the expansion of natural -and corporal powers; this from all sides floods and rejoices our eyes. -Our limbs instinctively move by contagious imitation of movements and -forms. Before these lions of Rubens, whose deep growls rise like thunder -to the mouth of the cave, before these colossal writhing torsos, these -snouts which grope about skulls, the animal within us quivers through -sympathy, and it seems as if we were about to emit from our chests a -roar to equal their own.</p> - -<p>What though art has degenerated even among Frenchmen, epigrammatists, -the bepowdered abbés of the eighteenth century, it is art still. Beauty -is gone, elegance remains. These pretty arch faces, these slender -waspish waists, these delicate arms buried in a nest of lace, these -careless wanderings among thickets and warbling fountains, these gallant -dreams in a lofty chamber festooned with garlands, all this refined and -coquettish society is charming. The artist, then as always, gathers the -flowers of things, and cares not for the rest.</p> - -<p>But what was Hogarth's aim? who ever saw such a painter? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> Is he a -painter? Others make us wish to see what they represent; he makes us -wish not to see it.</p> - -<p>Is there anything more agreeable to paint than a drunken debauch by -night? the jolly, careless faces; the rich light, drowned in shadows -which flicker over rumpled garments and weighed-down bodies. With -Hogarth, on the other hand, what figures! Wickedness, stupidity, all the -vile poison of the vilest human passions, drops and distils from them. -One is shaking on his legs as he stands, sick, whilst a hiccup half -opens his belching lips; another howls hoarsely, like a wretched cur; -another, with bald and broken head, patched up in places, falls forward -on his chest, with the smile of a sick idiot. We turn over the leaves of -Hogarth's works, and the train of odious or bestial faces appears to be -inexhaustible; features distorted or deformed, foreheads lumpy or puffed -out with perspiring flesh; hideous grins distended by ferocious -laughter: one has had his nose bitten off; the next, one-eyed, -square-headed, spotted over with bleeding warts, whose red face looks -redder under the dazzling white wig, smokes silently, full of rancor and -spleen; another, an old man with a crutch, scarlet and bloated, his chin -falling on his breast, gazes with the fixed and starting eyes of a crab. -Hogarth shows the beast in man, and worse, a mad and murderous, a feeble -or enraged beast. Look at this murderer standing over the body of his -butchered mistress, with squinting eyes, distorted mouth, grinding his -teeth at the thought of the blood which stains and denounces him; or -this ruined gambler, who has torn off his wig and kerchief, and is -crying on his knees, with closed teeth, and fist raised against heaven. -Look again at this madhouse: the dirty idiot, with muddy face, filthy -hair, stained claws, who thinks he is playing on the violin, and has a -sheet of music for a cap; the religious madman, who writhes convulsively -on his straw, with clasped hands, feeling the claws of the devil in his -bowels; the naked and haggard raving lunatic whom they are chaining up, -and who is tearing out his flesh with his nails. Detestable Yahoos who -presume to usurp the blessed light of heaven, in what brain can you have -arisen, and why did a painter sully our eyes with your picture?</p> - -<p>It is because his eyes were English, and because the senses in England -are barbarous. Let us leave our repugnance behind us, and look at things -as Englishmen do, not from without, but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> from within. The whole current -of public thought tends here towards observation of the soul, and -painting is dragged along with literature in the same course. Forget -then the forms, they are but lines; the body is here only to translate -the mind.<a name="NoteRef_868_868" id="NoteRef_868_868"></a><a href="#Note_868_868" class="fnanchor">[868]</a> This twisted nose, these pimples on a vinous cheek, these -stupefied gestures of a drowsy brute, these wrinkled features, these -degraded forms, only make the character, the trade, the whim, the habit -stand out more clearly. The artist shows us no longer limbs and heads, -but debauchery, drunkenness, brutality, hatred, despair, all the -diseases and deformities of these too harsh and unbending wills, the mad -menagerie of all the passions. Not that he lets them loose; this rude, -dogmatic, and Christian citizen handles more vigorously than any of his -brethren the heavy club of morality. He is a beef-eating policeman -charged with instructing and correcting drunken pugilists. From such a -man to such men ceremony would be superfluous. At the bottom of every -cage where he imprisons a vice, he writes its name and adds the -condemnation pronounced by Scripture; he displays that vice in its -ugliness, buries it in its filth, drags it to its punishment, so that -there is no conscience so perverted as not to recognize it, none so -hardened as not to be horrified at it.</p> - -<p>Let us look well, these are lessons which bear fruit. This one is -against gin: on a step, in the open street, lies a drunken woman, half -naked, with hanging breasts, scrofulous legs; she smiles idiotically, -and her child, which she lets fall on the pavement, breaks its skull. -Underneath, a pale skeleton, with closed eyes, sinks down with a glass -in his hand. Round about, dissipation and frenzy drive the tattered -spectres one against another. A wretch who has hung himself sways to and -fro in a garret. Gravediggers are putting a naked woman into a coffin. A -starveling is gnawing a bare bone side by side with a dog. By his side -little girls are drinking with one another, and a young woman is making -her suckling swallow gin. A madman pitchforks his child, and raises it -aloft; he dances and laughs, and the mother sees it.</p> - -<p>Another picture and lesson, this time against cruelty. A young murderer -has been hung, and is being dissected. He is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> there, on a table, and the -lecturer calmly points out with his wand the places where the students -are to work. At this sign the dissectors cut the flesh and pull. One is -at the feet; the second man of science, a sardonic old butcher, seizes a -knife with a hand that looks as if it would do its duty, and thrusts the -other hand into the entrails, which, lower down, are being taken out to -be put into a bucket. The last medical student takes out the eye, and -the distorted mouth seems to howl under his hand. Meanwhile a dog seizes -the heart, which is trailing on the ground; thigh-bones and skull boil, -by way of concert, in a copper; and the doctors around coolly exchange -surgical jokes on the subject which, piecemeal, is passing away under -their scalpels.</p> - -<p>Frenchmen will say that such lessons are good for barbarians, and that -they only half like these official or lay preachers, De Foe, Hogarth, -Smollett, Richardson, Johnson, and the rest. I reply that moralists are -useful, and that these have changed a state of barbarism into one of -civilization. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_735_735" id="Note_735_735"></a><a href="#NoteRef_735_735"><span class="label">[735]</span></a>See his dull poems, amongst others "Jure divino," a poem -in twelve books, in defence of every man's birthright by nature.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_736_736" id="Note_736_736"></a><a href="#NoteRef_736_736"><span class="label">[736]</span></a>Compare another story of an apparition, Edgar Poe's -"Case of M. Waldemar." The American is a suffering artist; De Foe a -citizen, who has common-sense.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_737_737" id="Note_737_737"></a><a href="#NoteRef_737_737"><span class="label">[737]</span></a>De Foe's Works, 20 vols. 1819-21. "The Life and Adventures -of Robinson Crusoe," I. ch. IV. 65.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_738_738" id="Note_738_738"></a><a href="#NoteRef_738_738"><span class="label">[738]</span></a>"Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe," I. ch. IV. 76.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_739_739" id="Note_739_739"></a><a href="#NoteRef_739_739"><span class="label">[739]</span></a>"Robinson Crusoe," ch. IV. 79.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_740_740" id="Note_740_740"></a><a href="#NoteRef_740_740"><span class="label">[740]</span></a>Ibid. 80.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_741_741" id="Note_741_741"></a><a href="#NoteRef_741_741"><span class="label">[741]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XI. 184.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_742_742" id="Note_742_742"></a><a href="#NoteRef_742_742"><span class="label">[742]</span></a>"Robinson Crusoe," 187, Ps. 1. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_743_743" id="Note_743_743"></a><a href="#NoteRef_743_743"><span class="label">[743]</span></a>Heb. XIII. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_744_744" id="Note_744_744"></a><a href="#NoteRef_744_744"><span class="label">[744]</span></a>"Robinson Crusoe," ch. VIII. 134.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_745_745" id="Note_745_745"></a><a href="#NoteRef_745_745"><span class="label">[745]</span></a>Ibid. ch. VIII. 133.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_746_746" id="Note_746_746"></a><a href="#NoteRef_746_746"><span class="label">[746]</span></a>1709, 1711, 1713.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_747_747" id="Note_747_747"></a><a href="#NoteRef_747_747"><span class="label">[747]</span></a>1741. The translator has consulted the tenth edition, 1775, -4 vols.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_748_748" id="Note_748_748"></a><a href="#NoteRef_748_748"><span class="label">[748]</span></a>"To be sure I did nothing but curt'sy and cry, and was all -in confusion at his goodness."</p> - -<p>"I was so confounded at these words, you might have beat me down with a -feather.... So, like a fool, I was ready to cry, and went away curt'sying, -and blushing, I am sure, up to the ears."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_749_749" id="Note_749_749"></a><a href="#NoteRef_749_749"><span class="label">[749]</span></a>Pamela, vol. 1. Letter X.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_750_750" id="Note_750_750"></a><a href="#NoteRef_750_750"><span class="label">[750]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_751_751" id="Note_751_751"></a><a href="#NoteRef_751_751"><span class="label">[751]</span></a>Ibid. Letter XXVII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_752_752" id="Note_752_752"></a><a href="#NoteRef_752_752"><span class="label">[752]</span></a>"I dare not tell a wilful lie."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_753_753" id="Note_753_753"></a><a href="#NoteRef_753_753"><span class="label">[753]</span></a>"Pamela," I. Letter XXV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_754_754" id="Note_754_754"></a><a href="#NoteRef_754_754"><span class="label">[754]</span></a>Ibid. Letter to Mr. Williams, I. 208.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_755_755" id="Note_755_755"></a><a href="#NoteRef_755_755"><span class="label">[755]</span></a>"Pamela," I. 290.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_756_756" id="Note_756_756"></a><a href="#NoteRef_756_756"><span class="label">[756]</span></a>Ibid. II. 167.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_757_757" id="Note_757_757"></a><a href="#NoteRef_757_757"><span class="label">[757]</span></a>Ibid. II. 78.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_758_758" id="Note_758_758"></a><a href="#NoteRef_758_758"><span class="label">[758]</span></a>Ibid. II. 148.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_759_759" id="Note_759_759"></a><a href="#NoteRef_759_759"><span class="label">[759]</span></a>Ibid. II. 194.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_760_760" id="Note_760_760"></a><a href="#NoteRef_760_760"><span class="label">[760]</span></a>Ibid. II. 62.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_761_761" id="Note_761_761"></a><a href="#NoteRef_761_761"><span class="label">[761]</span></a>"Pamela," II. 62.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_762_762" id="Note_762_762"></a><a href="#NoteRef_762_762"><span class="label">[762]</span></a>Ibid. II. 63.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_763_763" id="Note_763_763"></a><a href="#NoteRef_763_763"><span class="label">[763]</span></a>Ibid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_764_764" id="Note_764_764"></a><a href="#NoteRef_764_764"><span class="label">[764]</span></a>See in "Pamela" the characters of Squire B. and Lady -Davers.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_765_765" id="Note_765_765"></a><a href="#NoteRef_765_765"><span class="label">[765]</span></a>"Clarissa Harlowe," 4th ed. 1751, 7 vols. I, 92.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_766_766" id="Note_766_766"></a><a href="#NoteRef_766_766"><span class="label">[766]</span></a>Ibid. I. 105.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_767_767" id="Note_767_767"></a><a href="#NoteRef_767_767"><span class="label">[767]</span></a>"Clarissa Harlowe," I. Letter XX. 125.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_768_768" id="Note_768_768"></a><a href="#NoteRef_768_768"><span class="label">[768]</span></a>Ibid. I. Letter XXXIX. 253.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_769_769" id="Note_769_769"></a><a href="#NoteRef_769_769"><span class="label">[769]</span></a>Ibid. I. Letter XLII. 278.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_770_770" id="Note_770_770"></a><a href="#NoteRef_770_770"><span class="label">[770]</span></a>"Clarissa Harlowe," I. Letter XLIII. 295.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_771_771" id="Note_771_771"></a><a href="#NoteRef_771_771"><span class="label">[771]</span></a>Ibid. I. Letter XLV. 308.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_772_772" id="Note_772_772"></a><a href="#NoteRef_772_772"><span class="label">[772]</span></a>Ibid. I. Letter XLV. 309.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_773_773" id="Note_773_773"></a><a href="#NoteRef_773_773"><span class="label">[773]</span></a>Ibid. Letter XXXIV. 223.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_774_774" id="Note_774_774"></a><a href="#NoteRef_774_774"><span class="label">[774]</span></a>Ibid. II. Letter XLIII. 315.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_775_775" id="Note_775_775"></a><a href="#NoteRef_775_775"><span class="label">[775]</span></a>"Clarissa Harlowe," I. Letter XII. 65.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_776_776" id="Note_776_776"></a><a href="#NoteRef_776_776"><span class="label">[776]</span></a>Ibid. III. Letter XVIII. 89.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_777_777" id="Note_777_777"></a><a href="#NoteRef_777_777"><span class="label">[777]</span></a>Ibid. VII. Letter XXXVIII. 122.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_778_778" id="Note_778_778"></a><a href="#NoteRef_778_778"><span class="label">[778]</span></a>See the Mémoirs of the Marshal de Richelieu.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_779_779" id="Note_779_779"></a><a href="#NoteRef_779_779"><span class="label">[779]</span></a>"Clarissa Harlowe," II. Letter XXXIX. 294.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_780_780" id="Note_780_780"></a><a href="#NoteRef_780_780"><span class="label">[780]</span></a>Ibid, IV, XXXIII. 232.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_781_781" id="Note_781_781"></a><a href="#NoteRef_781_781"><span class="label">[781]</span></a>See ("Clarissa Harlowe," vol. VII. Letter XLIX.) among -other things her last will.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_782_782" id="Note_782_782"></a><a href="#NoteRef_782_782"><span class="label">[782]</span></a>She makes out statistics and a classification of -Lovelace's merits and faults, with subdivisions and numbers. Take an -example of this positive and practical English logic: "That such a -husband might unsettle me in all my own principles, and hazard my future -hopes. That he has a very immoral character to women. That knowing this, -it is a high degree of impurity to think of joining in wedlock with such -a man." She keeps all her writings, her memorandums, summaries or -analyses of her own letters.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_783_783" id="Note_783_783"></a><a href="#NoteRef_783_783"><span class="label">[783]</span></a>"Swearing is a most unmanly vice, and cursing as poor and -low a one, since it proclaims the profligate's want of power and his -wickedness at the same time; for could such a one punish as he speaks, he -would be a fiend."—Vol. II. Letter XXXVIII. 282.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_784_784" id="Note_784_784"></a><a href="#NoteRef_784_784"><span class="label">[784]</span></a>The contrary is the case with the heroines of George Sand's -novels.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_785_785" id="Note_785_785"></a><a href="#NoteRef_785_785"><span class="label">[785]</span></a>See "Sir Charles Grandison," 7 vols. 1811, III. Letter XVI. -142: "He received the letters, standing up, bowing; and kissed the papers -with an air of gallantry, that I thought greatly became him."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_786_786" id="Note_786_786"></a><a href="#NoteRef_786_786"><span class="label">[786]</span></a>"Sir Charles Grandison," VI. Letter XXXI. 236.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_787_787" id="Note_787_787"></a><a href="#NoteRef_787_787"><span class="label">[787]</span></a>Ibid. VI. Letter XXXIII. 252.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_788_788" id="Note_788_788"></a><a href="#NoteRef_788_788"><span class="label">[788]</span></a>Ibid. VI. Letter LII. 358.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_789_789" id="Note_789_789"></a><a href="#NoteRef_789_789"><span class="label">[789]</span></a>Ibid. VI. Letter XXXI. 233.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_790_790" id="Note_790_790"></a><a href="#NoteRef_790_790"><span class="label">[790]</span></a>"Sir Charles Grandison," VII. Letter LXI. 336.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_791_791" id="Note_791_791"></a><a href="#NoteRef_791_791"><span class="label">[791]</span></a>A selfish and misanthropical cynic in Molière's -"École des Femmes."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_792_792" id="Note_792_792"></a><a href="#NoteRef_792_792"><span class="label">[792]</span></a>Clarissa and Pamela employ too many.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_793_793" id="Note_793_793"></a><a href="#NoteRef_793_793"><span class="label">[793]</span></a>In "Novels and Novelists," by W. Forsyth, 1871, it is -said, ch. VII: "To me, I confess, 'Clarissa Harlowe' is an unpleasant, -not to say odious book.... If any book deserved the charge of sickly -sentimentality, it is this; and that it should have once been so widely -popular, and thought admirably adapted to instruct young women in -lessons of virtue and religion, shows a strange and perverted state of -the public taste, not to say public morals." Mrs. Oliphant, in her -"Historical Sketches of the Reign of George Second," 1869, says of the -same novel (II. X. 264): "Richardson was a respectable tradesman,... a -good printer,... a comfortable soul,... never owing a guinea nor -transgressing a rule of morality; and yet so much a poet, that he has -added at least one character (Clarissa Harlowe) to the inheritance of -the world, of which Shakespeare need not have been ashamed—the most -celestial thing, the highest effort of his generation."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_794_794" id="Note_794_794"></a><a href="#NoteRef_794_794"><span class="label">[794]</span></a>"Lady Montague's Letters," ed. Lord Wharncliffe, 2d ed. -3 vols. 1837; Letter to the Countess of Bute, III. 120.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_795_795" id="Note_795_795"></a><a href="#NoteRef_795_795"><span class="label">[795]</span></a>Roscoe's "Life of Fielding," p. XXV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_796_796" id="Note_796_796"></a><a href="#NoteRef_796_796"><span class="label">[796]</span></a>"The Adventures of Joseph Andrews," bk. I. ch. XII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_797_797" id="Note_797_797"></a><a href="#NoteRef_797_797"><span class="label">[797]</span></a>Ibid. I. ch. XVIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_798_798" id="Note_798_798"></a><a href="#NoteRef_798_798"><span class="label">[798]</span></a>"History of a Foundling," bk. V. ch. II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_799_799" id="Note_799_799"></a><a href="#NoteRef_799_799"><span class="label">[799]</span></a>"History of a Foundling," bk. VI. ch. X.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_800_800" id="Note_800_800"></a><a href="#NoteRef_800_800"><span class="label">[800]</span></a>Ibid. bk. VI. ch. X.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_801_801" id="Note_801_801"></a><a href="#NoteRef_801_801"><span class="label">[801]</span></a>Blifil.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_802_802" id="Note_802_802"></a><a href="#NoteRef_802_802"><span class="label">[802]</span></a>"History of a Foundling," XVI. ch. II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_803_803" id="Note_803_803"></a><a href="#NoteRef_803_803"><span class="label">[803]</span></a>Ibid, XVIII. ch. IX.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_804_804" id="Note_804_804"></a><a href="#NoteRef_804_804"><span class="label">[804]</span></a>Ibid, XVIII. ch. XII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_805_805" id="Note_805_805"></a><a href="#NoteRef_805_805"><span class="label">[805]</span></a>Last chapter of the "History of a Foundling."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_806_806" id="Note_806_806"></a><a href="#NoteRef_806_806"><span class="label">[806]</span></a>Preface to "Joseph Andrews."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_807_807" id="Note_807_807"></a><a href="#NoteRef_807_807"><span class="label">[807]</span></a>"Jonathan Wild."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_808_808" id="Note_808_808"></a><a href="#NoteRef_808_808"><span class="label">[808]</span></a>Amelia is the perfect English wife, an excellent cook, so -devoted as to pardon her husband his accidental infidelities, always -looking forward to the accoucheur. She says ever (bk. IV. ch. VI.), "Dear -Billy, though my understanding be much inferior to yours." She is -excessively modest, always blushing and tender. Bagillard having written -her some love-letters, she throws them away, and says (bk. III. ch. IX.): -"I would not have such a letter in my possession for the universe; I -thought my eyes contaminated with reading it."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_809_809" id="Note_809_809"></a><a href="#NoteRef_809_809"><span class="label">[809]</span></a>"Amelia," bk. II. ch. VIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_810_810" id="Note_810_810"></a><a href="#NoteRef_810_810"><span class="label">[810]</span></a>Ibid. bk. III. ch. I.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_811_811" id="Note_811_811"></a><a href="#NoteRef_811_811"><span class="label">[811]</span></a>Ibid, bk. III. ch. II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_812_812" id="Note_812_812"></a><a href="#NoteRef_812_812"><span class="label">[812]</span></a>Preface to "Roderick Random."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_813_813" id="Note_813_813"></a><a href="#NoteRef_813_813"><span class="label">[813]</span></a>"Peregrine Pickle," ch. LX.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_814_814" id="Note_814_814"></a><a href="#NoteRef_814_814"><span class="label">[814]</span></a>"Peregrine Pickle," ch. XXIX.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_815_815" id="Note_815_815"></a><a href="#NoteRef_815_815"><span class="label">[815]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXIV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_816_816" id="Note_816_816"></a><a href="#NoteRef_816_816"><span class="label">[816]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXVII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_817_817" id="Note_817_817"></a><a href="#NoteRef_817_817"><span class="label">[817]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_818_818" id="Note_818_818"></a><a href="#NoteRef_818_818"><span class="label">[818]</span></a>"Peregrine Pickle," ch. XXIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_819_819" id="Note_819_819"></a><a href="#NoteRef_819_819"><span class="label">[819]</span></a>In "Novels and Novelists," by W. Forsyth, the author -says, ch. V. 159: "What is the character of most of these books (novels) -which were to correct follies and regulate morality? Of a great many of -them, and especially those of Fielding and Smollett, the prevailing -features are grossness and licentiousness. Love degenerates into a mere -animal passion.... The language of the characters abounds in oaths and -gross expressions.... The heroines allow themselves to take part in -conversations which no modest woman would have heard without a blush. -And yet these novels were the delight of a bygone generation, and were -greedily devoured by women as well as men. Are we therefore to conclude -that our great-great-grandmothers... were less chaste and moral than -their female posterity? I answer, certainly not; but we must infer that -they were inferior to them in delicacy and refinement. They were -accustomed to hear a spade called a spade, and words which would shock -the more fastidious ear in the reign of Queen Victoria were then in -common and daily use."—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_820_820" id="Note_820_820"></a><a href="#NoteRef_820_820"><span class="label">[820]</span></a>Byron's Works, ed. Moore, 17 vols. 1832; "Life," III. 127, -note.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_821_821" id="Note_821_821"></a><a href="#NoteRef_821_821"><span class="label">[821]</span></a>There is a distinct trace of a spirit similar to that -which is here sketched, in a select few of the English writers. -Pultcck's "Peter Wilkins the Flying Man," Amory's "Life of John Buncle," -and Southey's "Doctor," are instances of this. Rabelais is probably their -prototype.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_822_822" id="Note_822_822"></a><a href="#NoteRef_822_822"><span class="label">[822]</span></a>Sterne's Works, 7 vols. 1783, 3; "The Life and Opinions -of Tristram Shandy," VII. ch. XXXII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_823_823" id="Note_823_823"></a><a href="#NoteRef_823_823"><span class="label">[823]</span></a>"Tristram Shandy," I, 2. ch. XII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_824_824" id="Note_824_824"></a><a href="#NoteRef_824_824"><span class="label">[824]</span></a>"Tristram Shandy," 2, IV. ch. XXVII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_825_825" id="Note_825_825"></a><a href="#NoteRef_825_825"><span class="label">[825]</span></a>Ibid. 3, IX. ch. XX.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_826_826" id="Note_826_826"></a><a href="#NoteRef_826_826"><span class="label">[826]</span></a>Sterne, Goldsmith, Burke, Sheridan Moore, have a tone -of their own, which comes from their blood, or from their proximate or -distant parentage—the Irish tone. So Hume, Robertson, Smollett, Scott, -Burns, Beattie, Reid, D. Stewart, and others, have the Scottish tone. In -the Irish or Celtic tone we find an excess of chivalry, sensuality, -expansion; in short, a mind less equally balanced, more sympathetic and -less practical. The Scotsman, on the other hand, is an Englishman, either -slightly refined or narrowed, because he has suffered more and fasted -more.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_827_827" id="Note_827_827"></a><a href="#NoteRef_827_827"><span class="label">[827]</span></a>"The Vicar of Wakefield," ch. IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_828_828" id="Note_828_828"></a><a href="#NoteRef_828_828"><span class="label">[828]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_829_829" id="Note_829_829"></a><a href="#NoteRef_829_829"><span class="label">[829]</span></a>"The Vicar of Wakefield," ch. XXVIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_830_830" id="Note_830_830"></a><a href="#NoteRef_830_830"><span class="label">[830]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXVIII.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_831_831" id="Note_831_831"></a><a href="#NoteRef_831_831"><span class="label">[831]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXIX.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_832_832" id="Note_832_832"></a><a href="#NoteRef_832_832"><span class="label">[832]</span></a>See, in Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ed. Croker, 1853, -ch. XI. p. 85, Chesterfield's complimentary paper on Johnson's -Dictionary, printed in the "World."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_833_833" id="Note_833_833"></a><a href="#NoteRef_833_833"><span class="label">[833]</span></a>Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ed. Croker, ch. XXX. 269.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_834_834" id="Note_834_834"></a><a href="#NoteRef_834_834"><span class="label">[834]</span></a>Ibid. ch. III. 14 and 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_835_835" id="Note_835_835"></a><a href="#NoteRef_835_835"><span class="label">[835]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVIII. 165, n. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_836_836" id="Note_836_836"></a><a href="#NoteRef_836_836"><span class="label">[836]</span></a>Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ch. XVIII. 166.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_837_837" id="Note_837_837"></a><a href="#NoteRef_837_837"><span class="label">[837]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XLVIII. 439, n. 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_838_838" id="Note_838_838"></a><a href="#NoteRef_838_838"><span class="label">[838]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVII. 159.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_839_839" id="Note_839_839"></a><a href="#NoteRef_839_839"><span class="label">[839]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXVI. 236.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_840_840" id="Note_840_840"></a><a href="#NoteRef_840_840"><span class="label">[840]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXII. 201.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_841_841" id="Note_841_841"></a><a href="#NoteRef_841_841"><span class="label">[841]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XLVIII. 628.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_842_842" id="Note_842_842"></a><a href="#NoteRef_842_842"><span class="label">[842]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVIII. 166.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_843_843" id="Note_843_843"></a><a href="#NoteRef_843_843"><span class="label">[843]</span></a>Ibid. ch. II. 12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_844_844" id="Note_844_844"></a><a href="#NoteRef_844_844"><span class="label">[844]</span></a>Ibid. ch. IV. 22.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_845_845" id="Note_845_845"></a><a href="#NoteRef_845_845"><span class="label">[845]</span></a>Ibid. ch. IV. 26.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_846_846" id="Note_846_846"></a><a href="#NoteRef_846_846"><span class="label">[846]</span></a>Boswell's "Life of Johnson," ch. V. 28, note 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_847_847" id="Note_847_847"></a><a href="#NoteRef_847_847"><span class="label">[847]</span></a>Ibid. ch. VII. 46.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_848_848" id="Note_848_848"></a><a href="#NoteRef_848_848"><span class="label">[848]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVII. 159.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_849_849" id="Note_849_849"></a><a href="#NoteRef_849_849"><span class="label">[849]</span></a>Ibid. ch. V. 28.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_850_850" id="Note_850_850"></a><a href="#NoteRef_850_850"><span class="label">[850]</span></a>He had formerly put in his Dictionary the following -definition of the word pension: "Pension: an allowance made to any one -without an equivalent. In England it is generally understood to mean -pay given to a state-hireling for treason to his country." This drew of -course afterward all the sarcasms of his adversaries upon himself.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_851_851" id="Note_851_851"></a><a href="#NoteRef_851_851"><span class="label">[851]</span></a>Boswell's "Life," ch. XXIV. 216.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_852_852" id="Note_852_852"></a><a href="#NoteRef_852_852"><span class="label">[852]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XLIX. 444.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_853_853" id="Note_853_853"></a><a href="#NoteRef_853_853"><span class="label">[853]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XLVIII. 435.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_854_854" id="Note_854_854"></a><a href="#NoteRef_854_854"><span class="label">[854]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVI. 148.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_855_855" id="Note_855_855"></a><a href="#NoteRef_855_855"><span class="label">[855]</span></a>Ibid. ch. LXVI. 606.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_856_856" id="Note_856_856"></a><a href="#NoteRef_856_856"><span class="label">[856]</span></a>Boswell's "Life." ch. XXVI. 236.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_857_857" id="Note_857_857"></a><a href="#NoteRef_857_857"><span class="label">[857]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXVIII. 252.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_858_858" id="Note_858_858"></a><a href="#NoteRef_858_858"><span class="label">[858]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XIX. 175.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_859_859" id="Note_859_859"></a><a href="#NoteRef_859_859"><span class="label">[859]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XIX. 176.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_860_860" id="Note_860_860"></a><a href="#NoteRef_860_860"><span class="label">[860]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XIX. 174.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_861_861" id="Note_861_861"></a><a href="#NoteRef_861_861"><span class="label">[861]</span></a>Ibid. ch. LXXV. 723.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_862_862" id="Note_862_862"></a><a href="#NoteRef_862_862"><span class="label">[862]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XXIV. 218.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_863_863" id="Note_863_863"></a><a href="#NoteRef_863_863"><span class="label">[863]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XVII. 157.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_864_864" id="Note_864_864"></a><a href="#NoteRef_864_864"><span class="label">[864]</span></a>Ibid. ch. XV. 138, note 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_865_865" id="Note_865_865"></a><a href="#NoteRef_865_865"><span class="label">[865]</span></a>Boswell's "Life," ch. XXVIII. 256.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_866_866" id="Note_866_866"></a><a href="#NoteRef_866_866"><span class="label">[866]</span></a>Here is a celebrated phrase, which will give some idea of -his style (Boswell's "Journal," ch. XLIII. 381): "We are now treading -that illustrious island, which was once the luminary of the Caledonian -regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits -of knowledge and the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from -all local emotion would be impossible if it were endeavoured, and would -be foolish if it were possible.... Far from me and from my friends be -such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over -any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That -man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon -the plain of Marathon or whose piety would not grow warmer among the -ruins of Iona."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_867_867" id="Note_867_867"></a><a href="#NoteRef_867_867"><span class="label">[867]</span></a>"Rambler," 108, 109, 110, 111.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Note_868_868" id="Note_868_868"></a><a href="#NoteRef_868_868"><span class="label">[868]</span></a>When a character is strongly marked in the living face, -it may be considered as an index to the mind, to express which with any -degree of justness in painting, requires the utmost efforts of a great -master.—"Analysis of Beauty."</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. 158, 160<br /> -Addison, Joseph, II. <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Note_539_539">note 539</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his life and writings, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>; III. 83,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">95, 259, 272, 2.80, 306</span><br /> -Adholm, I. 64, 69, 185<br /> -Agriculture, improvement in, in sixteenth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">century, I. 172; in the nineteenth,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 43, 168</span><br /> -Akenside, Mark, III. 36<br /> -Alcuin, I. 64, 70<br /> -Alexander VI, Pope, II. <a href="#Page_5">5</a><br /> -Alexandrian philosophy, I. 21, 22<br /> -Alfred the Great, I. 64, 69<br /> -Alison, Sir Archibald, III. 44<br /> -Amory, Thomas, II. <a href="#Note_438_438">note 438</a><br /> -Angelo, Michael, I. 183, 366; III. 27<br /> -Anglo-Saxon poetry, I. 53 seq.<br /> -Ann of Cleaves, I. 186<br /> -Anselm, I. 76<br /> -Anthology the, I. 209, 240<br /> -Arbuthnot, Dr. John, II. <a href="#Note_689_689">note 689</a>, <a href="#Note_691_691">note 691</a><br /> -Architecture, Norman, I. 75, 127; the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tudor style, 174</span><br /> -Ariosto, I. 185, 222; II. <a href="#Page_236">236</a><br /> -Aristocracy British, in the nineteenth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">century, III. 169 seq.</span><br /> -Arkwright, Sir Richard, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Armada, the I. 173, 279<br /> -Arnold, Dr. Thomas, III. 100, 178<br /> -Arthur and Merlin, romance of, I. 77<br /> -Ascham, Roger, I. 181, 246; II. <a href="#Page_3">3</a><br /> -Athelstan, I. 36, 54<br /> -Augier, Emile, III. 208<br /> -Austen, Jane, III. 85<br /> -<br /> -Bacon, Francis, Lord, I. 245, 255-263; II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>; III. 268 seq. 284</span><br /> -Bacon, Roger, I. 161<br /> -Bain, Alexander, III. 185<br /> -Bakewell, Robert, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Bale, John, I. 186<br /> -Balzac, Honoré de, I. 3; III. 215, 254<br /> -Barclay, Alexander, I. 165<br /> -Barclay, John, II. <a href="#Page_292">292</a><br /> -Barclay, Robert, I. 58<br /> -Barrow, Isaac, II. <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Note_524_524">note 524</a>, <a href="#Note_526_526">note 526</a>, <a href="#Note_527_527">note 527</a>, <a href="#Note_537_537">note 537</a><br /> -Baxter, Richard, I. 268; II. <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a><br /> -Bayly's (Lewis) Practice of Piety, II. <a href="#Page_62">62</a><br /> -Beattie, Tames, II. <a href="#Note_826_826">note 826</a>; III. 36<br /> -Beauclerk, Henry, I. 76<br /> -Beaumont, Francis, I. 291, 307-317; II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Note_60_60">note 60</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></span><br /> -Becket, Thomas à, I. 97<br /> -Beckford, W., III. 77<br /> -Bede, the Venerable, I. 64<br /> -Bedford, Duke of (John Russell), II. <a href="#Page_310">310</a><br /> -Beethovan, Lewis van, III. 87<br /> -Behn, Mrs. Aphra, II. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a><br /> -Bell, Currer. See Brontë, Charlotte<br /> -Bénoit de Sainte-Maure, I. 76<br /> -Bentham, Jeremy, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Bently, Richard, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Beowolf, an Anglo-Saxon epic poem, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">49-53</span><br /> -Béranger, II. <a href="#Page_11">11</a>; III. 287<br /> -Berkeley, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Berkley, Sir Charles, II. <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br /> -Berners, Lord, I. 186<br /> -Best, Paul, II. <a href="#Page_50">50</a><br /> -Bible, English. See Wiclif, Tyndale<br /> -Blackmore, Sir Richard, II. <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> -Blount, Edward, I. 192<br /> -Boccaccio, I. 126, 132; II. <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> -Bodley, Sir Thomas, I. 246<br /> -Boethius, I. 64-67<br /> -Boileau, II. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>; III. 7,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">4, 345</span><br /> -Boleyn, Ann, I. 276<br /> -Bolingbroke, Lord (Henry St. John), II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Note_654_654">note 654</a>, <a href="#Note_670_670">note 670</a>, <a href="#Note_673_673">note 673</a>; III. 8</span><br /> -Bonner, Edmund, II. <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Borde, Andrew, I. 186<br /> -Borgia, Cæsar, II. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -Borgia, Lucretia, I. 182; II. <a href="#Page_5">5</a><br /> -Bossu (or Lebossu), II. <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> -Bossuet, I. 18; II. <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Note_542_542">note 542</a>; III. 25, 306<br /> -Boswell, James, II. <a href="#Page_444">444 </a>, <a href="#Note_846_846">note 846</a>, <a href="#Note_851_851">note 851</a><br /> -Bourchier. See Berners<br /> -Boyle, the Hon. Robert, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Bridaine, Father, II. <a href="#Page_298">298</a><br /> -Britons, ancient, I. 38<br /> -Brontë, Charlotte (Currer Bell), III. 85,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">100, 185</span><br /> -Browne, Sir Thomas, I. 245, 246, 252; II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></span><br /> -Browning, Mrs., III. 100, 185<br /> -Brunanburh, Athelstan's victory at, celebrated<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Saxon song, I. 54</span><br /> -Buckingham, Duke of (John Sheffield),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></span><br /> -Buckle, Henry Thomas, III. 154 seq., 176<br /> -Bulwer, Sir Henry Lytton, III. 85, 185<br /> -Bunyan, John, II. <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Note_94_94">note 94</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br /> -Burke, Edmund, II. <a href="#Note_536_536">note 536</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Note_570_570">note 570</a>, <a href="#Page_444">444</a>; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">286, 306</span><br /> -Burleigh, Lord (William Cecil), I. 273;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 286</span><br /> -Burnet, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_202">202</a><br /> -Burney, Francisca (Madame D'Arblay),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Note_508_508">note 508</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_444">444</a>; III. 275</span><br /> -Burns, Robert, II. <a href="#Note_434_434">note 434</a>, <a href="#Note_826_826">note 826</a>; Sketch of his life<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and works, III. 48-65</span><br /> -Burton, Robert, I. 175, 248-252; II. <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Note_68_68">note 68</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -Busby, Dr. Richard, II. <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> -Bute, Lord, II. <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a><br /> -Butler, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Butler, Samuel, II. <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Byng, Admiral, II. <a href="#Page_310">310</a><br /> -Byron, Lord, III. 11; his life and works,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">102-151</span><br /> -<br /> -Cædmon, hymns of, I. 57, 61; his metrical<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">paraphrase of parts of the Bible,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">61-64, 185</span><br /> -Calamy, Edmund, II. <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /> -Calderon, I. 161, 279; II. <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br /> -Calvin, John, II. <a href="#Note_9_9">note 9</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Note_534_534">note 534</a><br /> -Camden, William, I. 246<br /> -Campbell, Thomas, III. 76, 112<br /> -Carew, Thomas, I. 238<br /> -Carlyle, Thomas, I. 6; 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. <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br /> -Castlereagh, Lord, I. 319<br /> -Catherine, St., play of, I. 76<br /> -Cellini, Benvenuto, I. 26, 114, 184<br /> -Cervantes, I. 100, 151, 222; II. <a href="#Page_410">410</a><br /> -Chalmers, George, I. 72<br /> -Chandos, Duke of (John Brydges), III. 8<br /> -Chapman, George, I. 330<br /> -Charles of Orleans, I. 84, 158<br /> -Charles I of England, III. 276<br /> -Charles II and his court, II. <a href="#Page_140">140</a><br /> -Chateaubriand, I. 4; II. <a href="#Page_346">346</a><br /> -Chatham. See Pitt<br /> -Chaucer, I. 106, 126, 157; II. <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br /> -Chesterfield, Lord, II. <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Note_497_497">note 497</a>, <a href="#Page_444">444</a>; III. 15<br /> -Chevy Chase, ballad of, I. 125<br /> -Chillingworth, William, I. 245; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_300">300</a></span><br /> -Christianity, introduction of, into Britain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. 56, 63 seq.</span><br /> -Chroniclers, French, I. 83<br /> -Chroniclers, Saxon, I. 68<br /> -Cibber, Colley, III. 8, 17<br /> -Cimbrians, the, I. 41<br /> -Clarendon, Lord Chancellor (Edward<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hyde), I. 245; II. <a href="#Page_140">140</a></span><br /> -Clarke, Dr. John, II. <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> -Classic spirit in Europe, its origin and<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">nature, II. <a href="#Page_170">170</a></span><br /> -Classical authors translated, I. 180, 190<br /> -Clive, Lord, III. 272<br /> -Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, III. 73<br /> -Collier, Jeremy, II. <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> -Collins, William, III. 37<br /> -Colman, George, II. <a href="#Page_220">220</a><br /> -Comedy-writers, English, II. <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> -Comines, Philippe de, I. 124<br /> -Commerce in sixteenth century, I. 172;<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. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Note_466_466">note 466</a>, <a href="#Note_508_508">note 508</a><br /> -Conybeare, J. J., I. 54 seq.<br /> -Corbet, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Corneille, II. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a><br /> -Cotton, Sir Robert, I. 246<br /> -Court pageantries in the sixteenth century,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. 176, 177</span><br /> -Coventry, Sir John, II. <a href="#Page_142">142</a><br /> -Coverdale, Miles, II. <a href="#Page_20">20</a><br /> -Cowley, Abraham, I. 242-244; II. <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> -Cowper, William, III. 67-73<br /> -Crabbe, George, III. 71, 112<br /> -Cranmer, Archbishop, II. <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Crashaw, Richard, II. <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Criticism and History, III. 267 seq.<br /> -Cromwell, Oliver, I. 6; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">276, 319, 351</span><br /> -Crowne, John, II. <a href="#Page_157">157</a><br /> -Curll, Edmund, III. 18<br /> -<br /> -Daniel, Samuel, I. 246<br /> -Dante, I. 135, 158, 161; II. <a href="#Page_110">110</a>; III. 335<br /> -Darwin, Charles, I. 13<br /> -Davie, Adam, I. 93<br /> -Davies, Sir John, II. <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Daye, John, II. <a href="#Page_47">47</a><br /> -Decker, Thomas, I. 281<br /> -De Foe, II. <a href="#Note_549_549">note 549</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Note_737_737">note 737</a>; III. 169<br /> -Delille, James, III. 21<br /> -Denham, Sir John, II. <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br /> -Denmark, I. 34, 35<br /> -Dennis, John, II. <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> -Descartes, II. <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>; III. 333<br /> -Dickens, Charles, III. 85, 100; his novels,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">187-221</span><br /> -Domesday Book, I. 72, 78, 104<br /> -Donne, John, I. 240, 241; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Dorat, C. J., III. 16, 140<br /> -Dorset, Earl of (Charles Sackville), II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></span><br /> -Drake, Admiral, I. 173<br /> -Drake, Dr. Nathan, I. 173, 271<br /> -Drama, formation of the, I. 291 seq.<br /> -Drayton, Michael, I. 205; II. <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Drummond, William, II. <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -Dryden, John, I. 18; II. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>; his comedies,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>; his life and writings,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>; III. 5, 329</span><br /> -Dudevant, Madame (George Sand), III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">207</span><br /> -Dunstan, St., I. 36 seq.<br /> -Durer, Albert, II. <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br /> -Dyer, Sir Edward, I. 203<br /> -<br /> -Earle, John, I. 246<br /> -Eddas, the Scandinavian, I. 42-46; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">123, 124</span><br /> -Edgeworth, Maria, III. 253<br /> -Edward VI, II. <a href="#Page_28">28</a><br /> -Edwy and Elgiva, story of, I. 38<br /> -Eliot, George. See Evans, Mary A.<br /> -England, climate of, I. 33<br /> -English Constitution, formation of the,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. 105</span><br /> -Elizabeth, Queen, I. 175-177, 245, 270<br /> -Elwin, Whitwell, III. 5 seq.<br /> -Erigena, John Scotus, I. 64, 69<br /> -Esménard, Joseph Alphonse, I. 163<br /> -Essex, Robert, Earl of, I. 270, 273<br /> -Etheredge, Sir George, II. <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a><br /> -Evans, Mary A. (George Eliot), III. 85,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">179, 185</span><br /> -Eyck, Van, I. 151<br /> -<br /> -Falkland, Lord, I. 245<br /> -Farnese, Pietro Luigi, II. <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -Farquhar, George, II. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Note_290_290">note 290</a>, <a href="#Note_324_324">note 324</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br /> -Faust, III. 47<br /> -Feltham, Owen, I. 246<br /> -Fenn, Sir John, I. 172<br /> -Ferguson, Dr. Adam, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a>; III. 271<br /> -Fermor, Mrs. Arabella, III. 15, 16<br /> -Feudalism, the protection and character<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of, I. 73</span><br /> -Fichte, III. 335<br /> -Fielding, Henry, I. 319; II. <a href="#Note_224_224">note 224</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_450">450</a></span><br /> -Fitmore, Sir Robert, II. <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> -Finsborough, Battle of, an Anglo-Saxon<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poem, I. 54</span><br /> -Fisher, John, Bishop of Rochester, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">275; II. <a href="#Page_26">26</a></span><br /> -Flemish artists, I. 170, 178<br /> -Fletcher, Giles, II. <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Fletcher, John, I. 291, 307-317; II. <a href="#Note_60_60">note 60</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -Ford, John, I. 291, 297 seq., 312; II. <a href="#Page_248">248</a><br /> -Fortescue, Sir John, I. 113 seq.<br /> -Fox, Charles James, II. <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a><br /> -Fox, George, II. <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br /> -Fox, John, II. <a href="#Page_13">13</a><br /> -Francis of Assisi, I. 161<br /> -Freeman, Edward A., I. 74<br /> -Frisians, the, I. 32, 33<br /> -Froissart, I. 83, 102, 126, 127, 132<br /> -Froude, J. A., I. 104; II. <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br /> -Fuller, Thomas, I. 318<br /> -<br /> -Gaimar, Geoffroy, I. 76, 92<br /> -Gainsborough, Thomas, landscape painter,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_220">220</a></span><br /> -Garrick, David, II. <a href="#Page_444">444</a>, <a href="#Page_448">448</a><br /> -Gaskell, Mrs. Elisabeth C., III. 85, 185<br /> -Gay, John, II. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>; III. 4. 29-32<br /> -Geoffrey of Monmouth, I. 134<br /> -German ideas, introduction of, in Europe<br /> -and England, III; 328 seq.<br /> -Germany, drinking habits in, II. <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br /> -Gibbon, Edward, II. <a href="#Page_444">444</a><br /> -Gladstone, William Ewart, III. 274<br /> -Glencoe, Massacre of, III. 302 seq.<br /> -Glover, Richard, III. 37<br /> -Godwin, William, II. <a href="#Page_95">95</a><br /> -Goethe, I. 6, 18; II. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>; III. 48,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">74, 125-131, 327 seq.</span><br /> -Goldsmith, Oliver, II. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Note_555_555">note 555</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a><br /> -Goltzius, I. 196<br /> -Gower, John, I. 90, 163<br /> -Grammont, Count de, II. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Note_288_288">note 288</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br /> -Gray, Thomas, III. 36<br /> -Greene, Robert, I. 206, 210, 281, 283, 364<br /> -Grenville, George, II. <a href="#Page_310">310</a><br /> -Gresset, J. B. Lewis, III. 16<br /> -Grey, Lady Jane, I. 180, 270<br /> -Grostete, Robert, I. 90, 93<br /> -Grote, George, III. 185<br /> -Guicciardini, Ludovic, I. 173<br /> -Guido, I. 16<br /> -Guizot, I. 107; III. 276, 282, 305<br /> -Guy of Warwick, I. 77<br /> -<br /> -Habington, William, I. 240<br /> -Hakluyt, Richard, I. 246<br /> -Hale, Sir Matthew, II. <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> -Hales, John, I. 245; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Note_533_533">note 533</a>, <a href="#Note_534_534">note 534</a><br /> -Halifax, Charles, Montague, Earl of, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Note_595_595">note 595</a>, <a href="#Note_604_604">note 604</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a></span><br /> -Hall, Bishop, Joseph, I. 246; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Hallam, Henry, I. 118; III. 276<br /> -Hamilton, Anthony, II. <a href="#Page_136">136</a><br /> -Hamilton, Sir William, III. 185<br /> -Hampden, John, III. 276<br /> -Hampole, I. 93<br /> -Hardyng, John, I. 269<br /> -Harrington, Sir John, I. 237<br /> -Harrison, William, I. 173 seq.<br /> -Hastings, Warren, II. <a href="#Page_317">317</a>; III. 272, 285<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">seq., 291</span><br /> -Hawes, Stephen, I. 165<br /> -Hegel, I. 18, 22, 159; II. <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> -Heine, I. 2, 32, 360; III. 39, 48, 74, 87<br /> -Hemling, Hans, I. 170<br /> -Henry Beauclerk, I. 76<br /> -Henry of Huntingdon, I. 39, 76<br /> -Henry VIII and his Court, I. 269; II. <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br /> -Herbert, George, I. 240<br /> -Herbert, Lord, I. 246<br /> -Herder, John Godfrey von, I. 6<br /> -Herrick, Robert, I. 238, 239<br /> -Hertford, Earl of, I. 270<br /> -Hervey, Lord, III. 26<br /> -Heywood, Mrs. Eliza, III. 18<br /> -Heywood, John, I. 186, 280<br /> -Hill, Aaron, III. 8<br /> -History, philosophy of. See the Introduction,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">passim.</span><br /> -Hobbes, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a><br /> -Hogarth, William, II. <a href="#Page_450">450</a>; III. 18<br /> -Holinslied's Chronicles, I. 176, 246, 275<br /> -Holland, I. 31 seq.<br /> -Homer and Spenser, I. 217<br /> -Hooker, Richard, I. 245; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Horn, Ring, romance of, I. 77, 100<br /> -Hoveden, John, I. 90<br /> -Howard, John, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Howe, John, III. 299<br /> -Hugo, Victor, I. 2, 165; II. <a href="#Page_270">270</a>; III. 74, 87<br /> -Hume, David, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a>; III. 294, 352<br /> -Hunter, William, martyrdom of, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></span><br /> -Hutcheson, Francis, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>; III. 271<br /> -<br /> -Iceland and its legends, I. 35, 42<br /> -Independency in the sixteenth century,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></span><br /> -Industry, British, in the nineteenth century,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 165 seq.</span><br /> -Irish, the ancient, I. 38<br /> -Italian writings and ideas, taste for, in<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sixteenth century, I. 181, 182; vices of</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the Italian Renaissance, II. <a href="#Page_3">3</a></span><br /> -<br /> -James I and his Court, I. 237 seq.<br /> -James II, III. 282<br /> -Jewell, Bishop, I. 277<br /> -Johnson, Samuel, I. 319; II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_444">444</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 10, 38, 345</span><br /> -Joinville, Sire de, I. 83<br /> -Jones, Inigo, I. 174, 321<br /> -Jones, Sir William, II. <a href="#Page_444">444</a><br /> -Jonson, Ben, I. 208, 265, 280; II. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">155; sketch of his life, I. 318-321; his</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">learning, style, etc., 321-327; his</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dramas, 327-333; his comedies, 333-345;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">compared with Molière, 345; fanciful</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comedies and smaller poems, 345-350</span><br /> -Jordaens, Jacob, I. 178<br /> -Jowett, Benjamin, III. 100, 334<br /> -Judith, poem of, I. 60, 61<br /> -Junius, Letters of, II. <a href="#Page_311">311</a>; III. 106<br /> -Jutes, the, and their country, I. 31 seq.<br /> -<br /> -Keats, John, III. 130<br /> -Kemble, John M., I. 37, 49<br /> -Knighton, Henry, I. 123<br /> -Knolles, Richard, I. 246<br /> -Knox, John, II. <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>; III. 354<br /> -Kyd, Thomas, I. 280<br /> -<br /> -Lackland, John, I. 102<br /> -LaHarpe, III. 345<br /> -Lamartine, I. 2; III. 74, 87<br /> -Lamb, Charles, III. 73, 76<br /> -Languet, Hubert, I. 194<br /> -Latimer, Bishop, I. 109; II. <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Lanfranc, first Norman Archbishop of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canterbury, I. 76</span><br /> -Langtoft, Peter, I. 90<br /> -Laud, Archbishop, II. <a href="#Page_38">38</a>; III. 287<br /> -Lavergne, Léonce de, I. 33<br /> -Law, William, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Layamon, I. 92<br /> -Lebrun, Ponce Denis Econchard, I. 163<br /> -Lee, Nathaniel, II. <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> -Leibnitz, III. 23<br /> -Leighton, Dr. Alexander, II. <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> -Lely, Sir Peter, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Leo X, Pope, II. <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br /> -Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, I. 4<br /> -Lingard, Dr. John, I. 34, 35<br /> -Locke, John, II. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Note_539_539">note 539</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Lockhart, John Gibson, III. 78 seq.<br /> -Lodge, Thomas, I. 204, 280<br /> -Lombard, Peter, I. 157, 160<br /> -Loménie de Brienne, Cardinal, III. 311<br /> -London in Henry VIII's time, I. 173;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in the present day, III. 164</span><br /> -Longchamps, William, I. 97<br /> -Longus, Greek romance-writer, I. 209<br /> -Lorris, Guillaume de, I. 84, 95<br /> -Loyola, I. 161, 171; III. 273<br /> -Ludlow, Edmund, II. <a href="#Page_51">51</a><br /> -Lulli, a renowned Italian composer, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></span><br /> -Lully, Raymond; I. 161<br /> -Luther, Martin, I. 26, 171; II. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>; and the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reformation, <a href="#Page_7">7</a></span><br /> -Lydgate, John, I. 164, 165<br /> -Lyly, John, I. 192<br /> -Lyly, William, I. 180<br /> -<br /> -Macaulay, Thomas Babington (Lord),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 100; his works, 267-307</span><br /> -Machiavelli, I. 183<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. 31<br /> -Mandeville, Bernard, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Manners of the people in the sixteenth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">century, I. 178 seq.</span><br /> -Marguerite of Navarre, I. 132<br /> -Marlborough, Duchess of, III. 26<br /> -Marlborough, Duke of, II. <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>; III.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">259</span><br /> -Marlowe, Christopher, I. 211, 280; III. 73;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his dramas, I. 282-291</span><br /> -Marston, John, I. 320<br /> -Martyr, Peter, II. <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Martyrs in the reign of Mary, II. <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Marvell, Andrew, II. <a href="#Page_254">254</a><br /> -Masques, under James I, I. 177, 348<br /> -Massillon, II. <a href="#Page_28">28</a><br /> -Massinger, Philip, I. 280, 281, 297 seq.<br /> -Maundeville, Sir John, I. 91, 102<br /> -May, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> -Medici, Lorenzo de, I. 182<br /> -Melanchthon, Philip, II. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Merlin, I. 77<br /> -Meung, Jean de, I. 93, 162<br /> -Michelet, Jules, I. 4, 57; III. 325<br /> -Middleton, Thomas, I. 291<br /> -Mill, John Stuart, III. 100, 176, 360-408<br /> -Milton, John, I. 62, 215, 245; II. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>; his<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">prose writings, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>; his poetry, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_347">347</a>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>; III. 272</span><br /> -Molière, I. 213, 359, 361; II. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 214</span><br /> -Mommsen, Theodor, I. 19<br /> -Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, II. <a href="#Page_424">424</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 8, 15</span><br /> -Montesquieu, Ch., I. 21, 25<br /> -Moore, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_440">440</a>; III. 75 seq., 138<br /> -More, Sir Thomas, I. 246, 276<br /> -Müller, Max, III. 361<br /> -Muller, Ottfried, I. 6<br /> -Murray, John, III. 78, 138, 140<br /> -Musset, Alfred de, I. 2, 199, 282, 324, 358;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_267">267</a>; III. 39, 74, 87, 430 seq.</span><br /> -<br /> -Nash, Thomas, I. 281<br /> -Nayler, James, II. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> -Neal's History of the Puritans, II. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> -Newcastle, Duchess of (Margaret Lucas),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_187">187</a></span><br /> -Newspaper, first daily, III. 44<br /> -Newton, Sir Isaac, II. <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> -Nicole, Peter, II. <a href="#Page_283">283</a><br /> -Norman Conquest, the, I. 71, 72, 73; its<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">effects on the national language and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">literature, 87 seq., 123-125; III. 151</span><br /> -Normans, the character of, I. 74; how<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">they became French, 75; their taste</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and architecture, 75; their literature,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">chivalry, and success, 76-80; their position</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and tyranny in England, 87-90; III.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">152</span><br /> -Nott, Dr. John, I. 191<br /> -Novel, the English—its characteristics,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_402">402</a>; 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;">190</span><br /> -<br /> -Oates, Titus, II. <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> -Occam, William, I. 161<br /> -Occleve, Thomas, I. 163<br /> -Ochin, Bernard, II. <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Oliphant, Mrs., II. <a href="#Page_424">424</a><br /> -Olivers, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br /> -Orrery, Earl of, III. 8<br /> -Otway, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a><br /> -Ouseley, Sir William, III. 78<br /> -Overbury, Sir Thomas, I. 246<br /> -Owen, John, II. <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /> -<br /> -Paganism of poetry and painting in<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Italy in the sixteenth century, I. 181</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">seq.</span><br /> -Paley, William, II. <a href="#Page_300">300</a><br /> -Palgrave, Sir Francis, I. 33<br /> -Parnell, Dr. Thomas, III. 4<br /> -Pascal, II. <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>; III. 25, 306<br /> -Pastoral poetry, I. 204 seq.<br /> -Peele, George, I. 280<br /> -Penn, William, II. <a href="#Page_288">288</a>; III. 299<br /> -Pepys, Samuel, II. <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a><br /> -Percy, Thomas, III. 73<br /> -Petrarch, I. 126, 185, 190<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. 157</span><br /> -Picts, I. 38<br /> -Pickering, Dr. Gilbert, II. <a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> -Piers Plowman's Crede, I. 122<br /> -Piers Ploughman, Vision of, I. 120 seq.,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">185</span><br /> -Pitt, William, first Earl of Chatham, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>; III. 275</span><br /> -Pitt, William (second son of the preceding),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>; III. 65</span><br /> -Pleiad, the, I. 18<br /> -Pluche, Abbé, II. <a href="#Page_342">342</a><br /> -Poe, Edgar Allan, II. <a href="#Page_405">405</a><br /> -Pope, Alexander, II. <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 5-28, 112, 117, 28O</span><br /> -Prayer-book, English, II. <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Preaching at the Reformation period,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_27">27</a></span><br /> -Presbyterians and Independents in the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sixteenth century, II. <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></span><br /> -Price, Dr. Richard, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>; III. 271<br /> -Priestly, Dr., III. 66<br /> -Prior, Matthew, III. 4, 28<br /> -Proclus, I. 159<br /> -Prynne, William, II. <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> -Pulci, an Italian painter, I. 182<br /> -Pultock, Robert, II. <a href="#Page_438">438</a><br /> -Purchas, Samuel, I. 246<br /> -Puritans, the, II. <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br /> -Puttenham, George, I. 185, 246<br /> -Pym, John, III. 276<br /> -<br /> -Quarles, Francis, I. 240<br /> -<br /> -Rabelais, I. 149, 222, 265, 366; II. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_438">438</a></span><br /> -Racine, I. 371; II. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>; III. 218, 306<br /> -Raleigh, Sir Walter, I. 214, 246, 273; II, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Rapin, II. <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> -Ray, John, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><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. 122-125,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">165; II. <a href="#Page_7">7</a></span><br /> -Reid, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a><br /> -Renaissance, the English; manners of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the time, I. 169-185; the theatre its</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">original product, 264 seq.</span><br /> -Renan, Ernest, I. 19, 127<br /> -Restoration, period of the, in England,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a></span><br /> -Revolution, period of the, in England,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_273">273</a></span><br /> -Reynolds, Sir Joshua, II. <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_444">444</a><br /> -Richard Cœur de Lion, I. 101<br /> -Richardson, Samuel, II. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_444">444</a>; III. 8, 35</span><br /> -Ridley, Nicholas, II. <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Ritson, Joseph, I. 108 seq.<br /> -Robert of Brunne, I. 93<br /> -Robert of Gloucester, I. 93<br /> -Robertson, Dr. William, II. <a href="#Page_440">440</a>; III. 3,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">38, 352</span><br /> -Robespierre, II. <a href="#Page_284">284</a><br /> -Robin Hood ballads, I. 109 seq., 178, 185<br /> -Rochester, Earl of (John Wilmot), II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>; III. 28, 140</span><br /> -Rogers, John, martyrdom of, II. <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br /> -Rogers, Samuel, III. 112<br /> -Roland, Song of, I. 77, 81 seq.<br /> -Rollo, a Norse leader, I. 74<br /> -Ronsard, Peter de, I. 18<br /> -Roscellinus, I. 160<br /> -Roscommon, Earl of, II. <a href="#Page_184">184</a><br /> -Roses, wars of the, I. 114, 124, 172, 287<br /> -Rotheland, Hugh de, I. 90<br /> -Rousseau, Jean-Baptiste, III. 22<br /> -Rousseau, Jean Jacques, II. <a href="#Page_447">447</a>; III. 16, 34<br /> -Royer-Collard, Pierre-Paul, III. 392<br /> -Rubens, I. 151, 177, 178, 232, 366; III. 27<br /> -Rückert, III. 74<br /> -Russel, Lord William, II. <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br /> -<br /> -Sacheverell, Dr., II. <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> -Sacy, Lemaistre de, II. <a href="#Page_22">22</a><br /> -Sadeler, I. 196<br /> -Sainte-Beuve, I. 6<br /> -St. John. See Bolingbroke, Lord<br /> -Saint-Simon, I. 3; III. 217<br /> -St. Theresa, I. 161<br /> -Saintré, Jehan de, I. 102<br /> -Sand, George. See Dudevant, Madame<br /> -Savage, Richard, III. 18<br /> -Sawtré, William, I. 124<br /> -Saxons, the, I. 31 seq.; characteristics of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the race, 71; contrast with the Normans,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">74, 75; their endurance, 103 seq.;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">their invasion of England, III. 151, 152</span><br /> -Scaliger, III. 345<br /> -Schelling, I. 22<br /> -Schiller, III. 48, 74, 87<br /> -Scotland in the seventeenth century, II.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></span><br /> -Scott, Sir Walter, I. 4; II. <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_440">440</a>; III. 74, 105, 107, 260; his novels and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poems, 78-85</span><br /> -Scotus, Duns, I. 159 seq.<br /> -Scudéry, Mademoiselle de, I. 195<br /> -Sedley, Sir Charles, I. 240; II. <a href="#Page_179">179</a><br /> -Selden, John, I. 246<br /> -Seres, William, II. <a href="#Page_47">47</a><br /> -Settle, Elkanah, II. <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> -Sévigné, Madame de, III. 15, 306<br /> -Shadwell, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br /> -Shaftesbury, Anthony Cooper, third<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Earl of, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a></span><br /> -Shakespeare, William, I. 186, 206, 245,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">280; II. <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>; III. 155; general</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">idea of, I. 350-353; his life and character,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">354-366; his style, 366-371, and manners,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">372-377; his dramatis personæ,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">377-382; his men of wit, 382-386, and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">women, 386-391; his villains, 391, 392;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the principal characters in his plays,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">393-407; 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, 407-419</span><br /> -Shelley, Percy Bysshe, III. 74, 95-100, 130<br /> -Shenstone, William, III. 37<br /> -Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, II. <a href="#Page_212">212</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a></span><br /> -Sherlock, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a><br /> -Shirley, James, I. 280; II. <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br /> -Sidney, Algernon, I. 245; II. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br /> -Sidney, Sir Phillip, I. 186, 194-204, 245,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">266; II. <a href="#Page_39">39</a>; III. 155</span><br /> -Skelton, John, I. 165<br /> -Smart, Christopher, III. 37<br /> -Smith, Adam, II. <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Smith, Sidney, II. 282; III. 100<br /> -Smollett, Tobias, II. <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a><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. <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> -Southern, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> -Southey, Robert, II. <a href="#Page_438">438</a>; III. 72, 76, 134,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">287</span><br /> -Speed, John, I. 246<br /> -Spelman, Sir Henry, I. 246<br /> -Spencer, Herbert, III. 185<br /> -Spencer, Edmund, I. 186, 207, 213, 245;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>; his life, character and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poetry, I. 214-237; II. <a href="#Page_236">236</a>; III. 155, 424</span><br /> -Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, III. 100, 334<br /> -Steele, Sir Richard, II. <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>; III. 259<br /> -Stendhal, Count de, I. 25, 74, 142<br /> -Sterling, John, III. 309 seq.<br /> -Sterne, Laurence, II. <a href="#Page_437">437</a>; III. 35<br /> -Stewart, Dugald, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a>; III. 61<br /> -Stillingfleet, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> -Stowe, John, I. 246<br /> -Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 276 seq.</span><br /> -Strafford, William, I. 172<br /> -Strype, John, I. 268<br /> -Stubbes, John, I. 175, 180<br /> -Suckling, Sir John, I. 238; II. <a href="#Page_181">181</a><br /> -Sue, Eugène, III. 220<br /> -Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of, I. 185-192;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II. <a href="#Page_16">16</a></span><br /> -Swift, Jonathan, II. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327;</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 259, 288; sketch of his life, II.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_360">360</a>; his wit, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>; his pamphlets,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_371">371</a>; his poetry, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>; his philosophy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">etc., <a href="#Page_389">389</a></span><br /> -<br /> -Taillefer, I. 79, 89<br /> -Tasso, I. 222, 229<br /> -Taylor, Jeremy, I. 246; II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> -Temple, Sir William, II. <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>;<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;">264 seq.; after the Restoration, II. <a href="#Page_153">153</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a></span><br /> -Thibaut of Champagne, I. 84<br /> -Thierry, Augustin, I. 4, 35, 56, 88; III. 305<br /> -Thiers, Louis Adolphe, III. 282, 305<br /> -Thomson, James, III. 32-35<br /> -Thorpe, John, I. 47, 55<br /> -Tickell, Thomas, III. 4<br /> -Tillotson, Archbishop, II. <a href="#Page_292">292</a><br /> -Tindal, Matthew, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Titian, I. 236, 366<br /> -Tocqueville, Alexis de, I. 19<br /> -Toland, John, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Toleration Act, the, III. 298, 299, 300<br /> -Tomkins, Thomas, II. <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Townley, James, II. <a href="#Page_220">220</a><br /> -Turner, Sharon, I. 48, 54 seq.<br /> -Tutchin, John, III. 18<br /> -Tyndale, William, II. <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a><br /> -<br /> -Urfé, Honoré d', I. 197, 315<br /> -Usher, James, I. 246<br /> -<br /> -Vanbrugh, Sir John, II. <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br /> -Vane, Sir Harry, II. <a href="#Page_143">143</a><br /> -Vega, Lope de, I. 161, 279; II. <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br /> -Village feasts of sixteenth century described,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. 178-180</span><br /> -Villehardouin, a French chronicler, I.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">83, 102</span><br /> -Vinci, Leonardo da, I. 16<br /> -Voltaire, I. 16; II. <a href="#Page_447">447</a>; III. 22, 137, 346<br /> -Vos, Martin de, I. 196<br /> -<br /> -Wace, Robert, I. 76, 78 seq., 89<br /> -Waller, Edmund, I. 240; II. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. 3</span><br /> -Walpole, Horace, III. 15<br /> -Walpole, Sir Robert, II. <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -Walton, Isaac, I. 246<br /> -Warburton, Bishop, II. <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> -Warner, William, I. 212<br /> -Warton, Thomas, I. 72, 88, 95, 162; III. 73<br /> -Watt, James, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Watteau, Anthony, III. 14<br /> -Watts, Isaac, III. 37<br /> -Webster, John, 291, 297 seq.; II. <a href="#Page_248">248</a><br /> -Wesley, John, II. <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -Wetherell, Elizabeth, III. 179<br /> -Wharton, Lord, III. 26<br /> -Whitfield, George, II. <a href="#Page_289">289</a><br /> -Wiclif, John, I. 123, 286; II. <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br /> -Wilkes, John, II. <a href="#Page_310">310</a><br /> -William III, II. <a href="#Page_173">173</a><br /> -Wither, George, II. <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -William of Malmesbury, I. 75<br /> -William the Conqueror, I. 78 seq.<br /> -Windham, William, II. <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br /> -Witenagemote, the, I. 46<br /> -Wollastom William Hyde, III. 271<br /> -Wolsey, Cardinal, I. 165; II. <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> -Wordsworth, William, III. 73, 88-95<br /> -Wortley, Lady Mary. See Montagu<br /> -Wyatt, Sir Thomas, I. 185, 180, 187<br /> -Wycherley, William, I. 18; II. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a></span><br /> -<br /> -Yonge, Charlotte Mary, III. 179<br /> -Young, Arthur, II. <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> -Young, Edward, III. 37<br /></p> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History of English Literature Volume 2 -(of 3), by Hippolyte Taine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, VOL 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 61382-h.htm or 61382-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/3/8/61382/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (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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