ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 SCUDDER 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 TJie >:state of 
 
 Preserved Smith 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 85.S43 
 
 Introduction to the study oJ,E'?9[i*[J,[" 
 
 3 1924 013 356 799 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013356799 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE STUDY OF ENGLISH 
 LITERATURE 
 
 BT 
 
 VIDA D. SCUDDER, A.M. 
 
 ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 AT WELLESLBY COLLEGE 
 
 GLOBE SCHOOL BOOK COMPANY 
 NEW YORK AND CHICAGO 
 
Copjrriglit, 1901, by 
 Globe School Book Company. 
 
 ENTERED AT BTATI0NEB6' HALL, LONDON. 
 
 MANHATTAN PRESS 
 
 474 WEST BROADWAY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
PREFACE 
 
 It is no light matter to present within five hun- 
 dred and fifty pages the story of the imaginative life 
 of a nation as found in its literature. No one can 
 hope for absolute success in such a task. The excuse 
 for adding to the already long list of histories of 
 English literature is that the subject is inexhaustible. 
 The point of view of each new narrator must bring 
 into relief fresh aspects of the great story, and sug- 
 gest, at least in detail, new lines of approach for the 
 student. 
 
 This book aims, like all modern text-books, not to 
 supplant, but to accompany the direct and copious 
 reading of texts. The Suggestions for Class Work 
 and for Talks from the Teacher are not merely theo- 
 retical ; they may in some cases appear at first too 
 advanced, but they have been well tested in a prac- 
 tical experience of over ten years in the class-room. 
 Their application in detail will of course depend on 
 the grade of the class. If the teacher of literature 
 is not prepared to give certain lectures, a teacher 
 of history or of art in the same school may well be 
 asked to do so. Occasional interchange of appoint- 
 ments among the different departments is indeed 
 a very salutary thing ; it checks the student's often 
 inveterate instinct to hold different forms of national 
 or individual expression in distinct water-tight com- 
 
 3 
 
4 PREFACE 
 
 partments of his mind, as if they had nothing to do 
 with one another. 
 
 No attempt has been made to outline work for the 
 advanced scholar of college or university. On the 
 other hand, the book is beyond the scope of gram- 
 mar schools. It seeks to meet the needs of the high 
 school and of the younger classes in college. 
 
 Any short history of literature must of course 
 proceed on a strictly selective principle. Many in- 
 teresting people and sundry not unimportant phases 
 of literary development must remain unnoticed. The 
 method here chosen has been to present a fairly full 
 outline of authors, their works, and contemporary 
 events in Tables arranged for easy reference, and, so 
 far as possible, to disencumber the text of details 
 which the young student is sure to forget. Each 
 part of the book opens with a brief chapter of gen- 
 eral statements, picturing the period to be treated, 
 or describing its characteristics ; this has been done 
 in the belief that a few sound introductory generali- 
 zations help to start the student right in his personal 
 inductive study of any period. Emphasis is placed 
 on the greatest or most significant figures, to each 
 of whom a chapter, or a long section in a chapter, 
 has been allotted. Authors of secondary impor- 
 tance, however fascinating, have been relegated to 
 the background, and grouped to illustrate the char- 
 acteristics of their periods. The time for close and 
 loving study of figures less than the greatest will 
 come later ; but the young student needs to gain first 
 a sense of the great movements of national life as 
 expressed in literature, and a clear picture of the 
 Masters. Perspective has to be carefully considered 
 
PREFACE 5 
 
 if these ends are to be attained. Too many facts 
 concerning authors not to be known at first hand 
 simply deaden the mind. 
 
 More stress has been placed than is customary in 
 books of this kind on the period before Chaucer. 
 This is in accord with the modern tendency which 
 is bringing into ever clearer light the significance of 
 our origins and the imaginative achievement of the 
 great mediaeval centuries, and is recognizing more and 
 more that some knowledge of these things is essen- 
 tial to a right understanding of English literature. 
 
 If specific references to history are few in these 
 pages, it is because the study of literature and of 
 history should always go on side by side, and no one 
 book can treat both subjects. Literature bears only 
 indirect relation, however, to dynasties and wars, 
 while it bears direct relation to that life of the whole 
 people whence it proceeds. This life, in its varying 
 manifestations and in its onward movement, the 
 book tries constantly to suggest to the student's 
 consciousness. Instead of enumerating a series of 
 unconnected facts, it seeks to tell a consecutive 
 story. 
 
 For chronology, the book leans in the main, 
 though with occasional rectifications, on Ryland's 
 " Chronological Outlines of English Literature " and 
 Nichol's " Tables of European History, Literature," 
 etc. Leading authorities are not constantly re- 
 peated in references in the text, but no work would 
 be possible unless the elaborate treatment of sepa- 
 rate periods by modern scholars had led the way. 
 Among books frequently used may be mentioned 
 the " Encyclopgedia Britannica," the " Dictionary of 
 
6 PREFACE 
 
 National Biography," Traill's "Social England," 
 Green's "Short History of the English People," 
 Saintsbury's " Short History of English Literature," 
 Courthope's "History of English Poetry," Ten 
 Brink's "English Literature" (3 vols.)) Stopford 
 Brooke's " English Literature from the Beginning 
 to the Norman Conquest," Henry Morley's "Eng- 
 lish Writers," Jusserand's " Literary History of the 
 English People," " Periods of European Literature " 
 (Series, edited by Saintsbury), Saintsbury's "Eliza- 
 bethan Literature," Gosse's " History of Eighteenth 
 Century Literature," Stephen's " History of English 
 Thought in the Eighteenth Century," Saintsbury's 
 "History of Nineteenth Century Literature," Her- 
 ford's "The Age of Wordsworth," Stedman's "Victo- 
 rian Poets," Introductions to the "Warwick Li- 
 brary" and the "Athenseum Press Series." 
 
 For the tables on different periods and the Index, 
 I am indebted to my friend and former pupil, 
 Florence Converse, B.S. The tables on Chaucer, 
 Shakespeare, Milton, were prepared by my friend, 
 Lucy H. Smith, A.B. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 THE SOURCES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 17 
 
 Celtic Literature 20 
 
 Anglo-Saxon Literature 28 
 
 Norman Literature . . 44 
 
 Literature in Latin 48 
 
 PART II 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 General Conditions 
 
 I. A Period of Expansion . . .... 53 
 
 n. Literary Conditions . . ... 56 
 
 III. IMediseval Life Pictured .... . . 58 
 
 IV. Governing Forces . 62 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The Chief Phases op Medieval Literature 
 
 I. Chivalry and Catholicism : their Literary Results 65 
 
 II. Literature of Chivalry 67 
 
 III. Literature of Catholicism 74 
 
 7 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Literature produced in England 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Work in French and Latin on Englisli Soil ... 78 
 
 II. Tlie Growth of the English 80 
 
 III. Literature in English 84 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 GBOFrREY Chaucer 
 
 I. Chaucer's Writings a Summary of the Middle Ages . 100 
 
 II. Chaucer's Personality 103 
 
 III. Chaucer's Work 108 
 
 IV. Chaucer's Art and Place 116 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The Contemporaries of Chaucer 
 
 I. Lesser Writers of the Fourteenth Century . . 130 
 
 II. Langland and the Social Revolt 133 
 
 III. Wyclif and the Religious Revolt 144 . 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 The Medieval Drama 149 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Fifteenth Century 
 
 I. Chaucerian Imitators 158 
 
 II. Scotch Literature 158 
 
 lU. Ballads 160 
 
 IV. The Decadence of the Middle Ages .... 162 
 
CONTENTS 9 
 
 PART III 
 
 TBE RENAISSANCE 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Rebibtb 169 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Lbaening and Pobtky under Henry VIII 
 
 1. The New Learning ... . 177 
 II. The New Art 182 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 OniLiNES OF Elizabethan Literature .... 186 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Sir Philip Sidney . . ... . 197 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 General Literature 
 
 I. Elizabethan Prose .... ... 203 
 
 II. Elizabethan Translations 206 
 
 III. Elizabethan Lyrics .... . . 207 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Edmund Spenser 
 
 I. Spenser's Life . . 215 
 
 IL The " Faerie Queene " 219 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Early Drama 
 
 I. Development . . 229 
 
 II. Types ... 230 
 
 III. The Predecessors of Shakespeare 232 
 
10 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER vm 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 PAOI 
 
 I. The Elizabethan Stage . . .... 235 
 
 II. Shakespeare's Life 236 
 
 III. Shakespeare's Work 239 
 
 IV. Shakespeare's Art 251 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 The Decline of the Drama 
 
 I. Grouping and Chronology 257 
 
 II. Ben Jonson 258 
 
 III. The Romantic Dramatists 261 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Verse and Pkose of the Later Renaissance 
 
 I. Historical and Literary Conditions .... 265 
 
 II. Seventeenth-Century Poetry 267 
 
 III. Seventeenth-Century Prose 271 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 John Milton 
 
 I. Milton's Life and Early Work 287 
 
 II. " Paradise Lost " 292 
 
 m. Last Work and Death 296 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 The Literature of Puritanism 
 
 I. Puritan Literature 302 
 
 II. Satires on Puritanism 3Qg 
 
CONTENTS 11 
 
 PAET IV 
 
 THE AGE OF PSOSE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 The Change in Taste 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. The New Temper . . 311 
 
 II. Periods of the Age of Prose 312 
 
 III. Characteristics of the Age of Prose . . 314 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The Age or Dktden 
 
 I. Revival of Classicism 320 
 
 II. John Dryden 321 
 
 III. Other Literature of the Restoration . . . 327 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 The Age of Qoebn Anne : its Poet 333 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Pbose of the Age of Qdeen Anne 
 
 I. The Rise of Prose . . .... 342 
 
 II. Jonathan Swift 343 
 
 III. Daniel Defoe . . 347 
 
 IV. Addison and Steele 348 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The Rise op the Novel 
 
 I. Samuel Richardson .... 357 
 
 II. Henry Fielding . 360 
 
 III. Other Novelists .... .362 
 
 IV. Reasons for the Rise of the Novel 363 
 
12 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Johnson and his Times 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Samuel Johnson 365 
 
 II. OUver Goldsmith 372 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Intellectual Movement 
 
 I. Literature of Art . 378 
 
 II. Literature of Thought 379 
 
 IIL The Trend of Thought 382 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The Romantic Revival 
 
 I. The Return to Nature 386 
 
 II. Quickening of the Imagination 388 
 
 III. Literary Revivals . . 392 
 
 IV. The Methodist Movement 394 
 
 PART V 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 The Heralds: Burns and Blake 
 
 I. The New Notes . . .... 403 
 
 II. Robert Bums ... .... 404 
 
 III. William Blake 407 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The New Democracy 
 
 I. Review of Forces making for Democracy . . 41 1 
 
 II. The French Revolution and Literature . . . 412 
 
 III. English Poets of the Revolution 417 
 
CONTENTS 13 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 From Wokdswokth to Keats 
 
 PAGS 
 
 I. "Lyrical Ballads," Character and Significance . 420 
 
 II. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey 422 
 
 III. Byron, Shelley, Keats . ... 429 
 rv. General Characteristics 440 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Prosb tili. 1830 
 
 I. Fiction .... 445 
 
 II. Essay 450 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Conditions of Victorian Literature 
 
 I. The Forces at Work . .... 459 
 
 II. The Decade of Origins 464 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Victorian Fiction 
 
 I. Charles Dickens ... .... 468 
 
 n. William Makepeace Thackeray 472 
 
 ni. Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot) 477 
 
 IV. Other Novelists 482 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Victorian Essayists 
 
 I. Thomas Babington Macaulay 486 
 
 II. Thomas Carlyle 487 
 
 III. John Henry Newman 492 
 
 IV. John Ruskin . . .... .493 
 
 V. Matthew Arnold ■ 498 
 
 VI. Later Essayists . . ... .502 
 
14 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 Victorian Poetry 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Minor Schools 505 
 
 II. Alfred Tennyson 512 
 
 in. Elizabeth Barrett Browning 516 
 
 IV. Robert Browning 516 
 
 V. Conclusion 520 
 
 INDICES 
 
 I. Books and their Authors 527 
 
 II. Bibliographical References 537 
 
 TABLES 
 
 The Pre-Chaucerian Period, 1066-1350 
 
 Chaucer's Works . 
 
 The Period of Chaucer's Influence, 1350- 
 
 The Early Renaissance, 1500-1579 
 
 Shakespeare's Plays 
 
 The Later Renaissance, 1579-1650 . 
 
 Milton's Life and Works 
 
 The Age of Dryden, 1660-1702 
 
 The Age of Pope and Swift, 1702-1744 
 
 The Age of Johnson, 1744-1789 
 
 The Revolutionary Period, 1789-1830 
 
 The Victorian Writers, 1830-1900 . 
 
 1500 
 
 90 
 120 
 124 
 192 
 256 
 277 
 298 
 330 
 354 
 375 
 456 
 523 
 
PAET I 
 
 THE SOURCES 
 
INTEODUCTION TO ENGLISH 
 LITERATURE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 T7INGLISH literature is the literature produced 
 -'-' by the English race. It belongs not merely to 
 the people who live in the British Isles, but also to 
 us here in America, and to all other people who use 
 the English tongue. In studying, as we are to do, 
 the great books produced on English soil, we must 
 feel, not that we are trying to understand something 
 foreign and alien, but that we are entering into pos- 
 session of our birthright. 
 
 When we \dsh to understand any one, we ask two 
 important questions : Who were his parents ? and, 
 What have been his surroundings ? Inheritance and 
 environment are as important to a nation as to a 
 man. Now up to the time of Chaucer we have to 
 trace the heredity, to watch the ancestors, of our 
 English literatui'e. After that time the literature is 
 born, a fresh power in the world, and we watch what 
 happens to it under different masters ; the influences 
 that play upon it from other nations — France, Italy, 
 Spain, Palestine, Rome, and Greece. These influ- 
 ences modify and affect it very much, for it is sen- 
 sitive ; but they cannot change its nature — that is 
 determined by its inheritance. This inheritance we 
 will now begin at once to study. 
 
 17 
 
18 THE SOURCES 
 
 Few nations have had a nobler heritage ; few a 
 heritage so complex. Some peoples are simple in 
 origin ; ours is composite. A variety of elements 
 went to its making; and on this account English 
 literature seems, at least to us English-speaking folk, 
 the more interesting, expressive, and rich. 
 
 The life of three great races has passed into our 
 literature, and can be traced there, from century to 
 century, even when distinct racial existence has long 
 been lost in the wider personality of the nation. 
 These three are the Celtic, the Anglo-Saxon, and 
 the Norman. 
 
 The Celts were in England first. Of their ori- 
 gin we do not know much, except that, like all the 
 peoples who live in modern Europe, they travelled 
 toward the western shores long before history began. 
 Our first knowledge finds them established in what 
 are now England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and 
 also across the sea, in the fair, wide land of France. 
 In the first century of our era the masters of the 
 world, the Romans, invaded and partially subdued 
 the British Isles ; and through the Romans, Chris- 
 tianity came to Britain. Early in the fifth century 
 the Roman legions were withdrawn, to defend the 
 mother-city from the invasion of the Teutonic bar- 
 barians. 
 
 Later in this century these same barbarians, great 
 hordes from the Northlands of Germany and Scandi- 
 navia, whom we call Anglo-Saxons from the name 
 of their two most important tribes, bore down upon 
 the British like a flood, submerged them completely 
 in England, and took and held for hundreds of years 
 possession of the land. These Anglo-Saxons, how- 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 ever, left Ireland, Scotland, and Wales mainly Celtic, 
 as they are to this day. Nor were the Celts as fully 
 exterminated even in England as used to be sup- 
 posed. Not only Celtic place-names, but a Celtic 
 quality which the English have never lost, show that 
 the Celts must have blended their traditions with 
 those of their successors. This subtle Celtic spirit 
 survived even the Norman invasion. 
 
 For the Anglo-Saxons did not stay masters. In 
 the eleventh century came the Normans, and con- 
 quered in their turn. They had been, to begin with, 
 cousins of the Anglo-Saxons, these Normans ; but 
 they had lived a long time in what is now France, 
 and intermarried there ; and the old Latin civiliza- 
 tion had affected them and taught them grace and 
 power. So it came to pass that they became in their 
 turn the masters of England, and for the time checked 
 all native expression on English soil. During sev- 
 eral centuries it seemed as if literature in England 
 were to be only a pallid reflection of that across 
 the Channel. But this was not true. The litera- 
 ture of England was to become mighty and original. 
 And when its great music at last made itself heard, 
 the strains from three races clearly blended in its 
 harmony. 
 
 Each of these races had a literature of its own 
 before they came together. It is necessary to glance 
 at them separately, if we would understand what 
 happened when they were united. 
 
20 THE SOURCES 
 
 CELTIC LITEEATUEE 
 
 Celtic literature is almost all made up of stories. 
 There is a great deal of it ; for the Celts were, at 
 least in Ireland, a civilized and even a learned peo- 
 ple, centuries before the stronger Anglo-Saxons 
 threw them into the shadow. Much of their litera- 
 ture reflects an earlier period when they were still 
 living in a Pagan, primitive, heroic sort of way ; 
 but this literature was carefully preserved and 
 written down — it had been at first chanted, not 
 written — after Celtic Britain became Christianized. 
 The bard had always held among the Celts a su- 
 premely honorable position : he was regarded with 
 mystic reverence, and when the monks sprang up 
 in vast numbers in Ireland after the introduction of 
 Christianity, they constituted themselves the loving 
 protectors of the bards, and wrote down probably 
 from their lips all they could glean of the old poetry 
 of the nation. Moreover, they added to it a large 
 amount. Christian in inspiration. Inedited manu- 
 scripts enough to fill twelve or fourteen hundred 
 octavo volumes of print are said to exist in Ireland 
 alone. 
 
 Some of this literature is prose, some poetry, but 
 even the poetry is usually founded on tales. The 
 Celts were great story-tellers; and their literature is 
 still a great treasure-house of delight for children, 
 and for those grown-up people who are as wise as 
 children. 
 
 This love of story-telling means that the strongest 
 quality in the Celt was imagination ; the fertility of 
 invention and play of fancy in Celtic literature is 
 
CELTIC LITERATURE 21 
 
 astounding. Next to imagination, sentiment was its 
 chief note ; it was as easy for the old Celt as it is 
 for the modern Irish to touch the springs of tears 
 and laughter in swift succession. In no primitive 
 literature is the purely poetic appeal so strong. We 
 yield ourselves as we read to a fairy world, full of 
 bewildering magic, lovely images, strange events, 
 and delicate or fierce emotions. Reason and the 
 moral sense seem far away ; and for the time we do 
 not miss them in the least. 
 
 The Celt saw the world bathed in glamour with 
 eyes sensitive to beauty and color, whether iu nature, 
 in costume, in building, or in the human form. He 
 felt an eager delight in the detail of landscape : — 
 
 " Bright are the tops of the brakes ; gay the plumage 
 Of birds ; the long day is the gift of the light." 
 
 " Eain without, the fern is drenched ; 
 White the gravel of the sea; there is spray on the 
 margin." ^ 
 
 To find nature-touches delicately truthful as these 
 in any other primitive literature would be hard 
 indeed. Description broadly handled, or pervaded 
 by a spirit of gloom or unrest, is less natural to the 
 Celt ; yet no one could impart more vividly than he, 
 when he chose, the thrill of imaginative terror and 
 mystery. Above the head of the hero in his par- 
 oxysm of battle-fury was formed, we are told, — 
 
 "A magic mist of gloom resembling the smoky pall 
 that drapes a regal dwelling, what time a king at night- 
 fall of a winter's day draws near to it." ^ 
 
 1 "The Four Ancient Books of Wales." Edited by W. F. Skene. 
 
 2 "The Cuchullin Saga," edited by Eleanor Hull, p. 175. 
 
22 THE SOURCES 
 
 The sense of strange enchantment suggested by 
 words like these broods over all Celtic literature. 
 The recognition of cause and effect is almost wholly 
 absent, and the supernatural may at any moment 
 break in upon us. Fairy maidens lure the heroes 
 away to far lands of youth beyond our human ken ; 
 adventures indescribably fantastic or grotesque are 
 the order of the day. Yet despite the frequent ab- 
 surdity, the chief note of the Celtic fairy-lore is 
 poetic beauty : — 
 
 " Graceful and beautiful was the flock of birds. There 
 were nine times .twenty of them, yoked together two and 
 two by a chain of silver ; ... at the head of each group 
 flew two birds in varied plumage."'' 
 
 In this supernatural world move the heroes of Celtic 
 story, and they are human only by the strength of 
 their passions. These are fierce indeed. When Cu- 
 chuUin's battle-fury is satiated, he plunges into three 
 baths for refreshment. He heats the water of the 
 first bath till it boils, the water of the second be- 
 comes too hot for hand to bear, while the water of 
 the third is tepid. We gain little sense of moral 
 uplift in reading about him and his compeers. They 
 are voluble, bragging, jealous, and even their personal 
 beauty and their prowess are so exaggerated as to 
 turn into grotesque. But one must not take them 
 as human beings ; they are rather semi-mythological 
 creatures, descendants of sun-myths, maybe, and true 
 progenitors of fairies and giants. Their lives are 
 made up of a wealth of disconnected incidents, in 
 which the extraordinary inventiveness of the Celt 
 I "The Cuchullin Saga," p. 15. 
 
CELTIC LITERATURE 23 
 
 has free play, but which move as a rule to no great 
 end of epic achievement. They fascinate us for a 
 time ; but by and by we weary of them, we weary of 
 all the brilliant, incoherent enchantments of Celtic 
 literature, and we long to return to the world of 
 reality, where reason and conscience have a fuller 
 share in the determination of fate. 
 
 Several of our illustrations have been taken from 
 the old Irish epics : these are perhaps the most 
 important monuments of Celtic literature. There 
 were three cycles, each binding together many 
 separate stories. The first was about a semi-super- 
 natural people called the Tuatha-De-Danann ; they 
 probably represent some race of ancient gods in 
 whom the Celts may have believed before their 
 migration. The second, of later origin, gathers 
 around the great king Conchobar and CuchuUin, 
 his comrade. In the story of the Tragical Death of 
 the Sons of Usnach, which belongs to this cycle, 
 Celtic emotion is more marked than Celtic extrava- 
 gance : it is full of pure poetry and tragic passion. 
 But the third cycle has become the most famous. 
 Its events are placed as late as the third century 
 A.D., but it is purely Pagan still. It tells of Finn 
 the mighty, of Oscar, and above all of Ossian, the 
 poet-warrior, most typical figure of Celtic song. 
 These Ossianic poems were first gathered from oral 
 tradition in Scotland and given to the world in 
 garbled version by Macpherson, in the eighteenth 
 century. Later they were discovered, and in fuller 
 form, in Ireland also. People were well puzzled, and 
 controversy raged high : first, whether Macpherson's 
 Ossian were not an invention of his own ; then, later. 
 
24 THE SOURCES 
 
 whether Ireland or Scotland were the native land of 
 the legends. But we know now that the story is 
 truly ancient, however strangely Macpherson trans- 
 formed it, and that it came into being when Ireland 
 and Scotland were all one country and shared their 
 literature. Nothing more strikingly evinces the 
 unity of Celtic Britain than this common posses- 
 sion of ancient tales. 
 
 These old epics with their Pagan spirit are linked 
 in an interesting way with the Christian literature of 
 the Celts. The king Conchobar, so runs the legend, 
 was born on the same day with Christ. Another 
 legend unites the Ossianic story with St. Patrick. 
 The saint was busy converting Ireland, and the sound 
 of church bells was heard in the land. One evening 
 he and his gentle monks saw approaching a noble look- 
 ing man, majestic of stature, dazed and mournful in 
 aspect. This was Ossian, last of Finn's warriors, who 
 had long been magically detained in fairy-land, and 
 returned at last to find the heroes dead and the 
 saints replacing them. Patrick bent himself to the 
 conversion of Ossian, and curious poems tell of the 
 colloquies between the puzzled but courteous old 
 hero and the Christian saint. Ossian obediently 
 tried to understand this strange, tame, unheroic new 
 faith, and used his great strength as Patrick bade to 
 carry stones for a church ; but he yearned for. his old 
 freedom, and the religion of humility seemed strange 
 indeed to his Pagan soul. He loved to exchange 
 tales about the mighty Finn for Patrick's rhapsodies 
 on the New Jerusalem. His great longing was that 
 his dear comrades should inherit this new Paradise : 
 "Unknown to Heaven's king," he cries, "bring thou 
 
CELTIC LITERATURE 25 
 
 in the Finns." ^ When Patrick says that God would 
 find him out and be angry, Ossian retorts, not 
 without force : " How different Mac Cumhail, the 
 Finns' noble king ! All men, uninvited, might enter 
 his great hall." On the whole, we feel that he can- 
 not have been an entirely satisfactory convert. 
 
 But the Celts in general seem to have accepted 
 Christianity with ease, and to have found in it, almost 
 from the first, elements congenial to their national 
 character. Celtic Christianity, as the monuments 
 which have come down to us would seem to show, 
 was steeped rather in Christian sentiment than in 
 Christian principle. Many of the Celtic Christian 
 stories, — the Voyage of St. Brandan, the lives of 
 St. Patrick, St. Bridget, and, above all, of St. 
 Columba, — are full of rare and exquisite beauty. 
 They have the same imaginative qualities as the 
 Pagan Celtic literature, even to the frequent incon- 
 sequence and delightful disregard of logic; but the 
 old fierceness has been replaced by a wistful and 
 gentle note of Christian mysticism. Sometimes, as 
 in the curious Welsh triads, little poems of three 
 lines each, such as we have quoted above, the Celts 
 took to moralizing after they were converted ; but 
 they never made much of a success at this, and the 
 distinctive quality of their religion can be found in 
 lovely legends, such as were produced from the 
 earliest times, and may stUl be heard, in long winter 
 evenings, recited around the hearth-fire in the High- 
 lands of Scotland. 
 
 For the Celtic spirit lives on. Arthur the Celt, 
 
 1 ' ' The Book of the Dean of Lismore. ' ' Introduction Toy William 
 F. Skene. 
 
26 THE SOURCES 
 
 not Beowulf the Teuton, is the chosen hero of dreams 
 to the English race. They have a strange old legend 
 in Wales aboat Merlin, most mystic figure among the 
 wizards of the world. He was befooled in his old 
 age by a fair woman, for she persuaded him to tell 
 her the Secret of the Prison of Air ; and no sooner 
 had she learned it than she spoke the magic spell he 
 taught and shut up the aged enchanter ; then she fled 
 mocking through the forest, and he remains forever 
 enclosed, helpless in his air dungeon, invisible to 
 man. But every now and then, from the clearness 
 of empty space, a voice will be heard, singing won- 
 drous songs or uttering strange wisdom, always with 
 an undernote of wailing sorrow. It is the voice of 
 Merlin, who can never die. For many centuries 
 after the Anglo-Saxon conquest the Celts seemed to 
 vanish ; the Normans recked nothing of them ; great 
 civilizations arose that knew them not ; and to this 
 day they have never resumed their place among the 
 nations. But their voice, the music of their song, 
 can still be heard by him who listens, sounding from 
 century to century, as the great history of England 
 goes on. This voice, this music, will never pass 
 away. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 General References. Matthew Aknold, On the Study of 
 Celtic Literature. Jusserand, Literary History of th.e English 
 People, Ch. I. Morlet, English Writers, Vol. I, Bk. I, Chs. 
 I-in ; Influence of the Celt on English Literature, in Clement 
 Marot, and Other Essays. William Sharp, Lyra Celtiea, Intro- 
 duction. MoNTALEMBBRT, The Monks of the West. 
 
 Irish Literature. Douglas Hyde, The Story of Early Gaelic 
 Literature : a Literary History of Ireland. Montalembert, 
 The Monks of the West, esp. Bk. IX, St. Columba. Standish 
 
CELTIC LITERATURE 27 
 
 O'Grady, History of Ireland, Essay on Early Bardic Literature in 
 Vol. II. Eugene O'Currt, Lectures on the Manuscript Materials 
 of Ancient Irish History ; On the Manners and Customs of the 
 Ancient Irish. Douglas Hyde, Beside the Fire : a Collection 
 of Irish Gaelic Folk Stories. Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy 
 Tales ; More Celtic Fairy Tales ; The Book of Wonder Voy- 
 ages ; Alfred Tennyson, The Voyage of Maeldune. Joyce, 
 Old Celtic Romances. Standish O'Grady, Finn and his 
 Companions ; The Coming of Cuculain. Eleanor Hull, The 
 Cuchullin Saga. Kuno Meyer, The Voyage of Bran. Stokes 
 and Windisch, Irische Texte (for the scholar, giving original 
 texts, with translations, English and German). 
 
 Scotch Literature. Skene, Celtic Scotland ; The Dean of 
 Lismore's Book. J. F. Campbell, Popular Tales of the West 
 Highlands. 
 
 Welsh Literature. Stephens, The Literature of the Cymry, 
 JHONTALEMBERT, The Mouks of the West, Vol. II, Bk. VIH. 
 th. n. The Saints and Monks of Wales. Skene, The Four 
 Ancient Books of Wales. Lady Charlotte Guest, The 
 ittabinogion. Sidney Lanier, The Boy's Mabinogion. P. H. 
 Emerson, Welsh Fairy Tales. 
 
 Modern Celtic Literature. During the last ten years 
 there has been a revival of enthusiasm for Celtic subjects and 
 manner. Some of the leaders in this neo-Celtic movement are, 
 or were, Aubrey de Vere, James Clarence Mangan, William 
 Yeats, Katharine Tynan, William Sharp, Patrick Geddes, Fiona 
 Macleod, Robert Buchanan, Sebastian Evans, Ernest Rhys. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Nearly all the books mentioned above, especially Montalem- 
 bert's "Monks of the West," and the numerous volumes of 
 stories, are delightful reading. As the aim in this introductory 
 work is rather to become sensitive to the peculiar Celtic element 
 in our literature than to acquire a fund of information, wide 
 and swift reading is recommended. It is pleasant and profita- 
 ble to let every member of the class tell the whole class a 
 Celtic fairy tale, selected either by himself or by the teacher, 
 and point out all the special Celtic characteristics which he can 
 discern in the story. Also, the students may bring to class 
 passages from their reading illustrating Celtic love of color, 
 Celtic feeling for nature, Celtic humor, inconsequence, love 
 
28 THE SOURCES 
 
 of mystery, poetic sentiment, passion, impetuosity. The stories 
 suggested furnish ample and obvious materials for this induc- 
 tive study. 
 
 Special topics may be presented by more mature students on 
 such subjects as Pagan Celtic Heroes : Cuchullin, Finn, Ossian, 
 Maeldune ; Christian Celtic Heroes : St. Columba, St. Bridget, 
 St. Patrick ; The Supernatural iu Celtic Literature ; The Deco- 
 rative Sense of the Celt in Architecture and Costume. Any of 
 the subjects suggested for the whole class may also be treated 
 in this way. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Interesting lectures, to which any boy or girl would like to 
 listen, can be given by the teacher. A few are here suggested, 
 with authorities from which they can be prepared: Early 
 Celtic Christianity. See Montalembert ; Standish O'Grady, 
 "Silva Gadelica," Vol. II; Whitley Stokes, "Tripartite Life 
 of St. Patrick"; Aubrey de Vere, "Legends of St. Patrick." 
 Mythologic Traits in Celtic Literature. See John Rhys, " Lec- 
 tures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated by 
 Celtic Heathendom," "Studies in the Arthurian Legend." The 
 Story of Deirdriu. See Stokes and Windisch, " Irische Texte " ; 
 Sigerson, " Bards of the Gael and Gall." Hull, " The Cuchullin 
 Saga." Old Welsh Poetry. See Stephens, " Literature of the 
 Cymry " ; Skene, " Four Ancient Books of Wales " ; Sharp, 
 " Lyra Celtica." The Celtic Bard. See Sigerson, " Bards of 
 the Gael and Gall " ; Rhys, " Literary History of Ireland " ; 
 O'Curry, "Manners and Customs." The Modern Celtic Re- 
 vival, see ante. 
 
 ANGLO-SAXON LITEEATUEE 
 
 The Anglo-Saxons were a people strangely different 
 from the Celts. Reason and the moral sense, the 
 qualities in which the Celt was weakest, were strong, 
 almost controlling, factors in their nature. They 
 were a serious people and often melancholy, not after 
 the emotional fashion of the Irish, whose smiles and 
 tears chase each other like sunshine and shadow 
 over a green Irish meadow, but with a settled 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 29 
 
 gravity which conceived of human life as a strenu- 
 ous and sober thing. No other race which went to 
 the making of England gives so strong an impression 
 of moral nobility. 
 
 "When first we know of them, they with many 
 kindred tribes inhabit the vast forests which cover 
 Northern Europe, — a drear and solemn land, where 
 only here and there by the seacoast a strip of country 
 is reclaimed and a little village established. The sea is 
 more available for their highway than the forest, and 
 they are a sea-loving people, at home on the gray 
 Northern ocean, with its wild storms and sunless 
 waves. They are at times savage, cruel, and revenge- 
 ful, with no trace of the gentleness sometimes evinced 
 even in the Pagan literature of the Celts. But they 
 hold women in reverence ; they are faithful even to 
 death to the oath of comradeship sealed by strange 
 rites by mingling their blood in their footprints ; 
 they respect and practise the truth. For religion, 
 they believe, so far as we can tell, not in Odin and 
 Thor and Valhalla, — a faith which their cousins of 
 Scandinavia developed at one period, — but in the 
 great earth-mother, in the mystic ritual of sacrifice, 
 and in the worship of ancestors. 
 
 They pushed their way across the sea and came to 
 England. There they won the day — still heathen 
 — over the Christian Celts, throughout the better 
 land. They cultivated the country ; they established 
 a great civilization which lasted till the Norman con- 
 quest ; and they produced a large literature, much of 
 which has come down to us intact. 
 
 Although this civilization lasted so long, it is a 
 little difficult to trace development in it or to distin- 
 
30 THE SOURCES 
 
 guish its periods. The same thing is true of the 
 literature. It has strength, force, depth, this litera- 
 ture : it must of course always be profoundly signifi- 
 cant and interesting to us. But it lacks charm, 
 except when it blends with the Celtic. This blend- 
 ing often happened. It probably happened in very 
 ancient times in the strange little country of Iceland, 
 whence we receive the most imaginative poetry that 
 the Teutonic peoples have bequeathed to us ; it hap- 
 pened in England also, for from Northumbria, where 
 the Celtic people mingled with the Anglo-Saxon 
 population, the best and most enjoyable Anglo- 
 Saxon work proceeds. 
 
 There are a certain number of stories in Anglo- 
 Saxon, as there are sure to be in any primitive lit- 
 erature, but not nearly so many in proportion as 
 among the Celts. Nor do they show the same power 
 of invention. Most of them are poetic paraphrases 
 of the Bible, or legends of saints. They move 
 slowly, pausing often for comment, more interested 
 in their sentiment than in their narrative. There 
 are moral sayings and proverbs also in Anglo-Saxon 
 literature, there are scientific treatises and chroni- 
 cles, there are above all a ps^tentously large number 
 of sermons. These forefathers of ours loved to 
 moralize. But whatever the defects of this litera- 
 ture, it is full of deep feeling for human life. At 
 times it has a wonderful way of searching into the 
 soul and revealing it. What we call the subjective 
 or introspective habit — that is, the habit of watch- 
 ing what happens in one's own mind — is developed 
 to a surprising degree in Anglo-Saxon poetry. 
 People talk sometimes as if this habit were a modern 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 31 
 
 invention, but neither Wordsworth nor Tennyson 
 ever wrote a poem in which self-revelation was 
 clearer than in the " Dream of the Rood," nor does 
 the poetry of Shelley reveal a more individual tem- 
 perament than that of the great poet Cynewulf. 
 
 In his own way, the Anglo-Saxon had as strong a 
 feeling for Nature as the Celt, so that his poetry is 
 not all absorbed by human feeling. But it was not 
 for him to note the bright detail, the color of heather- 
 tops or ash-buds, or of the plumage of a bird. He 
 cared rather for the sentiment of the scene, and this 
 to his eyes was habitually a sentiment of vastness, 
 mystery, and gloom. The gray tossing of the North- 
 ern sea, with the faint lights that played across it, the 
 wide sweep of the fen-country, over which brooded 
 dank and fearful fogs, the blowing of the wind from 
 the welkin, were what fascinated his fancy. 
 
 In literature which expresses the life of the Anglo- 
 Saxons before they were Christianized, by far the 
 most important thing is the precious old epic of " Beo- 
 wulf." Everyone ought to read this poem through. 
 It is not very long, it is accessible in good translations, 
 it is a very noble thing, and it is in a peculiar sense 
 the beginning of our national literature. Yet, though 
 it may first have been written down in England, the 
 Anglo-Saxons must have brought it with them in 
 their hearts when they came; doubtless they had 
 chanted portions of it at many a rude battle-feast 
 across the sea. For the life the poem shows us is 
 that of a period when the Teutonic peoples had not 
 yet gathered themselves into nations, but were estab- 
 lished in little settlements or colonies here and there 
 along the sea-coast of Northern Europe. We can 
 
32 THE SOURCES 
 
 learn much from the poem of the civilization, the 
 modes of life and thought of our forefathers. 
 
 If we compare this epic with the Celtic epics, we 
 note first of all that it is consecutive and coherent, 
 not inconsequent and fantastic. Its action is sim- 
 ple : it tells a single story, and tells it directly and 
 well. Then we notice that, despite a strong and 
 weird supernatural element, the story is conceived 
 as real. We have passed from a mythical to an he- 
 roic atmosphere. The hero, Beowulf, is an actual 
 man, a moral being, as Finn and Cuchullin were 
 not. He is an interesting figure, splendid of aspect 
 as he comes over the sea in his foamy-necked ship, 
 likest a bird, and leaps to land arrayed in shining 
 battle-burnie, — lofty in character as he speaks and 
 fights manfully against awful foes. Beowulf is of 
 course first of all a warrior ; but a striking point 
 about this first old English hero is that his best 
 fighting is done not for himself but for others. 
 The poem falls into two parts. In the first, Beo- 
 wulf comes with his thanes over the sea to help 
 the aged king Hrothgar, whose great, shining hall, 
 the pride of the Danes, is ravaged night after night 
 by a terrible monster, a " mighty moor-stepper," 
 named Grendel. Beowulf gives the monster his 
 death-wound, and follows him and his horrible mother 
 to the deep sea-caves, their grim abode, where he 
 slays the dam also. In the second part of the poem, 
 the hero is an aged man ; he is king over his 
 people, and he goes forth, knowing well that he 
 shall fall, to his death-fight with a great fire-drake, 
 or dragon, that is laying waste the land. He kills 
 the dragon, is killed himself, and dies exulting almost 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 33 
 
 with his last breath that he has saved his people, 
 and won for them the mystic golden treasures hidden 
 in the creature's lair. 
 
 The supernatural element in the poem is impres- 
 sive and terrible. It is born of mist and darkness. 
 Grendel and his mother " in constant night hold the 
 misty moors." "Shadow-goers," the old poet calls 
 them, " Spirits of Elsewhere," and his shudder comes 
 to us through the ages. There is no sign of humor, 
 of grace, of bright fancy, as with the joyous fairy 
 beings who lure the Celtic heroes away from earth. 
 These Anglo-Saxon monsters are probably an imper- 
 sonation of the powers of nature, and it is a nature 
 intensely feared, less for its practical dangers than 
 for its malign suggestion of dark mysteries. 
 
 In the direct descriptions, especially of the sea, 
 there is a note of fear mingled with a note of exulta- 
 tion. The treatment is often wild and fine. We 
 see a race of bold sea-rovers, at home on the waves, 
 delighting in them, yet fearful too of their fierce 
 power. The very spirit of the sea breathes through 
 Beowulf's tale of his swimming match, or through 
 the great description of the approach to the dwelling 
 of Grendel. This dark, sad nature is in tune with 
 the whole poem. The mists droop low over its men- 
 tal as over its physical landscape. The fundamental 
 spirit is a grave recognition of an inevitable Fate, in 
 the presence of which human life goes softly. Yet 
 blended with this, in the illogical union always to 
 be found in the English race, and source of much of 
 its power, is a stern sense of personal duty. " Weird 
 goeth ever as it must ! " exclaims Beowulf ; yet 
 " Fate often preserves an undoomed earl, if his cour- 
 
34 THE SOURCES 
 
 age is good." The poem reveals to us many of the 
 sources of the future power of the English : it shows 
 us a race that can dream as well as fight, a race per- 
 meated by the instinct of moral responsibility, a race 
 that can compass much, but that cannot compass 
 light-heartedness. 
 
 One more point must be mentioned about "Beo- 
 wulf " : it connects us with the great epic of the Ger- 
 manic peoples, — the " Story of the Volsungs," which, 
 in its latest and most famous form, became the " Nie- 
 belungen Lied." The earliest mention of the Sieg- 
 fried myth, which is the heart of this great epic, is 
 found in our Anglo-Saxon poem, and the dragon- 
 fight of Beowulf himself has many points of contact 
 with the greater story. It is pleasant to be able to 
 realize in this way our common heritage with a sister- 
 nation. 
 
 " Beowulf," as it comes to us, has been copied by 
 a Christian scribe, and abounds in interpolations. 
 The same thing is true of all the Anglo-Saxon litera- 
 ture which seems to bear internal evidence of Pagan 
 origin. We must be on our guard against ascribing 
 this literature to an earlier date than the Christian 
 literature in Anglo-Saxon. Nevertheless, whatever 
 may be the period of final writing, there is so wide 
 a difference in spirit between "Beowulf" and a 
 handful of allied poems, and the rest of old English 
 literature, that we must consider this literature in 
 two groups. 
 
 For Christianity came and profoundly modified 
 the characteristics of the race. The moral serious- 
 ness of the Anglo-Saxon found satisfaction and trans- 
 figuration in the faith of Christ, as the exquisite 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 35 
 
 emotional sensitiveness of the Celt had done. Not 
 that the Christianizing of Teutonic England was 
 easy ; it was a long drama with many uncertainties 
 in its progress. It began in 597, when Pope Greg- 
 ory sent a band of Italian monks, headed by one 
 Augustine, as missionaries to the savage distant 
 isles. The Anglo-Saxons treated the monks with 
 grave courtesy and, with relapses, tried their re- 
 ligion, worshipping the White Christ or their wild 
 old gods, as mood or season impelled them. But 
 the powers of Christianity were reenforced from the 
 island itself; for the native faith and the tradition 
 of St. Columba were lingering still and, as the land 
 became more peaceful, new saints ventured "forth, 
 of the old Celtic race, and devoted themselves with 
 humblest devotion to furthering the cause of Christ. 
 The Italian monks were full of administrative genius. 
 They built great churches and monasteries, they 
 developed ecclesiastical government, they brought 
 Church music and Greek learning to the British 
 Isles. The Celt had none of these things. His 
 kingdom was not of this world. Simple, poor, un- 
 learned, his heart was that of a child. It was 
 not strange that the time soon came when the two 
 forms of Christianity clashed. The Italian party 
 won the day, in a full conclave held at Whitby in 
 664, a conclave whose nominal subject was the date 
 of the observance of Easter; and for hundreds of 
 years English Christianity was governed from Rome. 
 But the native strain, touched to peculiar grace and 
 mystery, can long be heard in the legends of the 
 English saints. > 
 
 It is very wonderful to watch the new spirit of 
 
36 THE SOURCES 
 
 love and fraternal peace striving with the old warrior 
 zest of the infant nation. At first, the new ideas 
 slip constantly into the old forms of expression, with 
 strange effect. The conception of the Hero is shift- 
 ing from the fighter who slays his thousands and seeks 
 the lust of life, to the hermit who accepts insults 
 with gladness, and mortifies the flesh in preparation 
 for heaven ; but Guthlac the eremite is described in 
 the same language as Beowulf the warrior, and his 
 struggles against sin are treated in the old heroic 
 manner. A martyr is strangely described as a 
 " beast of battle," and a poem on the Apostles be- 
 gins with the exclamation : " What ! We have heard 
 of twelve, heroes under heaven, warriors gloriously 
 blest." Christ is "the Joy of ^Ethelings, the Vic- 
 tory-Son of God," and the legends of saints, of Apos- 
 tles, the story of the Lord of Love Himself, are 
 chanted in the lofty strains of the Saga. "I trem- 
 bled through all my limbs," says the Cross in another 
 poem, "when the young Hero that was Almighty 
 God, embraced me." 
 
 But as we read on we become aware that a great 
 transformation has been wrought, not only in the 
 character but in the imagination of the race. The 
 mists that hung low over the old Pagan world have 
 lifted, and the imagination gazes far afield, to hori- 
 zons definite indeed, but almost infinitely remote, to 
 the Day of Creation on the one hand, on the other 
 to the great Day of Judgment to be. The story of 
 the Bible so possesses men that they can think of 
 little else. Anglo-Saxon Christian poetry is still 
 grave and sad, with the melancholy which seems 
 a natural part of the race-inheritance ; but it has a 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 37 
 
 note of hope unheard before, and, at times, as in 
 the beautiful poem of the "Phoenix," the wintry- 
 nature familiar to these men of the Northlands is 
 replaced by the vision of a heavenly country, blos- 
 soming and bathed in light. The hostile supernatu- 
 ral forces in which our forefathers had believed, 
 were retained by the new faith, changed into those 
 demons who haunted the imagination all through the 
 middle ages ; but Christianity added another super- 
 natural of light and joy, a lore of the angels, and of 
 sweet miracles of love and healing. 
 
 We may distinguish two schools in Christian 
 Anglo-Saxon poetry. The first, produced in North- 
 umbria toward the end of the seventh and the 
 beginning of the eighth century, gathers about the 
 name of Csedmon ; the second, belonging to the end 
 of the eighth century, centres in the name of Cyne- 
 wulf . Behind these names we may see two person- 
 alities, great, though dim. Both groups of poems 
 are avowedly Christian. But the Csedmonian poems 
 draw their inspiration from the Old Testament. The 
 story of Csedmon, told by the Venerable Bede, is too 
 beautiful to omit. Connected in some menial capac- 
 ity with the great Abbey of Whitby, he was in the 
 habit of leaving the hall sadly when all present were 
 in good old fashion called upon to sing ; for the gift 
 of song had been denied to him. " But on one even- 
 ing when he had care of the cattle, he fell asleep in 
 the stable ; and One stood by him, and saluting him 
 said, 'Csedmon, sing me something.' And he an- 
 swered, ' I know not how to sing, and for this reason 
 I left the feast.' Then the other said, ' Nevertheless, 
 you will have to sing to me.' ' What shall I sing ? ' 
 
38 THE SOURCES 
 
 Csedmon replied. ' Sing,' said the other, ' the begin- 
 ning of things created.' Whereupon he immediately 
 began to sing in praise of God, the world's Upbuilder, 
 verses which he had not heard before." The gift re- 
 mained with him all his lifetime ; and the CBedmo- 
 nian poems in which we trace surely his tradition if 
 not often his hand, paraphrase Genesis and Exodus 
 with abrupt passion and fierce battle-ardor, chanting 
 the Creation, the Fall of Man, and the dark fate of 
 Lucifer, after an imaginative fashion which may well 
 have given suggestions to the great epic of Milton. 
 They chant, too, the savage and triumphant exploit 
 of Judith, a saga-woman, a true Germanic Princess, 
 as they conceive her ; they chant the Story of Daniel. 
 In the second group of poems, which shelters itself 
 under the name of Cynewulf, we feel the touch or 
 influence of a true poet. A Celtic strain may ac- 
 count for the wistful beauty of some of this work ; 
 but the strong tendency to self-analysis and the pro- 
 found religious experience it reveals are Saxon. The 
 warrior-flame stUl leaps up at times through the 
 even movement of the poetry, yet subjects are now 
 from the New Testament rather than from the Old. 
 We find also a treatment of various legends of 
 the Church: the tale of the finding of the true 
 cross by the Empress Helena, the legend of St. 
 Guthlac, and that of the Apostle Andrew. And 
 we find a wonderful personal note in a poem like 
 "The Dream of the Rood," which tells how the 
 writer, apparently a wild, sinful. Pagan man, was 
 converted to Christ by the midnight vision of a 
 great Cross, jewelled, streaming with blood, upsoar- 
 ing to the sky. If Cynewulf wrote this poem, which 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 39 
 
 is not certain, he was the first great poet of the 
 spiritual life in England. That he was of a deeply 
 religious nature, we know from his signed poems ; 
 for four poems, — "Christ," "Juliana," "Elene," and 
 the " Fates of the Apostles," besides some little lyrical 
 " Riddles," he signed in a curious way, by inserting 
 the letters of his name here and there through the 
 verse. Feeling, in all the work of this school, the 
 union of intense love of nature with high imagi- 
 nation and religious passion, we are well assured 
 that we are indeed on the track which leads to 
 Wordsworth and Shelley, to Tennyson's " In Memo- 
 riam," and to Browning's " Saul." 
 
 The great period of Anglo-Saxon poetry was then 
 the seventh and eighth centuries. All this poetry 
 comes down to us in the West Saxon dialect. In 
 form it was based on the principle of alliteration. 
 That is, instead of rhyming the ends of lines, as we 
 do, the mysterious instinct for harmony of sound was 
 satisfied by words in the body of the verse beginning 
 with the same sound : two in the first half of the line, 
 one in the second. There was no fixed number of 
 syllables, but each line had normally four beats, or 
 accents. Modern English poetry retains alliteration 
 for ornament, as any one can see by opening a page 
 of Swinburne, but discards it as an essential to struc- 
 ture. It is possible, however, though not easy, to 
 train the ear to understand how pleasurably the old 
 use of it affected our forefathers. Anglo-Saxon 
 poetry has more metaphors than similes, and it is 
 characterized by a habit of repetition or paraphrase 
 like the parallelism of ancient Hebrew poetry. 
 
 Almost all this poetry came, probably, from North- 
 
40 THE SOURCES 
 
 umberland. In the ninth century, after the Danish 
 invasion had laid the Northern kingdom waste, we 
 meet with a development of Anglo-Saxon prose in the 
 southern kingdom of Wessex, under the fostering 
 care of King Alfred. This prose, however, calls for 
 brief comment only, unless one is studying linguistics. 
 Like all primitive prose, it lacks the sense of art, and 
 it is very dry and dull. The original part consists 
 of a large number of sermons and homilies; but 
 more interesting than these are a number of transla- 
 tions from historical, scientific, or religious books in 
 Latin, made or commanded by the pious and learned 
 king. The most important are a translation of the 
 great work on Church discipline by Pope Gregory, 
 called "Pastoral Care," an adaptation of a volume 
 of travel and geography by the Spaniard Orosius, 
 and an expansion of the work " On the Consolations 
 of Philosophy," by the Latin Boethius. We have, 
 also, and it is the most interesting monument of 
 Anglo-Saxon prose, the Anglo-Saxon chronicle, a 
 history carried on by the monks, which is our chief 
 source of information till a period after the Nor- 
 man conquest. This is invaluable for the study 
 of old English history; but it has no literary 
 quality. 
 
 Taking it as a whole, one cannot fail to pause in 
 respect before Anglo-Saxon literature. It is the 
 expression of a strong and noble race. Yet with all 
 its solemn force, it leaves one unsatisfied. Had this 
 race retained possession of England, neither the 
 "Canterbury Tales" nor the "Faerie Queen" nor 
 " King Henry Fifth " could have been produced on 
 English soil. 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 41 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 1. Anglo-Saxon Literature. 
 
 Ten Bkink, English Literature to Wyclif. A valuable and 
 trustworthy reference book. Dry reading. 
 
 Stopford Brooke, History of Early English Literature: 
 The best popular study of Anglo-Saxon poetry. English 
 Literature from the Beginning to the Norman Conquest. 
 A condensation of the earlier book, with additional chap- 
 ters on Anglo-Saxon prose. 
 
 MoKLEY, English Writers, Vol. I, II. 
 
 JusSERAND, Literary History of the English People. Bk. I, 
 Chs. II-IV. A remarkable combination of scholarship 
 and charm. 
 
 Powell and Vigfusson, Corpus Poeticum Boreale. A de- 
 lightful collection of old Icelandic poetry, which is the 
 best representative extant of the poetry of the Germanic 
 peoples. 
 
 2. Anglo-Sazon Civilization. 
 
 Sharon Turner, History of the Anglo-Saxons. A stand- 
 ard work, though no longer modern. 
 
 J. E. Green, The Making of England; Short History of 
 the English People, Ch. I. 
 
 GuMMERE, Germanic Origins. 
 
 Stubbs, Constitutional History of England, Vol. I. 
 
 Freeman, The Norman Conquest, Vol. I. 
 
 MoNTALEMBERT, The Monks of the West. This fascinat- 
 ing book tells with utmost vividness the story of the 
 Christianizing of England. 
 
 Bright, Early English Church History. Clarendon Press, 
 1878. 
 
 The Venerable Bede, Ecclesiastical History. Translated 
 by Giles. Bohn's Library. After all, more can be learned 
 about our Anglo-Saxon fathers from Bede than from any 
 modern author, and in a more interesting way. 
 
 Powell and Vigfusson, Corpus Poeticum Boreale, Vol. 
 II, Excursus I : The Beliefs and Worships of the Ancient 
 Norsemen. This is a fine study of the Pagan religion of 
 our fathers before they became Christianized. 
 
 Social England, edited by H. D. Traill (Cassell, 1893), 
 Ch. L 
 
42 THE SOURCES 
 
 Thomas Wright. The Celt, the Koman, and the Teuton, 
 
 Chs. XV, XVI. 
 Grant Allen, Early Britain ; Anglo-Saxon Britain. S. P. 
 C. K., 18. 
 3. A classified enumeration of Anglo-Saxon literature will be 
 found in Stopford Brooke. The standard text of Anglo-Saxon 
 poetry is in Grein's " Bibliothek der Angelsachsischen Poesie," 
 edited by Wiilker. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Rapid reading in translations is very feasible and interesting. 
 The class should at least read selections from the " Beowulf." 
 Translations by Kemble, Garnett, Hall. 
 
 1. Outline for Study of the "Beowulf." 
 
 Theories of date, origin, authorship. (These can of course 
 
 be skipped with young students.) 
 The scenery and the feeling for nature in the poem. 
 The social life of our ancestors as shown in it. 
 The ideal of the hero it conveys. 
 The poetic art and imagination of the poem. 
 The ethical ideal and attitude. 
 Comparison of spirit and method with the epics of the 
 
 classic world. Homer and Virgil. (This is possible and 
 
 suggestive with a class that is reading Greek or Latin in 
 
 preparation for college.) 
 
 2. Suggestions for Other VTork. 
 
 With fairly advanced classes, special reading might well be 
 assigned to certain students, and short reports made in- 
 formally on poems like the "Judith," the "Elene," the 
 " Dream of the Rood," or the " Riddles " of Cynewulf . 
 Translations of Cynewulf 's "Christ" by Gollancz; of 
 "Judith" by Cook and Garnett. See Gurteen's "Epic 
 of the Fall of Man " for comparative study of Csedmon 
 and Milton. 
 
 The students, even the youngest, should be encouraged 
 to give their impressions of the general characteristics of 
 Anglo-Saxon genius. What sort of people were our an- 
 cestors ? What kinds of poetry did they like best ? What 
 did they think of the sea? What were they afraid of? 
 
ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 43 
 
 AA'^hat did they admire? Were they a happy people? 
 Did they make good jokes ? Did they have strong feel- 
 ings, and of what kind? What were their chief pleas- 
 ures? etc. All the answers should be illustrated by the 
 students from theii- reading; one cannot begin real in- 
 ductive work too soon. 
 
 3. Talks from the Teacher. 
 
 An ordinary class can give very little time to Anglo-Saxon 
 literature, and that time would better be spent on reading 
 one or two texts. But broader illustrative talks from the 
 teacher might increase very much the interest and value 
 of the work. A few possible and desirable subjects for 
 such talks are suggested here. The references already 
 given suggest plenty of material from which the talks 
 could be prepared. 
 The Way our Ancestors Lived. 
 See references on Anglo-Saxon civilization. Also Powell 
 and Vigfusson. 
 The Religion of our Ancestors while Heathen. 
 
 See besides Stopford Brooke, etc., Powell and Vigfusson, 
 excursus on The Beliefs and Worship of the Ancient 
 Norsemen. Also Gummere, Germanic Origins. 
 Old Germanic Poetry Parallel to that of the Anglo-Saxons. 
 See, in particular, the " Story of the Volsungs," Camelot 
 edition, translated by Morris and Magnusson. Also 
 Morris's magnificent poem " Sigurd the Volsung." 
 Also, in Powell and Vigfusson, Book V, The Latest 
 Epics. This lecture should introduce the students to 
 the great epic of the Northern peoples, which is a most 
 precious part of our heritage. 
 The Christianizing of England. 
 Montalembert, Bright, and The Venerable Bede will give 
 ample material for this interesting story, which should 
 be presented mainly by anecdote. See also Aubrey de 
 Vere, " Legends of the Saxon Saints." 
 The Treatment of Nature and of the Sea in Anglo-Saxon 
 Poetry. Beowulf, and the poems of Cynewulf. Stopford 
 Brooke treats the subject fully and lovingly. It is rich 
 in interest. 
 The Poetic Art of the Anglo-Saxons. 
 See appendix to Bright's Anglo-Saxon Reader. 
 
4i THE SOURCES 
 
 NORMAN LITERATUEE 
 
 While the Celt dreamed in fairy-land and the 
 Anglo-Saxon brooded on B'ate, the Norman rode 
 forth with vigor, audacity, and good cheer, to the 
 conquest of the world. He was a practical person. 
 He knew how to build magnificent churches and 
 abbeys and castles which are still the wonder of 
 men ; he knew how to govern. He was very reli- 
 gious too, — when we first know him he was Chris- 
 tianized^— but he took his religion simply, regarding 
 fighting as his chief duty, if he could persuade him- 
 self, as he always did, that he fought on God's side. 
 So he became the master of England, and ruled it, 
 well for the most part, till from this mingling of 
 races the English race was gradually formed. 
 
 There is one splendid poem in which we can read 
 the character of the Normans when they came to the 
 British Isles. This is the " Song of Roland." It binds 
 us to the French as " Beowulf," with its relation to the 
 " Niebelungen Lied," binds us to the Germans ; for it 
 is the chief glory of old French literature. Yet we 
 may claim it too ; for the Normans rode to the battle 
 of Hastings with an early version of its stirring 
 strains upon their lips, the poem very likely took 
 final shape in England after the conquest, and the 
 best manuscript of it was certainly written by an 
 Anglo-Norman and is preserved at Oxford. It is 
 fine to think that there was a time when all Europe 
 shared its great inspirations : perhaps that time will 
 some day come again. It is fine, also, to an English- 
 speaking man, to think of England as a meeting- 
 place of races, and this she emphatically was. 
 
NORMAN LITERATURE 45 
 
 The " Song of Roland " is a poem not of brooding 
 thought nor of lovely fancy, but solely of noble 
 deed. It has a stern tale to tell : with inexorable 
 swiftness it tells it. The Celt may pause in his 
 fiercest battle ardor to bid us note how the shields 
 of the warriors fighting by firelight gleam like the 
 white wings of birds ; the Anglo-Saxon will pause 
 to point a moral. The Norman story never pauses. 
 It is a story of failure, but of failure more glorious 
 than victory. It tells how the mighty king Charle- 
 magne, the Christian monarch, with his long white 
 beard, has been fighting the Paynim hosts of Spain ; 
 how, deceived by fair promises, he withdraws his 
 host homeward, through the defiles of the Pyrenees, 
 leaving the rear to be guarded by the heroes Roland 
 and Oliver with a small company ; how, betrayed by 
 a jealous French noble, this rear-guard is cut off and 
 encompassed by numberless foes ; how Roland and 
 Oliver and the rest fight magnificently, desperately, 
 hopelessly ; and how, when all his friends are slain, 
 and he has himself received his death-wound, the 
 dying Roland winds at last that mighty horn whereof 
 the echoes, which were to sound through all history, 
 first recall, not to assistance but to vengeance, the 
 army of Charlemagne. 
 
 This poem is obviously much later than "Beowulf" 
 or the epic cycles of the Celt. The spirit of the 
 Crusades is in it, and the hosts of Christian Europe » 
 are opposed to the hated Paynim hordes. It shows 
 us a feudal society, governed by new laws of honor 
 and courtesy suggesting the chivalry to be; a race 
 that can ride forth gayly with songs upon its lips 
 to fight a losing battle. The hero no longer fights 
 
46 THE SOUKCES 
 
 alone, or for such causes as his fancy may direct ; he 
 is one of a fellowship, and loyalty to king, to coun- 
 try, to comrades, and to God, sustains life and glori- 
 fies death. The conscious belief that a Paradise 
 awaits the knights of God nerves the arm and cheers 
 the heart of every French warrior. The archbishop 
 Turpin, himself a warrior-priest, blesses the French 
 hosts as they go forth to a combat known by them 
 all to be against fatal odds. Here is his speech to 
 them : — 
 
 " ' Lords, we are here for our monarch's sake ; 
 
 Hold we for him, though our death should come ; 
 
 Fight for the succor of Christendom. 
 
 The battle approaches, — ye know it well, — 
 
 For ye see the ranks of the infidel. 
 
 Cry Mea Culpa, and lowly kneel ; 
 
 I will assoil you, your souls to heal. 
 
 In death ye are holy martyrs crowned.' 
 
 The Franks alighted and knelt on ground : 
 
 In God's high name the host he blessed. 
 
 And for penance gave them, — to fight their best." ^ 
 
 All the temper of the Norman is there ; militant, 
 devout, stern, yet touched with a certain lightness in 
 the apprehension of life. When the archbishop him- 
 self is in his death-agony, his last prayer is for the 
 souls of his comrades, his last thought for the Em- 
 peror whom we shall never see again. He prays : — 
 
 " That God in mercy your souls may give 
 On the flowers of Paradise to live ; 
 Mine own death comes, with anguish sore. 
 That I see mine emperor never more." 
 
 1 The Song of Roland : translated by Colonel J. O'Hagan. 
 
NORMAN LITERATURE 47 
 
 Reading the "Song of Roland," we can well un- 
 derstand how the Norman vanquished the Saxon, as 
 the Saxon before him had vanquished the yet more 
 ineffective Celt. 
 
 Yet the vanquished in the end were victors. The 
 Normans were, it is true, a great race; England 
 would never have been what she is without them. 
 But when all is said, the Anglo-Saxon is the domi- 
 nant type of the composite English people. The 
 practical genius of the Norman lends them energy 
 indeed; something of his gayety makes them less 
 ponderous, more elastic, than their German cousins. 
 The poetic sensitiveness of the Celt, on the other 
 hand, his power to dream, his ready sentiment, impart 
 at times to English character and English poetry a 
 delicate mystic charm far from the clear sparkle which 
 characterizes the pure Latin races. But the earnest- 
 ness of the Anglo-Saxons and their profound sense 
 of moral responsibility are the controlling English 
 traits. 
 
 The " Song of Roland " by no means illustrates all 
 the factors contributed by the Norman to the Eng- 
 lish nation; we shall find others in the copious 
 literature of the Anglo-Norman period, to which we 
 shall soon turn. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Freeman, Norman Conquest, Vol. I, Ch. IV ; Vol. V, Ch. 
 XXV. See also articles on Normandy and The Normans in 
 Encyclopsedia Britannica. Roemek, The Norman in Gaul. 
 Sarah Orne Jewett, The Story of the Normans. Matthew 
 Arnold, Celtic Literature. O'Hagan, translation of the " Song 
 of Roland " (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.), has excellent Introduc- 
 
48 THE SOURCES 
 
 tion on the epic. Fine sketches of Norman character in appo- 
 sition to the Saxon are found in Kingsley's "Hereward the 
 Wake." 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 O'Hagan's spirited translation of the "Song of Roland" 
 should be read rapidly through, and discussed by the class. 
 Contrasts between this poem and " Beowulf," in respect to the 
 ideal of heroism, the feeling for nature, the poetic method, etc., 
 should be pointed out. Questions based on the text, and other 
 critical reading, may review Norman characteristics ; but this is 
 a point where a clear and simple impression is better than a 
 complex one, and further understanding of the French element 
 in our literature may be put ofE till the Anglo-Norman period 
 is familiar. 
 
 LITERATUEE IN LATIN 
 
 Celt, Saxon, and Norman are, then, the ancestors 
 of the English race, and in studying them we have 
 studied the heredity of the nation and of its litera- 
 ture. But even before the literature grew up and 
 learned to speak in its own tongue, there was one 
 other influence which did not enter into its organic 
 being, but did, nevertheless, affect it very much. 
 This was the Latin of the Church. It was a deca- 
 dent tongue, in which little that was vital was pro- 
 duced, but it formed a medium through which many 
 of the ideals of the ancient world, as well as the 
 ideals of Christianity, were applied to the young and 
 primitive peoples. Celts, Anglo-Saxons, Normans, 
 all, when they became civilized and were fired with 
 literary ambition, learned Latin and wrote in Latin. 
 This habit continued through the middle ages ; 
 mediaeval Latin literature is vast in bulk, and was, 
 of course, held in common by the whole of Europe. 
 Even in the Christian centuries just preceding the 
 
LITERATURE IN LATIN 49 
 
 Norman conquest an enormous amount of literature 
 in Latin was written. It came almost entirely, 
 as was natural, from the Church, from monks and 
 priests ; and it was almost wholly of a religious 
 character. It consisted of sermons, homilies, moral 
 treatises, and lives of saints. It was a literature of 
 learning and of edification ; for the Church had by 
 this time a great tradition of her own, proceeding 
 partly from Rome and partly from the East. The 
 effect of this imposition of decadent language and 
 modes of thought upon immature races was not 
 wholly happy. Much of this literature is dreary in 
 the extreme. The thought-life of Europe could not 
 be understood without discussing it, but in a book 
 which is to emphasize art-values we can pass it over 
 lightly. Now and then, however, a book of enduring 
 importance and beauty was produced in Latin, as was 
 natural when we remember how much of the idealism 
 of these centuries was shut away in monasteries, and 
 sought to express itself through the Church and her 
 accredited mediums. Of such books, in the period 
 of which we are treating, one is highly significant 
 if we would understand the English race. This is 
 Bede's "Ecclesiastical History," and a delightful 
 book it is, and a noble monument of English letters 
 although not written in English. Composed in the 
 eighth century, it seems strangely modern in its 
 sweet reasonableness and real critical and historic 
 sense ; it begins the long and honorable list of the 
 products of the Christian scholarship of England. 
 It deals, despite its title, not only with Church mat- 
 ters, but with all English life. Nowhere can the 
 transformation of the savage Pagan race we see in 
 
50 THE SOURCES 
 
 " Beowulf " to a peaceful Christian nation be so pleas- 
 antly traced as through Bede's charming stories of 
 old kings and saints, and the revelation of his own 
 gentle spirit. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Bede's Ecclesiastical History, tr. in Bohn's Antiquarian 
 Library: G. F. Browne, The Venerable Bade. 
 
PAET II 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
CHAPTER I 
 GENERAL CONDITIONS 
 
 THE middle ages lasted, broadly speaking, from 
 the beginning of the Christian era through the 
 fifteenth century. This long period falls into two 
 clearly marked divisions. Rather more than the first 
 thousand years are usually known as the Dark Ages. 
 During the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a great 
 change took place ; and it is the subsequent period, 
 which in England may be said to begin with the 
 Norman Conquest, that we are now to study. 
 
 As people grow older, the great words that de- 
 scribe different epochs or civilizations become so 
 charged with meaning that they cannot be heard 
 without excitement. We say "antiquity," and at 
 once our soul is living in a special world, full 
 of emotions, interests, and sights that are all its 
 own. We say " the Renaissance " ; presto ! we have 
 travelled into another planet. Great epochs have 
 come, have passed like shadows, in human history; 
 but they are not dead. Not only have they be- 
 queathed to us the heritage, inward and outward, 
 that makes us what we are ; they all live forever in 
 the Imagination, where, as an English poet has told 
 us, all things exist. 
 
 I. A Peeiod o¥ Expansion 
 
 But we must have lived eagerly and long in the 
 wider life of the race as well as in our own tiny 
 
 53 
 
54 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 The 
 Crusades. 
 
 Mediseval 
 universi- 
 ties. 
 
 affairs before such words yield up their full content. 
 A little book like this can introduce the great periods 
 only by a few hints. We must think of the later 
 middle ages as differing from the Dark Ages which 
 had immediately preceded them by a passion for ex- 
 periment, by a new fulness of life. Conditions had 
 long been stationary in Europe. Unswerving law 
 prevailed. The stiffness of Byzantine painting, the 
 solemn majesty of Romanesque architecture, had 
 expressed, at least in Northern Europe, the spirit of 
 the time. Two influences in particular, cooperating 
 with less tangible causes, led the middle ages into a 
 larger air: the Crusades, and the establishment of 
 Universities. 
 
 The Crusades began at the very end of the eleventh 
 century, and lasted through the thirteenth. They 
 were undertaken from a passionate religious desire 
 to rescue the tomb of the Saviour from paynim hands. 
 But they accomplished something very different from 
 their conscious aim ; for they set Europe in motion. 
 They drew all the Christian nations together, in 
 fellowship and common knowledge, and brought 
 them in contact with the marvels of the East, with 
 Oriental luxury, learning, romance. 
 
 Of course all this wonderfully stimulated men's 
 imaginations. At the same time, the great medise- 
 val universities were giving a new impetus to men's 
 minds. Until the eleventh century, education and 
 scholarship had been wholly in the hands of monks. 
 The monasteries had rendered a noble service, too ; 
 but now the secularizing of education came, and 
 assuredly widened human thought. During the 
 twelfth century, the Universities of Bologna, Paris, 
 
GENERAL CONDITIONS 55 
 
 Oxford, sprang into power. The rediscovery a little 
 later, through contact with the East, of certain works 
 by the philosopher Aristotle hitherto unknown, pro- 
 duced a real intellectual revolution, and stimulated 
 that scholastic philosophy which was an immense 
 power in its day in the world of mind. Eagerly the 
 hosts of scholars who thronged these universities dis- 
 cussed and debated everything within their horizon ; 
 and a democratic and critical spirit reigned among 
 them, and spread abroad through all classes of 
 people. 
 
 The universities were, however, still closely con- The 
 nected with the Church. They concerned themselves ^iruT^ 
 with logic, grammar, rhetoric, jurisprudence, but "aith'and 
 with theology first and last. We must never forget freedom, 
 that the whole life of the middle ages was profoundly 
 Christian and Catholic, and that we rightly call them 
 the ages of faith. Yet within the limits of an estab- 
 lished and unquestioned faith, there was plenty of 
 room for the imagination and minds of men to move 
 about. During the mediaeval centuries there was 
 movement in both life and art: there was noble and 
 stirring development; but there was little change of 
 direction. The middle ages ended when a principle of 
 yet more untrammelled freedom came in with a rush : 
 when a spirit of general challenge and scepticism, a 
 longing for literally universal knowledge, invaded 
 the world. Then the old order of religion, society, 
 literature, broke up completely in a confusion from 
 which we have hardly yet emerged. Compared with 
 what went before, the middle ages were centuries of 
 freedom; compared with what came after, they look 
 to us like centuries of law. 
 
56 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 English 
 not yet 
 mature. 
 
 European 
 literature 
 held in 
 common. 
 
 II. LiTBEABY Conditions 
 
 The middle ages were most splendid when they 
 were young, and the twelfth and thirteenth centuries 
 were their time of greatest glory. But at this time, 
 for special reasons, English literature did not yet exist. 
 The English nation was not yet born. For more 
 than two centuries after the Norman Conquest, Nor- 
 mans and Saxons struggled in England for mastery 
 in speech, not realizing that each was to find victory 
 and defeat at once by union in one race, greater than 
 either. Meanwhile, three languages were spoken on 
 English soil. The court and the gentry talked 
 French; the monks and priests liked their inter- 
 course in Latin; and the unlettered throngs used still 
 the despised Saxon. It was not till the fourteenth 
 century that the English nation was ready for self- 
 expression. We cannot pass at once to this century, 
 however, for during all this time the growing nation 
 shared the life of Europe and was formed by it. 
 
 In a broad sense, we may claim all that Northern 
 Europe produced during this period of intense vital- 
 ity as part of our English heritage. England and 
 France were practically one country; and, indeed, no 
 national boundaries were as yet very clear. Medi- 
 aeval Europe almost realized Matthew Arnold's ideal : 
 it was "for intellectual and spiritual purposes one 
 great confederation, bound to a joint action and 
 working to a common result." Poems and stories, 
 starting no one quite knew where, wandered from 
 land to land, chanted by minstrels in the castle court, 
 transcribed by clerks in the monasteries, passing 
 from language to language, gaining detail and chang- 
 
GENERAL CONDITIONS 57 
 
 ing form as they went, till to-day it is often impossi- 
 ble to tell where they came from or what the original 
 form might have been. 
 
 A vast amount of literature was produced during Literature 
 the middle ages in this impersonal, anonymous fash- arylmpor- 
 ion. But there is one thing that we must realize '^°°®' 
 before we begin to discuss it ; that is, that the mid- 
 dle ages could express themselves in many other 
 ways better than through books. Nowadays books 
 have become the most natural and universal means 
 of sharing ideas. It was not so before the invention 
 of printing. If a man wanted to share an idea, or 
 a story, or an emotion, he was not likely to write it 
 out laboriously in a manuscript which only a few 
 people would ever see, — and a great many could 
 not read even if they had the chance: he would 
 paint it, or carve it, or build it. Men learned 
 almost everything then from the graphic arts. The 
 visible world was alive for them with expressions 
 of beauty, or solemnity, or fun. If great abstract 
 ideas, even, came into their minds, they would trans- 
 late them, as Giotto did at Padua, into a painted i 
 series of symbolic figures. If they wanted to tell a 
 story from the Bible, or the life of their patron saint, 
 it was easy to carve reliefs above the church door. 
 If they wanted to explain a genealogy, they could 
 design a Tree of Jesse, and put it in a stained glass 
 window. If they had a great emotion, they lifted 
 the solid stone heavenward, pierced it with light, 
 placed a sanctuary at its heart, and lo! a cathedral! 
 
58 THK MIDDLE AGES 
 
 III. Medieval Life Pictured 
 
 We can only understand a period of this sort, 
 which lived in sights, if we can contrive to see it. 
 And we can see the middle ages if we will. "We 
 have two gifts which unseal our eyes, each useless 
 without the other, — scholarship and imagination. 
 Scholarship gives us the requisite knowledge, imagi- 
 nation turns it into sight. Even through books, 
 which are all that most of us here in America have 
 access to, we can learn a great deal, if we will take 
 pains, about the aspect of those wonderful times.^ 
 Endless records we can find of processions, of pag- 
 eants, of gay tournaments, of ceremonies within and 
 without the churches. Even the common daily life 
 of mediaeval people was one great changing, moving 
 picture. Everything they touched became pictu- 
 resque, expressive, symbolic. The literature of the 
 Visuaiiz- time constantly, as the phrase is, visualizes. "We can 
 inftinet. learn from it all about the clothes of people, their 
 looks, the country they lived in, the sort of landscape 
 they liked. The works of Chaucer alone, for instance, 
 are a perfect picture-gallery. "Watch the procession 
 of pilgrims in the Prologue to the " Canterbury Tales " 
 if you would know how a motley, ordinary set of 
 people in the fourteenth century really looked; study 
 the dainty descriptions of allegorical persons in the 
 " Romance of the Rose " if you want to find the medi- 
 seval ideal of beauty. 
 
 1 Bead, for instance, Froissart's account of the entrance of Queen 
 Isabel into Paris, " Chronicles of Froissart," Vol. II, p. 383, Globe 
 edition. 
 
GENERAL CONDITIONS 59 
 
 From such descriptions and from mediaeval art we ideal of / 
 can learn just what personal types were most attractive ^**"*y- 
 to the middle ages. They had an entirely different 
 ideal of beauty from that of the Greeks. They cared 
 for masculine beauty, indeed, more than we do, and 
 their men dressed almost as gayly as the women; but 
 they placed an emphasis upon feminine loveliness 
 which the world before the days of chivalry had 
 never dreamed of. They liked blondes : a slender 
 neck, long fingers, delicately arched eyebrows, eyes 
 a fleur de tSte, as the French say; full foreheads, 
 flowing yellow hair garland-crowned, a rippling nose, 
 wide, thin, mysteriously smiling lips, — this was 
 what seemed the highest beauty to mediseval eyes, 
 this was probably the aspect of Guinevere as imagined 
 by the age that created her. 
 
 As for costume, it was delightfully varied and Costume. 
 interesting in the middle ages. One can look at a ^ 
 modern crowd and learn very little about the people 
 from their clothes; but one would know all sorts ' 
 of things about the men and women in a mediseval 
 crowd. One could tell just what a man did, 
 for instance, from his dress ; for while costume 
 within the limits of a class was more uniform than 
 with us, it differed wholly from class to class. It 
 must have been a pleasant sight, that mediseval 
 throng, with the bright colors, the graceful cut of 
 the garments, the clearly marked types of knights, 
 and squires, and merchants, and lawyers, and friars. 
 Life was much more interesting to the eyes then 
 than now. 
 
 It is harder to find out about mediseval buildings Architec- 
 than about mediseval people from the books that 
 
60 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 have come down to us. But fortunately many of 
 the buildings themselves are left, so that we know a 
 great deal about them. Anybody who likes can 
 study in beautiful photographs what kind of castles, 
 and houses, and churches the middle ages loved to 
 build. Like everything in the middle ages, the archi- 
 '' tecture of the times was picturesque, and inter- 
 esting, and different from anything else before or 
 since. It was, of course, what is technically called 
 Gothic, and the first impression it presents is one of 
 massive force contrasting with extreme delicacy, of 
 mysterious use of shadow, of vast wealth in decora- 
 tive detail. The very stones of a great Gothic build- 
 ing appear to live.^ 
 Landscape. Mediaeval landscape we can easily, again, repro- 
 duce for ourselves. We know what men loved; we 
 know what they habitually saw about them. The 
 country was still in large tracts wild and savage, 
 overgrown with vast forests like those through 
 which the knights in mediseval romance perpetually 
 wander. Even so late as the time of Elizabeth, we 
 know that one-third of England was unreclaimed 
 waste land. Here and there the grim castle of a feu- 
 dal lord, its thick walls and frowning turrets wit- 
 nessing to the military character of the age, would 
 break the monotony but hardly relieve the terror of 
 the woods. Or, again, the sweet sound of unseen 
 
 1 See, for a summary of Gothic characteristics, Euskin's " Stones 
 of Venice," Vol. II, Ch. I : On the Nature of Gothic. (Reprinted 
 by William Morris at the Kelmscott Press.) "To my mind, and I 
 believe to some others, this chapter . . will in future days be 
 considered one of the very few necessary and inevitable utterances 
 of the century." — Morris's preface. 
 
GENERAL CONDITIONS 61 
 
 bells would draw the traveller to some spot where 
 " a little lowly hermitage " or a stately abbey spoke 
 of the mighty power of the Church. Of course, 
 wide regions even apart from the towns were by this 
 time subdued to human use and smiling fertility; 
 yet the general character of scenery during the mid- 
 dle ages must have been wild and fierce. Men are 
 governed by desire for contrast. We in our peaceful 
 days crave precipice and savage height and raging 
 torrent, and take our holiday pleasure in the wildest 
 regions we can discover. It is, then, no wonder that 
 people in the middle ages loved and sought in land- 
 scape all which was gently ordered, even, and serene. 
 The mediaeval idea of beauty is a garden-close. 
 Flowering trees bend above its symmetrical walks, 
 roses bloom there forever, and clear fountains softly 
 splashing join in the melody of birds. In this gar- 
 den pace fair damsels, a faint, perpetual smile in 
 their gray eyes. Young squires and pretty pages 
 move in attendance, and all take their joy together 
 in the fresh sweet morning air of an undying May. 
 Rocks and mountains cause abhorrent shudder to the 
 mediaeval mind. Dante's spirits in purgatory climb 
 for their penance a lofty height; but because they 
 are blessed, though once sinful, the mountain is laid 
 out for them in neat terraces, and when they reach 
 the top they will find that the peak has been 
 smoothed away, and a delightful level garden 
 planted for their refreshment. The wild primeval 
 sense of fellowship with the stormy sea, which 
 marked in so striking a way the rude literature of 
 our Saxon forefathers, has also vanished. Nature 
 is loved in the middle ages, but loved not for her 
 
62 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 spiritual power, but for her fertility and peace. The 
 treatment of landscape in mediaeval art and literature 
 is conventional and formal; it has no range of obser- 
 vation nor depth of insight, though it almost always 
 possesses a charm of its own. 
 
 IV. GovEENiNG Forces 
 
 Society, during the middle ages, was shaped by two 
 great forces, — feudalism and Catholicism. As we 
 watch the mediaeval world, two figures strike with 
 increasing vividness upon our vision, and become 
 
 The more and more evident as the centres of the scene. 
 
 and the They are the figures of the Knight and the Monk. 
 
 order! They represent these two powers: the nobility and 
 the Church. Each influences the other, yet they 
 ever remain apart. Nearly all the literature of the 
 middle ages, romantic or religious, proceeds from 
 them or is written for them. Far in the back- 
 ground, indeed, we may discern another figure, 
 that of the Laborer. He too has his word to say, 
 and by and by we must listen to it; but for the 
 present we will disregard him, as his own age dis- 
 regarded him, and fix our sight on the literature 
 related to those two more brilliant figures in whom 
 the dominant forces of the age, chivalry and mysti- 
 cism, found supreme expression. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 It is of great importance that the student should be able to 
 see in his imagination what the middle ages looked like, and to 
 get a little idea of mediseval life. Readings f lom the following 
 books will help to this end : — 
 
 General Mediaeval Life. Eashdali, The Universities of 
 Europe in tiie Middle Ages, esp. Ch. XIV : Student Life in the 
 
GENERAL CONDITIONS 63 
 
 Middle Ages. Green, History of the English People, large 
 illustrated edition. Jusseeand, English Wayfaring Life in the 
 Middle Ages. T. Wright, Domestic Manners and Sentiments 
 in England during the Middle Ages. Traill, Social England, 
 Vol. II. 
 
 Costume. F. AV. Fairholt, Costume in England. Planch^, 
 Cyclopaedia of Costume. Georgiana Hill, A History of Eng- 
 lish Dress, Vol. I. 
 
 Landscape. Kuskin, Modern Painters, Vol. III. F. T. 
 Palgrave, Landscape in Poetry from Homer to Tennyson. 
 
 Architecture. Corroyer, Gothic Architecture. C. E. 
 Norton, Cathedrals and Cathedral Builders ; Church building 
 in the Middle Ages. Ruskin, On the Nature of Gothic (re- 
 print from The Stones of Venice : George Allen) ; The Seven 
 Lamps of Architecture ; Social England, Vol. II. Ch. V. 
 
 Popular novels are helpful to read : e.g., Scott's " Ivanhoe, " 
 Victor Hugo's "Notre Dame de Paris," Morris's "Dream of 
 John Ball ; " Conan Doyle's " The White Company." Num- 
 berless admirable photographs are now readily accessible, and 
 should when possible be freely used by the teacher. 
 
 Books of the period itself are better than critical authorities ; 
 even young students can read with pleasure, if guided, in the 
 works of Froissart and Chaucer. 'These are a storehouse of 
 pictures and so are aU the mediaeval romances, such as can be 
 found in the publications of the Early English Text Society, 
 in Weber's " Metrical Romances," and elsewhere ; so is Lang- 
 land's " Piers Plowman," though teacher can handle this more 
 easily than scholar. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Two or three hours can be pleasantly spent in presenting 
 examples of landscape, costume, buildings, on the lines given 
 in the text; and at the end of the time a clear though rude 
 picture of the times can be left in the student's mind. Special 
 reports should be given, on material assigned with more or less 
 detail according to the maturity of the class. Older students 
 can be referred simply to a book, younger to especial passages. 
 One can be asked to describe a knight, another a nun, another 
 a mediaeval forest, etc. ; or, the different figures in Chaucer's 
 Prologue, in the " Romaunt of the Rose," or in some romance, 
 can be assigned to different members of the class. Popular 
 novels can if desired be treated in the same way, and so can 
 photographs. 
 
64 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The teacher may expand lectures on these same lines from a 
 wider range of reading. Some special lecture subjects which would 
 help a class to see the middle ages, are : " A day in a mediaeval 
 Market-place," " The life of a mediaeval lady," " The mediaeval 
 Cathedral and what went on in it." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE CHIEF PHASES OF MEDLffiVAL LITEEATURE 
 
 I. Chivalry and Catholicism: their literary 
 
 RESULTS 
 
 AROUND the knight gathers all the great literar 
 ture of the middle ages inspired by the spirit of 
 chivalry: love-songs, romances in verse or prose, a 
 wealth of fantastic tales. It is a literature de- 
 lightful as it is abundant. From the figure of 
 the monk, all the religious literature of the mid- 
 dle ages seems to proceed, and this, too, is vast in 
 bulk. Much of it preaches or discusses theology, — 
 and mediaeval theology is a great monument of 
 human thought ; but much of it is born of feeling 
 and fancy, and the legends of the saints are as rich 
 a storehouse of imaginative treasure as the romances 
 of chivalry. 
 
 Romance and allegory are the distinctive forms Literary 
 in which mediaeval imagination finds freest play, rorcSi'ce 
 and they are the outcome of this double spirit aSegory. 
 of chivalry and Catholicism. Often the twofold 
 inspiration appears in the same poem, and a compel- 
 ling charm springs from the union. Often, however, 
 the two are at odds. A zest for life in its freedom, 
 a passion pushed at times beyond all restraining 
 bounds, pervades the literature of chivalry ; the lit- 
 eratui-e of the Church, austere and ascetic, centres 
 in the cold theme of renunciation. 
 
 65 
 
66 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 The Yet, even when most widely separate, all phases 
 
 temper*" of mediseval literature witness fundamentally to a 
 common temper. It is a temper of wondering 
 expectation, of quick sensitiveness to marvel, natural 
 or spiritual. This was the temper with which the 
 knight rode forth into the greenwood, eager for 
 adventure, whether with mysterious fair lady or 
 loathsome dragon ; this the temper with which the 
 nun or hermit, in lowly cell, scourged the flesh till 
 the heavens opened and revealed vision of Madonna 
 or angels to the longing, watchful eyes. This temper 
 we technically call Romantic, and, because of its prev- 
 alence, the middle ages are habitually known as the 
 ages of romance. 
 
 The mind of the child helps us to understand the 
 mind of the middle ages. A child is not scientific. 
 He does not care to be accurate, he does not care to 
 analyze. His reasoning powers are undeveloped, 
 and feeling and imagination lead him. He is likely 
 to be betrayed into extravagance and unreason, yet 
 at times he sees more, perhaps, and more truly, than 
 grown-up people do. It was just so with the middle 
 ages. Men's souls were filled with wonder then ; 
 wonder at earth, at heaven, and at hell. "In 
 wonder begins the soul of man," says a wise critic, 
 " in wonder it ends ; and investigation fills up the 
 interspace." 
 
 All the conditions of the time increased this sense 
 of mystery which brooded over the world. The rude 
 and uncertain social state was full of surprises. The 
 Crusades brought men close to the strange, fantastic 
 civilizations of the East. Men's dim knowledge of 
 the classic past enhanced the power which it exer- 
 
PHASES OP MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE 67 
 
 cised over their imaginations, and turned the great 
 poets of antiquity into clerks and magicians in their 
 minds. Finally, we must not forget that at every 
 turn they were met by the majestic presence of the 
 visible Church, with its ceaseless witness to mys- 
 teries of a world unseen : mysteries of light and 
 darkness, of salvation and of loss. It is no wonder 
 if, over all the literature of the middle ages, what- 
 ever its specific character, the breath of the Spirit 
 of Romance has passed. 
 
 Of very little in this great mediseval literature can 
 we say that it was actually produced in England. 
 But it was all known there. It helped determine 
 the tone, shape the manners, and establish the 
 standards, of the growing nation. And, before the 
 middle ages were over, much of it made its way 
 into English translations, and sometimes found its 
 noblest expression in them. 
 
 II. LiTEEATUEE OF ChIVALEY 
 
 Let us glance now — it can be only a glance — 
 at the great literature of chivalry. When the Nor- 
 man came to the battle of Hastings with the " Song 
 of Roland " on his lips, he was a stern and military 
 person, caring little for the arts or graces of life, less 
 for its tenderer emotions. But during the twelfth 
 century he softened much. He cultivated good man- 
 ners ; he became not only a fighter, but a lover ; he 
 developed a taste for the arts. Love-songs began to 
 be written then ; gallant trifles, filled with fresh 
 feeling for springtime and for the girls who em- 
 bodied it. Little tales in prose, full of the same 
 
68 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Epic 
 cycles. 
 
 Charle- 
 magne. 
 
 Alexan- 
 der. 
 
 Troy. 
 
 lyric spirit, broke now and then into song, and 
 became what we call the chante-fables, — a literary 
 form of which a lovely specimen has survived, to our 
 great joy, in the Story of Aucassin and Nicolette. 
 We see in songs and tales how a new spirit of 
 courtly fantasy was replacing the old zest for battle. 
 But, far greater than this movement, interesting 
 though it is, is the epic development leading into 
 technical romance, of the Anglo-Norman period. 
 
 There were four great cycles of mediaeval romance 
 developed in France, and therefore familiar to Eng- 
 land. They took shape in the twelfth century. It 
 is proof of the dominance of the Normans that the 
 Beowulf story, with its Germanic affiliations, was 
 forgotten in England, and the " Niebelungen Lied " 
 had no vogue among the people who had first chanted 
 of Sigurd. But these other cycles, branching out as 
 they did into innumerable tales, often loosely con- 
 nected with the central theme, had matter enough 
 and to spare to feed the imagination. 
 
 The first of these epic cycles was the cycle of Char- 
 lemagne and his Twelve Peers. The " Chanson de 
 Roland," the earliest poem of the cycle, we already 
 know ; a certain magnificent and valorous audacity 
 is ever the keynote of the tales. The second cycle 
 centred in the story of Alexander the Great. It 
 was presumably of Eastern origin, and it is full of the 
 element of fantasy or magic. The third cycle came 
 from the classic world ; it was the ancient " Tale of 
 Troy," strangely transformed indeed in the telling ! 
 The sympathy of the middle ages was with the 
 Trojans. Troy became a quaint, walled, turreted 
 town, such as may be seen in the background of 
 
PHASES OF MEDIEVAL LITERATURE 69 
 
 mediseval illuminations. The element of romantic 
 love was what most impressed the mediasval mind in 
 the great story, and the most interesting result of • 
 the Troy cycle is Chaucer's winsome telling, after ., 
 Boccaccio, of the hapless loves of two personages all 
 but unknown to Homer, — Troilus and the coquette ' 
 Cressida. The last great story which held the 
 mediseval heart was the story of King Arthur; of Arthur, 
 the knights of the Table Round ; of Lancelot and 
 Guinevere ; of Tristram and Iseult ; and of the 
 Quest of the Holy Grail. Differing in origin, all 
 these stories were drawn into the one tale. In 
 Arthurian romance, all the motifs of mediseval story 
 meet and blend. Here is the perfect ideal of Chris- 
 tian valor; here the glamour of enchantment, Celtic 
 and semi- Pagan at first in the tale of Merlin, Chris- 
 tian and Catholic later. Here chivalric love, alike 
 in its nobler and in its baser aspect, finds immortal, 
 if tragic, expression in the mournful, brilliant figures 
 of Lancelot and Guinevere, of Tristram and Iseult. 
 Here, finally, the mystic spiritual passion which 
 throbbed at the heart of the middle ages glows for- 
 ever in the veiled chalice of the Holy Grail. 
 
 As the middle ages go on, we can watch the great Decline of 
 stories change in the telling. Slowly, imperceptibly, romance, 
 the rude epic strains gain color and sentiment, gain 
 also an immense number of incidents and of details, 
 but replace a primitive grandeur by an interminable 
 prolixity and an absence of singleness of aim. Epic 
 has changed into romance, and as romances finally 
 we know and quote the stories. Sure proof at once 
 of popularity and of decay, these stories early began 
 to be parodied. Even in the twelfth century, the 
 
70 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 so-called beast-epics, especially the tale of Reynard 
 the Fox, present a travesty of the serious work, and 
 in an allegorical satire attack, under the form of 
 different animals, all the powers of Church and 
 State. Direct burlesques of the romances are later 
 not unknown, as witness Chaucer's " Sir Thopas." 
 Yet, during four hundred years, undeterred by ridi- 
 cule or by the coarse realism which is also to be found 
 in mediseval art, the mighty spirit of romance contin- 
 ued to overarch and to inspire the mediaeval mind. 
 
 Arthurian Of all these cyclcs of romance, the greatest, that 
 of King Arthur, is the one in which England had 
 most share. Thence in all probability it started 
 when the middle ages were young ; thither for its 
 perfect form it returned as they were dying. Far in 
 '' the dim twilight of Celtic legend we catch glimpses 
 of an heroic figure, partly mythological, partly per- 
 haps historical, who bears the name of Arthur. In 
 the Latin history of the Anglo-Norman, Geoffrey of 
 Monmouth, who wrote in the middle of the twelfth 
 century, we meet for the first time a developed 
 
 Forms and Arthurian legend. From English Geoffrey it passes 
 
 S0UFC6S 
 
 to the Frenchman Wace. Early in the thirteenth 
 ' century, back again to England it travels and re- 
 ceives the fullest treatment yet, and the first in the 
 English tongue, from Layamon, a priest living on 
 ! the river Severn. Meanwhile, in France the story 
 has been growing fast and finding form in long 
 romances. It has added to itself the branch which 
 tells of Lancelot, the branch which tells of Tristram, 
 the branch which tells of the Holy Grail. Thus 
 enriched, Arthurian romance travels all over Europe : 
 to Italy, to Germany ; finds shape in many tongues ; 
 
PHASES OF MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE 71 
 
 but returns at last to England, where, in the end of 
 the fifteenth century, all the different branches of 
 the story are condensed to one-tenth of their original 
 bulk, brought into epic unity, and told in language 
 of wonderful purity and romantic beauty, by Sir 
 Thomas Malory. 
 
 It is most interesting to watch the great story Deveiop- 
 grow. In Geoffrey of Monmouth we have few '"®°*' 
 traces of the Arthur we know. We are introduced 
 to a warrior chief, who fought twelve battles with 
 the Saxons and the Romans. Merlin is in the story, 
 and, briefly treated, Guinevere ; but we have no 
 knights, no Table Round, no Holy Grail, and dreary 
 records of fighting fill the bulk of the tale. In Wace, 
 the spirit of chivalry is evident, and the Table 
 Round is added. Layamon surrounds the birth and 
 passing of Arthur with fairy enchantments, and thus 
 adds that glamour of mysticism and magic which is so 
 large a factor in the charm of Arthurian romance. 
 But it is only with the entrance of Lancelot, in the 
 French romances, — which were perhaps written by 
 an Englishman, Walter Map, — that the crude fight- 
 ing retires into the background, and the ill-starred, 
 unhallowed love of Lancelot for Queen Guinevere 
 furnishes the dramatic motif which is to the middle 
 ages what the tale of Helen was to the ancient world. 
 The wild story of Tristram and Iseult, with its Celtic 
 magic, its Celtic sympathy with nature, its Celtic 
 fierceness of emotion, enhances and emphasizes the 
 presentation of the tragedy of lawless passion which 
 destroys the Arthurian court. Then comes the story 
 of the Holy Grail, bathed in purest moonlight, silver- 
 wan, in contrast to the flood of hot sunshine which 
 
72 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 seems to beat upon us in the Tristram story. Here 
 spiritual passion, never in the middle ages far from 
 the greatest excesses, finds full sway, in the mystic 
 quest for the Holy Thing, wherein all the knights 
 engage ; the semi-Pagan figure of Merlin is lost to 
 sight, and a Christian supernatural element appears, 
 created by the ceremonial and the sacramental faith 
 of the Catholic Church. Asceticism struggles with 
 the terrible force of human passion, seeking to 
 expiate and to redeem. Routed in Lancelot, it con- 
 quers in Galahad, his son, the youthful knight, fairest 
 product of the purely Christian imagination, in whom 
 the two forces of chivalry and mysticism blend at 
 last in a union of surpassing beauty. But Galahad 
 is borne far over the sea to the spiritual city of 
 Sarras, there to reign and die ; the Holy Grail van- 
 ishes with him ; earthly passion resumes its sway ; 
 and through deepening shadows the story moves 
 majestically onward to the death of Arthur, Guine- 
 vere, and remorseful Lancelot, and the disruption of 
 the Table Round. 
 Character. Through many centuries the story grew, but grew 
 unconsciously, into an imaginative unity far more 
 marvellous than had it been the product of any one 
 man. It is the epic of mediaeval humanity, and all 
 of natural and spiritual passion which the middle 
 ages contained are summed in it. Sin-stained and 
 smitten to a tragic close, the story still purifies and 
 exalts. In its entirety, it presents with inexorable 
 grandeur, severe as that of Greek drama, the slow 
 retribution which attends on broken law. As it 
 progresses, it enshrines, more fully than any other 
 mediaeval work, the very ideal and image of perfect 
 
PHASES OF MEDIEVAL LITERATURE 73 
 
 knighthood. Reading the pledge to which all the 
 knights of the Round Table are sworn, we realize 
 how altered and enriched is the ideal of heroism since 
 the days of Beowulf, or even of Roland : — 
 
 " Then the king stablished all his knights, and them 
 that were of lands not rich he gave them lands, and 
 charged them never to do outrage nor murder and always 
 to flee treason. Also, by no means to be cruel, but to give 
 mercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of forfei- 
 ture of their mercy and lordship of King Arthur for ever- 
 more ; and alway to do ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen 
 succour upon para of death. Also, that no man take no 
 battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law nor for world's 
 goods. Unto this were all the knights sworn of the 
 Table Round both old and young. And every year were 
 they sworn at the high feast of Pentecost." ^ 
 
 Love and loyalty toward women ; courtesy ; mod- 
 esty ; the code of honor even in mortal combat ; 
 above all, a compassion for the weak and the con- 
 quered hardly conceivable by the Pagan mind, — all 
 these things have entered the conception of a perfect 
 manhood. Much remains to be done, as we shall see, 
 watching the growth of the nation, before the ideal 
 of absolute heroism as we hold it to-day shall be 
 formed ; yet in some ways it is a question whether 
 we moderns have surpassed, or even equalled, the 
 ideal of Arthurian chivalry ; and we still thrill with 
 a large and pure admiration as we listen to that sum- 
 ming up of all chivalry, the words pronounced over 
 the dead body of Lancelot by his brother. Sir Hec- 
 tor : — 
 
 " Ah, Launcelot, he said, thou were head of all Chris- 
 tian knights ; and now I dare say, said Sir Hector, thou 
 
 1 Malory, " Morte D'Arthur," Book III, Ch. 16. 
 
74 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Sir Launcelot, there thou liest, that thou were never 
 matched of earthly knight's hand; and thou were the 
 courtliest knight that ever bare shield; and thou were 
 the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse ; 
 and thou were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever 
 loved woman ; and thou were the kindest man that ever 
 strake with sword; and thou were the goodliest person 
 ever came within press of knights; and thou was the 
 meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among 
 ladies ; and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal 
 foe that ever put spear in the rest."* 
 
 III. LiTEEATUEE OP CATHOLICISM 
 
 The Romances of the Holy Grail are perhaps the 
 noblest imaginative expressions of the religious ideals 
 of the middle ages. But there exists, as we have al- 
 ready said, an immense amount of literature from these 
 centuries, produced or appropriated by the Church. 
 It is mostly in Latin, the Church language ; it con- 
 sists in sermons, moral treatises, and the like, but 
 it also consists in stories, for to gain the mediae- 
 val ear it was obviously necessary to have a tale to 
 tell. The two most important collections of these 
 religious or quasi-religious stories are the " Golden 
 Legend" and the "Gesta Romanorum." It seems 
 strange to rank the " Gesta Romanorum " with reli- 
 gious literature, for the book is simply an immense 
 collection of tales with all sorts of origin. Oriental, 
 classic, as well as mediaeval, often far from edifying, 
 and hard to reduce to a moral. But the times did 
 not shrink from the task, and each story is followed 
 by an allegorical interpretation, deducing lessons of 
 
 1 Malory, "Morte D' Arthur," Book XXI, Ch. 13. 
 
PHASES OF MEDIEVAL LITERATURE 75 
 
 Christian faith and morals from the most unlikely 
 details. Probably most readers skipped the morals ; 
 but at all events they stand there, a warning for all 
 time to the lover of allegory, and a witness to the 
 audacity of the Church in sanctioning what people 
 were bound to have whether she would or no. 
 
 The " Golden Legend " is a collection of a very 
 different character : it is almost wholly occupied 
 with the legends of saints, some of them of great 
 beauty, others puerile and tedious, and it is a perfect 
 treasure-house still to any one who wants to under- 
 stand the play of Christianity on men's minds. It 
 was, of course, far more read than the Bible, for we 
 must remember that neither in England nor else- 
 where was the Bible read by the laity at this time ; 
 and the religious ideas of the middle ages were 
 probably more formed by this collection of tales than 
 by any other influence. 
 
 We cannot stop to enumerate other productions 
 in religious mediaeval literature, but we must men- 
 tion what is in some ways the greatest of all, — 
 the hymns in Latin, the "Dies Irse," the "Stabat 
 Mater," St. Bernard's "Rhythm of the Celestial 
 Country," and the rest. They are the noblest lyric 
 works of the middle ages. In them we can see the 
 old prosody of the classic age gradually breaking 
 up, yielding to a new music necessary to express a 
 new range of experience and feeling. They have 
 what is too often denied to the vast literature of the 
 middle ages — conciseness and beauty of form ; they 
 have an exaltation and delicacy of passion which 
 puts them among the great poems of the world. 
 
 The literature produced during these centuries in 
 
76 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 English, and the growth of the language in which 
 Shakespeare was one day to write, we must study in 
 the next chapter. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Saintsbury, The Flourishing of Romance and the Rise of 
 Allegory. W. P. Keb, Epic and Romance. Mills, History of 
 Chivalry. The Accolade, by Helen Gray Cone, in Oberon 
 and Puck, is a poem which tells with power of the initiation 
 of the young knight, and his dedication to his ideals. 
 
 Malory's Morte D' Arthur, scholar's edition, with full criti- 
 cal apparatus, edited by Oskar Sommeb. Popular editions, 
 The Temple Classics, Dent, 4 vols. Library of English Classics 
 (Macmillan), ed. by A. W. Pollard, 2 vols. John Rhys, 
 Studies in the Arthurian Legend. Newell, King Arthur and 
 the Table Round (chiefly translations from Chretiens de 
 Troie). Sebastian Evans, The High History of the Holy 
 Grail (translation from twelfth century French romance). 
 The Early History of the Holy Grail, Early English Text 
 Society. Syr Perceval, Thornton Romances, ed. by Halli- 
 well-Phillips, also in Kelmscott Press publications. Peredur, 
 Geraiut, in the Mabinogion, tr. by Lady Charlotte Guest. 
 The Prose Merlin (fifteenth century). Early English Text Soci- 
 ety. Arthurian books in Geoffrey of Monmouth. Alfred 
 Ntjtt, Studies in the Origin of the Holy Grail. G. V. Harper, 
 The Holy Grail (Modern Language Association), Vol. VIH, 
 p. 77. The Golden Legend, Temple Classics ; Selections, ed. by 
 H. D. Madge (E. P. Dutton). Tristram and Iseult, tr. by 
 Jessie Weston (Nutt). 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The majority of the books mentioned above are popular and 
 attractive to young people. An ordinary class would better 
 spend all the time it can give to the literature of chivalry in 
 reading Arthurian romance, including the legends of the Holy 
 Grail. A good introduction is to learn by heart Tennyson's 
 poem, " Sir Galahad." It is suggestive to compare the treat- 
 ment of one episode, as the story of Elaine, or the passing of 
 Arthur, in Malory, and in the " Idylls of the King." A vivid 
 idea of the meaning of chivalry should be aimed at. To this 
 
PHASES OF MEDIEVAL LITERATURE 77 
 
 end let each student follow the fortunes of one knight, as Per- 
 ceval, Gawain, Palamides, Lanca'^t, Gareth. Show how each 
 illustrated the ideal of chivalry ; "how he failed. Compare, in 
 class discussion, the knight as hero with the Pagan warrior, 
 Beowulf, Siegfrid. Show how the ideal of heroism is develop- 
 ing. Have we to-day advanced beyond this ideal ? Bring to 
 class, if possible, copies of Abbey's Grail frescoes in the Boston 
 Public Library. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 (See references above.) Mythological Elements in Ar- 
 thurian Story. Origin and Early Forms of Arthurian Romance. 
 The Epic Development of the Morte D' Arthur. The Education 
 of a Knight. A Day in a Knight's Life. The Legends of the 
 Holy Grail (see translation by Jessie Weston of Wolfram von 
 Eschenbach's " Parzif al ") . The Influence of the Worship of the 
 Mediaeval Church on the Imagination. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 
 
 I. WoEK IN Feench and Latin on English 
 
 Soil 
 
 r 
 
 "T is strange to pass from the copious literature 
 produced in French and Latin during the early 
 middle ages to the silence of the English. For 
 three hundred years after the Norman Conquest, 
 nothing very great or beautiful, nothing, we may 
 dare to say, which, from the point of view of art, 
 has much power to interest us, was written in the 
 English tongue. 
 
 We must not think, to be sure, that the barren- 
 ness of literature in English is quite the measure of 
 the production of the nation during these centuries. 
 In the great European confederation, " bound to a 
 joint action and working to a common result," it is 
 impossible to determine exactly the share taken by 
 England ; but we do know that certain of the most 
 interesting books written during this period in 
 French or Latin were produced either on English 
 soil or by men of English birth. Geoffrey of Mon- 
 mouth has been already mentioned. He was a Welsh 
 bishop ; and his Latin " History of the Kings of 
 of*Mon^ Britain," written nearly a hundred years after the 
 mouth (d. Conquest, witnessed to the deathless vitality of the 
 1154). Celtic spirit, and became to the world for hundreds 
 
 78 
 
LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 79 
 
 of years, indeed till after the time of Shakespeare, "Historia 
 the very well-head of Romance ; Lear and Cymbe- BrUan*- 
 line are met in this book, as well as Arthur. A little "'^■"i^*'''- 
 before Geoffrey's day, more sober historians, of whom 
 the chief was William of Malmesbury, escaped at wnuamof 
 times the dry manner of the mere chronicle, and ^"fd." 
 achieved something of that breadth of view and ^l^. 
 luminousness of handling which makes history a 
 branch of true literature. The "Gesta Romano- 
 rum," that vast story-book, was probably compiled 
 in England toward the end of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury. In French, the " Lais " of Marie de France, Marie de 
 who, despite her title, spent much of her life in last half 
 England, are among the most important examples of centaury, 
 the light verse-story. High in rank at the court of ^^^ °\j 
 Henry II, lived a brilliant, elusive, interesting person 
 named Walter Map. He, too, was a Welshman ; and Walter 
 since he wrote the curious medley of satire, story, (d. 1210). 
 and fun called " De Nugis Curialium," he must have 
 been one of the cleverest men of the middle ages. 
 But perhaps he was a great deal more than this, for 
 to Walter Map many critics assign the authorship of 
 some of the noblest mediaeval romances, the Romance 
 of Lancelot, and certain of the Romances of the Holy 
 Grail. If Map wrote these romances, he was a very 
 great man, and England possesses an author second 
 only to Dante in fervor of imagination, large inven- 
 tiveness, and spiritual passion, though, of course, far 
 below Dante in power of utterance. But whether 
 Map really wrote any or all of these Romances, we do 
 not know. That some of the Romances, however, 
 were shaped by Anglo-Normans, it is safe to assume. 
 
80 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 II. The Growth of the English 
 
 TheEng- But most, if not all, of these writers came from the 
 dience. new French strain in English life ; and the native 
 Saxons were strangely unrepresented in letters. A 
 few sermons, homilies, paraphrases of the Scriptures, 
 legends of the saints, — a harvest of lyrics, charming 
 indeed, but late and slender, — this is all the Eng- 
 lish-speaking people have to show during this long 
 time. For three hundred years is a very long time, 
 longer than our whole American national history. 
 During a longer time than English-speaking folk 
 have possessed the American soil, the voice of Eng- 
 lishmen was stilled. 
 
 Some writers talk as if the Norman Conquest were 
 responsible for this long stretch of silence. They talk 
 as if the best traditions of our literature were in the 
 days of Csedmon and Cynewulf, and as if we moderns 
 should do well to return thither alone for inspiration. 
 How false this point of view is becomes evident if once 
 we reflect that the Norman Conquest by no means 
 choked or suppressed a flourishing literature. Since 
 the time of Alfred, the Anglo-Saxon race had had 
 little or nothing to say ; since the eighth century, it 
 had felt no impulse to great creative poetry. For 
 some reason its development seemed to be arrested, 
 and we may believe with M. Jusserand that, had the 
 Normans never come to England, the English might 
 have been as slow in producing a literature as their 
 German cousins, whose national life did not blossom 
 into imaginative expression till modern times. Prob- 
 ably in the long run the Norman Conquest really 
 
LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 81 
 
 accelerated and stimulated, if, indeed, it did not 
 create, the power of self-expression in England. 
 
 But, of course, for a time not much literature could Formation 
 be written in English, because the English language I'inguage. 
 did not yet exist. To shape that language, — to pre- 
 pare an instrument for Shakespeare, for Milton, for 
 Wordsworth, — was an achievement worthy to en- 
 gross the activities of many a generation. The old 
 Anglo-Saxon was dying, the English was not yet 
 arisen. Meanwhile, the conditions were unfavorable 
 for literature. The chief value of the scanty literary 
 memorials of this period which we possess is for lin- 
 guistic study ; their chief interest is the light they 
 throw on the different stages in the gradual growth 
 of English speech. 
 
 When the Anglo-Saxons conquered the Celts, they The 
 conquered their language, and only a few Celtic p''°°®^'- 
 words found their way into our modern speech. 
 When the Normans conquered the Anglo-Saxons, 
 just the opposite thing happened, " For about two 
 or three hundred years, the French language re- 
 mained superimposed upon the English ; the upper 
 layer slowly infiltrated the lower, was absorbed, and 
 disappeared in transforming it. But this was the 
 work of centuries." 1 The process is most interest- 
 ing to follow. The nobles, the ruling class, spoke 
 French, the poorer, simpler people, Saxon. But as 
 time went on, the "lowe men," the rustics, wanted 
 to learn French too, both from social ambition and 
 for convenience' sake. " Their efforts had a remark- 
 able result, precisely for the reason that they never 
 succeeded in speaking pure French, and that in their 
 1 Jusserand, " Literary History of the English People," p. 116. 
 
82 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 ill-cleared brains the two languages were never kept 
 distinctly apart. The nobles, cleverer men, could 
 speak both idioms without confounding them; but 
 so could not these rurales,^ who lisped the master's 
 tongue with difficulty, mixing together the two 
 vocabularies and the two grammars, mistaking the 
 genders, assigning, for want of better knowledge, 
 the neuter to all the words that did not designate 
 beings with a sex, in other words, strange as it may 
 seem, creating the new language. It was on the 
 lips of ' lowe men ' that the fusion first began ; they 
 are the real founders of modern English." ^ 
 The result. The Anglo-Saxon had been an inflected language; 
 that is, the words had changed their form, to show 
 their relation to the thought and to other words in 
 the sentence. Our modern English has cast off 
 inflections, for the reasons that M. Jusserand sug- 
 gests in the quotation just given; inflections were 
 too confusing to manage when two languages were 
 blending their different forms. English shows the 
 relation of words and the part they play in the sen- 
 tence by putting them under the control of other 
 words, which seems to us much the simpler and better 
 way. But, putting aside inflections, the structure of 
 English is Anglo-Saxon, not French. Nearly all the 
 homely words which do the heavy work, the servant- 
 words, like auxiliary verbs, articles, pronouns, con- 
 nectives, which are repeated over and over again in 
 any page of writing, are Saxon. But if the structure 
 of our language is Germanic, the vocabulary, the em- 
 broidery upon the plain tissue, became to a surprising 
 
 ' Country people. 
 
 2 Jusserand, "Literary History of the English People," p. 236. 
 
LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 83 
 
 degree French, and through the French it gained 
 much of the rich expressiveness of the old Latin. 
 No other modern language draws its power of 
 expression from so many racial sources as the Eng- 
 lish. Counting word for word, our debt to the 
 French and Latin tongues is the heaviest. English 
 contains twice as many words drawn from these 
 languages as from the Germanic ; though, of course, 
 in any given passage, this proportion would probably 
 be more than reversed, because the Saxon words are, 
 as we have said, those which have to be repeated 
 again and again, and because many of the words of 
 French-Latin origin are seldom used. If we study 
 our vocabulary we may get a vivid picture of the 
 state of society while our language was forming ; 
 for the words of the arts and graces, the pastimes 
 and intellectual pursuits of life, are usually French, 
 while the words of humble practical toil and of family 
 bonds and affections are mostly Saxon. Often, in 
 the strife of tongues, the old Saxon word would be 
 routed and disappear : thus " courteous " or " polite " 
 drove out " hende," " brave " drove out " frek," and 
 the like ; sometimes the Latin word is the more 
 common, as is the case with "color" and "hue," 
 "use" and "wont," but this is rare. In a strife of 
 tongues like that which we are watching, our sym- 
 pathy almost inevitably goes sometimes with those 
 that fall; and we cannot help regretting some 
 of the strong, simple, old English words that have 
 been worsted in the fight. They have a direct 
 and homely dignity quite different from the orna- 
 mental, many-syllabled stateliness of the French 
 and Latin derivatives. " The Againbite of Inwit " 
 
84 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 will seem to many of us a more expressive thing 
 than " The Remorse of Conscience," though the two 
 mean exactly the same. " Wanhope " touches the 
 heart-strings with a sadder note than " despair " ; 
 while " blee " for complexion, " fere " for companion, 
 " ferly " for marvellously, " dree " for endure, " gryl " 
 for horrible, " stour " for conflict, " gram " for indig- 
 nation, " foreward " for covenant, " wort " for vege- 
 table, have the strength of brevity. Most of these 
 old words are gone past recall. Some lingered late, 
 cherished by poets and simple provincial people, — 
 one remembers Milton's "rathe primrose." Many 
 have become degraded, as " ghost," of which the orig- 
 inal meaning of "spirit" still lingers in the phrase 
 "Holy Ghost," and "silly," of which the original 
 meaning was "innocent" and so "blessed." Some 
 people are trying to revive certain of these racy old 
 words to-day : " mirkness," " thews," " croft," 
 " leachcraft," "stead," and the like. Perhaps they 
 will succeed. But, however much one may love the 
 old Saxon, no sane man can regret the enrichment 
 of English by the countless words of French ex- 
 traction which the growing nation needed for its 
 self-expression and took to its heart. Think away 
 from any long passage of Shakespeare or Tennyson 
 all the words of French origin, and we see at once 
 what grace, variety, expressiveness, flexibility, the 
 English owes to the graft of the Norman-French 
 upon the Saxon. 
 
 III. Literature in English 
 
 Now let us tell the short story of English letters 
 during these three centuries, — from the middle of 
 
LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 85 
 
 the eleventh century to the middle of the fourteenth, 
 — dwelling for a moment on the few interesting 
 works. We must remember that there was no uni- 
 form English yet, and that they were all written 
 in some local form, or dialect. There were three 
 principal dialects, of which Chaucer was to exalt one, 
 the Midland, to the rank of English. To the end of 
 the twelfth century, that is for half the period, there 
 is really nothing worth mentioning here. A long 
 "Poema Morale" corresponds to its name ; it is a "Poema 
 rhymed, didactic poem, in the old elegiac religious possibly 
 strain of mournful brooding, familiar to the Anglo- r^^of 
 Saxon. At this time, the Normans were writing ^^^^^s's 
 love-songs and romances : " The victor sings, the 
 vanquished prays." But at the beginning of the 
 thirteenth century we meet a really delightful and 
 important book. This is Layamon's "Brut." We ^ 
 had a little to say about it when we were talking ™°°'^. „ 
 of Arthurian romance. It is not, in one sense, about 1205. 
 an original work. After the frank fashion of medi- 
 aeval good-fellowship which claimed common own- 
 ership for all men in a good thing, Layamon 
 borrowed his story of the legendary history of Eng- 
 land from Wace. But he tells the story very well, 
 with many poetic additions. He was a priest, living 
 on the Severn, not far from the borders of Wales, 
 and the Celtic enchantment is in his work. He 
 wrote in a style strongly Saxon, which recalls the old 
 hero-sagas ; only fifty French words are to be found 
 in his whole poem, and his metre is alliterative, with 
 only occasional rhymes. Yet the French influence is 
 strong in him, showing itself in a certain gay court- 
 liness, in magnificence of description, in a spirit of 
 
86 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Horn, 
 about 
 1250, and 
 Havelok, 
 1270-80. 
 
 The 
 
 " Ormu- 
 
 lum," 
 
 about 
 
 1215-1220. 
 
 Lyrics, 
 last half 
 of 13th 
 century. 
 
 chivalry and romance which pervades the whole. 
 Thus he was sensitive to all three elements which 
 entered the life of the completed nation, and his 
 "Brut" may almost be called the first poem of the 
 whole English people. 
 
 One or two romances probably of Danish origin 
 took shape during the thirteenth century : the stories 
 of King Horn, and of Havelok the Dane. They got 
 into the English forms we know, however, through 
 French originals, and show marks of their passage. 
 A good deal of writing, religious in inspiration, both 
 verse and prose, was also produced in this century : 
 sermons, homilies, lives of saints, paraphrases of the 
 Scriptures. One of the most important of these 
 works, and extremely interesting for linguistic study, 
 is the " Ormulum," a collection of paraphrases of the 
 gospels for the day, interspersed with comments and 
 allegorical interpretations, written by the priest- 
 monk Orm. Only one-eighth of it has come down 
 to us, but that eighth extends to ten thousand lines. 
 Another interesting book, in prose, is the " Ancren 
 Riwle," a kindly but severe book of instructions for 
 the guidance of three young anchoresses. 
 
 The French romances of the preceding century 
 began to get into English versions during the thir- 
 teenth century. But the one really beautiful and 
 charming thing which this century produced was 
 a little group of lyrics. They can be read in the 
 fourth volume of the publications of the Percy Soci- 
 ety. The freshness of the young life of the nation 
 is in them. They are the first poems in English 
 literature to evince the instinct for pure loveliness 
 of form. Despite their quaint archaic language, 
 
LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 87 
 
 they sing themselves to us as they must have done 
 to their first readers : — 
 
 " Lenten^ is come with love to town, 
 With blosmen ^ and with briddes ' roune, 
 
 That all this blisse bringeth ; 
 Dayes-eyes in the dales, 
 Notes sweete of nightingales. 
 
 Each fowl song singeth." 
 
 The first line of this poem might serve as motto for 
 the whole group. Spring has indeed " come with 
 love to town," and spring and love and the fairness 
 of sweet ladies form the burden of these little songs. 
 They sing, also, with the same grace and music, in a 
 strain of tender adoration of Christ and Mary ; and 
 they sing of these great sources of mediaeval feeling, 
 — love mystical and chivalric, — in words which 
 blend three languages in naive reflection of the 
 strange state of things in the nation : — 
 
 " Scripsi haec carmina in tabulis ! 
 Mon ostel est en mi la vile de Paris : 
 May y sugge * namore, so wel me is ; 
 Yf hi deye for love of hire, dueP it ys." 
 
 So trills the poet, with a little sense of mischief and 
 saucy defiance ; and again, in gentler and reverent 
 
 mood : — 
 
 " Mayden moder milde, 
 oiez eel oreysoun ; 
 From shame thou me shilde, 
 e de ly malfeloun. 
 
 There is but a handful of these lyrics, and every 
 one is worth reading. One of them has a lovely 
 refrain : — 
 1 Spring. 2 Blossoms. « Birds. ■• Say. « Devil. 
 
88 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 " Blow, northerne wynd, 
 Send thou me my suetyng. 
 Blow, northerne -wynd, blow, blow, blow ! " 
 
 "Here," says Mr. Saintsbury, "is Tennysonian verse 
 five hundred years before Tennyson. The ' cry ' of 
 English lyric is on this northern wind at last ; and 
 it shall never fail afterwards." 
 
 Moving down the generations, we have reached 
 the fourteenth century. It was a time when the 
 middle ages were a little over-ripe in Europe, and 
 the first flush of creative power had faded. Archi- 
 tecture, costume, politics, social life, all showed a 
 tendency toward that exaggeration and intensity 
 which is a symptom of decay. But in England 
 the times had not yet come to their own, and the 
 nation was yet waiting its poet. For over half 
 the century expression was still denied. Books 
 multiplied, indeed, but they were on the old lines. 
 Religious homilies and legends in verse and prose, 
 — some very genuine in the devout meditative 
 earnestness which had from the first marked the 
 Mundi," English, one collection, the " Cursor Mundi," a 
 ^ °'^* ■ treasure house of legendary lore ; a handful of 
 LaSenoe political poems by one Laurence Minot ; an increas- 
 ai'out 1350 ^S number of translations and paraphrases, — these 
 are all that meet us till the second half of the four- 
 teenth century is passed. Almost, it seemed that 
 the land of England was to lie fallow all through 
 the great experiences of the middle ages, producing 
 nothing of note. But so it was not to be. For 
 hundreds of years secret forces had been moving in 
 darkness toward creation. The new people, as soon 
 as it had achieved unity, as soon as it was ready to 
 
LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 89 
 
 take its place among the nations, was to find a voice ; 
 and at last, in the second half of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, we meet with the first great English poet, the 
 " maister deere and fadir reverent " of all who were 
 to come after, — Geoffrey Chaucer. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth. J. A. Giles, Six Old English 
 Chronicles. William of Malmesbury. J. A. Giles, ed., 
 Bohn's Edition. 
 
 Layamon's Brut, edited, with translation, by Sir Frederick 
 Madden. 
 
 Morris and Skeat, Specimens of Early English, I, II. 
 Gives selections from most of the English works mentioned in 
 the text. 
 
 T. R. LouNSBURY, History of the English Language. A. C. 
 Champney, M.A., History of English. G. P. Marsh, Lectures 
 on the English Language ; The Origin and History of the 
 English Language. Jens O. H. Jespbrsen, Progress in Lan- 
 guage, with special reference to English. 
 
 The publications of the Early English Text Society afiord 
 ample material for the study of the most interesting monu- 
 ments of the language. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Readings from Geoffrey of Monmouth and from Layamon 
 are profitable and interesting. Much or little language study 
 can be done. A valuable exercise is to select a good passage 
 from Shakespeare, Milton, Charles Lamb, Matthew Arnold, or 
 any other good author, and make the students track the words 
 to their origin by the help of the Century Dictionary, studying 
 the proportion and character of the words from each linguistic 
 source. 
 
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CHAPTER IV 
 GEOFFREY CHAUCER 
 
 THOUGH the middle ages were old in the four- Geoffrey 
 1 1 -r-T T 1 ■ Chaucer, 
 
 teenth century, the il,nglish nation was young ; about 
 
 it was only just born. And Chaucer, the first poet 
 
 of the great united English race, has a heart as fresh 
 
 as a child. His work is bathed in the pure sunlight 
 
 of a May morning ; it is dewy like the " dayes-eye," 
 
 to which he used to pay happy visits, watching its 
 
 little petals awake and unfold at dawn. We have 
 
 left our long study of origins and ancestors, of a 
 
 nation struggling for expression, behind ; we reach 
 
 a time when all that had been given by Saxon, by 
 
 Norman, and by Celt, blended into one national 
 
 temperament ; and just at this time the mysterious, 
 
 unaccountable, heaven-sent light of genius, shining 
 
 through the soul of Chaucer, showed the world what 
 
 that union meant. 
 
 Any one who wishes can read Chaucer, — 
 
 " Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled," 
 
 as his disciple Spenser rightly called him. He is 
 the first author we have met whose work can be 
 understood without study. There is no need to be 
 master of archaic forms or strange grammar to catch 
 the essential charm of his poetry. The new lan- 
 guage, the English we all talk, slips musically off 
 his tongue, disguised a little, to be sure, by quaint 
 
 99 
 
100 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 old spelling, and presenting, now and then, an 
 unfamiliar word, but, on the whole, wonderfully- 
 modern and simple. It is well worth while to take 
 the slight trouble necessary to enjoy him. Of 
 course, there is a scholar's knowledge which lies 
 beyond, and cannot be gained without further effort ; 
 but any ordinary person, after an hour or two of 
 preliminary practice, can feel the poet's spell, and 
 receive much of the best and most delightful that he 
 has to give. 
 
 I. Chaxjcee's Weitings a Summary of the 
 Middle Ages 
 
 Allegori- 
 cal poems. 
 
 Salut 
 legends. 
 
 All the literary types which the middle ages de- 
 veloped and enjoyed Chaucer made his own and 
 touched with his sweet, peculiar charm. These 
 types can really be studied to more advantage in 
 his writings than anywhere else. Let us look for 
 them there. 
 
 In the first place, Chaucer had the medijjeval 
 knack at dreaming. Several of his most important 
 poems are in the form, so dear to the mediaeval 
 mind, of allegorical visions. He likes to tell how 
 he would pore over "olde bokes," his delight, till 
 he fell asleep in a maze, and waked in vision into 
 a wonderful temple or the clear air of a spring wood- 
 land, and met marvellous persons, and had strange 
 experiences. All these allegories, this visionary 
 work, show that Chaucer belonged to the same cen- 
 tury as Dante. 
 
 Chaucer could write a saint legend too, as tenderly 
 and fervently as any monk ; witness the " Lyf of 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 101 
 
 Seinte Cecile," put into tlie mouth of the Second 
 Nun in the " Canterbury Tales," and the Prioresse's 
 touching story. But our poet is more at home in 
 chivalry than in mysticism, though he likes a poetic 
 miracle very much. His " Knight's Tale " is the 
 most delightfully told of any mediaeval romance. Romances. 
 He could turn around when it pleased him, though, 
 and make fun of romances, as we see in his amusing 
 parody, " The Rhyme of Sir Thopas," which he in- 
 sisted on droning out to the Canterbury Pilgrims till 
 the Host cut him short. 
 
 Again, Chaucer took his full part in the mediseval 
 pastime of telling over again, in a way to please his 
 own generation, the famous stories of the classic Classic 
 world. His poems are steeped in all the classical retold. 
 lore of which the middle ages could boast. Some- 
 times he got his stories direct from Ovid or 
 Virgil, sometimes they came to him through the 
 Italian. Wherever Chaucer touches the classics, — 
 and he touches them frequently, — he shows the 
 quaint, uncritical confusion of the mediseval mind, 
 dressing the person, the feelings, and the speech of 
 his characters in the garb of his own day. 
 
 In poems like "The Parlement of Foules," and ^'^^i^^^^ 
 the "Nun's Priest's Tale," Chaucer clearly shows fabliaux, 
 his indebtedness to those great animal epics which, 
 as we have said, were immensely popular all through 
 Europe during the middle ages. No one can make 
 the creatures talk and play an allegorical role in 
 satire and fun with more composure than he. The 
 farmyard story of the Nun's Priest is indeed simply 
 an offshoot, and a very enjoyable one, from the great 
 Reynard tale. Chaucer also owed obviously a great 
 
102 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 deal to the Fabliaux ; the light, colloquial folk-tales 
 which the Normans liked so well, — often coarse, 
 usually humorous, dealing with the manners and 
 customs of daily life. The fabliaux were a very 
 democratic form of literature, quite different from 
 the knightly romances, or the fine allegories dear to 
 the court ; and the tales told by the common folk on 
 their way to Canterbury, by the Miller, Reeve, and 
 Shipman, and others, are fabliaux translated into 
 terms of English common life, 
 other We have not exhausted yet the various literary 
 
 types to be found in Chaucer, though perhaps we 
 have mentioned the most important. Chaucer could 
 give strings of versified examples of the fates of 
 illustrious men or women, or their misfortunes, 
 after a fashion which the middle ages seem, curiously 
 enough, to have enjoyed ; this he did, for instance, 
 in "The Monk's Tale." He could write a sermon 
 too, — not a bad one, though as dull as any priest 
 could preach ; and for Chaucer to be dull was 
 really a triumph of art over nature. He could write 
 a scientific treatise for " litell Lowys, my sone." 
 There seemed to be no end to his versatility, in 
 form and matter. Allegory, romance, saint-legend, 
 animal-epic, fabliau, — Chaucer knew them all, drew 
 on them all. 
 
 Chaucer rarely invented a story. He wandered 
 for his originals all over Europe, from east to west. 
 Yet there is a great deal in Chaucer, and it is what 
 makes him immortal, that no "olde bokes" could 
 give him. All his borrowings do not prevent him 
 from being a great original poet. This is because 
 he managed to do what few of his predecessors had 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 103 
 
 done : get his own personality into his work. At 
 times, he turned away from his literary traditions 
 and inheritance, deserted his books, and drew from 
 life ; then he is at his very best. The Prologue of 
 the " Canterbury Tales " is drawn from no literary 
 tradition, but is all his own. Even when his material 
 is derived or copied, he reveals himself through his 
 treatment. And a humorous, healthy, childlike, 
 tender personality it is, at once sensible and sensi- 
 tive, that the poems show us. 
 
 II. Chaucek's Personality 
 
 We have a portrait of Chaucer which is probably 
 authentic, painted reverently from memory by order 
 of his disciple Hoccleve. We gain various hints also 
 of what the poet looked like, and quite full informa- 
 tion about his tastes, from his poems. The Host in 
 the " Canterbury Tales " tells us that he was big 
 and stout round the waist ; that he kept staring on 
 the ground, " as if he would find a hare " ; that he Traits. 
 did dalliance to no wight, meaning, probably, that 
 he kept rather quiet and by himself; and that he 
 was of an "elvish countenance." One can see the 
 shy yet kindly man, with his downcast looks, moving 
 unobtrusively among the noisy pilgrims. 
 
 In spite of his shyness, Chaucer must have been a 
 sociable person, who liked his fellow-men and min- 
 gled much with them ; he could not have described 
 them with such inexhaustible sympathy otherwise. 
 But he was a great bookman, too, and that meant 
 more in those days, when books were rare and hard 
 to find, than it does to-day. He makes amusing 
 
104 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 blunders in his scholarship sometimes, but like 
 Shelley and other great imaginative men, he had 
 in him the root of the matter : a keen delight in 
 the intellectual inheritance of the race. 
 
 Though he liked books so well, however, there was 
 one thing he liked better, and that was, out-of-doors. 
 He cared enough for nature to get up early to enjoy 
 the freshness of the day, and that is more than can 
 be said of most people nowadays. His special love 
 among flowers was the daisy, and he tells us : — 
 
 " In my bed there daweth me no day 
 That I nam up and walking in the mede, 
 To seen this floure agein the sonnen sprede, 
 When it upryseth early by the morrow, 
 That blisful sighte softeneth al my sorrow." ' 
 
 The nature that Chaucer liked was not wild nature, 
 mountains and cataracts and tossing seas, such as we 
 go far to seek to-day. He probably felt about such 
 things in the way that one of his characters, Dorigen, 
 in " The Frankleyn's Tale," does about rocks ; though 
 poor Dorigen, to be sure, had a special reason ; — 
 
 "Eterne God, that through thy purvey aunce, 
 Leddest the world by certain govemaunce, 
 In idle, as men seyn, ye nothinge make : 
 But, Lord, these grisly, fiendly rockes black, 
 That semen rather a foul confusion 
 Of werk, than any fair creatioun 
 Of such a parfit wise God, and a stable, — 
 Why have ye wroght this werk unresonable ? " ^ 
 
 1 " The Legends of Good Women," II, 46-50. 
 
 2 "The Frankleyn's Tale," II, 865-872. 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 105 
 
 He liked what all mediseval men liked : sweet spring 
 mornings, as that on which Palamon and Arcite first 
 see Emelye ; well-ordered gardens and tidy woods, 
 
 " Wher every tree stood by himselve, 
 Fro other wel ten feet or twelve." 
 
 He dearly loved green grass, — 
 
 " as thicke y-set 
 And softe as any veluet," 
 
 especially when dotted with fragrant flowers. Some- 
 times on a morning like this a vision would visit 
 him, perhaps of the God of Love himself, arrayed in 
 green embroidered silk, with a fret of red rose leaves, 
 the freshest since the world was first begun ; some- 
 times he had to content himself with hearing, — 
 
 " The smale briddes singen clear 
 Their blisful swete song pitous," 
 
 as lovely as the song of angels spiritual. His joy in 
 nature is that of a child delighting in bright detail 
 of form and color, yet sometimes curiously inaccurate 
 in observation. We feel as we read his fresh poetry 
 that here, at least, blossoms forever the springtime of 
 the world. 
 
 Chaucer had his clear preferences, in-doors as well 
 as out. Everybody likes to imagine a pretty room 
 for himself, but not all of us can even dream of one so 
 beautiful as Chaucer's, which had painted windows, 
 gay with the whole pictured story of Troy, and fres- 
 coes beside on the walls, painted with colors fine, 
 both text and gloss, and all the "Romaunt of the 
 Rose." He was a man of the fourteenth century, 
 and so the best of life came to him through his eyes. 
 
106 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 He was full of wonderful powers of perception and 
 of fresh sensibility, and he had a well of melody in 
 his soul ; but when he began to reflect he was more 
 than ever like an earnest child. 
 Biogra- It is quite time that we should turn to a review of 
 
 ^ ^' his life and work. Chaucer was probably born in 
 
 1340, six years before the battle of Crecy, and he 
 was not, like so many mediaeval authors, connected, 
 even remotely, with the Church ; nor did he belong 
 to the high order of knighthood, though he lived 
 near the bright chivalry of the court. His father 
 was a vintner, a plain man of business. Neverthe- 
 less, Chaucer had all the instincts of the aristo- 
 crat. He was at seventeen attached to the family 
 of Lionel, third son of Edward III, and we know, by 
 the way, that he had a pair of red and black breeches. 
 Despite his broad sympathies, this early training de- 
 termined largely the point of view which he never 
 lost, that of the man of culture, the man of the 
 world. Later, John of Gaunt, a great nobleman, 
 another son of Edward III, became his patron ; and 
 he married, probably before he was thirty years 
 old, a girl named Philippa, who also was markedly 
 under the protection of the court. But earlier than 
 this Chaucer had some stirring experiences ; for he 
 went to France with Edward III and fought an 
 unlucky campaign when he was about nineteen 
 years old, was taken prisoner by the French, and 
 ransomed by the king himself. The young page 
 must have become a person of some consequence. 
 We find signs a little later of the favor in which 
 he was held at court. He was valet of the king's 
 chamber ; he received a pension ; he was appointed 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 107 
 
 to honorable and profitable positions, such as comp- 
 troller of customs and clerk of the king's works. 
 They were business positions, these last, and we 
 have evidence that Chaucer took them seriously, 
 and made a shrewd, honest, competent business man, 
 despite his dreamy habits. But perhaps the most 
 important influence which his relation to the court 
 brought into his life was that of Italy. To this fair 
 country he was sent by the king two, perhaps three, 
 times between his thirtieth and his forty-fifth year 
 on diplomatic missions. He must have been a man 
 to trust. Wonderful things were happening in Italy 
 just then. The middle ages were older far than in 
 England ; they were disappearing fast. In their 
 place a new world was arising, a world full of en- 
 thusiasm for the great learning and letters of an- 
 tiquity, full of a new passion for art and beauty. 
 Ancient Greek and Roman statues were being dis- 
 covered at Pisa, and quickening a new ideal in the 
 minds of artists. Giotto's Campanile at Florence, 
 one of the most beautiful buildings in the world, 
 was almost new, and Chaucer must have gazed on 
 it. Dante had died more than fifty years ago, but 
 the two other great men of the fourteenth century 
 in Italy, Boccaccio and Petrarch, were both living, 
 and Chaucer may have met them both. From the 
 time of these Italian journeys dates the real ripening 
 of his genius, and his debt to the great Italians is 
 patent in all his poems. 
 
 Chaucer's fortunes declined in his later life. At 
 one time, after his wife's death, he was even, it would 
 appear, in great straits for money, and miserable and 
 unhappy therefore. A half-humorous, half-pathetic 
 
108 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 "Compleynt to his Purs" seems to have softened the 
 heart of the king, Henry IV, who in 1399 granted 
 him a small pension. But Chaucer did not need the 
 pension long, for in 1400 he died, and was buried in 
 Westminster Abbey, first of the great line of poets, 
 to Tennyson and Browning, whose bodies lie there 
 sleeping. With him died the childhood of England. 
 On the whole, his must have been a happy life : 
 full of color, interest, privilege, of contact with the 
 best people and the most delightful things the 
 times could offer. It is a proof of Chaucer's great 
 heart and great genius that he became, not the poet 
 of the court, as he might so easily have been, but 
 of the whole English people. We should need no 
 other evidence, indeed, of the depth of his English 
 sentiment than the bare fact that, while all his com- 
 peers at the court were using French, he chose to 
 write in the tongue of the plain people. 
 
 III. Chaucbe's Wokk 
 
 French While he was still young and under French influ- 
 
 ence, Chaucer translated the poem which had more 
 vogue than any other in mediaeval Europe ; the 
 French "Romaunt of the Rose." Most of Chaucer's 
 " Rose " is probably lost to us. There is a charm- 
 ing poem, a translation of part of the French poem, 
 bound in with the editions of his works ; but critics 
 tell us that none of it can be his, except, perhaps, 
 the first 1705 lines, and just possibly the conclu- 
 sion. A few other poems have come down to us 
 from what is known as Chaucer's French period ; 
 the most important, "The Deth of Blaunche the 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 109 
 
 Duchesse," or, as it is sometimes called, " The Book 
 of the Duchess." This poem was composed to 
 lament the death of the young wife of Chaucer's 
 patron, John of Gaunt. It is full of prettiness, of 
 sentimental grace, of the mannerisms then popular ; 
 but through its conventional phrases we can see a 
 real sorrow, and it contains a lovely, carefully 
 wrought description of ideal womanhood. All the 
 work of this period is delicately serious, it is full of 
 echoes; it has no touch of the delightful humor 
 and the direct observation that Chaucer afterward 
 developed. 
 
 After he had travelled under Italian skies, and Italian 
 breathed airs from the past and the future, Chaucer's 
 genius deepened. His heart, which had lingered in 
 sentiment, began to master the secrets of passion, 
 and his imagination learned to soar into a region 
 far loftier than he had yet explored. " Troilus and 
 Cressida," which he wrote at this time, adapting 
 and improving from Boccaccio's epic, the " Teseide," 
 is more than a charming and exciting story ; it is 
 a study in character and feeling. We know all the 
 people in it ; the bewitching Cressida, the melan- 
 choly Troilus, and the fat, garrulous, kindly, low- 
 minded old Pandarus, Cressida's uncle, who brings 
 the lovers together. Chaucer's large modernness of 
 manner and his humorous understanding of character 
 appear for the first time in this poem. 
 
 Chaucer wrote, during this same period, "The 
 Parlement of Foules," a sprightly, pretty allegory 
 of bird life, in which he returns to the French art- 
 tradition ; he wrote also " The Legende of Good 
 Women," interesting as an attempt to put a number 
 
110 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 of separate tales together in a sort of dramatic set- 
 ting. It has a lovely prologue, but Chaucer found 
 the stories monotonous and left the poem unfinished. 
 He wrote now also what is perhaps the loftiest flight 
 of his imagination, " The Hous of Fame." It is a 
 splendid thing, a very vision. And yet, through it 
 all, though it sweeps us up into the sky, Chaucer's 
 imagination does not really leave the earth. Life 
 earthly, not life spiritual, preoccupies him. The 
 critics say that Chaucer was profoundly influenced 
 by Dante, and there is evidence in his poems that 
 he read and honored the great Florentine. But his 
 " Hous of Fame " is neither in hell nor heaven, nor 
 on the steep purgatorial mount ; it abides in the free 
 sky of pure fantasy. The humane and literary influ- 
 ences of Italy played upon his genius, not its strange 
 mystic fervor. He is brother in spirit to Boccaccio, 
 not to Dante. 
 
 English During all these earlier years of his life, Chaucer 
 
 period. .° „ . '' . , . , , 
 
 was writing from time to time a story which he 
 
 afterward worked into the framework of the " Can- 
 terbury Tales." And now he turned away from 
 masters, and found himself : the first great English- 
 Canter- man to show us the new England. The " Canter- 
 bury ° 
 Tales. bury Tales" were the work of his ripened genius, 
 
 in the last fifteen years of his life. The poem tells 
 how a company of pilgrims rode together in the 
 April sunlight to the shrine of St. Thomas a Becket 
 at Canterbury, telling stories by the way, and chat- 
 ting to one another. It was quite the fashion to 
 find some setting, in this way, into which a number 
 of stories could be fitted. The other most famous 
 example comes from Italy : it is the " Decamerone " 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER HI 
 
 of Boccaccio, and it tells how a company of gay 
 young men and women fled from plague-stricken 
 Florence once upon a time, and in tlie rose- 
 gardens on the hill forgot that sorrowing city, 
 wiling away their time with love-making, romance, 
 and song. Something of Italian intensity, some- 
 thing of frivolity too, is in that scheme. Chaucer's 
 is more English, happier, more healthful. It gives 
 us the pleasant sense of onward movement ; we feel 
 the, jogging, leisurely advance of the horses as the 
 motley crowd pass between the April hedgerows, 
 entertained by the incidents of the way, and listen- 
 ing to one story after another. Pilgrimages played 
 an important part in mediaeval life. They might be 
 a means of mortification, and an expression of spiritual 
 passion ; they might be a delightful social function, 
 a way of enjoying the pleasures of travel. Chaucer's 
 pilgrims were sincerely religious, but they were also 
 having a splendid holiday. Who can blame them ? 
 All England was in a holiday mood just then, full 
 of zest for adventure and experience. 
 
 The pilgrims, gathered together by chance, met 
 first of an evening at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, 
 London ; and a mixed assemblage they were. There 
 are nine and twenty of them, and Chaucer is of the 
 company, and goes about making friends so vigor- 
 ously that before bedtime he knows them all. So 
 does the Host of the inn, a merry man and a fair 
 burgess. He it is who is the godfather of the 
 " Canterbury Tales," for his is the proposition that 
 they should tell stories on the morrow as they ride, 
 and that the best story-teller be rewarded by a sup- 
 per at the common cost on their return from pil- 
 
112 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 grimage. He was a sly innkeeper, mine host ; we 
 may be sure that the supper would not have been 
 "good cheap." Meanwhile, he will ride forth with 
 them on the morrow, and show them the way ; and 
 in the fresh morning light forth starts the company. 
 
 As we watch them, mediaeval England passes be- 
 fore us. It is impossible to help talking about these 
 people as if they were real, so vivid has Chaucer 
 made them. We notice the Knight first. It is exactly 
 like meeting a knight in real life after knowing him 
 in romance, and we are glad to find that he is a very 
 perfect gentle knight, valiant and courteous, a gen- 
 tleman and a peacemaker, quite worthy to be a Fellow 
 of the Table Round. His son is with him, a curly- 
 haired young squire, beautifully dressed in fresh 
 embroidered clothes ; he can sing and play the flute 
 and write poetry and dance ; he can make love, too, 
 and hotly, otherwise his education would be incom- 
 plete, and his pretty head is full of romances ; he is 
 courteous, lowly, and serviceable, and deferential to 
 his father, as he ought to be. 
 
 Then there is a yeoman, dressed in green, with a 
 brown face and close-clipped hair ; and a Lady Pri- 
 oress, a most delicate person, a little affected, very 
 courtly and well-bred : a real fine lady. She sings 
 through her nose, though, Chaucer tells us, and 
 the French she speaks so fluently is not Parisian, as 
 we are slily informed; she has another nun and 
 three priests with her. Then comes a monk. He 
 is a pleasant, vigorous gentleman, but not especially 
 unworldly ; the bells on his bridle as he rides are 
 more agreeable to him than the bells of a chapel; 
 he enjoys a fat roast swan, and is devoted to hunt- 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 113 
 
 ing. Various churchmen ride on Chaucer's pilgrim- 
 age, and he gives us a very unpleasant picture of 
 them. We would like to think that he picked out 
 bad specimens, in his Friar, his Summoner, and his 
 Pardoner ; we are glad to remember, as we read 
 about them, that Wyclif was preaching about this 
 time. But all these painful studies are redeemed 
 by the beautiful picture of the poor parish priest, 
 who rides with the pilgrims, silent for the most part, 
 but protesting humorously when the Host grows over 
 profane. It is an exquisite study of simple, loving 
 consecration, of Christian poverty and love : — 
 
 " Christe's lore and his apostles twelve 
 He taught, but first he followed it himselve," 
 
 says Chaucer. 
 
 Sundry professional people are in the company : 
 for instance, a clerk or scholar of Oxford, who looks 
 hollow and soberly, and is in threadbare clothes. He 
 did not care, Chaucer tells us ; he spent every penny 
 he could get in books and learning. There is a law- 
 yer, a busy man, but one who seemed busier than he 
 was ; and a doctor whose study, alas, was full little 
 on the Bible. There are men of business, a mer- 
 chant, a reeve or bailiff, a manciple or steward, and a 
 Franklin, a good, vigorous man from the country, 
 with a complexion as fresh as a daisy. And min- 
 gling with the fine people are a number of common 
 folk with quite shocking manners, who seem hail-fel- 
 low-well-met with every one on this happy holiday: 
 a miller and a cook and a sailor and a carpenter, and 
 other working people, and a Wife or woman of Bath, 
 whom it is really remarkable that the Prioress could 
 
114 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 tolerate, though our loss would have been irreparable 
 indeed if she had not gone on that pilgrimage. Then 
 there is the jolly stout Host, with his bright eyes. 
 And finally, a demure, quiet-looking man named 
 Geoffrey Chaucer. 
 
 It is in the Prologue to the " Canterbury Tales " 
 that we are told all about these people, and this 
 Prologue, with its broad, loving, merry descriptions 
 of the world he saw, is Chaucer's best title to 
 immortality, better than all the sweet and graceful 
 romancing of his early years. But now come the 
 stories, linked together by little dramatic interludes. 
 The pilgrims are having a beautiful time. No one 
 is in a great hurry to arrive at the shrine. This is 
 their holiday, and when they get back there will be 
 a supper. The stories that they tell are immensely 
 varied, and in almost all cases fit exactly the char- 
 acters who tell them. They alternate in a rough 
 and ready fashion, from serious religion and romance 
 spoken by the gentry, to tales of broad rough humor 
 told by the more common folk. Some are better 
 than others, and some we hardly care to read to-day ; 
 but we need to take them all together if we would 
 understand mediaeval England. We can mention 
 only a few of the stories here. 
 
 The Knight tells the first tale ; and a " noble 
 storie " it is, as all the pilgrims agree, a story of 
 love, and war, and honor. It tells how Palamon and 
 Arcite saw from their prison, and loved, the fair 
 Emelye as she walked in her garden, and of all the 
 sorrows and adventures that thence befell. The 
 story is taken from Boccaccio, and Chaucer had 
 already told it once, in a version lost to us, but this 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 115 
 
 time he has told it supremely well. The Miller and 
 the Reeve follow the Knight, and their coarse sto- 
 ries, though they can give no one pleasure to-day, 
 are wonderfully well told. It is difficult to see 
 why the Man of Law should tell the story of 
 Constance, except that Chaucer had the story by 
 him, and wished to insert it somewhere. On the 
 other hand, the story of the little singing martyr 
 boy is excellently put into the mouth of the Prioress, 
 who joins with modest pleasure in the tale-telling, 
 when timidly and awkwardly invited by the Host. 
 As for Chaucer himself, it is with sly humor that 
 he represents himself as telling first the parody on 
 Romances, " Sir Thopas," and then, when the Host, 
 bored beyond endurance, interrupts him, the "little 
 thing in prose," the interminable "Tale of Meliboeus." 
 The Nun's Priest must have been a merry man, for 
 he tells the delectable tale of Chaunteclere the Cock 
 and his wife. Dame Pertelote ; and Chaucer's humor 
 never found more gay expression than in the descrip- 
 tion of the strutting cock with his splendid comb 
 and resplendent legs, and the hen whose beauty he 
 adores, she is "so' scarlet red aboute her eyen." 
 The tales of the Friar and some of the others are 
 far from pleasant, but so are the speakers. As for 
 the Wife of Bath, with her scarlet stockings and her 
 bold face, riding astride her horse with her large 
 hips, she is an immortal picture ; and her candid 
 outpouring of confidence in the prologue to her 
 tale is the most living evidence we have of what 
 life meant in the fourteenth century to a hearty, 
 vulgar Englishwoman of the middle class. We are 
 a little surprised, after her revelation of herself, that 
 
116 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 she tells a charming story of fairy lore ; but, after 
 all, she comes from just the class where such lore 
 lingered longest. The Clerk of Oxford tells the fa- 
 mous, tender story of Patient Griselda. The Squire 
 is only twenty years old, and he loves marvel and 
 sentiment, and tells — but his story is unfinished 
 — the tale in the name of which Milton sought to 
 summon Chaucer from the dead : — 
 
 " The story of Cambuscan bold." 
 
 The Second Nun has a fervid religious legend, the 
 " Life of Saint Cecilia "; a Yeoman who joins them in 
 the most dramatic interlude of the poem has, not a 
 story, but a bitter outpouring of anger against his 
 whilom master, a Canon who practised alchemy and 
 cheated the unwary. Finally, as the pilgrims come 
 near Canterbury their mood sobers, and the last Tale, 
 as the series stands, is no tale at all, but a long, sim- 
 ple, devout sermon, preached by the Parson, which 
 we will hope edified the drunken Miller, the Cook, 
 and the Wife of Bath, as well as the Clerk and the 
 Knight, and prepared them all for their devotions. 
 
 So the series, not half finished, comes to an end. 
 Chaucer had meant, at first, to have each character 
 tell two tales on the way out and two going home. 
 Not half that number was written. 
 
 IV. Chaucer's Aet and Place 
 Chaucer's We Said that it was the revelation of his own 
 
 Art 
 
 personality that gave undying charm to Chaucer's 
 poetry. Perhaps it is only another way of saying 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 117 
 
 the same thing to say that his charm is due to his 
 perfect art. For art is personality set free. Of the 
 substance of his work and its spirit we have perhaps 
 spoken enough; but we ought to say a little more 
 about the great work that he did in. producing his 
 poems in beautiful form. His strength lies, of course, 
 in his power to tell a story. Chaucer had an art 
 which the middle ages before him had rarely pos- 
 sessed; he knew what to leave out. Mediaeval 
 romances trail along with insufferable prolixity from 
 incident to incident, and often move t.o no particu- 
 lar end. Chaucer had the instinct for unity and for 
 brevity. He selected only the significant, and he 
 stopped when he got through, which is one of the 
 greatest arts in the world. There are, for the true 
 lover of poetry, few superfluous lines or words even 
 in the "Canterbury Tales." And then Chaucer 
 could get the music in his soul into his verse. Like 
 his own Friar, he could " make his English sweet 
 upon his tongue." He brought into the new lan- 
 guage all the daintiness and lightsome grace of the 
 French. He discarded the heavy dignity of the old 
 alliterative line, and used rhyme. He tried various 
 stanza forms and handled them with a harmony all 
 his own, though they were often borrowed from con- 
 temporary French writers ; but he was most at home 
 in the rhyming ten syllable couplet, which ever since 
 his day has been one of the favorite instruments 
 of English verse. His music is light, sweet, fault- 
 less, very pure. No one since has quite caught his 
 magic, though William Morris has pleasantly imi- 
 tated it in some of the poems of his " Earthly 
 Paradise." 
 
118 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Chaucer's We Call Chaucer our best representative of the 
 pL*t and*° middle ages ; yet his work is full of subtle sugges- 
 iuture. ^jpj^g q£ ^ civilization still to dawn. In many points 
 his temperament was not that of his own day. There 
 was nothing of the mystic in him; his romance was 
 superficial, not ingrained; only when he reaches 
 the broad and kindly realism of the Prologue is he 
 really and fully at home. His feet never started 
 upon the Quest of the Grail, nor was he visited by 
 even a fleeting vision of the holy thing. Spiritual 
 mysteries did not attract him; he was not troubled 
 by speculations about the next world. 
 
 " His spirit changed house and wente there, 
 As I cam never, I can not tellen where." ^ 
 
 These brief words, in which he dismisses the soul of 
 the dying Arcite, sum up his theology; it is not the 
 common attitude of his time, which, though not 
 always speculative, was sensitively conscious of a 
 spiritual world pressing very near the world of 
 matter. But Chaucer was a child of this earth, and 
 he saw it as very good. He loved the homely human 
 qualities : cheerfulness, loyalty, honor. He had a ten- 
 der heart even for people who practised very few of 
 the virtues, on the simple score of their humanity. 
 In this love of the earth, in his responsiveness to 
 beauty, in his enthusiasm for learning, in the slightly 
 critical tone which tinges his work, and finally in his 
 unerring instinct for perfection of form, he suggests 
 the characteristics of the time that was to come. 
 Evening star of the middle ages, morning star of the 
 Renaissance — aU honor to him, best of English 
 
 1 " The Knighte's Tale." 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 119 
 
 story-tellers, first Englishman who combined imagi- 
 native vision with beautiful English speech. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 W. Skeat, Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, 7 vols. 
 Students' Edition, 1 vol. A. W. Pollard, Ed., The Works of 
 Geoffrey Chaucer, Globe edition. 
 
 A. W. Pollard, Primer of Chaucer. John Saunders, 
 Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, annotated and accented, with 
 illustrations of English life in Chaucer's time. Ward, Life of 
 Chaucer, English Men of Letters Series. Lowell, My Study 
 Windows, essay on Chaucer. Minto, Characteristics of English 
 Poets. LouNSBURY, Studies in Chaucer, 3 vols. Mrs. Haweis, 
 Chaucer for Schools. 
 
 Clarendon Press edition of Prologue and Knight's Tale, 
 Nonne's Preste's, Prioress's, Monk's, Clerk's, Squires's Tales, the 
 Rhyme of Sir Thopas, and many of the minor poems. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The more that can be read of Chaucer the better. The " Pro- 
 logue," " The Knight's Tale," " The Nun's Priest's Tale," are best 
 for beginning, with selections of biographical interest from 
 the minor poems. Close consecutive discussion of text is the 
 best method to draw near to a great author. Chaucer's humor, 
 Chaucer's feeling for nature, Chaucer's sentiment, Chaucer's 
 characterization, Chaucer's vocabulary, Chaucer's rhythms, 
 Chaucer's attitude toward the Church and churchmen, and 
 various other topics, may be made the themes of special dis- 
 cussions. 
 
120 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 CHAUCER'S WORKS 
 
 It may be broadly stated that the sequence of Chaucer's writings, as 
 given below, finds general acceptance, though many Individual dates 
 are doubtful. It is also generally agreed that Chaucer's work falls 
 into three periods, — the first that of his apprenticeship, when his life 
 at court brought him under the influence of French models ; the middle 
 period, when his diplomatic missions had brought him strongly under 
 Italian influence; the third period, that of the " Canterbury Tales," in 
 which Chaucer has clearly become master of his own " English " style. 
 The middle period will contain all the longer works previous to the 
 " Canterbury Tales." Some critics, who consider that the " Canterbury 
 Tales " were finished within a comparatively few years, count the last 
 decade of Chaucer's life, which would then show but a few minor 
 poems, a period of decline. 
 
 Of the existing 
 version, the part 
 known as A is 
 held by many to 
 be of Chaucer's 
 early work. 
 
 Usually placed 
 before 1369, and 
 called the first 
 original work ex- 
 tant. Yet some 
 high authorities, 
 1369-1371. 
 
 About 1369. 
 
 Ten Brink, 1374. 
 
 TheEomauntof 
 the Rose. See 
 text. 
 
 The Compleynte 
 unto Pite. 
 
 The ABC. 
 
 Earliest example of the 
 famous Chaucer stanza, or 
 "rime royal." 
 
 An alphabetical prayer to 
 the Blessed Virgin based 
 upon a similar " A B C " in a 
 book by Guillanme de De- 
 guilleville, a French Pil- 
 grim's Progress of the 
 fourteenth century. 
 
 (In regard to the three poems above, there is little agreement among 
 authorities as to date, whether they are to be placed before or after the 
 " Dethe of the Duchesse.") 
 
 Soon after 1369. 
 
 About 1374, per- 
 haps earlier. 
 
 The Dethe of 
 Blaunche the 
 Duchesse. 
 
 Lyf of Seint 
 Cecyle. 
 
 Opening incident, "Ceyx 
 and Alcione," from Ovid's 
 "Metamorphoses," Whole 
 form of the poem French. 
 
 Later assigned to the iSec- 
 ond Nun in the " Canterbury 
 Tales . ' ' Invocation partly a 
 paraphrase from Dante. 
 Storyfrom "Legenda Aurea." 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 
 
 121 
 
 After return 
 from first Italian 
 mission, 1373. 
 
 Toward the 
 close of the decade 
 1369-1379. 
 
 Toward the 
 close of 1369-1379. 
 
 Probably just 
 after the return 
 from the second 
 Italian mission, 
 1379. 
 
 Difficult to date. 
 Some authorities 
 say shortly after 
 1373-1374; others, 
 about 1380. 
 
 Difficult to date. 
 Probably about 
 1380. 
 
 About 1381. 
 
 About 1381- 
 1383. 
 
 1382. 
 
 The "Troilus" 
 period. 
 
 The "Troilus" 
 period, perhaps as 
 late as 1385. 
 
 Perhaps begun 
 some years before 
 1383, laid aside, 
 and taken up 
 when " Troilus 
 and Criseyde " 
 was finished,1383- 
 1384. 
 
 Story of Gri- 
 selde. 
 
 Story of Con- 
 staunce. 
 
 Twelve " Trage- 
 dies " of Great 
 Men and Women. 
 
 The Compleynt 
 of Mars. 
 
 A Compleynt to 
 his Lady. 
 
 Anelida and 
 Arcyte. (Unfin- 
 ished.) 
 
 Boece. 
 
 Troilus and 
 Criseyde. 
 
 The Parlement 
 of Foules. 
 
 To Eosemounde. 
 
 Chaucer's Words 
 unto Adam his 
 Owne Scryvene. 
 
 The Hous of 
 Fame. (Unfin- 
 ished.) 
 
 " Clerk's Tale." An Eng- 
 lish version of Petrarch's 
 Latin version of a tale by 
 Boccaccio. 
 
 "Man of Law's Tale.'" 
 From the Anglo-French 
 Chronicle of Trivet. 
 
 The first part of the 
 ' ' Monk's Tale," whose trage- 
 dies fall into two distinct 
 groups. 
 
 The story is founded on 
 one told in Ovid's " Meta- 
 morphoses," with which 
 Chaucer combines the popu- 
 lar astronomy of the day. 
 
 A series of fragments in 
 different metres, — partly 
 written in Dante's terza 
 rima. 
 
 About a fifth of the poem 
 is based upon Boccaccio's 
 "Teseide" and Statius's 
 "Thebais." 
 
 A prose translation of Boe- 
 thius's "De Consolatione," 
 one of the most popular books 
 of the fourteenth century. 
 
 By far the longest of 
 Chaucer's single extant po- 
 ems, the striking achieve- 
 ment of the middle period. 
 Based upon Boccaccio's "II 
 Filostrato." 
 
 Celebrates the winning 
 and wooing of Anne of Bo- 
 hemia by Bichard II. Uses 
 material taken from Cicero, 
 from Boccaccio, and from 
 Alain de I'lsle. 
 
 A charming little ballade 
 of three stanzas. 
 
 A playful rating of his 
 scribe for mistakes in copy- 
 ing "Boece" and "Troilus 
 and Criseyde." 
 
 " With this poem we leave 
 the period of the poet's fin- 
 ished work. From this time 
 on his plans were far more 
 ambitious . . .but the "Hous 
 of Fame," the "Legende of 
 Good Women," and great- 
 est of all the " Canterbury 
 Tales " were none of them 
 completed." 
 
122 
 
 1385. 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 About 1385 
 (when probably 
 Chaucer himself 
 Tvent on pilgrim- 
 age to Canter- 
 bury), possibly as 
 late as 1387. The 
 writing of the 
 great body of the 
 
 Tales," repre- 
 senting one-half of 
 Chaucer's extant 
 work, was proba- 
 bly included 
 within the next 
 six or seven years, 
 though it is possi- 
 ble that he may 
 have continued 
 writing them up 
 to the end of his 
 life. 
 
 After 1382, and 
 probably before 
 1390. 
 
 1391. 
 
 The Legende of 
 Good Women. 
 (Unfinished.) 
 
 The plan of 
 the "Canterbury 
 Tales." 
 
 The Prologue, 
 the Talis by the 
 Way, and a large 
 proportion of the 
 Tales. 
 
 The Former 
 Age. 
 
 Fortune. 
 
 (Called in the 
 Mss. Balades de 
 visage sans pein- 
 tureO 
 
 Truth. 
 
 Gentilesse. 
 
 Lak of Stedf ast- 
 nesse. 
 
 Treatise on the 
 Astrolabe. 
 
 "The poem was intended 
 to consist of a Prologue, the 
 stories of nineteen women 
 who have been true to love, 
 and the legend of the crown 
 of womanhood. Queen Al- 
 cestis." Only nine of the 
 twenty legends were written. 
 The sources were Ovid, Vir- 
 gil, Boccaccio, and Guido 
 delle Colonne. 
 
 " For about one-third of the 
 'Tales' no original, prop- 
 erly so called, is known to 
 exist, but from the far East, 
 or from France, Italy, or 
 Germany, stories with sim- 
 ilar plots have been un- 
 earthed which show that the 
 idea was already in existence 
 and only waited for Chaucer 
 to develop it." Among 
 knovm sources of definite 
 "originals" are Boccaccio, 
 Ovid, Liyy, Jacobus de Vo- 
 ragine, Nicholas Trivet, Jean 
 de Meung. 
 
 "Apleasant rhapsody upon 
 the good old times." 
 
 A triple ballade with a 
 single envoy in praise of the 
 friend of the "unpainted 
 face " who is faithful in ad- 
 versity. 
 
 "Truth" and "Genti- 
 lesse" show Chaucer in his 
 gravest mood. "LakofSted- 
 fastnesse " is chiefly notable 
 for its envoy to Richard. 
 
 The last five poems all 
 show the influence of Boe- 
 thins, and in several of them 
 there are suggestions from 
 the " Eoman de la Eose." 
 
 Prose translation of the 
 Latin version of a treatise 
 by Messahala, an Arabian 
 astronomer of the eighth 
 century. 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER 
 
 123 
 
 About 1393. 
 
 Difficult to date. 
 Probably about 
 1393. 
 
 1396. 
 
 1399. (Per] 
 earlier.) 
 
 Envoy to Sco- 
 gan. 
 
 Compleynt 
 Venua. 
 
 of 
 
 Envoy to Buk- 
 ton. 
 
 Compleynt to 
 his Furs. 
 
 A playful reproach to his 
 friend Henry Soogan, with a 
 serious request for help, 
 which may nave brought the 
 pension of 1394. 
 
 Three ballades, transla- 
 tions more or less free, from 
 the famous Savoyard poet, 
 Sir Otes de Granson. 
 
 " This bitter-sweet ballade 
 touches marriage, and is 
 quite characteristic of the 
 poet." 
 
 " A sadly humorous poem , 
 perhaps the last from the 
 poet's pen." 
 
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CHAPTER V 
 
 THE CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 
 
 I. Lesser Writers ov the Fourteenth Century 
 
 T' 
 
 ^HERE were other noteworthy people writing in 
 England during that late flowering season of the 
 middle ages, the last half of the fourteenth century, 
 though there were no others so great as Langland 
 and Chaucer. It is well worth while to look back 
 now and then as we pursue our long journey over 
 the road that we have travelled, and to get propor- 
 tions at a glance. If we do this now, our imagina- 
 tion reviews a long stretch of almost barren centuries, 
 beginning before the Normans came to England ; 
 then suddenly it comes into this little region of blos- 
 som, these fifty years when men were mysteriously 
 impelled to speech and song. We wonder if the peo- 
 ple who lived then realized what was happening. 
 Sir John Prose Usually develops more slowly than poetry, 
 ^fie'^iith ^^^ little prose interesting for its art values was pro- 
 century, duced in this period; but there is at this time one 
 prose book in our language which we must certainly 
 not pass over. This is " The Voyages and Travels," 
 purporting to have been enjoyed and recorded by one 
 Sir John Mandeville, Knight. There never was any 
 Sir John Mandeville. After centuries, during which 
 the public has taken him seriously, we must now re- 
 luctantly send that worthy knight into the world of 
 
 130 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OP CHAUCER 131 
 
 shades, to keep company with Crusoe and Gulliver. 
 But although, he has vanished, to our great loss, the 
 book remains, to our great profit : and though it was 
 first written in French, the English version is so racy 
 • in style as well as so delightful in matter that it has 
 real importance. It began in English the literature 
 of imagined adventures which has always been popu- 
 lar ; and Defoe himself cannot tell us with a graver 
 air of conviction the extraordinary doings of Crusoe 
 than the author of Mandeville shows, in describing 
 the people whose one foot is so great that it serves 
 as a parasol, and the country where there are many 
 serpents because of the heat and the abundance of 
 pepper, and the lake of tears wept by Adam and 
 Eve when driven out of Paradise, and the pearls 
 at the bottom thereof. Here and there, mingled 
 with legend and invention, are curious echoes of 
 fact, doubtless traditional from some real traveller. 
 The book shows better than anything else that has 
 come down to us how people thought of the world 
 they lived in, more than a century before the sailing 
 of Columbus. 
 
 Nothing else of importance meets us in prose. But Eevivai oi 
 in verse, the fourteenth century produced one devel- tive verse. 
 opment full of interest. A little before Chaucer 
 wrote, certain poets made an attempt to recall poetry 
 from French levity to Anglo-Saxon soberness and 
 substance, and revived for the time the old alliter- 
 ative line. Apart from Langland, of whom we shall 
 talk presently, the most important poems of this kind 
 that have come down to us may have been the work 
 of one man ; if so, he was a man of genius so pene- 
 trating and tender as to rank almost with Chaucer and 
 
132 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 "Sir 
 
 Gawayne 
 
 and the 
 
 Green 
 
 Knight," 
 
 about 
 
 1360. 
 
 "The 
 Pearl," 
 about 
 1360. 
 
 John 
 Gower, 
 about 
 1330-1408. 
 
 Langlaiid. "Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight," 
 an Arthurian romance, two didactic poems, " Clean- 
 ness " and " Patience " ; and finally the first religious 
 elegy in English, an exquisite poem which we call 
 " The Pearl," are the works ascribed to him. They 
 are written in the West-Midland dialect, are harder 
 to read than Chaucer or even Langland, and are pro- 
 bably somewhat earlier ; but they have grace and 
 charm, and they reveal a temperament as individual 
 and lovable as Cynewulf's or Wordsworth's. " Sir 
 Gawayne " is a fine story, finely told. " The Pearl " 
 tells how the author mourned the death of his little 
 daughter, and how a vision of her came to bless him. 
 The poem has a reality, both in the religious and in 
 the human feeling, which few mediaeval visions pos- 
 sess. It is indeed a pearl, a beautiful thing born out 
 of sorrow. There was joy among lovers of poetry 
 when this poem was recently discovered ; and Ten- 
 nyson bade it welcome in four charming lines. 
 
 During all the Chaucerian period, there lived and 
 wrote copiously one John Gower. There is every- 
 thing in Gower that there is in Chaucer, — except 
 genius. His poem, like the " Canterbury Tales," 
 is a collection of stories ; these stories reflect the 
 tastes and interests and sentiments of the middle 
 ages just as Chaucer's stories do; they are just as 
 good stories, in one or two cases they are the same. 
 Only they are told, with one or two exceptions, with- 
 out wit, or charm, or poetic feeling, or melody. We 
 realize, as with a sense of relief we put Gower's 
 poetry aside, that he has taught us one thing: genius 
 may and does owe a great deal to inheritance and 
 environment ; its mode of working and the material 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 133 
 
 which it handles, much even in its spirit, may be 
 derived from its age ; yet in its essence it is no prod- 
 uct of present or past, but a heaven-sent mystery. 
 
 It is only fair to the moral Gower, as Chaucer 
 called him, to say that the " Confessio Amantis " was 
 the work of his old age. He was perhaps older than 
 Chaucer by ten years, but his long poem was not 
 written till 1393, long after the "Canterbury Tales" 
 had been started. Gower had written two other long 
 poems before this : the " Vox Clamantis " in Latin, 
 and the "Speculum Meditantis" in French. Pos- 
 sibly he did not have sense or spirit to trust himself 
 to the new, rude, uncourtly tongue till Chaucer 
 showed him the way. He is the last English author 
 of importance, however, to compose in French ; and 
 from now on we can, with one or two exceptions, 
 ignore books by English authors written in any lan- 
 guage but their own. 
 
 II. Langland and the Social Revolt 
 
 It is strange to think how many things are always 
 going on at once in the world, and how differently 
 life may look at the same time to different people. 
 Chaucer saw an England in good spirits, an Eng- 
 land of holiday mood, full of romance and color ; and 
 that England really existed. But another England 
 existed by its side, throbbing with discontent and 
 with sorrow ; and this second England also had its 
 poet. He was a man of a great soul, this poet. He 
 wrote only one long poem, but it was worthy to be 
 the work of a lifetime, and he rewrote it with utmost 
 care three times. He called it, " The Vision of Will- 
 
134 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 iam Concerning Piers the Ploughman " ; his own 
 name we suppose, though we cannot be quite certain, 
 to have been William Langland. 
 WiUiam Langland was not so great a genius as Chaucer, 
 
 '^b"^t\'332 ^^^ people do not remember him so well to-day. 
 to about The world likes to remember happy people best, and 
 Langland was not very happy. Besides, he threw in 
 his lot with the poor, and did not have much to do 
 with the gay new French fashions in literature. He 
 chose for his verse the old alliterative swinging line, 
 which recalls to us the cadence of Cynewulf. It is 
 hard for us to catch music in this form of poetry 
 or to understand how it pleased people's ears ; but 
 its revival shows what a hold it had on the love of 
 Englishmen. To-day, we cannot read most of Lang- 
 land for verse-beauty. He is dull indeed who does 
 not read Chaucer with pleasure ; but one has to love 
 the middle ages and be much in earnest about living, 
 to enjoy Langland. Nevertheless, if any reader has 
 patience to linger with him and puzzle out his mean- 
 ing, his sad spirit comes and dwells beside that reader, 
 and becomes a brother beloved. 
 
 We said at the beginning of the first chapter of 
 this part that the most representative and important 
 literature of the middle ages was inspired by one of 
 the two great forces, — Catholicism and Chivalry. 
 But we said also that far in the distance could be 
 discerned another figure beside that of Knight and 
 Monk, the figure of the Laborer, and that his time 
 for speech would come. It has come now ; and the 
 poet of the Laborer is William Langland. 
 
 We do not know nearly as much about Langland's 
 personality as we do about Chaucer's. He was not 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 135 
 
 attached to the court, a gentleman of importance, 
 whose name is found on public records; he was a 
 poor, lank, obscure man, — Long Will, they called 
 him. He used to wander over the Malvern Hills 
 sometimes, where the air is high and pure, and fall 
 a-dreaming there ; but for the most part he lived in 
 London, with his wife Kitty and his daughter Kalote, 
 We must not think of London in the fourteenth cen- 
 tury as if it were the portentous smoky city of our 
 own day : we must, — 
 
 " Forget six counties overhung with smoke, 
 Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, 
 Forget the spreading of the hideous town ; 
 Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, 
 And dream of London small and white and clean, 
 The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green, 
 
 While near the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen 
 Moves over bills of lading." ^ 
 
 But, quiet as the place would seem to us, it was 
 already the centre of England. It witnessed already 
 fierce pitiful contrasts between poverty and wealth. 
 Here Langland, who was a tonsured clerk apparently 
 in minor orders in the Church, used to pick up his 
 living by singing dirges for the repose of souls. 
 Here, if we may trust his own story, he even at times 
 had to beg his dinner, so poor was he. But he did 
 not try to ingratiate himself with the rich ; perhaps 
 he was not very polite to them. He says that he was 
 loath to reverence lords or ladies when he met them 
 on the street, or to say " God save you " to sergeants 
 dressed in fur with pendants of silver; and that, 
 1 William Morris : Prologue to the " Earthly Paradise." 
 
136 
 
 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Social 
 England. 
 
 Condition 
 of the 
 laboring 
 classes. 
 
 because of these glum manners of his, people often 
 took him for a fool. "We can see him slipping 
 through the gay thoroughfares, his gaunt figure 
 slightly bent, a frown upon his brow. He was a 
 very different person from the pleasant, sunny 
 Chaucer. He was a social malcontent; there have 
 been plenty of others since his day. And Langland, 
 like many of the same class, had a tender heart of 
 his own when it was rightly appealed to. 
 
 He had some reason for the mixture of sorrow and 
 perplexity with which he looked out on the world. 
 For the England which he saw with those honest 
 eyes of his was not Merrie England ; it was a land 
 devastated by war and pestilence. The last part of 
 the fourteenth century was a time of great distress 
 for the laboring classes in England. The long Hun- 
 dred Years' War with France was going on aU this 
 time, and the court and the gentry were absorbed in 
 turn by a festive, brilliantly ordered life at home, and 
 by the great foreign campaigns. But the common 
 people had other things to think of. It was they 
 who fell in greatest numbers on the battlefield ; it was 
 they who were swept off the face of the earth in yet 
 greater numbers by the horrible scourge of the Black 
 Death. And then, when they were just recovering 
 themselves, would come severe laws, and taxes which 
 seemed to them most cruel and unjust. The burden 
 of such laws pressed heaviest upon the agricultural 
 laborers in the country, for the workers in the towns 
 were partially protected by the strong mediseval trade 
 guilds. It was a dreary life for the most part, that 
 of the workers in the fields. They toiled hard, 
 they knew cold and hunger. " Alas," says Langland, 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 137 
 
 with an outburst of indignant pity, "alas for the 
 poor folk in cots, charged with children and chief 
 lords' rents ! What they may spare from their spin- 
 ning, they spend in house-hire, and in milk and meal 
 to make messes of porridge to satisfy their children 
 who are greedy for food. And they themselves 
 also suffer much hunger, and woe in the winter -time 
 with waking o' nights to rock the cradle. They card 
 and comb and patch and wash, they rub and peel 
 rushes, so that it is ruth to read or to show in rhyme 
 the woe of these women who dwell in cots." And 
 in many another passage he gives us pictures equally 
 sad and equally convincing. 
 
 It was no wonder that during the fourteenth cen- Spirit of 
 tury the spirit of revolt was abroad. This spirit religious 
 took two directions; it was social, it was religious. *" ^°"'^ 
 Anger against the Church which preached poverty 
 and practised luxury, anger against the privileged 
 classes : these two impassioned impulses found omi- 
 nous expression before the century closed. The 
 religious rebellion expressed itself in the Lollard 
 movement inaugurated by Wyclif ; the social, in the 
 Peasant Revolt, which took place in 1381, some 
 years after Langland had given to the world the 
 second version of his poem. These matters belong 
 to history and are best studied there ; but the life of 
 the nation and its literature are bound together, and 
 it is in the prose of Wyclif and the poetry of Lang- 
 land that we can best catch the spirit which drove 
 men to these movements of protest. 
 
 There is a beautiful book by a man who has carried 
 on in our own day the literature of social revolt 
 which Langland began in the fourteenth century : 
 
138 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 William Morris. It is called " The Dream of John 
 BaU," and it tells with much vividness part of the 
 story of the great uprising of the peasants. The 
 spirit of that uprising was well expressed in the 
 rough couplet which at this time began to run about 
 from mouth to mouth : — 
 
 " When Adam delved and Eve span, 
 Where was then the gentleman ? " 
 
 The queried the couplet. It was the spirit of democracy 
 
 RevoU, which spoke, over four hundred years before democ- 
 ^^^' racy was consciously realized by the Christian world. 
 
 There is no doubt that Langland's poem was one of 
 the powerful instruments in stirring up this new 
 spirit ; his Piers (or Peter) the Ploughman became 
 a symbolical figure, the typical hero of the laboring 
 man. 
 
 And yet Langland himself was not a revolutionist. 
 He was a thinker and dreamer. His great Visions 
 are full of wistful passion, of spiritual insight. They 
 wander far and wide, surveying the manifold woes 
 and puzzles of life ; but always they come back to 
 one central thought, and a true and beautiful thought 
 it is : — 
 
 " Tor there that Love is leader, ne lacked never grace." 
 
 Langland's heart went out most earnestly to the 
 vision or allegory from which he named his whole 
 The aiie- poem : the Story of the Ploughman. And a strange 
 the'^" story it is, different from anything else which we 
 man^*^' nieet in the middle ages ; a sort of " Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress " of the fourteenth century. We can compare it 
 point by point with Bunyan's immortal dream ; only. 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 139 
 
 we shall find one great difference, — that while Bun- 
 yan's hero is occupied with saving his own soul, 
 Langland's is occupied with leading toward salva- 
 tion the whole of society. 
 
 Langland has his pilgrimage as well as Chaucer, 
 and it is interesting to put the two together. Lang- 
 land opens his eyes when his vision begins on a field 
 full of folk. There are more than there were at the 
 Tabard on that memorable April morning. There 
 are ploughmen who played full seldom ; hermits 
 and jugglers and merchants ; beggars enough and 
 pilgrims and friars, and bakers and brewers, and 
 butchers and masons and miners, and cooks going 
 about crying : " Hot pies, hot ! Good pigs and 
 geese : go dine, go dine ! " All the middle ages 
 are there. And there is one named Repentance, 
 preaching to them all a heart-searching sermon. So 
 well does he preach that they are converted, every 
 one ; yes, even the Seven Deadly Sins, whom Lang- 
 land describes so vividly that we see them as clearly 
 as we do Chaucer's Wife of Bath. The whole assem- 
 bly falls on its knees and takes a vow, as most people 
 did then when smitten in conscience ; they will go 
 on pilgrimage. 
 
 But it is a strange pilgrimage that they under- 
 take ! A pilgrimage to Truth. Reason recommends 
 it to them : — 
 
 " Ye that seek Saint James and saints of Eome 
 Seek Saint Truth, for he may save you all." 
 
 "I will seek Truth first ere I see Rome," says one 
 of the penitents. So off they all start, and in such a 
 hurry that the Pardoner, a personage whom Lang- 
 
140 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 land evidently despises as much as Chaucer, is left 
 behind. 
 
 What a company it is ! Very different from 
 Chaucer's pilgrims, ambling along good roads on 
 their comfortable horses, chatting and laughing in 
 the April sunlight. They are dead in earnest, Lang- 
 land's people. They "bluster forth as beasts over 
 banks and hills, till late it was and long," for there 
 was no wight so wise as to know the way to Truth, 
 and there appeared to be no travelled road leading 
 to his shrine. Nor could they find any wayfarer to 
 give them direction. Even a very wise and travelled 
 pilgrim whom they meet, whose hat is plastered all 
 over with holy images, treats them with great scorn 
 when they ask him the way to St. Truth. He never 
 heard of anybody who wanted to go to that shrine 
 before, he says. 
 
 So the pilgrims are terribly discouraged, and stop 
 in pure bewilderment. Then all of a sudden some 
 one pipes up, and they look around and see that it is 
 a very common, vigorous-looking man, — Peter the 
 Ploughman. " Why, do you want to learn the way 
 to Truth ? " says Peter. " Well, I can tell you. I am 
 an intimate friend of Truth's. I have been his ser- 
 vant these fifty winters. I dig and I delve, I sow 
 and I thresh, I understand tinker's craft and tailor's 
 craft, I can do all Truth tells me to. He is the 
 promptest payer poor men know. I can tell you the 
 way to get to him." 
 
 The pilgrims are delighted and want to pay him 
 for his instructions. But Piers will not take a 
 farthing. Truth would love him the less a long time 
 thereafter, he says, if he did. And he tells them 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 141 
 
 exactly how to go. But alas ! It is a very compli- 
 cated journey. They are all sure that they cannot 
 find the way alone, and they beg Piers to serve as 
 guide. But this, he says, he cannot do, because he 
 hasn't ploughed his half -acre ; Truth would not 
 like him to leave his work undone ; besides, if he did, 
 people would starve. He has a great deal of honest 
 common sense, has Piers. 
 
 It is a perplexing situation, but the pilgrims find 
 a way out. They all exclaim, — it is a fine lady 
 to whom the thought seems first to come, and a 
 knight seconds her, — that they will turn to and 
 help Piers do his work quickly, and then he will 
 be free and they can set off together. This pleases 
 Piers very much. He receives authority over all 
 the pilgrims, and sets them to work, giving them 
 the sort of things to do for which they are best 
 fitted. This part of Langland's poem is profoundly 
 original. No one before him had thought of the 
 working-man, — for Piers, as is seen from his mani- 
 fold occupations, is more than merely a ploughman, 
 — as possible leader of the industrial community, 
 exalted over knights and professional men and the 
 Church itself. 
 
 Piers makes a very good governor, though he has a 
 great deal of difficulty with some lazy people who 
 won't work, but want to sit on the fence all day with 
 their legs hanging and sing "How ! troUi loUi ! " He 
 has to call in Hunger to help him before he can settle 
 them. As a rule, however, the pilgrims seem to enjoy 
 their work very much. We do not hear any more 
 about the pilgrimage. Probably when they all get 
 profitably busy in carrying on with honest intent the 
 
142 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 necessary labor of the world, they find that the shrine 
 of Truth is not in a very far country. Indeed, Piers 
 himself has promised them that the end of their quest 
 will be that each will find truth sitting in his heart 
 in a chain of charity, as if he were a child. 
 
 But the story of the Ploughman does not stop 
 there. Langland sees in his vision that God the 
 Father sends Piers a bull of pardon, by which he 
 becomes the spiritual, as he is already the economic, 
 head of the community. Presently a priest comes 
 along, who objects to this, wants to see the Bull 
 which forms Piers' credentials. And behold ! it is 
 no formal pardon at all, but only a promise that, if 
 men will do well, God will save their souls. The 
 priest is not at all satisfied with this, and he begins 
 to reason and to quarrel noisily, and the Dreamer 
 wakes. 
 
 Since, however, the pardon has been promised to 
 those who " do well," it is very important to find out 
 just what doing well involves ; and so Langland falls 
 asleep again, and dreams many visions bearing on 
 this point. It takes him a great while to reach his 
 end, and he passes almost every phase of life in 
 musing review : but he learns to understand at last 
 the three stages of the perfect life. To Do Well is 
 to do what law teaches ; to be true of one's tongue, 
 and earn one's livelihood by the labor of one's 
 hands ; to be trusty, and to grieve no man. Beyond 
 this is another ideal, which to practise is to Do Bet- 
 ter, and this is, to love both friend and foe, to be 
 humble and courteous, to lend readily, and to resist 
 not evil. Beyond this is the highest ideal of all, and 
 that is to Do Best. Only in the Life of the Ascended 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 143 
 
 Christ and of His Church does Langland find a full 
 example of this great thought. Do Best is no longer 
 passive ; to Do Best is to go forth into the world, to 
 heal and to redeem ; to cast down the wicked, to 
 have authority in judgment. 
 
 Those cantos of the poem which give a poetic study 
 of the Passion of Christ, are the most beautiful and 
 impassioned that Langland ever wrote. One in par- 
 ticular is a very great poem : it is the eighteenth 
 canto in the B text, and describes with wonderful 
 fervor a scene on which the middle ages loved to 
 dwell : Christ's Harrowing of Hell, or his descent 
 into Hades on the evening of Good Friday, and his 
 release of the spirits of the just held in prison there. 
 These cantos reintroduce, in a most interesting way, 
 the figure of the Ploughman. He is no longer 
 merely the honest laborer, the only person who knows 
 the Secrets of Truth in a bewildered generation : 
 nor is he merely the industrial head of the commun- 
 ity, startling as may seem to us this exaltation of the 
 working-man. His figure becomes surrounded with 
 a mystic radiance ; the poet speaks of him, not with 
 the hearty fellowship of earlier cantos, but with 
 reverence, almost with awe. Peter the Ploughman 
 is manifest to us as the representative on earth of 
 Christ Himself : and we see him coming in with a 
 cross before the common people ; with the marks of 
 the Passion upon him : Christ the Conqueror, Christ 
 arisen. 
 
 So begins the literature of social revolt in Eng- 
 land, rooted deep in the heart of Christianity. 
 Through many and devious phases has it passed 
 since then ; many more, perhaps, await it. But still 
 
144 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 Langland's earnest spirit of love toward God and 
 man, of reverence for poverty and faithful toil, holds 
 for many seekers a golden key to some of our 
 gravest problems. 
 
 III. "Wyclif and the Religious Revolt 
 
 The religious and the social awakening went on 
 together ; indeed, the spirit of religious revolt was 
 the first abroad in the land. It was no wonder that 
 this spirit arose ; for the Church, once the protector 
 of the poor and the witness to unworldliness, had 
 allowed abuses and corruptions unnumbered to defile 
 her purity. In particular, the venal and degraded 
 lives of many of the begging friars, Franciscans and 
 Dominicans, were a hideous travesty upon the ideals 
 of St. Dominic and St. Francis. Charity once walked 
 the earth, to be sure, in a friar's robe, says Langland, 
 but that was long ago in St. Francis's time. What 
 his order had become we may best learn by the 
 scathing studies in Chaucer of the Friar and the Par- 
 doner. Langland's invective is equally scornful, 
 more indignant. Against such degradation of the 
 Gospel the native Anglo-Saxon integrity and hon- 
 esty arose in vehement protest. That strain of sim- 
 ple Christianity, which as we saw was strong in the 
 British isles before the work of Augustine and Wil- 
 frid emphasized and established Italian and papal 
 dominion there, reasserted itself after many cen- 
 turies. The man through whom it spoke was 
 Wyclif, a sturdy Saxon, if one ever breathed. 
 
 It is not for a history of literature to trace the 
 early phases of the Reformation in England. We 
 
1324-1384. 
 
 CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 145 
 
 consider Wyclif here, as the father of English John 
 prose. He is like many other authors whom we ^out*' 
 shall meet, whose greatness is chiefly in the world 
 of action and thought, who hold only a secondary 
 importance from the point of view of art, yet even 
 on that ground cannot be wholly ignored. Wyclif 
 was a great thinker, doctor of divinity, and master 
 of an Oxford college. He was the last of the medi- 
 aeval schoolmen. And he was honored and famous 
 long before the impulse of reform seized him. He 
 wrote Latin treatises at this time in his career ; but 
 it was not long before he awoke to the keen recog- 
 nition of the needs of the common people, and, turn- 
 ing to them, began to address to them homilies, 
 sermons, tracts, in their own mother tongue. Very 
 likely the remarkable influence of Langland's poem, 
 in its early version, suggested to him that he write in 
 English. He trained up followers to do likewise ; 
 his "poor priests" tramped the country, preaching 
 after a new fashion the simplest gospel truths ; 
 appealing, not to imagination, as the Catholic lit- 
 erature of the middle ages had largely done, but ex- 
 clusively to reason and conscience. Much of this 
 Wyclifite literature has come down to us. It has 
 little grace or harmony of style ; on the other hand, 
 it is written in a prose that goes straight to the 
 mark, nervous, crisp, telling, and clear. We feel the 
 genius of Wyclif in it all ; but we feel that genius 
 yet more in another work of his, for which the Eng- 
 lish-speaking race owes him undying gratitude. For 
 Wyclif it was who first had the Bible translated into 
 English, doing much of the work himself, and who 
 thereby put into the hands of the nation the book 
 
146 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 which, apart from its higher influences, did more than 
 any other one thing to create for centuries our prose 
 style. When we think that the laity had up to this 
 time derived their knowledge of the Bible from pic- 
 tures, images. Church ceremonies, and miracle plays, 
 we can see how marvellous was the gift which Wyc- 
 lif gave them in the simple gospel. 
 
 The language of Wyclif's translation is strange to 
 us to-day. He translated from the Vulgate, or 
 Latin version of St. Jerome, and his work is not 
 the foundation of our Authorized Version. That 
 came later. Meanwhile, these early, stammering, 
 awkward versions of what we know so well have a 
 touching charm and a grave interest. Here is Wyc- 
 lif's version of the Beatitudes : — 
 
 " Blessid be pore men in spirit : for the kyngdom of 
 hevene is herun. Blessid ben mylde men: for thei 
 schulen weelde the erthe. Blessid ben thei that mournen : 
 for they schal be coumf ortid. Blessid be thei that hung- 
 ren and thirsten rigtwisnesse : for thei schal be f ulfillid. 
 Blessid ben merciful men : for thei schal gete mercy. 
 Blessid ben thei that ben of clene herte : for thei schulen 
 se God. Blessid ben pesible men: for thei schulen be 
 clepid goddis children. Blessid ben thei that suffren per- 
 seeucioun for rightwisnesse : for the kyngdom of hevene 
 is hern." 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Cassell publishes a cheap edition of Mandeville, with mod- 
 emized spelling. Gollancz has a charming edition, with trans- 
 lation, of the " Pearl." " Sir Gawaine and the Greene Knight," 
 translated by Jessie Weston, is in a dainty volume published 
 by David Nutt. Gower's Confessio Amantis is most accessible 
 in the Carisbrooke Library, edited by Henry Morley. 
 
CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 147 
 
 Skeat's edition of Langland, 2 vols. Also, first seven passus, 
 Clarendon Press. Translation, of same. Kate Warren. 
 
 J. JussERAND, Piers Plowman, A Contribution to the His- 
 tory of English Mysticism. V. D. Scudder, Social Ideals in 
 English Letters, Part I, Ch. I. Elizabeth Bering Hanscom, 
 The Argument of the Vision of Piers Plowman, Modern Lan- 
 guage Association, Vol. IX. 
 
 Green, History of the English People, Chap. VI, Sec. IV. 
 Traill, Social England, Vol. II. Jessop, The Coming of the 
 Friars. Cutts, Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages; 
 Parish Priests and their People in the Middle Ages in England. 
 William Morris, The Dream of John Ball. 
 
 Bosworth and Waring, Translations of the Gospels, in- 
 cludes Wyclif's. English Works of Wyclif, ed. by T. Arnold. 
 By J. D. Matthew-Pennington, J. Wyclif, his Life, Time, 
 and Teaching. Buddensieg, John WicUf, Patriot and Re- 
 former. G. V. Lechler, John Wyclif, and his English 
 Precursors. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 It is not only entertaining, but profitable, to have stories 
 told from Mandeville in class, for various inferences can be 
 drawn concerning the state of knowledge in the middle ages, 
 and concerning mediaeval habits of thought. Ruskin alludes to 
 Mandeville in a charming way in the "Ethics of the Dust." 
 Gollancz's edition of the "Pearl" is a pleasure to handle, and 
 portions of the poem should be read. The teacher might here 
 lecture on the Elegy as an art-form, or suggest comparisons with 
 other great elegies. Any one would enjoy owning and reading 
 Jessie Weston's pretty edition of " Sir Gawaine." Gower may 
 be taken by the young on trust. 
 
 Young students can read Langland only in short extracts or 
 in translation. Enough work, however, to give an idea of his 
 flavor, his racy vocabulary, his quaint use of symbolism and 
 figure, his pathos and moral earnestness, may well be done. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 This is a point where interesting lectures may profitably be 
 given. The social conditions of England may be pictured. 
 Langland may be compared in his social teaching with Words- 
 
148 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 worth, with Carlyle, with Raskin, with Tolstoi. His pictures of 
 contemporary life may be made vivid to the class, and his sym- 
 bolic impersonations, like his figures of the seven deadly sins, 
 may be compared with others of the same general type, as 
 Spenser's in the first book of the " Faerie Queene," Giotto's in 
 the Arena chapel at Padua. A lecture on St. Francis, and the 
 mediaeval idea of the relation of poverty to Christianity, would 
 not be out of place, and would be helpful in understanding the 
 influence of Wyclif . A lecture on Wyclif is needed to expand 
 the slight treatment of the text, and the teacher might spend 
 an hour in reading to the class from Wyclif 's Bible, while the 
 students compared his rendering with the Authorized Version. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MEDIEVAL DRAMA 
 
 THE middle ages had its epics, its lyrics, its prose; 
 it had also its drama. No other drama ever 
 held the public so long. For nearly five centuries 
 it was iu its rude way a living force ; only three 
 centuries separate us from Shakespeare. 
 
 The mediseval drama is not, in the strict sense, 
 literature ; for it was never meant to be read, and we 
 must not turn to it for literary values. Neverthe- 
 less, it is of great importance, for it prepared the 
 way for Shakespeare. It trained the dramatic in- 
 stincts of the people from whom was to spring the 
 Elizabethan drama, and the Elizabethan drama is the 
 greatest imaginative self-expression of the modern 
 world. 
 
 No drama was ever so audacious in subject as this; Biblical 
 for it began with the creation of the world, and only uon!"^^ 
 paused with the day of judgment. All heaven and 
 all hell it brought upon the scene : angels and 
 devils ; the Lord of Life Himself, and the lord of 
 sin. Between these two mighty opposing forces 
 it placed the greatest of all protagonists, — Man. 
 Mediseval drama was part of mediseval religion. 
 There are, to be sure, traces of secular drama in 
 the middle ages, but they are comparatively insig- 
 nificant ; and, though in Europe many plays were 
 founded on the lives of saints, we are not sur- 
 
 149 
 
150 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 prised to find that the drama of the race which had 
 produced Csedmon and Cynewulf was almost wholly 
 Biblical. 
 Develop- The dramatization of the great story was indeed 
 ™®°'' sure to come among people who persistently visual- 
 ized all the mysteries of faith. It grew, this religious 
 drama, in a way that seems strange to us moderns. 
 There were no theatres in the middle ages. The 
 earliest theatre was a church, and not only a church, 
 but the stage or scene was the holy place around the 
 high altar. Here, on the great feast days, white- 
 robed choristers representing the Christmas shep- 
 herds or the Easter angels detached themselves from 
 the rest of the choir or clergy, and, with special 
 chants, with gestures, later with more pronounced 
 action, made visible to worshippers who could under- 
 stand religion best through their eyes, the central 
 facts of the Gospel story. In time this nascent drama 
 moved from choir to nave, became more and more 
 separate from the religious service, and gained new, 
 independent subjects. A great step was taken when 
 it left the church and passed into the open air of 
 the square outside ; a greater, perhaps, when it defi- 
 nitely abandoned Latin, and talked in the tongue 
 understood of the people. In time, secular actors 
 took the place of the clergy ; and finally, the drama, 
 fully developed, took to wandering at will through 
 the town, the fullest expression we have of the 
 rude, childish, generous heart of the mediaeval 
 people. 
 Character. For the people created, possessed, acted, this mam- 
 moth, anonymous drama. Different acts in the 
 story came to be assigned to the different trade 
 
THE MEDIiEVAL DRAMA 151 
 
 guilds, — the Fishermen, for instance, taking the 
 Flood, the Bakers the Last Supper. Each owned a 
 car, or travelling stage, devoted to this act, and 
 prided itself on its full equipment in properties and 
 actors. The car was built in tiers, of which the 
 lower could serve as green-room, or as a second stage 
 to represent the earth, while the upper was some- 
 times reserved for heaven. Whatever the arrange- 
 ment, a great feature of the mediaeval stage was a 
 monstrous pair of jaws, sometimes worked to open 
 and shut, which represented that spot so real to the 
 mediaeval fancy, — the jaws of hell, ever yawning to 
 receive unhappy mortals. On festival days, espe- 
 cially the Feast of Corpus Christi in midsummer, 
 these lumbering cars would roll one after another 
 through the thronged holiday streets, and at each 
 pause would be enacted the pageant of the guUd. 
 All through a summer's day, through several days 
 sometimes, these pageants would pass by, and the 
 familiar streets would be to the populace no longer 
 the scene of petty everyday life, but of the Drama 
 of Redemption. 
 
 Nothing daunted the audacity of the mediaeval 
 playwrights. The Deity Himself they put upon the 
 stage, with primitive simplicity which appears strange 
 to our modern mind. " Paid for a pair of gloves for 
 God, twopence," is an item in an old account of the 
 theatre. The first act of the drama was the Fall of 
 Lucifer. The arch-fiend and his attendant angels 
 tumbled literally from the upper stage into hell- 
 mouth, whence they emerged, sprightly if hideous 
 demons. Then came the pageant of the Creation of 
 Man, followed by successive scenes from the Scrip- 
 
152 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 ture story : Cain and Abel, the Flood, the Sacrifice 
 of Isaac, the long row of Prophets foretelling the 
 birth of the Saviour. More intense and eager would 
 grow the feelings of the audience as the pageants of 
 the New Testament drew near. How tenderly they 
 would follow the rude grace and touching childish- 
 ness with which were depicted all the exquisite 
 stories of the birth and infancy of the Lord ! With 
 what awed and aching hearts would they watch the 
 pageants which set forth with unsparing, piteous 
 detail the scenes of His Passion and Death ! Then 
 came the Harrowing of Hell, full of dramatic action 
 between the wrathful devils, routed in the moment of 
 their triumph, and the Christ, victorious through His 
 very agony. The Resurrection and Ascension thrilled 
 watchful hearts with adoring joy ; and from Whit- 
 sunday the drama advanced rapidly to the Day of 
 Judgment, where not all the primitive setting could 
 lessen the awe with which simple souls heard pro- 
 nounced the words of doom and mercy ; and saw the 
 souls of the blessed in their little white coats ris- 
 ing into heavenly glory, and of the others, dark with 
 agony, seized and dragged into the fiery mouth of 
 hell by gibbering, horny devils. 
 Values. As far as poetic values go, this old drama is rude 
 
 in the extreme. The verse is usually mere doggerel ; 
 there is little idea of dramatic movement or arrange- 
 ment. Yet it has a certain power and pathos, de- 
 rived, if from nothing else, from the majesty of the 
 theme. It is very touching, too, to see how the old 
 playwrights conceived of the Holy Story as if it had 
 happened in Lancashire or London. They do not 
 hesitate to introduce into the sacred tale the rough 
 
THE MEDIAEVAL DRAMA 153 
 
 manners, the characters, the humor, which they knew 
 in daily life. In the Old Testament plays, the pag- 
 eant of the Flood was particularly devoted to this 
 kind of humor, and Noah's Wife, a character "ben 
 trovata," was own cousin to Chaucer's Wife of Bath. 
 She wouldn't go into the ark. She didn't believe it 
 was going to rain. She was angry because Noah had 
 not told her what he was doing in all the hundred 
 years he had been building that boat. The " Merry 
 Wives of Windsor," we may surmise, come from her 
 tribe. There is less broad farce, but equal humor, 
 in the charming, absurd. Nativity Plays. Here hon- 
 est English rustics, who like Ely's ale, and bear such 
 names as Tudde, Hancken, and Trowle, indulge in 
 jokes, quarrels, horse-play ; grumble at the weather, 
 — " Whew ! Golly ! How cold it is ! " exclaims one ; 
 are not at all awed by the Gloria-angel, whom they 
 fall to mimicking ; but do lay aside their roughness, 
 filled with tender adoration, at the sight of the Holy 
 Child. Very touching in realism are the gifts these 
 shepherds bring him : a brooch with a tin bell, for 
 instance ; two cobble nuts on a ribbon ; a horn spoon 
 that will hold forty pease ; and the like. In one set 
 of plays, little shepherd boys follow their masters, 
 and give, they too, of their substance. 
 
 " To pull down apples, pears, and plums, 
 Old Joseph shall not need to hurt his thumbs : 
 I give thee here my nut-hook," 
 
 says one little lad. There is much real beauty, also, 
 about the other scenes in the Nativity Pageants, 
 notably those where speaks the Mother-Maid, gazing 
 
154 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 in brooding worship, blended with gentle mother 
 love, upon her mysterious Child : — 
 
 " Son, as I am simple subject of thine, 
 Vouchsafe, sweet son, I pray thee, 
 That I may take thee in these arms of mine. 
 And in this poor weed to array thee. 
 
 Grant me this bliss. 
 As I am thy mother chosen to be 
 
 In soothfastness." 
 
 That Joseph swears by the Trinity and Herod by 
 Mahomet does not seem, however absurd the anach- 
 ronism, to alter the essential truth of human feeling 
 in the naive old dramas. 
 
 When the dramas draw near to the more solemn 
 or tragic portions of the story, however, their fail- 
 ure is more obvious ; and, despite an occasional touch 
 of beauty, the puerility and feebleness become so 
 great that sympathy almost ceases. But we must 
 look, not at execution, but at conception, if we would 
 realize the power of this drama in the poetic educa- 
 tion of the English race. And the conception has a 
 titanic grandeur which assuredly prepared the way 
 for the greater art of the future. "Elizabethan 
 tragedy, with the careless strength of a young giant, 
 shook off the troublesome conventions of the stage, 
 — unity of time, unity of place. "Was not England 
 reared upon dramas that embraced heaven, earth, and 
 hell within their limits, that encompassed all of time 
 that had been and yet should be?"i Not only in 
 breadth of scope, but in rough truth to human life, 
 in a frank realism that alternated with conventional 
 
 1 Katherine Lee Bates, " The English Religious Drama," p. 183. 
 
THE MEDIAEVAL DKAMA 155 
 
 types, in the blending of tragedy and comedy, the 
 medigeval stage prepared the way for Shakespeare. 
 Moreover, these old plays developed an insatiable 
 desire for dramatic representation. "They made 
 England a nation of actors, a nation of theatre- 
 lovers, a nation of deep dramatic cravings, who 
 would be content with no such learned and elegant 
 trifling as amused the court and university, but cried 
 out for range, for earnestness, for life. To follow 
 the history of feudal England through a series of 
 plays was little for those whose grandsires had fol- 
 lowed the history of mankind. Londoners had 
 looked already on a more heart-moving tragedy 
 than 'Hamlet.'"! 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 J. M. Manly, Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama. 
 (Athenaeum Press Series.) A. W. Pollard, English Miracle 
 Plays, Moralities and Interludes. K. L. Bates, The English 
 Religious Drama. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 It will probably be found best for students to read only a 
 few selected passages here and there from this rough old drama. 
 But certain of the plays have been presented lately by student 
 companies, with as close a reproduction as possible of the 
 mediseval setting, to the delectation alike of actors and audi- 
 ence. The shepherd plays and some of the pageants of the 
 Old Testament lend themselves particularly well to such repre- 
 sentation. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 There is material here for a series of valuable lectures. The 
 dramas could be considered and described by cycles, or the 
 treatment could be topical, discussing the humorous elements 
 in the mediaeval drama, the poetry, the dramatic structure, the 
 illustrations of contemporary life, the relation to the ritual of 
 the Church, etc. 
 
 1 Ibid., p. 200. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 I. Chauceeian Imitators 
 
 IN some countries there are seasons when autumn 
 and spring meet, so that the year is dying and be-, 
 ing born at the same time. Something like this 
 happened in England in the fifteenth century. To 
 all outward seeming, that century looked like a period 
 of death and sterile decay ; but, before its end, little 
 seeds that were to mean a wondrously fair growth 
 were sprouting, unsuspected by men, beneath the 
 surface. 
 
 So far as actual achievement above ground goes, 
 however, our eyes rest on decay alone. Almost noth- 
 ing original was produced in English letters. People 
 had been much, and rightly, impressed with Chaucer ; 
 and they took to imitating him, and went on doing 
 so till their works became the shadow of a shadow. 
 Chaucer looked straight at life ; but they looked at 
 Chaucer, and their fate is a warning. They did not 
 catch his freshness and humor and keen observant 
 power ; they copied his more conventional aspects, 
 his mannerisms, and allegories. These things had 
 been a real expression of men's spirit once. They 
 were fading away when Chaucer revived them, and 
 when his imitators kept them up they grew fainter 
 and fainter. 
 
 156 
 
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 157 
 
 It must not be supposed that there was no merit 
 in any of these followers of Chaucer ; if there were 
 nothing greater awaiting us, we might find pleasure 
 in lingering with them ; ' but it is better to learn 
 about supremely great things first, and then to 
 return, if one will, to the second-rate. 
 
 Lydgate, Hoccleve, and Hawes were the chief of John 
 these Chaucerian imitators. Lydgate was a good- about^isVo 
 tempered, pleasant monk, quite in earnest about his j^*"""* 
 religion, but without what one would call a spiritual 
 vocation. He may have been a little like Browning's 
 "Fra Lippo Lippi" ; but he solaced himself for his 
 monastic confinement with writing, not with paint- 
 ing, and he did not have so much genius as Lippi. 
 He must have enjoyed his work, though, for he kept 
 on writing hymns and ballads and fables and saint 
 legends and telling old stories over again, till he had 
 produced an average of five thousand verses a year, 
 and left behind him over a hundred and thirty thou- 
 sand. Virgil, M. Jusserand reminds us with a sigh, 
 wrote in all his life only fourteen thousand. His 
 work is not disagreeable. His " Troy Book," his 
 " Story of Thebes," his " Fall of Princes," are well 
 enough told ; but there is nothing vital in them, 
 nothing significant. One feels that if he could only 
 once get down to the truth of his own nature, he 
 might do something really fine. But this he never 
 took the trouble to do. The best way perhaps to 
 appreciate Lydgate is to read Hoccleve ; for Hoc- Thomas 
 cleve was even duller than Lydgate. The best thing about ' 
 about him was that he loved Chaucer, whose verse aSf^*" 
 he knew well. His verse is very didactic, rather i*50- 
 mournful, and there was a great deal of it. 
 
158 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 So poetry went on, sterile, imitative, and depress- 
 ing. Meanwhile, not much original work was doing 
 in prose. The most important prose writer in Eng- 
 lish was a curious man, Reginald Pecock. He at- 
 tacked Wyclifism and defended the Church, but 
 with such strange weapons that the Church resented 
 his championship, and forced him to burn his books 
 and to make recantation. Pecock was an interesting 
 and original person ; the man whom all parties 
 dread and discard usually is. 
 
 II. Scotch Literature 
 
 But to find anything in literature worth lingering 
 over, one must travel away from weary and battle- 
 beset England, and take refuge in the Kingdom of 
 the North. Scotland had been silent all this time ; 
 only, in the fourteenth century, Barbour's " Bruce " 
 had sung of the national conflict against England, 
 and as the fifteenth century wore on some other 
 patriotic poetry was produced. But now a number 
 of voices arise. They sing, they scold, they laugh ; 
 there is life in them, and real feeling. 
 James I, The first of these is the voice of a kins:, a real kinar, 
 
 1394-1437 
 
 who seems to belong in a story-book : James I, of Scot- 
 land. It is a courtly voice ; it belongs to a lover, a sen- 
 sitive, dreamy man of finest culture. He sings over 
 again what had been imagined before him, but the won- 
 der is that in his case it has all come true. He was in 
 prison, like Palamon and Arcite in the "Knight's 
 Tale," and he saw from his window another Emily 
 walking in the garden : " Ah, sweet, are ye a worldly 
 creature, or heavenly thing in guise of nature ? " he 
 
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 159 
 
 exclaimed in marvelling admiration. She was an 
 earthly creature ; her name, Jane Beaufort ; his love 
 from that moment, later his loving wife : and the 
 romantic story of his courtship and many other 
 things he wrote in his poem, "The King's Quair," 
 or "King's Book." The poem is modelled after 
 Chaucer, but it has real experience in it ; it is 
 written in a seven line stanza, which Chaucer had 
 used, but which has taken since the name of rhyme 
 royal, from the kingly author. Those who wish to 
 know more of the tragic fate of this poet-king of 
 romance may read it in Rossetti's noble ballad, 
 "The King's Tragedy." 
 
 The other Scottish poets are not so courtly. They Robert 
 are real Scotchmen ; by and by they will have a (i!^i^)] 
 younger brother named Burns. Robert Henryson, 
 a schoolmaster, can write, to be sure, a Testament or 
 Will for Chaucer's " Cresside," but he can also put 
 ^sop's Fables into sparkling, spirited, entertaining 
 verse. William Dunbar, a stronger soul than Hen- wiiiiam 
 ryson, had a wild, exuberant character. In the Meo-fs^s'o. 
 poems that he imitated from Chaucer, " The Thistle 
 and the Rose,", and " The Golden Targe," his pic- 
 tures are so gorgeous and his colors so intense that 
 we feel that the mark of decay is upon them. His 
 lyrics are charged with a reckless, grotesque, sombre 
 passion ; his " Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins " and 
 his " Lament for the Makars " come, as all may feel, 
 from the country of Tarn o' Shanter. Finally, in 
 this roll of Scottish poets, advances a grave bishop, 
 named Gavin Douglas. Scott knew him well, as Gavin 
 "Marmion" can testify. Douglas translated the nT^fillk 
 " ^neid," and the work was important : but he di- 
 
160 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 vided the poem by little interludes of his own, describ- 
 ing different aspects of nature, and these are more 
 important still. We escape in them from the eternal 
 May of the fourteenth century ; we no longer pluck 
 roses and violets at the same season. We watch the 
 wild storms of the Scottish winter, and the details of 
 the bleak Scotch landscape are studied with loving 
 care. 
 
 It is Celtic, this revel of wild nature ; all this 
 Scotch poetry is obviously of Celtic inspiration, — the 
 passion for color that is in it, the humor, now sly, 
 now coarse, the mingling of fan and horror which 
 one gets in Dunbar, the curious power with which 
 the supernatural note is struck. These things are 
 seldom to be found in the poetry produced in Eng- 
 land while the Norman influence was supreme and 
 new. They serve to remind us of the third great 
 racial element which, before the sixteenth century is 
 over, wiU fully have reasserted itself in English 
 verse. 
 
 III. Ballads 
 
 We may as well pause here as at any other point 
 to glance at something which has been going on for 
 a long time — ballad-making. For printing is on 
 the way, and ballads will cease. A ballad is a shy 
 thing. If you try to catch and print it, it is likely 
 to run away, and to leave a poor imitated concern in 
 its place. Neither does it like to be asked questions 
 about date or authorship or dry matters of that 
 kind; it knows how to evade very sharp examina- 
 tions on these lines. So we would better not press 
 many inquiries about the ballads; but if we open 
 
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 161 
 
 our eyes and ears almost any time from the four- 
 teenth century to the eighteenth, if we slip away 
 from the learned world and play with simple folk 
 and listen, there the ballads we shall find. They 
 seem to appear as mysteriously as fairies in a ring 
 on midsummer eve. Where did they come from? 
 Nobody knows, — though a good many are of Scotch 
 descent, as one can tell from their garment of words 
 and from their feelings. Only one thing is clear: 
 they have no relation to the great literary tradition 
 which we have been following from the twelfth cen- 
 tury down. They spring straight from the hearts 
 and lips of the common people ; no one can ascribe 
 a ballad to a single author ; they were sung before 
 they were said. While we read them, we are no 
 longer in the graceful garden close nor in a feudal 
 hall nor a cathedral ; we are in the good green wood, 
 with Robin Hood and his merry men, or on the 
 moorland country, under the wide sky where Percy 
 and Douglas fight; or we stand with true Thomas 
 at the spot where three roads meet : the road to 
 heaven, the road to hell, — 
 
 " And see ye not that bonny road, 
 
 Which winds about the f ernie brae ? 
 That is the road to fair Elfland, 
 Where you and I this night maun gae." 
 
 Down this last road, the road to Fairyland, again 
 and again the ballads lead us. These ballads of 
 superstition come mostly from Scotland, and the 
 Celtic magic is in them. Then we have ballads of 
 border warfare, of domestic story, of pure romance, 
 and, above all, ballads of the wild outlaw life of the 
 
162 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 forest. Red blood runs through the veins of the 
 people in the ballads. They move in no conven- 
 tional world of vision, no pretty sphere of artificial 
 sentiments and graceful manners. Their feet are 
 on the solid earth, and the verse that tells of their 
 loves and fates goes directly to the point : — 
 
 " She turned her back unto the room, 
 Her face unto the wa', 
 And with a deep and heavy sigh 
 Her heart it brak in twa." 
 
 We are among primeval experiences, elemental pas- 
 sions; great is the relief with which we turn to 
 them after the monotonous echoes of the lettered 
 world in the fifteenth century. 
 
 IV. The Decadence op the Middle Ages 
 
 But why should the literature of the fifteenth 
 century have been monotonous and sterile ? Why, 
 after that brief glory of Chaucer's time, should 
 silence fall ? In other countries, notably in Italy, 
 the fifteenth century was an age of fervid creation, 
 a climax in the imaginative power of the race. Why 
 not in England ? 
 
 Literature in England was apparently dying, 
 because other things greater than literature were 
 dying too. 
 
 The Wars of the Roses were the last struggle 
 of feudalism. Knighthood, from a grim or noble 
 reality, was becoming a plaything. The great baro- 
 nial houses were being swept away. The Peasant 
 Revolt, to be sure, had been suppressed, and silent 
 
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 163 
 
 misery had once more fallen upon the poor ; yet, 
 despite the seeming victory of the powers that were, 
 the doom of the great feudal nobility had been pro- 
 nounced. The whole fabric of mediaeval society was 
 undermined and crumbling away. A new social 
 order was approaching. 
 
 The religious situation was tragic. In the first 
 half of the century the Lollards had been ruthlessly 
 suppressed, and their leader, Sir John Oldcastle, 
 burnt to death. The Roman Catholic Church 
 seemed wholly triumphant. But not the satire of 
 Chaucer nor the appeals of Langland nor the in- 
 vective of Wyclif had made her purify her abuses. 
 The stress on imagination and feeling had been 
 overwrought ; superstitious excesses had crept in ; 
 religion, to a people that had lost all power to follow 
 or understand the offices in Latin, and saw the 
 unworthy lives of throngs of clergy, came to seem 
 like an outworn sham. 
 
 It must have been mournful to live in the fifteenth 
 century, to feel the fabric of Church and State crum- 
 bling around, yet to have no clear vision of better 
 things to be. The mood of such a period is likely 
 to be tragic, fevered, charged with gloom. Even 
 the imitators of Chaucer have little of his bright 
 spirit, but are addicted to melancholy wails. Ex- 
 travagance and hysteria mark the last phases of the 
 Ages of Romance. Costume becomes fantastically 
 absurd. Gothic architecture is dying with the mid- 
 dle ages, dying in extravagance on the Continent, in 
 formalism in England. People feel a sense of pro- 
 found discouragement and exhaustion. At times, 
 reaction from conventionality produces eccentric, 
 
164 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 burlesque work, such as that of the curious poet, 
 John Skelton. A fiercely satirical temper is met 
 again and again ; the figure of Folly seems with her 
 cap and bells to dominate the scene. A popular 
 Dutch poem, translated by one Barclay, illustrates 
 this temper ; the name of the poem is " The Ship of 
 Fools," and it moves to a dreadful climax in the 
 chapter entitled "The Universall or General Ship or 
 Barge," where we see all nations helter-skelter, all 
 sorts and conditions of men, the rich, the poor, labor- 
 ers, merchants, soldiers, explorers, women, children, 
 — all wearing the livery of Folly, and the aspect of 
 the insane. 
 
 Beside the form of Folly, another, yet more terri- 
 ble, dominated the fifteenth century: this was the 
 form of the Skeleton. The age was morbidly given 
 to meditation on decay and death. "The Art and 
 Craft to know well how to Die " was one of the first 
 books issued from Caxton's press. Homilies on the 
 Day of Judgment, on the Four Last Things, meet us 
 at every turn. Natural enough, then, is the appear- 
 ance of the skeleton, the physical symbol of the Lord 
 of Terrors. He peeps as an ornament from the illu- 
 minated borders of Books of Hours ; he is carved in 
 the woodwork of the cathedrals ; frightful pageants 
 are held in his honor, pageants of which the famous 
 Danse Macabre gives the suggestion. Finally, the 
 great artist Holbein sums up the spirit of the time 
 in his famous woodcuts of The Dance of Death. 
 The grim figure is everywhere present : leans out 
 behind the preacher in the pulpit, touches on the 
 shoulder the ploughman in the field, watches the 
 miser count his gold, draws the child from the era- 
 
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 165 
 
 die, — is, unseen, the lord of the human race. There 
 is in Holbein's pictures a solemn and eternal truth ; 
 there is also a special truth for his own day and 
 generation. This weird apparition had effectively 
 touched the middle ages on the shoulder, and sum- 
 moned them to their doom. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Good selections from the Chaucerian imitators are found in 
 Waed's English Poets. Selections from the Scottish poets are 
 in "Mediaeval Scottish Poetry," Glasgow, 1892. The " Romance 
 of a King's Life," by J. J. Jusserand, tells vividly the story 
 of James I, and Rossetti's ballad, the " King's Tragedy," is a 
 noble version of his death. 
 
 On ballads, the great authority is Child's monumental work, 
 " English and Scottish Popular Ballads." A good short collec- 
 tion, with admirable introduction, is that by Gummere, in the 
 Athenseum Press series. See, also, Percy's Reliques, J. Rit- 
 son's Ancient Songs and Ballads, K. L. Bates's Ballad Book 
 (Sibley & Ducker). 
 
 For general character of period, socially and politically, see 
 Denton, England in the Fifteenth Century. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 In this period ballads are the most rewarding study for 
 young students. Great ballads, like " Sir Patrick Spens," " The 
 Wife of Usher's Well," portions of "Chevy Chase," and the 
 Robin Hood ballads, may be learned and repeated in class. 
 
 Special discussions may be held on outlaw life as shown in 
 the ballads, on nature in the ballads, on the supernatural in the 
 ballads, on the difference between the English and Scottish 
 ballads ; also on the art of the ballads, their versification, their 
 figures of speech, their narrative power, their range of feeling, 
 etc. 
 
 If Holbein's illustrations of The Dance of Death can be 
 shown to the class, the last part of the chapter will be far more 
 vivid. 
 
166 THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 A lecture on the nature element in the Scottish poets would 
 be quite worth while, recalling the class to a line of interest 
 which should have been started in the study of Anglo-Saxon 
 and Celtic literature, and may be in danger of being forgotten 
 by this time. Or a lecture on Dunbar and Henryson, comparing 
 them with Burns, would be interesting. 
 
 The Origin of Ballads is a subject rather out of the range 
 of high-school scholars, but a talk by the teacher drawn from 
 Child and Gummere could make the important subject lucid 
 and intelligible. Ballads and folklore in other countries might 
 be compared with those of England, or the class might be told 
 about European forms of ballads found in our own tongue. A 
 lecture on the social and political conditions of the century 
 would be of service. 
 
PART III 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE REBIRTH 
 
 rriHE word " renaissance " means rebirth, and it is 
 -^ not too strong a word for what happened to the 
 nations of Europe when the middle ages were ex- 
 hausted. However great they were, these middle 
 ages, they were bound to pass away sooner or later. 
 Every order of civilization has its term. Men are 
 always forgetting this, and thinking that the order 
 in which they live is final. Most people think this 
 to-day about our industrial democracy ; so people in 
 the fifteenth century believed that feudalism and the 
 Roman Catholic Church could never lose their hold 
 on the English race. They had lasted so long, these 
 mighty powers ! longer than the memory of men's 
 great-great-grandfathers ! When symptoms of decay 
 began to appear in them, people became frightened. 
 They fell into those moods of lethargy or reckless- 
 ness which we described in the last chapter, they 
 took to fearing that Death reigned supreme. 
 
 They were right in thinking that the old was 
 doomed, but they did not know what great new 
 things were to come. Even in literature, the no- 
 blest and most beautiful achievements of the race 
 were yet to be. Think of the state of English litera- 
 ture in 1500. There was no Shakespeare, no Milton, 
 no Spenser, no Bacon, no Tennyson, nor Wordsworth, 
 nor Carlyle, nor Dickens. Chaucer was the only 
 
 169 
 
170 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 The Re- 
 naissance 
 and the 
 Befornia- 
 tion. 
 
 Separate 
 In Europe, 
 
 United in 
 England. 
 
 author of tlie first order of importance who had yet 
 appeared. 
 
 The new experience which was to come to England 
 had already taken brilliant form in Italy. Strictly 
 and literally speaking, we call it the Renaissance. 
 This was a secular movement ; it meant an enlarged 
 hunger for learning and knowledge, a quickened 
 sense for beauty and for art. Meanwhile in Ger- 
 many a little later a religious movement, not wholly 
 different from the Renaissance in cause, produced a 
 very different result : the Reformation. 
 
 The Renaissance and the Reformation were at 
 bottom from the same source, — the new craving 
 for inward freedom. But they were strangely dif- 
 ferent in manifestation, and as a rule they appealed 
 to different races. The interesting thing about the 
 early phases of the new life in England was that the 
 two impulses were combined. In Italy the Renais- 
 sance tended to irreligion : in Germany, the Refor- 
 mation did little or nothing to foster art or letters. 
 The English, a race at once Teutonic and Latin, 
 seemed for a time to hold the two forces in a noble 
 harmony. Later the two currents, even in England, 
 separated. One set toward Puritanism ; the other 
 drove men back within the horizons of earth, and 
 fixed their eyes on its seductions and their hearts on 
 its desires with results that we shall see. For a long 
 time, however, the friendly interplay of the forces 
 making toward religious and toward secular free- 
 dom, toward reformed faith on the one hand and 
 enlarged learning on the other, produced conse- 
 quences in England such as were not to be found 
 in any other country. And, to the end, the ethical 
 
naissance 
 
 classics. 
 
 THE REBIRTH 171 
 
 Germanic strain in the sturdy English race pre- 
 vented them from falling into the excesses of the 
 later Renaissance, that disfigured the alluring but 
 corrupt Italy of the Borgias. 
 
 The rediscovery of the classic past was the chief The Re- 
 inspiration of the Renaissance. Suddenly, the world 
 awakened to knowledge of the literature and art of 
 Greece and Rome. In 1453, the fall of Constantinople 
 sent the Greek scholars who had gathered there, 
 flying with their precious manuscripts to Italy, where The 
 they received a warm welcome. George Eliot's the 
 " Romola " gives a fine picture of the eager delight 
 with which the new study was welcomed at Florence. 
 Greek had hardly been known at all in Western 
 Europe during the middle ages, and, indeed, many of 
 the greatest of the Latin writers also had become 
 merely names to conjure with. It was not long 
 before this enthusiasm for Greek spread from Italy 
 to England. Soon all men and many women of 
 intellect were thirstily imbibing the new knowledge. 
 Forgotten poets, orators, historians, philosophers, 
 resumed their rightful place as intellectual leaders 
 of the race. Aristotle had been known throughout 
 the middle ages, and had absolutely controlled medi- 
 Eeval thought. Now Plato was discovered, and was 
 henceforth to affect men's spiritual moods, if not 
 their intellectual systems, more profoundly than ever 
 Aristotle had done. People were no longer to think 
 of Virgil as a mighty magician ; they were to try 
 their hand at translating him. They were to read 
 Homer, the Greek tragedians, the Latin moralists, all 
 the spokesmen of the past. The arts of the ancient 
 world, now first revealed, afforded standards for a 
 
172 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 perfection of form, for a clearness of thought, of 
 which the middle ages had never dreamed. The 
 glorious achievement of men who had shaped laws, 
 civilizations, creeds, quite different from their own, 
 was made clear to them. Only in a wise knowl- 
 edge of the past has clear progress ever been made 
 toward the future. No wonder that the generation 
 to whom this knowledge first came leaped suddenly 
 into maturity. 
 Thedis- To Strengthen this expansion of men's thoughts 
 
 theNew* Came the discovery of America. It is almost im- 
 Worid. possible to realize to-day the state of mind of people 
 who lived and died in contented ignorance of the 
 size and shape and contents of this great home of 
 ours. But people had all been so busy thinking of 
 heaven and hell that they had not troubled their 
 minds much about the shape of the visible earth. 
 They knew the Mediterranean and the countries 
 around it. Far away, beyond, were mysterious lands 
 where people were black, or had one eye, perhaps, or 
 carried their heads beneath their shoulders. They 
 were very rich, some of these lands, and full of en- 
 chantments. So dim reports of Asia and Africa 
 floated in the air ; but of our whole great America, 
 not an inkling did men have. And this was only a 
 little more than four hundred years ago! 
 
 Then began the great voyages of which we know : 
 the voyages of Columbus, of Cabot, of Americus 
 Vespucius, and the rest. Every one knows Colum- 
 bus's date, whatever else he may forget ; it was only 
 thirty years after, in 1522, that the globe was con- 
 quered, circumnavigated for the first time. Nor 
 did these events end the Era of Discovery : long 
 
THE REBIRTH 173 
 
 after this, till the last of the sixteenth century, 
 through the days of Drake and Raleigh, lasted the 
 stirring romance of adventure and exploration.^ At 
 first, people, in the weary, satirical mood of the 
 fifteenth century, failed to kindle with any enthu- 
 siasm at the opening of the new lands. We find 
 Barclay, in the " Ship of Fools," explaining that 
 Ferdinand, king of Spain, had discovered many new 
 regions of late, very far away ; and the moral he 
 draws is, " So you may see how foolish it is to devote 
 one's self to the unsure and vain science of geog- 
 raphy, since none can know the earth's surface per- 
 fectly." It was not long, however, before men grew 
 ashamed of such discouraged sentiments, and deduced 
 more inspiriting conclusions. The spirit of Odin the 
 Wanderer, the god of their fathers, seized them ; and 
 whether they pushed out themselves to brave perils 
 unguessed, to win distant lands, to explore and to 
 conquer, or whether they stayed at home and awaited 
 reports from those who sailed, we must think of 
 them for a hundred years as constantly a-quiver with 
 a great expectation. At no other time has there 
 been just this situation. The facts about the world 
 were actually known in outline ; people realized that 
 this whole earth was theirs, their very own, to explore 
 and subdue at will. And yet, concerning the de- 
 tails of this their earth-heritage they knew nothing. 
 They had not unlearned yet the old belief in the 
 supernatural. The Fountain of Youth might ever 
 lie behind the next mountain-range ; in some unsus- 
 pected isle in far-off seas might be waiting the 
 
 1 Copernicus, who first taught the true relation of our world to 
 the starry Tiniverse, died in 1643. 
 
174 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Earthly Paradise. Alas 1 we know better now, nor 
 do we expect that any Arctic explorer will find the 
 Garden of Eden at the Pole, the one unconquered 
 spot that still remains. 
 
 So men discovered, within one short fifty years, 
 the past of their own race, and the present of the 
 world around them. The effect of this double dis- 
 covery was of course to fix their attention and their 
 enthusiasm upon this actual earth on which we live. 
 They turned away from the dreams and visions so 
 dear to the middle ages. They turned to "this 
 very world : which is the world," — so Wordsworth 
 tells us, — "wherein we find our happiness, or not 
 at all." An immense desire for knowledge took pos- 
 session of people : an impulse toward an universal 
 inquiry, a longing to explore the great new worlds 
 waiting discoveries in the sphere of thought, as well 
 as in the solitude of tropic seas. A revolt set in 
 against restraint, convention, authority, in every 
 direction. 
 The Befor- This movement of expansion was greatly strength- 
 ened and ennobled in England by the Protestant 
 Reformation. Here is not the place to dwell on it. 
 The efforts after reKgious freedom in the time of 
 Wyclif had been suppressed ; in the late fifteenth 
 century, the spirit rose again and proved itself im- 
 mortal. But not without a struggle. Through the 
 times of Henry VIII and Edward VI, through the 
 lurid age of Queen Mary, on into the age of Eliza- 
 beth, the Reformed Church was winning its way. 
 The mediaeval ideal of asceticism was rejected ; a 
 new emphasis was placed on the freedom of individ- 
 ual conscience. The dominion of Rome was driven 
 
 mation. 
 
THE KEBIRTH 175 
 
 back inch by inch, and English Christianity became 
 once more independent of foreign control. 
 
 And so the zest for living came back to men : at The inven- 
 first slowly, then with a mighty rush. At the end printing. 
 of the fifteenth century appeared a new art to help 
 the new spirit : the art of printing. It revolutionized 
 letters ; it all but revolutionized the intellectual life. 
 It was a mechanical thing, but one of those mechani- 
 cal things that helps to set free the human spirit. 
 
 " Mere mechanical help ? So the hand gives a toss 
 To the falcon, — aloft once, spread pinions and fly, 
 
 Beat air far and wide, up and down and across ! 
 My Press strains a-tremble : whose masterful eye 
 
 Will be first, in new regions, new truth to descry ? 
 
 " Far and wide, North and South, East and West, have 
 dominion 
 O'er Thought, winged wonder, Word! Traverse 
 world 
 In sun-flash and sphere-song ! Each beat of thy pinion 
 Bursts night, beckons day: once Truth's banner 
 unfm^led 
 Where's Ealsehood? Sun-smitten, to nothingness 
 hurled!"! 
 
 It was sometime between 1470 and 1480 that wimam 
 Caxton, a good Englishman who had long sojourned 
 in the Low Countries and had learned this strange 
 new trade there, set up his press in London, Print- 
 ing had already been known on the Continent for 
 over thirty years. They are strange-looking objects 
 to us to-day, these early books which issued from the 
 first presses; heavy, enormous, ungainly volumes, 
 printed in black-letter, which is often beautiful but 
 
 1 Browning, "Fust and his Friends." 
 
176 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 very hard to read. Almost every library has fac- 
 similes if not originals of some of these old books ; 
 and one feels very thoughtful as one gazes at them 
 or lifts them, thinking what the printed book has 
 meant to the world. At first, as was natural, the 
 new art served old affections, and the list of books 
 which issued from Caxton's press reads almost like a 
 review of mediaeval literature. But whatever their 
 subject, these old volumes speak more of the future 
 than of the past or present ; for their very existence 
 proves that the modern world was born. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 J. A. Symonds, The Renaissance in Italy, the standard his- 
 tory of the most important phase of the Renaissance; also 
 Symonds' article on the Renaissance in " Encyclopsadia Britan- 
 nica," ninth edition. Jacob Bukckhardt, The Renaissance in 
 Italy. 
 
 William Bladbs's Life and Typography of William Cax- 
 ton contains numerous facsimile cuts ; also, shorter 1 vol. work, 
 The Biography and Typography of William Caxton. G. H. 
 Putnam, Books and their Makers during the Middle Ages. 
 A. W. Pollard, Early Illustrated Books. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 It would be valuable here, if practicable, to illustrate the 
 change that was passing over Europe by brief, simple talks 
 on the painting and architecture of the Renaissance as com- 
 pared with those of the middle ages. To show a class photo- 
 graphs from Cimabue, Giotto, Botticelli, and Raphael, with 
 simple comments, makes the great development far more vivid 
 than any mere discussion of literature can do. 
 
 A lecture on the history of printed books, with something 
 about the great early printers, is as interesting as a romance, 
 and would help to awaken in students enthusiasm for the beau- 
 tiful bodies of books. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 LEARNING AND POETRY UNDER HENRY VIII 
 
 I. The New Learning 
 
 THE Universities had a great part to play in the The work 
 English revival of learning. Oxford and Cam- versitiea. 
 bridge had become rather arid and dusty places at 
 this time. They had betaken themselves to repeat- 
 ing intellectual conventions : it is a way Universities 
 have. But now a new spirit stirred in them, spread 
 from them, and sent a quickening thrill through the 
 length and breadth of England. This, too, occasion- 
 ally happens in an academic centre ; and a great 
 home of learning must always live in hopes of a 
 visitation of this kind. 
 
 The introduction of the study of Greek was the 
 chief influence that re-created English scholarship. 
 " The students," wrote an eye-witness at Oxford in 
 the early sixteenth century, " rush to Greek letters. 
 They endure watching, fasting, toil, and hunger, in 
 pursuit of them." It was still earlier, in 1497, that 
 the famous Dutch scholar Erasmus, going to Oxford f^^f^^^ 
 because he was too poor to visit the goal of his long- 
 ings, Italy, found himself amazed and delighted at the 
 intellectual enthusiasms and sound scholarship of the 
 place. His soul, an-hungered for Greek learning, met 
 the full gratification of its desires. " I have found 
 in Oxford," he writes, " so much polish and learning 
 
 177 
 
178 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 that now I hardly care about going to Italy at all, 
 save for the sake of having been there. When I 
 listen to my friend Colet, it seems like listening to 
 Plato himself. Who does not wonder at the wide 
 range of Grocyn's knowledge ? What can be more 
 searching, deep, and refined than the judgment of 
 Linacre? When did nature mould a temper more 
 gentle, endearing, and happy than the temper of 
 Thomas More ? " A close and tender bond of 
 personal friendship sprang up among these eager 
 scholars, who felt themselves united in as high a 
 quest as were ever the knights of old : the quest 
 for spiritual and intellectual light, the campaign 
 against that worst of dragons, Ignorance. The 
 records of the affectionate, witty, earnest intercourse 
 of the little group are fascinating reading. All of 
 them were men who left their mark on their genera- 
 tion. All blended, in a rather unusual fashion, the 
 temper of the reformer and the scholar, of the keen 
 critic and the devout believer. 
 John The brilliant work of Erasmus does not belong to 
 
 Dean'of^ the story of English letters. Among the English- 
 1502. ' men, we must not pass by, without one loving word, 
 the beautiful figure of John Colet. He afterward 
 became the Dean of St. Paul's, and by his establish- 
 ment of grammar schools on a new system, laid the 
 foundations for a sound education for the people at 
 large. "Lift up your little white hands," wrote 
 Colet to his young scholars, " for me which prayeth 
 for you to God." Colet was one of that long and 
 honorable line of English Churchmen who have com- 
 bined a passion for sound learning with devout faith, 
 with simplicity and love. He was a true descendant 
 of Bede. 
 
LEARNING AND POETRY 179 
 
 But of all these first men of the modern world, Sir 
 the most interesting and attractive is undoubtedly More, 
 Sir Thomas More, one of the noblest Englishmen, 1*80-1535. 
 statesmen, dreamers, Christians, that have ever lived. 
 His great book, the " Utopia," shines like a beacon 
 light at the entrance to the new life of the nation. 
 He was a man placed high in distinction. From a 
 gracious boyhood passed in the household of a great 
 Church dignitary, he went to the University. Thence 
 he passed to a steadily rising eminence in a legal 
 career; till the young king, Henry VIII, himself 
 one of the most ardent patrons of the New Learning, 
 singled him out for favor, and finally made him Vice- 
 Chancellor of England, as well as his own close per- 
 sonal friend. 
 
 More carried his honors serenely. His joy was 
 in his friends, his books, his family life ; he was a 
 most lovable, humorous, kindly, clear-thinking man. 
 "Sweetness and light," the qualities so praised by 
 Matthew Arnold, serve perfectly to describe his 
 character and his work. He lived in soberness, too, 
 near to the thought of God. He was a devout 
 Roman Catholic, with no sympathy for the new 
 faith. It is strange to think of an exponent of the 
 New Learning and an enthusiast for Greek letters 
 wearing, unknown to any, a hair shirt next his skin. 
 
 More's life presents another strange paradox. He 
 was a radical social dreamer ; yet he was high in the 
 counsels of kings. No one was more alive to this 
 paradox, and the insecurity it implied, than he ; and 
 he could not have been much surprised when the 
 sunshine of the royal favor deserted him. His con- 
 science could not accept the claims of the king to be 
 
180 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Head of the visible Church, and to divorce a wife when 
 it pleased him. He was pursued with the demand 
 for an oath he could not take, disgraced, imprisoned, 
 and, in 1535, beheaded. He died, martyr at once to 
 faith and to freedom : the Roman Church did well 
 when, in 1886, she added him to her list of the 
 saints. 
 
 More's writings came in his early life, before the 
 storms of his career as a statesman. His " Lives " 
 of Edward V and of Richard III may be said to 
 mark the beginning of modern history, and their 
 fine and dignified manner certainly promises a new 
 development of English prose. But the book by 
 which he lives, the epitome of the best intuitions 
 and aims of the New Learning, was no story of 
 what is ; it was a vision of what might be, — the 
 tale of the land of Utopia. 
 The The book dates from 1515 and 1516. It was writ- 
 
 151?°^''^'' *®^ ^ Latin, — still the language of scholarship ; 
 but before half a century was over, one Ralph Robin- 
 son had put it into rich and nobly cadenced English, 
 and in this form, as well as in more modern trans- 
 lations, it is accessible to us all. The " Utopia," like 
 so many books in the middle ages, is a dream ; but 
 a dream of how new an order ! For it tells, not of 
 saints or angels, or monsters or devils, but of happy, 
 laborious, natural men and women, living in a region 
 which is indeed mysterious, — non-existent if you 
 will, — but which, if it were to exist anywhere, 
 would exist here on this earth. The "Utopia" is 
 the romance of an ideal society, and audacious was 
 the man who dared to dream of it ! The speculative 
 freedom, the longing for a human blessedness, fos- 
 
LEARNING AND POETRY 181 
 
 tered by the Renaissance, had entered More's spirit ; 
 and they enabled him to show us a new earth — to 
 behold the first, though not the last vision seen by 
 modern Europe, of a perfect social state. The bitter 
 injustice which he saw all about him has yielded in 
 his dream to a universal sharing of happy work and 
 simple life. Men have made the earth at last a 
 home, not of luxury for some, but of comfort for all. 
 
 Probably the part of the " Utopia " which to More's 
 contemporaries seemed most preposterously impossi- 
 ble was that in which he told them that in Utopia 
 every man was free to worship God according to his 
 own conscience, without compulsion or persecution. 
 Roman Catholic as he was, More put forth in this 
 part of his book a ringing manifesto for religious 
 freedom. Many fires were to burn, the anguish of a 
 great exile was to be suffered by our own forefath- 
 ers, before his prophecy should be fulfilled. But 
 fulfilled it is. We cannot say so much for the part 
 of the book that describes industrial and social free- 
 dom. Not yet. Some people like Utopia; some do 
 not. Some teU us that the name of the country will 
 always be Utopia, which means Nowhere ; some 
 agree with a punning contemporary of More's, who 
 says that the real name of the land is and shall be 
 Eutopia, the land where life is blessed. 
 
 The " Utopia " is the greatest among all the books 
 of imaginary travels written during the Renaissance. 
 If we compare it with the Travels of the pseudo- 
 Mandeville, so dear to the middle ages, we shall see 
 how the mood of men has changed. It has changed 
 from the hunger for marvels to the hunger for 
 justice. The book is the first expression, after 
 
182 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Langland, of the passion for a social ideal. Plenty 
 of such books have followed it. In modern times, 
 we have regained a little the spirit of hope; and 
 various people, both Americans and Englishmen, 
 poets, novelists, economists even, have travelled to 
 Utopia and brought back fresh tidings of the coun- 
 try. But none have told about it so delightfully as 
 Sir Thomas More. 
 
 II. The New Art 
 
 s^ The Renaissance brought to England an enlarged 
 
 Wyatt, learning and a quickened thought ; it brought a new 
 Henry literary art as well. This new art found its first 
 Howard, expression in the earlier half of the sixteenth cen- 
 Surrey, tury, during the latter part of the reign of Henry 
 VIII. Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Henry Howard, 
 ,pj^g Earl of Surrey, were the men who practised it first. 
 
 i°fljje?"!6 In Italy, long before in the fourteenth century, the 
 on the spirit of the Renaissance had already been at work, 
 Renais- and the poets, especially Petrarch, had felt all these 
 things. Now, at last, England as a whole began to 
 respond to Italian influence; and from this time all 
 through the age of Elizabeth, this influence is to be 
 in manifold phases dominant, quickening, mighty. 
 
 Henry VIII was certainly an unattractive person 
 in some of his aspects ; and he put Sir Thomas More 
 to death. But he was always a polished gentleman 
 who loved art and learning. Wyatt and Surrey 
 were both noblemen attached to this court. They 
 were courtiers, lovers, and only incidentally poets as 
 well. Both of them wrote love-poems in the Italian 
 fashion. Wyatt, who was fourteen years older than 
 
 sance. 
 
LEARNING AND POETRY 183 
 
 Surrey, wrote in a manner distinctly more archaic, 
 but at times with a certain seriousness and weight 
 which are impressive. Surrey, the more musical 
 versifier, seems to have been also the sweeter nature. 
 The poetry of neither, however, has very great in- 
 trinsic beauty ; but it is highly significant because 
 in it is caught the first note of a new music : — 
 
 " Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less •. 
 So am not I, whom love, alas ! doth wring, 
 Bringing before my face the great increase 
 Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing." ^ 
 
 That is not much in itself, perhaps, but listening to 
 it we realize that in another fifty years we shall be 
 listening to Shakespeare. The music is a little un- 
 certain and faint, but it is surely there. 
 
 We must remember that by this time the language 
 of Chaucer was as different from ordinary speech as 
 it is to-day, and that people had not our knowledge 
 of how to read his verse. Neither had they any 
 idea of measure or prosody. The poets had really 
 no English models. All their work was of necessity 
 tentative ; and it was only the sentiment and the 
 exquisite melody of Italian models, especially the 
 lyrics of Petrarch, that enabled them to write grace- 
 fully at all. 
 
 In both Wyatt and Surrey, the melancholy and 
 the aptitude for religious and social meditation of 
 the Teutonic race play strangely through the Italian 
 grace and sweetness. Wyatt writes in his later life 
 grave satires ; Surrey translates the Book of Eccle- 
 siastes and paraphrases the Psalms. Each had a 
 
 1 Surrey. From a sonnet in " Tottel's Miscellany. " 
 
184 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Work of romantic life, on whicli we may only touch. Several 
 sSreyf "^ of "Wyatt's poems gain a personal interest and pathos 
 from the belief of some critics that they commemorate 
 his hopeless passion for Anne Boleyn. The autobio- 
 graphical note is yet clearer in Surrey, and it is a 
 note rarely indeed heard in older poets. But Surrey's 
 tragic end casts a shadow for us over his most light- 
 hearted pages : like so many others in those days he 
 was accused of treason, and, in 1547, executed, like 
 More, on the block. 
 
 It was Wyatt who first introduced sonnets into 
 English verse, and the gift to us was a great one. 
 Surrey also wrote sonnets, not confining himself to 
 the Italian form used by Wyatt, but experimenting 
 with that freer movement of quatrains and a final 
 couplet, which was to be glorified by Shakespeare. 
 But to Surrey alone belongs the great honor of intro- 
 ducing to England that poetic form which was to be 
 the instrument of its noblest writers, — blank verse. 
 This he did in his translation of two books from 
 Virgil's "jEneid." Since the old alliterative line 
 had died, there had been no dignified standard line 
 in English. No one could guess from Surrey's use 
 of blank verse the harmonies which it was to yield 
 in the hands of Shakespeare and Milton ; yet to be 
 the first technically to use such an instrument is to 
 have valid claim to a place in English letters. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Geeen, Short History of the English People, Ch. VI, Sec. IV, 
 The New Learning. Ten Brink, Vol. HI, Book VI, Sec. IV. 
 Seebohm, The Oxford Reformers. J. A. Froude, Life of 
 Erasmus, esp. Chs. Ill, VI, VII. Emerton, Life of Erasmus. 
 
LEARNING AND POETRY 185 
 
 Erasmus, The Praise of Folly; Pilgrimages of St. Mary of 
 Walsingham and St. Thomas of Canterbury, ed. by J. G. 
 Nichols. Lives of Jehan Vitrier and John Colet, tran. by J. H. 
 LuPTON. Annie Manning, The Household of Sir Thomas More 
 (a charming story). V. D. Scudder, Social Ideals in English 
 Letters, Ch. II. More's Utopia, Camelot edition, with Introduc- 
 tion by Maurice Adams, and Life of More, by his son-in-law 
 Roper. In Ideal Commonwealths, ed. by Henry Morley; ed. 
 by William Morris, with short Introduction, of great value, 
 in the Kelmscott Press; scholar's edition, by J. H. Lupton, 
 with Latin text and Robynson's translation. See also More's 
 Life of Pico della Mirandola, an Italian scholar and Christian 
 of the Renaissance, ed. J. M. Rigg. Wyatt and Surrey are well 
 handled in the last volume of Ten Brink. Selections from 
 their works wiU be found in Ward's English poets. Vol. I, and 
 in Tottel's Miscellany, reprinted by Akber. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Free summary and discussion is most valuable on the " Uto- 
 pia." If Morris's " News from Nowhere " and Bellamy's " Look- 
 ing Backward " can be read, so much the better. More's noble 
 personality should be brought home to the class, as can easily 
 be done through the abundant biographical material. 
 
 Wyatt and Surrey can be lightly passed over, with readings 
 perhaps from the extracts in Ward's "English Poets." Lovelier 
 lyrics are waiting. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Life in Oxford during the Revival of Learning; Plato's 
 " Republic " and its Influence on More ; Modern Social Dreams, 
 similar to the " Utopia " ; Petrarch and his Influence on the 
 English Lyric. 
 
of pause. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 OUTLINES OF ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE 
 
 The time /^NE would have supposed that after More and 
 ^^ Wyatt and Surrey, the new impulse in art and 
 thought would have produced a new literature at 
 once. But this did not happen. Political and reli- 
 gious distractions prevented. The short reign of 
 Edward VI. produced one noble monument of Eng- 
 lish prose, the first version of the " Book of Common 
 Prayer," and one rude, homely voice, the voice of 
 Latimer, was uplifted in accents that recall Wyclif 
 and Langland. Then came the reign of Queen 
 Mary, and small wonder is it that the most popular 
 book it produced was Foxe's " Book of Martyrs," in 
 its early Latin dress. Men in England could hardly 
 warble madrigals while they knew that other men 
 were burning at the stake. 
 
 Even after the accession of Elizabeth, the terrified 
 hush that had fallen upon the nation continued. It 
 took twenty years for England to rally. Elizabeth 
 became queen in 1558 ; it was not till 1579 that the 
 Elizabethan era of English literature is usually said 
 to begin, with the publication of a series of delicate 
 pastoral poems, Spenser's "Shepherd's Calendar." 
 Before this time, there had been faint attempts and 
 promises, but nothing for which a book of this scope 
 need pause. 
 
 But when this literary period once began, it soon 
 186 
 
ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE 187 
 
 became, not only the most wonderful period that The 
 England has yet known, but one of the most won- bethan 
 derful ever known by any country. The victory of *^®' 
 the Reformed Faith was assured. The young nation 
 was at peace within, enjoying a new commercial expan- 
 sion and prosperity ; abroad, she was measuring her- 
 self in heroic warfare against Spain, an heroic foe. 
 Men looked away from the heavens, but beheld with 
 a thrill of freedom the horizons of earth ever widen- 
 ing, receding, beckoning, and felt themselves, with 
 Puck, able to clap a girdle round the earth in forty 
 minutes. Come softly ; for we are approaching the 
 days of Shakespeare. They are the days of Spenser 
 too, of Sir Philip Sidney, of Bacon, Hooker, Raleigh, 
 Ben Jonson, — the days of the sweetest lyric England 
 has ever heard, of a noble reflective and imaginative 
 prose, of a supreme drama. 
 
 The literary activity under the great queen began, 
 as we have seen, in 1579. To discuss the quarter 
 century that followed, we shall need as much space 
 as for all the mediaeval centuries put together. The 
 nation, in this short time, passed through nearly all 
 the experiences of human life, from youth to man- 
 hood ; and before we study its literary expression in 
 detail, we will glance briefly at the different phases 
 of experience, or different moods, which underlay the 
 literature. 
 
 At first, when toward the beginning of Elizabeth's pre-Dra- 
 reign the mysterious impulse toward artistic expres- peVod, 
 sion began to stir, men did not take it very seriously, is^ft-isgo. 
 They toyed with life and art, poetry and prose. 
 They were " empassioned," to use a fine word of 
 Spenser's, with felicity of phrase ; they tried count- 
 
188 THE KENAISSANCE 
 
 less literary experiments. But through these experi- 
 ments, often childish enough, breathed inspiration. 
 A youthful delight in life pervaded the nation. 
 This early Elizabethan literature was not profound 
 nor comprehensive. It proceeded mainly from 
 the court and the gentry ; it was aristocratic, and 
 beset by little affectations. And yet, it has a joy- 
 ous, eager magic, never to be forgotten. 
 
 A wealth of lyrics is the most notable and delight- 
 ful product of this period. Nothing has ever equalled 
 the marvellous lyrical development of those days ; 
 we have had many noble lyrics since, which have 
 added glory to our race, but we have never been 
 able to recapture that first fine careless rapture. At 
 the same time, many other literary forms were 
 appearing, with the same strange mixture of experi- 
 ment and inspiration. Criticism in prose sprang up ; 
 art-prose was feeling its way. The great Eliza- 
 bethan translations began, and prose of adventure 
 and patriotism started with a splendid impetus. 
 This period of romance, of poetic experiment, of 
 keen enthusiasm for adventure and for learning, 
 moved to its climax in a great romantic epic, in 
 which all these elements blend, and are transfigured 
 by the inward radiance of imagination. The first 
 Elizabethan period begins with the publication of 
 Spenser's " Shepherd's Calendar," in 1579 ; it may 
 be said to close with the publication of the first three 
 books of his " Faerie Queene," in 1590. 
 
 plriSd?'" ^°'^ *^^ ^""'^ °^ *^® nation was to alter; it was 
 
 1590-1602. to play with life no longer. The literature of the 
 
 The rise of ^^^^ period was to express an overwhelming reality 
 
 the drama, of experience and of passion. Soon, in three or four 
 
ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE 189 
 
 years at latest, will be acted "Romeo and Juliet," 
 and that means that one poet, at least, has power to 
 lay bare the depths of passion ; already, in 1587, 
 Marlowe's " Dr. Faustus " had struck a solemn tragic 
 note, like a warning bell. The day belongs to a new 
 art ; and during all the rest of Elizabeth's reign, and 
 through the reign of her successor, the chief imagi- 
 native energies of the English race are absorbed in 
 that great creation, the romantic drama. 
 
 Not that other literary forms are superseded. The 
 lyric production goes on unchecked, changing its 
 mood, but if anything increasing in beauty as it presses 
 through self-conscious art closer and closer to the 
 heart of experience. Translations multiply, and 
 patriotic prose is glowing still. Reflective prose 
 rises in Hooker, and finds a different but equally bril- 
 liant adept in Bacon. But the drama overshadows 
 all, and that is because it is the fullest expression 
 of life. It is not necessarily written by gentlemen, 
 or courtiers, or saints. Far behind us are the days 
 when all literature proceeded from chivalry or from 
 the Church. It slowly escapes from mannerism and 
 convention, and grows stronger as it goes on. 
 
 Meanwhile, after 1590, during the preponderance 
 of the drama, we may trace various phases of 
 experience. The nation shook off its affectations, 
 emerged from experiment, and gained a wonderful 
 gift of self-expression, personal or sympathetic. For 
 a time, the joy of life and the marvel thereof was 
 stiU what Elizabethan literature chiefly rendered. 
 But the sense of power and pleasure did not last. 
 A deeper quality and a sadder crept in ; spontaneity 
 faded. The effort after form was not so marked as 
 
190 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 in the first period, but an effort in tliought became 
 evident. Men began to record less, to philosophize, 
 to meditate, more. Suddenly, tragedy is with us; 
 a great tragedy, before which we bow our heads,— 
 the tragedy of "Hamlet." All these phases can be 
 followed by any sensitive person who scrutinizes year 
 by year the output in prose and poetry during the 
 last twelve years of the queen's reign. The first 
 Essays of Bacon, published in 1597, may be said to 
 usher in the later mood ; or better still, the sonnets 
 of Shakespeare, of which we know that some at least 
 were in existence by 1598. Indeed, the work of 
 Shakespeare completely covers and represents all 
 this development. 
 
 Experience did not stop here ; it went straight on 
 into new phases. But we have reached the end of 
 the reign of the great queen. It was presumably in 
 1602 that "Hamlet" was acted, and from the 
 "Shepherd's Calendar" to "Hamlet" is a long 
 enough journey for one chapter to review at a 
 glance, though any one who likes can follow the 
 story without break to the death of Shakespeare. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Historical. Green, History of England, Ch. VII, Sees. 
 V-Vill. Fkoude, History of England. Traill, Social 
 England, Vol. III. ThorstBuky, Shakespeare's England; 
 Ckkighton, The Age of Elizabeth. Goadby, The England of 
 Shakespeare. W. B. Rte, England as seen by Foreigners in 
 the Days of Elizabeth and James. Harrison's England (the 
 best contemporary description, from Holinshed's " Chi-onicle." 
 Reprinted in the Camelot series). Walter Scott, Kenil- 
 worth. Charles Kingsley, Westward Ho ! 
 
 Literary. Saintsbury, Elizabethan Literature. David 
 H ANN ay, The Later Renaissance. Morley, English Writers, 
 
 a 
 
ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE 191 
 
 "Vols. IX, X, XI. Taine, English Literature, Bk. II. Court- 
 hope, History of English Poetry, Vol. II. Jusserand, The 
 English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The dry facts of Elizabethan literary chronology should be 
 accurately learned in outline by the student ; the outline will 
 be filled in with the study of later chapters. It is important, 
 as this great period is approached, that it should be made, so 
 far as possible, a living reality to the student. Readings from 
 Harrison, from trustworthy novels, as well as from standard 
 histories, may lead to topics on such subjects as Elizabethan 
 costume, building, cooking, manners and customs, town life, 
 country life, etc. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 If students are unfamiliar with the history of the period, an 
 outline lecture on it is highly desirable, for politics and litera- 
 ture are more closely connected in the age of Elizabeth than 
 in many periods of our literature. 
 
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 " Paradise of Dainty Devices," 
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 Ealph Holinshed, d. 1580. 
 " Chronicle," 1577. 
 
 " Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant In- 
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CHAPTER IV 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 
 
 rriHE literature of the Renaissance differs from sirPhiiip 
 J- that of the middle ages. It is no longer an f^l^gg 
 anonymous, collective matter, expressing the passion 
 of many; it comes straight from the heart of indi- 
 viduals. These men are often known to us in his- 
 tory; they reveal themselves in their works; and we 
 may make friends of them if we will. 
 
 Let us try to make a friend of Sir Philip Sidney. Sidney's 
 If we do so, we shall learn to know " a noble and character, 
 matchless gentleman," as a contemporary calls him, 
 and we shall fully understand the temper and 
 achievement of the early Elizabethan age ; for his 
 shining figure gathers into itself all the light of that 
 great dawn. Sidney was born in 1554, of high and 
 glorious lineage ; and well he became his birth. 
 Even as a child, he was singularly attractive, 
 " with such staidness of mind," writes a dear, life- 
 long friend, " lovely and familiar gravity, as carried 
 grace and reverence above greater years. His talk 
 ever of knowledge, and his very play tending to 
 enrich his mind." He grew up no prig nor pedant, 
 but a brilliant young nobleman, the chief ornament 
 of the radiant court. He had, in common with 
 many of the choice spirits of his day, a genius for 
 friendship. "A sweete attractive kind of grace" 
 shone we are told, from his countenance. Foreign 
 
 197 
 
198 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 travel, during which he visited Venice, where the 
 magnificent art of Veronese was in full play, com- 
 pleted his education; and he returned to England, 
 to be the darling both of court and people, and to 
 be sent abroad, while still a mere youth of twenty- 
 two, on important diplomatic missions. His career 
 and his reputation rose higher and higher ; but not 
 for long. For in 1586 he died of a wound received 
 at the battle of Zutphen. He had fought valiantly 
 as he had lived nobly; but he is remembered and 
 his name has become a household word, less from his 
 courage than for the sweet courtesy and unselfish 
 thought for others that marked him in his mortal 
 agony. " Thy necessity is greater than mine," said 
 Sidney, yielding to a wounded soldier, " ghastly cast- 
 ing up his eyes at the bottle," the water which he was 
 raising to his own parched lips. 
 
 Sidney summed up all that his time held dear. 
 He was courtier, nobleman, statesman, warrior, 
 gentleman. He was a lover, too, — and he was also 
 a critic, a novelist, and a poet. In his literary work, 
 we see all the characteristics of the period: its affec- 
 tations and experiments ; its high romantic temper, 
 its lyrical impulse, its intellectual eagerness, its 
 idealism as yet unsullied by worldliness, though the 
 world lies perilously near. The secret power of the 
 Elizabethan age is revealed in the last line of 
 Sidney's first sonnet. Trying by dainty device of 
 literary art to celebrate his love after the fashion 
 of "poor Petrarch's long deceased woes," a Power 
 outside himself pulled him up short : — 
 
 " Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite, 
 'Fool!' said my muse to me, 'look in thy heart, and 
 •write.' " 
 
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 199 
 
 He obeyed the Muse ; and Elizabethan poetry fol- 
 lowed. Sidney's lyrics, with all their quaintness, 
 are the very first to give us in the full modern man- 
 ner a direct revelation of the personal life of the 
 heart. 
 
 Sidney's critical work is a short essay, called " An Sidney's 
 Apologie for Poetrie." It was written about 1580, *"^°^^' 
 in answer to a stupid attack on poetry made by one 
 Stephen Gosson. We are glad of the attack, for it 
 called out this noble answer, which we may fairly 
 claim as the first serious piece of English criticism. Criticism. 
 It is with the spirit of a knight that Sidney springs "•*^° . 
 to the defence of his beloved art. He does not criti- ioi 
 cise nor analyze in cold blood ; he chants a splendid 
 psean of praise. From his " Apologie," light seems 
 to flash, annihilating time, on Shelley's beautiful 
 " Defense of Poetry," and back again ; the two great 
 spirits, "passionate lovers," both "of that unseen 
 and everlasting beautie to be seen by the eyes of the 
 mind only cleared by faith," hailing each other 
 across the centuries. It is true that Sidney makes 
 sad blunders. He defends the classical Unities, — 
 little foreseeing the magnificent art of Shakespeare ; 
 and it is strange to hear the contemporary of Spenser 
 lamenting the absence of poetic inspiration in his 
 day, and questioning "why England should bee 
 grown so hard a step-mother to poets." But it was 
 no more granted to Sidney than to another to foresee 
 the future ; and his own high passion for poetry, as 
 for all that could help " to make the too much loved 
 earth more lovely," is the best answer to his pessi- 
 mism and the best earnest of what is to come. 
 
 Sidney's "Arcadia" was a pastoral and heroic 
 
200 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Romance. 
 
 "The 
 Countess 
 of Pem- 
 broke's 
 Arcadia," 
 1590. 
 
 Sidney's 
 poetry. 
 
 " Astro- 
 phel and 
 Stella," 
 1591. 
 
 romance, shaped on Spanish models, and written to 
 please his sister, the Countess of Pembroke. The 
 book has all the redundance and extravagance of the 
 Renaissance. It bewilders one because there is so 
 much story, so lavish a style, such a confusion of 
 exalted sentiments. Sidney has not yet mastered 
 that supreme charm of the Pastoral, — simplicity, — 
 the secret of which Shakespeare so exquisitely caught 
 in "As You Like It." His "Arcadia," moreover, is 
 much farther from life than is the Forest of Arden. 
 Yet there are still those who like to wander in that 
 country, to watch the series of sumptuous pictures 
 reminding one of the great Venetian art which Sid- 
 ney knew, to revel in the free and fearless union of 
 sensuous beauty with perfect purity, and to feel, 
 through all childishness of art, the impact of a lofty 
 spirit upon our own. 
 
 But it is above all through his lyrical work that 
 we recognize in Sidney a great soul and a true poet. 
 We feel in his sonnets the warm flame of emotion, 
 burning away all the light affectations and unreali- 
 ties with which he could play as well as another. 
 He first, in his "Astrophel and Stella," told the 
 inner story of his heart in a series of sonnets and 
 songs. It were sufficient glory for him that Shake- 
 speare and Spenser, Rossetti and Mrs. Browning, 
 have been among his followers. Sidney's was an un- 
 happy story. We cannot follow it here. He tells 
 it, in the main, excellently well. We see in these 
 sonnets the man of action, the courteous and admired 
 gentleman, the scholar, as well as the lover. If any 
 one would like to picture the bright Elizabethan 
 court, with its pleasure parties on the Thames, its 
 
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 201 
 
 play tournaments, its polite gossip and graceful 
 badinage, if any one would reconstruct the manners 
 of the time, here let him look. But he will find 
 better than this : a rare felicity in poetic phrasing; 
 better again, the revelation of a great love and of a 
 noble though tempted heart: — 
 
 "Soule's joy, bend not those morning stars from me, 
 Where Virtue is made strong by Beautie's might ; 
 Where Love is chastness, Paine doth learn delight, 
 And Humbleness grows one with Majestic." 
 
 Such poetry should not be forgotten. 
 Sidney abjured his love at last. He cried, in 
 piercing tones : — 
 
 " Leave me, Love, which reachest but to dust ; 
 And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things ; 
 Grow rich in that which never taketh rust ; 
 Whatever/fades, but fading pleasure brrags. 
 Then farewell, world ; thy uttermost I see : 
 Eternal Love, maintain Thy life in me." 
 
 This deep religious note completes our knowledge Sidney as 
 of his character. He was rightly the beloved of theieth" 
 England, and it is not surprising that all the English century, 
 poets wrote elegies upon him after his death. Sid- 
 ney is the typical hero of the new age. We have 
 had glimpses of the Hero from the dawn of history. 
 At first, he embodied little save the primitive pas- 
 sion for fighting. As the centuries went on, he 
 added many traits : a wider, less selfish aim in his 
 battles ; a code of honor ; the service and the love 
 of womanhood ; a sincere religious feeling. But the 
 old knights, noble as they were, lacked much that 
 we demand from our heroes to-day. They fought 
 
202 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 and loved and prayed, but they were ignorant and 
 unthinking. Sidney is what they were, and more. 
 The spirit of chivalry lives in him, undying. But 
 he adds to the arts of war the graces of peace. He 
 is a knight indeed : he is also a poet, a scholar, and 
 a thinker, this hero of the Eenaissance. In a word, 
 he is the perfect gentleman. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 The standard edition of Sidney is by Alexander Grosart. 
 A charming little volume of his lyrics is published by Ernest 
 Rhys in the series The Lyric Poets (Dent). The " Apologie 
 for Poetrie " is in the Arber reprints ; also in Rhys, Literary 
 Pamphlets, Vol. I. A. D. Pollard has edited " Astrophel and 
 Stella." EusKiN, in " Fors Clavigera," expresses delightfully 
 his enthusiasm for Sidney, and his " Rock Honeycomb," Vol. II, 
 of "Bibliotheoa Pastorum," is an edition of Sidney's versified 
 Psalms, with copious comments. 
 
 See also H. R. Foxbourne, Sir Philip Sidney (Heroes of the 
 Nations Series) ; Symonds, Life of Sidney (English Men of 
 Letters). 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 " Astrophel and SteUa '' can be swiftly read, and one or two 
 sonnets, including the sonnet on the " Highway " (84), and that 
 on " Sleep " (39), can be learned by heart. Sidney's exquisite ear 
 makes his verse a treasure-house for the study of verse forms. 
 A class always enjoys making a study of Elizabethan court life 
 from the picturesque material offered by the sonnets. The 
 personality of the man is, however, what students should above 
 all be made to feel. Some of the elegies written after his 
 death, a number of which can be found in the Globe Spenser, 
 may well be read, for the impression he made on his contem- 
 poraries. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 I. Elizabbthak Prose 
 
 "pOMANCE, criticism, and lyrics, — these three, 
 J-*' so delightfully represented in the brief achieve- 
 ment of Sidney, are, apart from the romantic epic, 
 perhaps the most important phases of early Eliza- 
 bethan literature. 
 
 There was a large output of prose at this time, 
 but it need not detain us long, for it was subordi- 
 nate to the poetry, though it has a quaint charm 
 of its own. It has a great deal of interest, though, 
 for literary students ; for we see it slowly shaking 
 off the tyranny of Latin style, and learning a har- 
 mony of its own. Even in the reign of Henry 
 VIII, Roger Ascham had announced in the intro- Roger 
 duction of his book, the " Toxophilus," " I have 1515-1568, 
 written this English matter in the English tongue i^°?^t^', 
 for English men " ; yet this book, and his later 
 work, the " Schoolmaster," read as if he were trans- The 
 lating in his own mind from Latin into English, master," 
 But the book which first stormed the affections of ^^™' 
 the Elizabethan court was of a very different order ; 
 this was the "Euphues, or the Anatomic of Wit," 
 of John Lyly ; it was published in 1579, the same f°^^^yly' 
 year with the "Shepherd's Calendar," and was 
 almost immediately followed by a second part, " Eu- 
 
 203 
 
204 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 "Euphnes, 
 or the 
 Anatomie 
 of Wit," 
 1579. 
 
 "Euphues 
 and his 
 England," 
 15ro. 
 
 Other 
 work in 
 romance. 
 
 Lodge's 
 " Rosa- 
 lind," 
 pub. 1590. 
 
 phues and his England." It enjoyed an immense 
 vogue ; traces of its influence may be found for 
 thirty years afterward : its name has given a word, 
 "euphuism," to our speech. But to us this story — 
 for it is a kind of story — seems portentously dull. 
 Its style is affected and self-conscious to a degree, — 
 all made up of antitheses and far-fetched conceits. 
 At the same time, the book has in substance a cer- 
 tain significance, for it is perhaps the first attempt 
 in English at realistic fiction. The hero is neither 
 a knight nor an outlaw ; he is an ordinary young 
 gentleman of good manners, to whom nothing 
 happens more exciting than a trip to Italy and 
 sundry flirtations. The quaint book is only a liter- 
 ary curiosity to-day. Perhaps some modern popular 
 novels will seem just as queer, in two or three hun- 
 dred years. 
 
 Many other stories were written in Elizabeth's time. 
 Often they got lost, like the Euphues, in a maze 
 of affectations, sometimes, as in Sidney's " Arcadia " 
 or Lodge's " Rosalind," they reached, under Spanish 
 or Italian guidance, a land of pure romance. 
 The "Rosalind," from which Shakespeare took the 
 plot of " As You Like It," is one of the best of these 
 books. These early novels have at times a good 
 deal of charm, but they had not laid hold on reality, 
 and so they could not live. 
 
 Critical prose flourished for a time quite vigorously. 
 Sidney's " Apologie for Poetrie " is the most impor- 
 tant book of prose of this kind. Webbe's " Discourse 
 of English Poetrie" reads as if the author were 
 interested in what he wrote, though he made some 
 curious blunders. Puttenham's "Art of English 
 
GENERAL LITERATURE 205 
 
 Poesie" is more like a formal rhetoric. These Critical 
 books are interesting because they illustrate a new ^^°^^' 
 literary type ; but they have little real worth, and 
 the critical impulse died away as creative power 
 rose. Criticism cannot be great, as poetry can, at 
 an early point of literary development. 
 
 There is other work on which it would be inter- 
 esting to linger, if so many other greater things did 
 not await us. The eager spirit of adventure that 
 marks the time finds expression in much spirited 
 prose, especially in the delightful series of Hakluyt's 
 "Voyages." Again, this rich period poured forth a Miacella- 
 large number of books inspired by patriotism. Some p^o^g^. 
 dealt with history and legend, like that treasure- 
 house of the dramatists, Holinshed's " Chronicle." 
 Some celebrated the glories of a present England, 
 like the Voyages of Drake, and Sir Walter Raleigh's 
 " Last Fight of the Revenge," a magnificent piece of 
 eloquence, on which Tennyson has based a stirring 
 ballad. Patriotism was one of the strongest pas- 
 sions of the sixteenth century. It was so strong 
 that it flowed over from prose to verse, and long 
 poems were composed, like Daniel's " Civil Wars be- 
 tween Lancaster and York," or Drayton's "Poly- 
 olbion," dealing with the history of England or even 
 with its geography. 
 
 The emotional life of the time ran more naturally Prose of 
 into poetry than into prose. The best Elizabethan 
 prose was the prose of reflection. In the last decade, 
 the " Essays " of Francis Bacon, and the " Ecclesias- 
 tical Polity" of Richard Hooker, show us that the 
 voun? nation has begun to think. Hooker's work Kichard 
 
 JO ° 1 ■,-, r- 1 cf ■^^ Hooker, 
 
 illustrates in prose, as we shall find Spenser lilus- 1553-1600. 
 
206 THE EENAISSANCE 
 
 trating in poetry, the cliaracteristic English union 
 of the forces of the Reformation and of the Renais- 
 sance. It is the first conscious intellectual expression 
 of the Anglican Church ; and Hooker's conception 
 of the law of God, revealed to man through three 
 great channels, the Bible, the Church, and human 
 reason, has been an inspiration to philosophical reli- 
 gious thought ever since his day. His stately style, 
 with its elaborate structure and musical cadences, is 
 shaped on classical models ; but it founded the first 
 definite school of English prose, and its tradition 
 continued till nearly the end of the seventeenth 
 Francis ccntury. Bacon's incisive, epigrammatic style, 
 f56i-i626. tlioiigli in itself very telling, founded no school. 
 His amazing and brilliant essays represent the secu- 
 lar side of the life of the Renaissance. They embody 
 in admirable form the immense advance made by the 
 times in the understanding of character and society. 
 There is no idealism in them and they cherish no 
 illusions, though fully appreciating that illusions are 
 useful. They express, often with startling sincerity 
 of phrase, the most subtle wisdom of this world, 
 which is an interesting and noteworthy thing, though 
 it could not have written Shakespeare's plays. 
 
 II. Elizabethan Teanslations 
 
 During all this time the work of translation went 
 merrily on. Even before 1579, Virgil, Ovid, Cicero, 
 Demosthenes, and other classic authors had been 
 translated. In 1579, the year of the "Shepherd's 
 Calendar " and " Euphues," appeared North's noble 
 version of Plutarch. The Italian poets, Ariosto and 
 
GENERAL LITERATURE 207 
 
 Tasso, were soon presented to Englishmen in the 
 famous translations of Harrington and Fairfax ; and 
 in 1598 appeared the earlier part of the crowning 
 achievement of Elizabethan translation, Chapman's 
 great version of Homer. We see in Spenser and 
 Shakespeare the result of this impact of foreign and 
 classical genius upon the English mind. It is note- 
 worthy that all the important influences of the time, 
 whether ancient or modern, set from the Latin races ; 
 from Rome, Spain, France. Almost it seems as if, 
 despite the Norman Conquest, the native force of the 
 Teutonic stock was in constant danger of overpow- 
 ering other elements in the English race, unless a 
 constant play of fertilizing forces from other direc- 
 tions were brought to bear on it. 
 
 We must not think that the ideal of translation in 
 the Renaissance was what it is to-day. Chapman's 
 Homer, for instance, is a great Elizabethan poem on 
 the basis of the Greek poet; it is not a literal render- 
 ing of Homer, although Chapman wished to make it 
 so. In the middle ages, people treated the classic 
 authors exactly as they pleased, altering them quite 
 at pleasure. In the Renaissance, they had learned 
 more respect, and they really translated their great 
 predecessors, but they were quite incapable of 
 giving the actual effect of the original. They 
 looked at antiquity through colored Renaissance 
 glasses, and it never occurred to them to take these 
 glasses off. 
 
 III. Elizabethan Lteics 
 
 We turn now to linger a little, with rejoicing 
 hearts, in the Elizabethan garden of song. It is a 
 
208 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 garden, not a woodland. These lovely sixteenth- 
 century lyrics, inevitable and careless as they seem, 
 have not the wilding charm of ballad or folk-song. 
 Theirs is no " unpremeditated art " ; they are the 
 product of culture, though culture would avail little 
 if they were not rooted in the warm earth of human 
 experience, and nourished by the free, potent sun- 
 shine of imagination. They are artificial with that 
 best kind of art which becomes part of the life of 
 nature : — 
 
 " For nature is made better by no mean 
 But nature makes that mean," 
 
 as Shakespeare says. 
 Early Many of the earlier lyrics of the period show in a 
 
 ^Tt^'m curious way this tentative, conscious, experimental 
 metres. character. What, the poets asked themselves, was 
 the right way of writing English verse ? Should 
 they copy the quantitative, unrhymed movement of 
 the classics ? Yes ! answered for a time some of the 
 best critics, including for a brief moment Spenser 
 himself. Strange and absurd though this answer 
 appear to us, we cannot wonder that it was given 
 then. For the perfect dignity, beauty, and finish of 
 classic metres fell fresh on people's ears, and of Eng- 
 lish models they had few or none. So they set to 
 work to concoct hexameters, sapphics, what you will, 
 and extraordinary work they made of it. But the 
 lovely, new-born muse of English song laughed at 
 their pedantry; and her laughter echoed in their 
 ears and rippled through their veins like music, and 
 in spite of themselves these would-be learned poets 
 began to sing. Soon they became intoxicated — 
 
GENERAL LITERATURE 209 
 
 and no wonder — with their own words. They did 
 not approve of rhyme, but rhyme they did, with 
 delicate ease and abundance. They wanted to write 
 serious quantitative verse, and melodies infinite in 
 variety and charm rose unbidden to their lips. 
 They made a virtue of necessity, yielded themselves 
 to the spell, and added a fine artistic sense to the 
 impulse of nature. Conscious experiment melted, 
 almost at once, into spontaneous inspiration. 
 
 What caused the whole nation to break forth sud- 
 denly into music? Who can tell? The more we 
 study, the more old song-books and miscellanies 
 yield up their treasures, the more amazed we grow 
 at the singing quality that was in the Elizabethan 
 air. Numerous anthologies published during this Anthoio- 
 period attest the strength of the lyrical impulse. ^^^' 
 First of these was " Tottel's Miscellany," which came 
 out as early as 1557. It contained much work of 
 Surrey and Wyatt and of other lyrists as well ; and 
 though some of it seems rough to our finer ears, the 
 little book gave strong impetus to the lyrical move- 
 ment. The very names of many of the other antholo- 
 gies of the time are redolent of beauty and sweetness : 
 "The Paradise of Dainty Devices," "A Gorgeous 
 Gallery of Gallant Inventions," " Britton's Bower of 
 Delights," " The Phoenix's Nest," " The Passionate 
 Pilgrim," " England's Helicon," " Davison's Poetical 
 Rhapsody." 
 
 The blending of artifice with nature is especially Pastorals. 
 evidenced by the pastoral spirit, popular in the early 
 Elizabethan lyrics, as in the romances and the drama. 
 We do not write pastorals any longer ; perhaps we 
 shall never write them again. All the more reason 
 
210 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 why we should return now and then and rejoice to 
 roam through this singing world of exquisite breed- 
 Themes of ing without formality, where we may enjoy the 
 the lyrics, fj.^-^g ^f civilization without its pains.' Of course, 
 many of the lyrics are not pastoral, but nearly all of 
 them express in somewhat a like manner pure ecstasy 
 of joyous grace. They sing of love, of springtime, 
 of blossom, they voice the rapturous praise of beauty 
 and again return to their refrain, youth and love, 
 love and youth. All moods of delicate courtship are 
 in them, — gay, tender, plaintive, frolicsome, — only 
 the depths of passion they seldom or never sound. 
 
 This lyrical revel goes on unchecked into the age 
 of King James. In the midst of it, before long, a 
 more serious note is heard, and lyrics of a different 
 character begin to appear. All this development is 
 so marvellously rapid that to mark stages in it is 
 dangerous if not impossible ; yet we shall be safe in 
 saying that in the decade between 1590 and 1600, 
 there appears a tendency to sincerer, graver, self- 
 revelation, and at the same time to lyrical forms a 
 little less ebullient in rapture, a little quieter and 
 Sonnets, more elaborated. This is par excellence the decade 
 of the sonnet, and of all lyrical forms practised by 
 the Elizabethans the sonnet is that which has re- 
 tained the most enduring place in English literature. 
 Sidney's "Astrophel and Stella," though written 
 earlier, was not published till 1591 ; and the follow- 
 ing decade saw the writing of Spenser's " Amoretti," 
 and of some at least of those final glories of the Eliz- 
 abethan lyric, — the sonnets of Shakespeare. Lesser 
 poets of distinction — Constable, Drayton, Daniel — 
 joined the ranks of sonneteers, and sonnet-sequences 
 
GENERAL LITERATURE 211 
 
 became the order of the day. So powerful was the 
 poetic instinct abroad in the world that often a man 
 of temperament naturally rather dry and ordinary 
 would produce perhaps one sonnet of enduring 
 beauty, like the little poem of Drayton, "Since 
 there's no help, come let us kiss and part." But 
 the best sequences, as wholes, are of course by the 
 great men, Sidney, Spenser, and Shakespeare. 
 
 These three sets — Sidney's "Astrophel and 
 Stella," Spenser's "Amoretti," and the sonnets of 
 Shakespeare — well illustrate not only the possible 
 range of sonnet expression, but also various types in 
 form which the sonnet may assume. 
 
 A sonnet has fourteen lines. . This length, arbi- structure 
 trary as it seems, appears to have a certain psy- sonnet. 
 chological correspondence with the length of time 
 during which the mind finds exclusive absorption 
 in one feeling, or mood, possible. Sidney's sonnets 
 follow in the main Italian usage. This divides the 
 sonnet into two parts with a slight break in the 
 middle : the first eight lines, called the octave, and 
 the second six lines, called the sestet. The octave 
 has only two rhymes. They run ahhaahha, so that 
 the first end- word rhymes with the last. There may 
 be either two or three rhymes in the sestet, arranged 
 with more freedom ; only, in the strictest form of 
 Italian sonnet, the final couplet is not used. The 
 reason for this is that the emotion is diffused through 
 the whole sonnet like a heaving wave on the surface 
 of the ocean, rising to greatest height in the middle, 
 and subsiding at the close into quietude. Spenser 
 wrote some Italian sonnets, but more often he illus- 
 trated the passion of his day for experiment in verse- 
 
212 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 forms, for he evolved a type of his own, of which 
 the rhymes run abahhchccdcdee. This, in his use, is 
 often very lovely, but it has seemingly not com- 
 mended itself, for it has not been used by later 
 poets. The Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, 
 holds in our language a place side by side with the 
 Italian, equally honored. Shakespeare did not invent 
 it, but he glorified it. It consists of three quatrains 
 run on three sets of rhyme, and a final couplet ; and 
 in this form we have still a wavelike movement, only 
 it is no longer the movement of a billow that surges 
 upward, and then draws home again silently into the 
 boundless deep, but of a breaker that crashes with 
 overwhelming force, and impetus of feeling upon the 
 shore. These types still endure ; and sonnets, from 
 Elizabeth's day to our own, have remained the most 
 beloved form of lyrical expression in England. 
 
 Further and interesting developments awaited the 
 lyric of the Renaissance. We shall discuss them 
 later. For the present, we leave the lyric here in 
 mid-career, and turn to the man to whom belongs, 
 even more than to Sidney, the representative place 
 among early Elizabethan poets : Edmund Spenser. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Euphues, Ascham's Works, Raleigh's Last Fight of the 
 Revenge are in the Arber reprints. A first edition of Hak- 
 luyt's Voyages (1589) is in the Boston Public Library. Voy- 
 ages of the Elizabethan Seamen to America (selections from 
 Hakluyt), Clarendon Press. 
 
 The chief editor and critical authority for Bacon is James 
 Spbdding. Excellent Life, by Dean Church, in English 
 Men of Letters. Essays, in Golden Treasury Series. See arti- 
 cle in National Dictionary of Biography, and Introduction to 
 
GENERAL LITERATURE 213 
 
 Clarendon Press edition of " Essays." Macaulay's Essay is a 
 classic in its way. 
 
 Chief editor and critical authority on Hooker, John Keblb. 
 See Introduction to Clarendon Press edition of " Ecclesiastical 
 Polity," Bk. I, by Dean Church. Izaak Walton's charming 
 Life should be read. 
 
 Elizabethan Criticism. See, for good discussion of the de- 
 velopment of criticism, Introduction, by C. E. Vaughan, to the 
 volume " English Literary Criticism " in the Warwick Library. 
 
 Elizabethan Translation. See the Tudor Translations, ed. 
 by W. F. Henley. Excellent Introduction to Nobth's " Plu- 
 tarch," by G. Wyndham. Chapman's noble " Homer " can be 
 obtained cheaply in Morlby's Universal Library. His " Iliad," 
 modernized, is found in the " Knickerbocker Nuggets " Series. 
 
 Elizabethan Lyrics. These have of late been made generally 
 accessible in various attractive collections. See A. H. Bullen's 
 reprints of " Davison's Poetical Rhapsody " and " England's 
 Helicon " ; also his collections of Lyrics from Elizabethan Song 
 Books (two series or one condensed volume) ; Lyrics from 
 Elizabethan Dramatists, Lyrics from Elizabethan Romances. 
 Felix Schelling's Elizabethan Lyrics, in the AthenEeum Press 
 Series, is, with its admirable Introduction, the best collection 
 for students to own. A charming little edition of " Campion " 
 is in the series The Lyric Poets (Dent). Carpenter, English 
 Lyric Poetry (1500-1700), Warwick Library. Pastorals, in 
 Warwick Library. Tottel's Miscellany, in Arber reprints. 
 
 For minor sonnet-cycles, Drayton, Daniel, Constable, see edi- 
 tion by Martha Foote Crowe. For criticisms on the sonnet, 
 see T. Watts, article in Encyclopaedia Britannica; J. Ash- 
 croft Noble, The Sonnet in England ; William Sharp, In- 
 troduction to Sonnets in the Canterbury Poets ; Hall Caine, 
 Sonnets of Three Centuries. See, for study of verse forms, 
 Gummeke's Poetics. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The material treated in this chapter would give scope for 
 the study of years. Free, rapid, copious reading of as much 
 of this noble literature as may be found possible is more 
 important than close analytical work for the young student. 
 Selected lives from North's "Plutarch," Raleigh's magnificent 
 account of the "Fight of the Revenge" (in connection with 
 which Tennyson's Ballad may be learned by heart), readings 
 
214 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 from Hakluyt and Harrison, are quite as thriUing reading 
 as Henty for young people, and far more profitable. Lyrics 
 should be freely learned by heart and recited in class. The 
 element of drill may be supplied by close study of verse-forms, 
 and this is the point where the different feet, metres, stanzas, 
 etc., most familiar in English poetry may best be discussed. 
 The sonnet in particular should be well understood, and exam- 
 ples of the Italian and the English sonnet read or repeated in 
 class. Sonnets on the sonnet are especially charming to learn : 
 Wordsworth, " Scorn not the sonnet " ; Theodore Watts, " Yon 
 silvery billows breaking on the beach " ; D. G. Kossetti, " A 
 sonnet is a moment's monument " ; R. W. Gilder, " What is a 
 sonnet? 'tis the pearly shell." J. R. Lowell (Letters, II, 36), 
 " You order me, dear Jane, to write a sonnet." 
 
 A topical discussion of the lyrics is attractive. Nature in 
 the lyrics, love, classical influences, patriotism, all that consti- 
 tutes the fascination of this gay literature, may be brought home 
 to the imagination by instances found by each student for him- 
 self. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 What England meant to Spenser and Sidney; Early Experi- 
 ments in the Art of writing Verses (a study of the experiments 
 in classical metres, and the abandonment of them) ; Homer, as 
 Elizabeth's Day saw him (a lecture on Chapman) ; Italian 
 Influences in Elizabethan Lyric and Romance ; Spanish Influ- 
 ences in Elizabethan Lyric and Romance; How the Elizar 
 bethans treated the Classics; Pageantry in the England of 
 Elizabeth ; Pastorals, from Greece to England. These can all 
 be studied and prepared in the references given. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 EDMUND SPENSER 
 
 QPENSER wrote what Sidney lived. Just as 
 f^ Chaucer's poetry expressed, with charming ease 
 and transforming grace, the imaginative life of the 
 middle ages, so the poetry of Spenser gathers into 
 itself the imaginative life of the Renaissance, and 
 flashes it forth to us in myriad forms and hues of 
 beauty. 
 
 Poetry, to Spenser, was no mere accomplishment, 
 no interlude in an active career, as it was to Wyatt 
 and Surrey and Sidney ; it was the serious pursuit 
 of his life. This is a significant fact; it is one of the 
 first indications of the development of a profession 
 of letters. Not that Spenser expected to support 
 himself with his pen ; the dawn of that idea was far 
 away. He had an active career apart from litera- 
 ture ; but poet he was, first and foremost, through- 
 out his life. 
 
 I. Spenser's Life 
 
 Spenser was born in London in the year 1652. He 1552-1590. 
 was almost an exact contemporary of Raleigh, Sidney, 
 and Hooker; he was twelve years older than Shakes- 
 peare. His University was Cambridge, and there he 
 surely formed connections which led him straight into 
 all the eager questioning and critical inquiry that 
 marked the early portion of the queen's reign. Also, 
 
 215 
 
1579. 
 
 216 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 at the University he heard a great deal of vigorous 
 preaching, and echoes of the theological controver- 
 sies of the day are in his early -work. 
 
 This work began soon after he left Cambridge; 
 he was living in the north of England at the time, 
 and was enamoured of a fair country lass, his Rosa- 
 lind, who spurned his suit. His love, his sorrow, his 
 enthusiasm for the queen, his interest in the religious 
 parties of his day, his facility in literary experiments, 
 and his sensitiveness to the sesthetic influences that 
 were abroad, were all illustrated in his first poem, 
 "The " The Shepherd's Calendar," published when he was 
 
 herd's twenty-seven years old. The poem is a series of 
 dar," pastoral eclogues. They are a little affected, a little 
 
 self-conscious, like the most early Elizabethan work, 
 but they show a lyrical grace and an ear for music 
 such as no other writer then in England, except possi- 
 bly Sidney, possessed. The poem was dedicated to 
 Sidney, and Spenser was at one time under the pat- 
 ronage of Sidney's uncle, the famous Earl of Leices- 
 ter. He lived with the choicest and noblest spirits 
 of that great age ; so much we could guess from his 
 poems, though we had no external evidence. 
 
 Nevertheless, a large part of his life was passed in 
 exile; for in 1580 we find that he went to Ireland, 
 where, in one capacity or another, he remained till 
 just before his death in 1599. He was secretary to 
 one of the sternest statesmen of Elizabeth's reign, 
 — Arthur, Lord Grey, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 
 whom he celebrated in his "Faerie Queene" as 
 Arthegall, the knight of Justice. His business as 
 secretary was faithfully performed, and we have a 
 prose treatise from him, "A View of the State of 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 217 
 
 Ireland," which shows admirable political insight. 
 Ireland was a dreary country, and that Spenser 
 keenly felt his enforced absence from the rich and 
 briUiant life of England is pretty clear. Yet per- 
 haps he dreamed all the better for his solitude. 
 Once at least that solitude was broken, when in 
 1590 he received a visit from one of the most strik- 
 ing men of the day, — Sir Walter Raleigh, — and, 
 persuaded by Raleigh, returned to England for a 
 brief time, bringing with him the first three books 
 of the "Faerie Queene." His charming poem, 
 "Colin Clout's Come Home again," tells us some- 
 thing about this journey, and about his gracious 
 reception at court. 
 
 In 1591 Spenser published a collection of short Minor 
 poems, of which the most important are a playful 159™^' 
 allegorical fantasy about a butterfly, called " Muio- 
 potmos," and a delightfully colloquial poem called 
 "Mother Hubbard's Tale," which shows that our 
 gentle poet could be satirical when he liked, and 
 that the seamy side of court life was not concealed 
 from him. He must have enjoyed his Irish life better 
 as time went on: for he forgot at last the cold Rosa- 
 lind of his youth, and when he was over forty wooed 
 and won a fair Irish girl named Elizabeth. It was in 
 June, 1569, that he married her. We are very glad 
 of his love, and its happy ending; for it has given 
 us some of the sweetest love-poetry in the language, 
 the " Amoretti," and that noble marriage hymn, the " Amo- 
 "Epithalamium." This great ode, with its perfect "Epithaia 
 purity of passion and the interwoven sweetness of its f^g^' 
 harmonies, marks the highest level of the Elizabethan 
 lyric. 
 
218 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 The brief remainder of Spenser's life must have 
 been happy. Two sons were born to him. In 1595 
 he published the second three books of the " Faerie 
 Queene," and he was now known as the leading poet 
 of England. In 1596 he published " Four Hymns in 
 Honour of Love and Beautie." Two of these had 
 been written earlier ; the others were now added. All 
 breathe a spirit of ecstatic rejoicing in beauty, natu- 
 ral and divine. The " Prothalamium," another wed- 
 ding ode written in honor of two noble ladies in this 
 same year, is the last poem of his that we have. 
 For his happiness was not to last. In September, 
 1597, the half-savage Irish attacked Spenser's house, 
 and burned it to the ground ; Ben Jonson says that 
 a baby child of the poet's perished in the flames. 
 Spenser escaped to London ; and there, some say in 
 extreme poverty, assuredly in a state of shocked dis- 
 tress over the terrible scenes he had witnessed, the 
 poet of the " Faerie Q-ueene " died in the month of 
 January, 1599. The end of his life was like a 
 dreary adventure from his own great poem. Some 
 say that the last six books of the poem had been 
 written, and were burned in the fire ; but this is 
 not likely. His work and his life were left incom- 
 plete ; he was only forty-six years old. 
 Spenser's We learn far more than mere outward facts about 
 Spenser from his poetry ; for he was one of the men 
 who reveal themselves, not like Shakespeare one of 
 the men who conceal themselves, in their work. 
 These minor poems alone tell us much about his 
 temperament, his tastes, his convictions. They show 
 us clearly that he was a gentleman and aristocrat 
 and a man of culture ; they show that he had lived 
 
 character. 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 219 
 
 near great affairs, though if we are shrewd we shall 
 suspect that he was rather the observer than the 
 actor. There can be no question, however, that the 
 man was a devoted and pure-hearted lover, filled with 
 the chivalrous spirit of worshipful devotion to women, 
 exquisitely sensitive to beauty, a man of pure soul 
 and deeply religious temper. He was an idealist and 
 a dreamer ; and finally, the " Epithalamium " and 
 some cadences in the " Shepherd's Calendar " would 
 suffice to tell us that in all that wonderful genera- 
 tion there was no other ear so sensitive to hear and 
 catch a magical music that seems borne from the 
 land of dreams. 
 
 This was the man who wrote the great romantic 
 epic of England, the "Faerie Queene." 
 
 II. The " Faeeie Queene " 
 
 * The object of the " Faerie Queene " was, as Spenser 
 himself tells us in his introductory letter to Raleigh, 
 " to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous 
 and gentle discipline." He who had known Sidney 
 was well competent to this great task. The poem 
 was to have been in twelve books, but as only six 
 were written, the framework is incomplete. We 
 know, however, that one figure was to have domi- 
 nated the whole ; that is, the figure of Prince Arthur. 
 It is our old friend. King Arthur of the Table Round, General 
 but quite differently conceived, for Spenser invents the poem. 
 a wholly new legend to suit the new age. His Arthur, 
 like Shelley's hero in his " Alastor," has while yet a 
 youth been visited in sleep by a woman exquisitely 
 fair. Waking into a barren and lonely world, he 
 
220 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 has vowed never to rest till he has found and won 
 this lady of his dreams. She is a true lady, no 
 mere shadow of the night ; her name is Gloriana, 
 and she is the Faerie Queene from whom the poem 
 is named. All through its bewildering sequences 
 Arthur goes seeking her. Again and again, we 
 catch glimpses of his radiant, wistful figure flashing 
 by, clad in golden armor, with shield of diamond, 
 and rainbow plumes nodding on the helmet crowned 
 with "the dragon of the great pendragonship," as 
 Tennyson puts it. Gloriana holds her court afar. 
 Arthur often meets and helps her knights at some 
 point of desperate need, but the Faerie Queene her- 
 self, within the compass of the books that have come 
 down to us, he never finds. 
 
 It is a wondrous country through which Prince 
 Arthur wanders ; an enchanted land indeed, where 
 mysterious perils beset on every hand the knights 
 of Faerie. Yet as we read on, through all the 
 glamour of the magic, there seems to gleam on us 
 a world strangely familiar. The " Faerie Queene " 
 is an allegory ; fairy -land is England in disguise ; 
 further than this, it is the spiritual world of human 
 experience. Sometimes the allegory is historical, and 
 Gloriana stands for Queen Elizabeth, while Prince 
 Arthur's features are those of Spenser's great patron, 
 the Earl of Leicester; more often it is moral and 
 spiritual, and Gloriana represents the ideal of spiritual 
 glory which noble manhood has seen in a vision, and 
 must forever seek through the wide and mysterious 
 world. Thus conceived, the allegory is true to 
 Spenser's deepest thought; with his master Plato 
 he firmly believed that there existed a spiritual 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 221 
 
 ideal, no mere delusion of the human mind, but an 
 eternal reality. The soul of man, which has beheld 
 this ideal, but beheld it in vision alone, is on earth 
 a wanderer, ever pursuing a quest forever unfulfilled. 
 It is by an accident that the poem is incomplete, but 
 an accident hardly to be regretted ; for there is truth 
 in the incompleteness, which leaves the soul a pilgrim 
 still, as does the earlier poem of Langland. 
 
 Arthur, although the hero of the poem, is seen but 
 seldom. The different books record the adventures 
 of different knights of Gloriana, who represent the 
 different virtues of which Arthur, — Magnificence, 
 — represents the sum. They form a fellowship akin 
 to the Table Round, these knights of Faerie, or, as 
 we may caU them, the knights of the ideal. Their 
 home is the court of the Faerie Queene, thence they 
 sally forth, as good knights should, as Raleigh and 
 Drake and Sidney and other great men of the day 
 went forth from the court of Elizabeth, to subdue 
 the enemies of their great queen, to aid the helpless, 
 and to establish the reign of purity, honor, and truth. 
 
 It is not necessary to care for Spenser's allegory 
 in order to enjoy the poem ; indeed, some of the 
 best critics encourage us to disregard the allegory, 
 and simply to revel in the beautiful pictures pre- 
 sented and the delightful stories told. " The best 
 use of the 'Faerie Queene,'" says Lowell, "is as a 
 gallery of pictures." At the same time, though it 
 is better not to puzzle over the allegory, at least for 
 the first reading, the power and beauty of the poem 
 rise and fall with the depth of the spiritual meaning, 
 and when this meaning grows thin or vanishes, as 
 sometimes happens, the poetry is likely to cloy. 
 
222 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Summary 
 of the 
 poem. 
 Book I. 
 
 Book II. 
 
 Books III 
 and IV. 
 
 The first book is the most famous. It tells the 
 story of St. George the Red-Cross knight, and of the 
 Lady Una, and a lovely story it is,— one of the love- 
 liest in the whole world. St. George in the allegory 
 is the knight of Holiness : Una is Truth, as her name 
 implies. There is an ecclesiastical allegory, too, and 
 an historical, for whoever cares to follow them. We 
 may think of Una as the pure reformed Church, and 
 Duessa as the Roman Catholic communion if we will : 
 or, Duessa may mean to us Mary Queen of Scots. 
 
 The second book deals with the ethical virtue, 
 the virtue of the natural man. Temperance. Tem- 
 perance means a more positive thing in Spenser and 
 the Renaissance, than it usually means with us : it 
 is far more than mere negative abstinence, it is 
 that noble power of self-mastery without asceticism 
 which antiquity so prized, and which was just re- 
 awakening the enthusiasm of the world. Its cham- 
 pion Spenser names Sir Guyon. His enemies are 
 excess, in every form of violence or worldliness or 
 wicked beauty. The second book does not tell so 
 complete or thrilling a story as the first, but it is 
 full of fine pictures, and of splendid contrasts of 
 light and shade. 
 
 The third and fourth books tell, in more discursive 
 though charming fashion, the stories of the two 
 knights of Friendship, and of Britomart, the virgin 
 knight of Chastity. It is significant that Spenser's 
 representative of chastity should be no cloistered 
 hermit, but a maiden knight, who with a burning 
 love in her heart seeks over the world the man who 
 shall be her husband. The days of asceticism are 
 over : and the Renaissance has no more charming 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 223 
 
 story to tell than that of Britomart, her friend 
 Amoret, and her lover, the brave Arthegall. 
 
 Arthegall is the knight of Justice, and his adven- Book v. 
 tares occupy the fifth book. It is a very stern book, 
 for Spenser shared the political sternness of his age. 
 One often feels in the "Faerie Queene " how he 
 shrank from the savage life of Ireland, and con- 
 trasted it with the magnificent order and tranquillity 
 where Elizabeth made her sway prevail. The admi- 
 ration for the queen expressed by all the poets of 
 that time seems fulsome and absurd to us sometimes, 
 but we must remember against what background 
 they saw her court and her person. Spenser believed 
 in keeping order with a strong arm, and his stalwart 
 Arthegall is a noble and vigorous figure. 
 
 In striking contrast to the fifth book is the exqui- Book vi. 
 site grace and charm of the sixth, which narrates the 
 adventures of the young Sir Calidore, the knight of 
 Courtesy, and of his love, the fair shepherdess, Pas- 
 torella. It is characteristic of that courtly age that 
 Courtesy should have an important role among the 
 virtues, and there is a sweet playfulness in this book 
 which serves as real relief after the moral strenuous- 
 ness of much that has preceded. 
 
 Sir Calidore is the last of the knights of Faerie. 
 They form a splendid, shining group, clearly differ- 
 entiated, as was seldom the case with the knights in 
 the old romances. Beside them is a group of women, 
 — Una, Belphcebe, Amoret, Britomart, Florimel, Pas- 
 torella, — and these women are Spenser's sweetest 
 creation. His attitude toward them blends some- 
 thing of the mystic reverence of chivalry with the 
 Besthetic feeling of the Renaissance, while he seems 
 
224 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Character 
 of the 
 poem. 
 
 The 
 stanza. 
 
 The rela- 
 tion of the 
 poem to 
 
 at times to suggest in their stories a little of that 
 tender purity of domestic life, that romantic devo- 
 tion not only in courtship but in marriage, which 
 belongs more distinctively to the modern world. 
 
 The first impression of the "Faerie Queene" is 
 one of dazzling, almost confused beauty. In sensuous 
 equipment no poet was ever richer than Spenser, and 
 it is hard to tell whether one is more affected by 
 the appeal to the eye or to the ear, by his harmonies 
 or his pictures. 
 
 The poem is written in a perfect stanza, which was 
 Spenser's own invention, and is one of the noblest 
 gifts that English literature has ever received. Its 
 beauty and expressive power have been proved, if 
 proof were needed, in the use made of it by later 
 poets, Byron, Keats, Shelley, to say nothing of the 
 Spenserian imitators of the eighteenth century. It 
 is a long stanza of eight pentameter iambic lines 
 followed by an Alexandrine at the end, bound 
 together in an intimate unity by the rhyme-scheme: 
 dbabhcbcc. It is probably the longest stanza possible 
 compatible with swiftness of narration. It lends 
 itself marvellously to descriptions, whether of beauty 
 or of gloom ; and in Spenser's hands it is unri- 
 valled in melodious variety, dignity, and sweetness. 
 
 Spenser's nature was responsive and receptive 
 before it was original; and his poem reflects every 
 influence that was playing upon its age. 
 
 In the first place, the bright afterglow of the 
 middle ages is in it. Nowhere, not even in the 
 Morte d' Arthur do we find so unstained and complete 
 an image of what chivalry would fain have been, of 
 the perfect ideal of knighthood. Some critics have 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 225 
 
 thought that the past was dearer to him than the Mediaeval 
 
 present: He loved obsolete words, and phrases with '° "^eJ^c*- 
 
 the flavor of the past. " That world which as it 
 
 receded, kissed hands to him alone, had for him 
 
 more charm than the world that proffered her ungar- 
 
 nered spoils to the new settlers," said Aubrey de 
 
 Vere. Certainly, the whole framework of the poem 
 
 is taken from mediseval romance; and not only the 
 
 framework but much of the spirit. Or rather, let 
 
 us say that Chivalry has risen again in the poem of 
 
 Spenser, — and risen in the body of the Resurrection. 
 
 Yet Aubrey de Vere is mistaken if he means that Classic 
 
 Spenser was indifferent to his own day and its inter- temporary 
 
 ests. Hearsay of " fruitfuUest Virginia " quick- "^^"^°'=®- 
 
 ened his power to imagine fairy-land: and no genius 
 
 of the Eenaissance was more enriched than his by the 
 
 recovery of classic literature. The influences of this 
 
 literature, especially of Virgil, are patent in the 
 
 " Faerie Queene." They do not affect the framework, 
 
 but they determine the ornament; and there are little 
 
 myths of Spenser's own, like the charming story of 
 
 the birth of Belphoebe and Amoret, which show how 
 
 he had caught the fashion of the later classical 
 
 writers. 
 
 The third ffreat influence, to be found in the Italian 
 
 ° .... influence. 
 
 "Faerie Queene," beside that of the middle ages 
 
 and the classics, is that of Italy. There first the 
 Romantic Epic was perfected, in the work, not long 
 preceding Spenser, of Ariosto and Tasso. This 
 epic was in a way a development from the mediseval 
 romance, but it was more self-conscious and liter- 
 ary. The influence of both these poets, especially of 
 Tasso, the graver and more sentimental of the two, 
 
226 THE KENAISSANCE 
 
 is all-pervasive alike in tlie scheme and detail of the 
 "Faerie Queene." The rich coloring of Italy is in 
 the poem. 
 
 All these different influences blend in Spenser's 
 works as they blended in the Renaissance. Some- 
 times the result is amusing, as when Parnassus is 
 jumbled up with the Mount of Olives, or an angel 
 is seriously compared to "Cupido on Idsean Hill." 
 Yet one feels no incongruity in the poem. One 
 yields, enchanted, to the very lavishness and opu- 
 lence of beauty, to the wealth of exquisite pictures 
 presented to the inner eye. 
 
 Of course, in one way this very lavishness is a 
 fault. The poem seems to many people diffuse, and 
 there is no denying that Spenser gets entangled some- 
 times in his own manifold inventions. But, all ad- 
 missions made, we can only be grateful for this 
 wondrous work of art. 
 Spenser's Best of all, this seemingly unrestrained luxuriance 
 of delights may be enjoyed without qualm or scruple 
 of conscience. Often the beauty of this visible 
 world has inspired good men with terror. It terri- 
 fied the monk who was before Spenser's day, and the 
 Puritan who was to come after. In a way, monk 
 and Puritan are right. That the world of sense is 
 fraught with danger to the spirit no one can study 
 the development of the drama in the century which 
 followed Spenser and deny. Spenser knows this 
 well. He can show us the seductive loveliness be- 
 hind which lurks temptation ; life must be militant, 
 he tells us ; his knights are ever on their guard, and 
 fairy-land is one great battle-field. Yet his imagina- 
 tion, pure and healthful as it is sensitive, revels in 
 
 ethics. 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 227 
 
 the beauty of this visible universe, the beauty of 
 nature, art, and humanity, unchecked by fear. This 
 he can permit, because, filled with love of this earth, 
 he is filled with love of heaven too, and visible beauty 
 is to him a symbol or a sacrament of an unseen 
 beauty beyond. The "Faerie Queene," with all its 
 classic adornments, is profoundly Christian ; Spenser 
 is a son of the Reformation as well as of the Renais- 
 sance. Perhaps this happy union could not long 
 endure. On the one hand, the Jacobean drama was 
 to follow, with its sad revel of the senses; on the 
 other, the harsh literature of Puritanism. But we 
 may at least rejoice that, before this parting of the 
 ways, we possess one great poem which knows the 
 actual world, yet glorifies it, and in which a passion- 
 ate love of a visible and of an invisible loveliness 
 meet for once without strife, in serene harmony. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 The standard edition of Spenser is by Alexander Grosart. 
 Clarendon Press edition of first two books of the "Faerie 
 Queene." Edition of same books by Perceval, with notes of 
 character more literary, less linguistic, than the Clarendon 
 Press. Globe edition, complete works. The " Shepherd's Cal- 
 endar," introduced and edited by C. H. Herford. Life of 
 Spenser, Dean Church, English Men of Letters. Illuminat- 
 ing essays on Spenser will be found in Aubrey de Verb's 
 Essays, chiefly on Poetry ; in Edward Dowden's Transcripts 
 and Studies ; and in Lowell's Among my Books. 
 
 The " Shepherd's Calendar " and the " Faerie Queene " have 
 been illustrated in a delightful way by Walter Crane. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 A student loses what can never be had again who fails to 
 read while young at least the first two books of the " Faerie 
 Queene." In class adopt Lowell's recommendation, and treat 
 
228 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 the poem as a gallery of pictures. Let each student show the 
 class one figure piece, one landscape, one composition, one bit 
 of pageantry. If any members of the class have travelled, and 
 know the Italian art of the Renaissance, it is fascinating to 
 ascribe, different scenes in Spenser to different artists, as the 
 description of Belphoebe to Botticelli, of Charissa to Titian, 
 of Mammon to Rembrandt or Tintoretto. The student who 
 has learned to visualize his Spenser has learned to love him. 
 Study next Spenser's appeal to the ear : the melody of the 
 poem, the Spenserian stanza; analyze; watch treatment in 
 other hands — Thomson, Byron, Shelley, Keats ; study the use 
 of alliteration, of tone color, the pause melody in its variations, 
 the scope and the limitations of the stanza. 
 
 After the appeal to the eye and the ear, take the appeal to 
 the imagination. Follow the conduct of the narrative, the 
 various impersonations, etc. Finally, consider the appeal to 
 the spiritual sense, study the allegory, and note the noble 
 ethical passages. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Spenser's Debt to Tasso and Ariosto ; Spenser's Debt to the 
 Middle Ages ; Spenser's Debt to the Classics ; Reflection of 
 Contemporary English Life in the " Faerie Queene " ; The 
 Influence on the Poem of Spenser's Irish Life ; Spenser's Ideal 
 of Heroism ; The Later Books of the " Faerie Queene " (a lec- 
 ture on each, if possible, presenting a summary of story and 
 spiritual conception) ; Spenser the Aristocrat ; The Symbolism 
 of Spenser. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 THE EAELY DRAMA 
 
 I. Development 
 
 WE left the drama stiU in the form of miracle 
 plays, a servant of the Church, though some- 
 times rather a boisterous servant. We find it again, 
 in the latter part of the sixteenth century, and it has 
 become thoroughly secular. How did this happen ? 
 It happened essentially because the temper of the 
 nation was changed. But we can find links between 
 the religious drama of the middle ages and the sec- 
 ular drama of the Renaissance. Such links are fur- 
 nished by the Moralities and Interludes, which Moraii- 
 flourished from the reign of Henry VI on into Eliza- '®^' 
 beth's reign. The Moralities were dramatized alle- 
 gories ; they brought such characters as Mankind, 
 Folly, Mercy, Perseverance, upon the stage. They 
 were very dull, but they trained invention in a 
 certain way, for they forced their writers to make up 
 a story instead of simply adapting the stories of the 
 Bible as the miracle plays had done. The Interlude J^'er- 
 had less plot than the Morality, but in the hands of 
 John Heywood, who wrote for the court of Henry 
 VII between 1520 and 1540, the characters were 
 drawn from real life and were sometimes very amus- 
 ing, and the dialogue was vivacious. The most 
 familiar of Heywood's interludes is one called " The 
 
 229 
 
230 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 liOve 
 of pag- 
 eantry. 
 
 Four P's," in which a Pardoner, a Palmer, a Pedler, 
 and a Potecary try in an entertaining manner who 
 can tell the biggest lie. 
 
 Moralities and Interludes formed a sort of intel- 
 lectual prelude to the drama. Meanwhile, the 
 impassioned liking for pageantry and representa- 
 tion which possessed the country in its young pros- 
 perity prepared the way on another side. Never was 
 the splendor of visible beauty more eagerly craved 
 and realized by the imagination. We may see the 
 result of this impulse in such ceremonies as marked 
 the queen's reception at Kenilworth, or in the 
 numerous lord mayor's shows. But there is little 
 use in dwelling on these things. It is evident that 
 the drama had to come ; the force and feeling of the 
 nation at large had to press outward and reproduce 
 themselves, through an art form more free, more sen- 
 sitively varied, more rich, than any that had hereto- 
 fore been known. Even before 1590, even before the 
 drama rose to overmastering glory in Shakespeare, 
 there was already a lusty dramatic development 
 which gave promise of nearly all the phases of 
 dramatic expression that were to follow. 
 
 II. Types 
 
 Chronicle 1. The new patriotism, for instance, expressed 
 ^ ^^^' itself in a series of chronicle plays that put roughly 
 but vividly before the people the course of English 
 history. These plays were epic rather than dramatic 
 in character ; they had not much plot or structure ; 
 they were simply a visible presentation of great per- 
 sonages and great events. The English historical 
 
THE EARLY DRAMA 231 
 
 plays of Shakespeare — several of which are written 
 in collaboration with other authors — take up and 
 continue this tradition. 
 
 2. Comedy of a rude and homely type appears Comedies. 
 even before the time of Elizabeth. " Ealph Roister „ j^j ^ 
 Doister," the first English comedy, was written by Roister ^^ 
 Nicholas Udall, probably about 1550. It reflects a printed' 
 curious blending of influences from the New Learn- 
 ing, and from native English life. The plot and the 
 
 types of character are derived from Latin comedy, 
 
 but the effervescent fun, the vigorous dialogue, and 
 
 the setting are full English. " Gammer Gurton's " Gammer 
 
 Needle " is another interesting early comedy. Its Needle." 
 
 rollicking humor and vulgar realism present us with 
 
 a capital picture of scenes of village life. 
 
 3. Tragedy soon begins to feel its dark way. Tragedies. 
 Sometimes it is stately and frigid, modelled after the 
 
 Latin dramas of Seneca, consisting rather of decla- 
 mation than of action. This is the type of "Gorbo- "Gorbo- 
 
 due " 
 
 due," the first tragedy in our tongue, written in acted in 
 part by Sackville, a poet whose introduction to the before the 
 collection of poems called the "Mirror for Magis- ^"«^"- 
 trates " is perhaps the best poetry produced during 
 the first twenty years of Elizabeth's reign. Again, 
 breaking loose from all restraint of canons of art or 
 taste or propriety, the drama raised a cry of almost 
 incoherent horror, as in the so-called " Tragedy of 
 Blood," of which Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy" is the 
 best instance. Shakespeare's supreme tragedies owe 
 much to the tragedy that has gone before. They 
 turn horror itself into beauty, and leave the spirit 
 purified, though aghast ; yet " Hamlet " is but a 
 tragedy of blood transforined. 
 
232 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Court 4. Almost all these dramatic forms belonged to 
 
 ^^" the people, and were presented to the great Eliza- 
 bethan public at large. But the court had a special 
 drama of its own. Elizabeth dearly loved a play ; 
 fifty-two plays were acted at court between 1568 and 
 1570, and the Children of the Queen's Chapel, young 
 boy choristers, were organized into a regular com- 
 pany of players who acted not only before her Maj- 
 esty, but elsewhere. These court dramas are, so far 
 as they have come down to us, much what their name 
 implies. They have much literary delicacy ; often, 
 as in Peele's charming " Arraignment of Paris," they 
 partake more of the character of a masque than of 
 serious drama. The prettiest that we have — and 
 very pretty some of them are — are written in prose 
 by Lyly, the author of "Euphues." Shakespeare 
 owes much to these, as to all the other dramatic 
 types that, preceded him. Some of his favorite mo- 
 tifs are found in Lyly; Benedick and Beatrice, Rosa- 
 lind and Celia, would talk with less grace and sparkle 
 had not Lyly shown the possibilities of charm in 
 what we may call the drama of good society. 
 
 Verse As to verse forms, the drama during this period 
 
 was trying all kinds of experiments ; it was written 
 sometimes in fourteen syllable lines, like intermina- 
 ble ballads, sometimes in doggerel, and again some- 
 times in the ten-syllable, unrhymed verse, which was 
 finally, by a process of natural selection, to prevail in 
 dramatic work. 
 
 III. The Peedecessoes op Shakespeabe 
 
 TheUni- The names of some of the chief dramatists who 
 ^ts! ^ preceded Shakespeare were Peele, Greene, Lodge, 
 
THE EARLY DRAMA 233 
 
 Kyd, Nash, and Marlowe. Interesting raen they all 
 were, though here we can only suggest them by a 
 string of names. They were University men, masters 
 of arts, and gentlemen ; but they flung away, most of 
 them, from decorum and law of all kinds, lived a 
 wild Bohemian life in the vivid London of the 
 Renaissance, and in several instances died in misery 
 or even crime while they were still young. Their 
 work is confused, uneven, and tentative, but strange 
 gleams of genius shine through it. We understand, 
 as we learn of them, how the profession of playwright 
 and actor was in evil repute, and already stigmatized 
 by the grave Puritan spirit which was rising in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 The greatest of all these men, the only one pos- Christo- 
 sessed of a high genius, was Christopher Marlowe, arariowe, 
 Marlowe was one of those poets snatched away ^^^^ 
 when they have given the world only preludings 
 of their music, for he was killed in a tavern when 
 twenty-nine years old. He was just the age of 
 Shakespeare, and it is not irreverent to say that 
 Shakespeare at twenty-nine had not achieved so 
 much. For Marlowe had a great, a soaring spirit, 
 and he could express it in what Ben Jonson rightly 
 called a "mighty line." The noblest blank verse 
 before Shakespeare is his. He left us a few poems, 
 and five tragedies, all written within six years : 
 " Tamburlaine," "Dr. Faustus," "The Massacre at 
 Paris," "The Jew of Malta," and "Edward II." 
 These dramas are, with the exception of " Edward 
 II," crude and formless ; they break into the bom- 
 bastic or the grotesque in a surprising, disappointing 
 manner, yet they leave one out of breath from the 
 
234 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 sense of power they convey, and the yearning they 
 suggest for an unattainable beauty and knowledge. 
 For Marlowe's was a soul : — 
 
 " Still climbing after knowledge infinite, 
 And always roving as the restless spheres." * 
 
 His drama is one of marvellous promise, not yet of 
 fulfilment. The age that could produce a Marlowe 
 needed a Shakespeare, and Shakespeare came. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Manly, Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama, Athe- 
 naeum Press Series, Vol. 11. An excellent edition of Marlowe 
 is in the Mermaid Series. A. W. Ward, History of English 
 Dramatic Literature (ed. 1899), Vol. IX, Ch. III. J. A. 
 Symonds, Shakespeare's Predecessors. Fleay, Biographical 
 Chronicle of the English Drama. J. R. Lowell, The Old 
 English Dramatists. Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 It is profitable for a class which is to take up Shakespeare 
 to read two or three of the plays in Manly's " Specimens." 
 Class analysis should dissect these plays, showing their depar- 
 ture from the canons of classic art, their attempts at dramatic 
 structure and passion, their crudity, their promise. A play of 
 Marlowe might next be read, to show the genius and power 
 latent in the nation, and the class will then be prepared to un- 
 derstand something of Shakespeare's art in relation to his 
 times. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Any dramatic types or dramatists mentioned in this chapter 
 may be made the subject of a separate lecture. 
 
 1 " Tamburlaine," Act II, Sc. VII. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEAHE 
 
 I. The Elizabethan Stage 
 
 WE must not think of the theatre in Elizabeth's 
 time as if it had been like our own. The 
 travelling drama of the middle ages did indeed give 
 place to a regular theatre in separate permanent build- 
 ings ; before the end of the queen's reign there 
 ■were eleven such buildings licensed in London. 
 Companies of professional actors were also gradually- 
 formed. But the conditions of the stage were primi- 
 tive in the extreme. The public theatres were roofed 
 over only in part; the stage projected into the yard, 
 and was surrounded on all sides by spectators, while 
 the favored gentlefolk and courtiers actually sat upon 
 it, forming part of the show. Scenery was rough ; 
 the actors were aided by no illusion of distance or 
 perspective, but were simply a raised group in the 
 midst of the audience. Costumes, sometimes very 
 handsome, were always of the style of the day, and 
 it is curious to imagine Shakespeare's ancient Romans 
 in Elizabethan ruffs. No women acted, and all the 
 women's parts were taken by boys. These were the 
 conditions under which were presented " The Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream," "Romeo and Juliet," "King 
 Lear." They would seem strange, ludicrous even, 
 
 235 
 
236 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 to-day. But after all, what did scenery matter ? 
 The alchemy of Shakespeare's imagination was worth 
 more to show the essential truth of things than illu- 
 sions produced by plaster and paint, and his public 
 shared something of his power. An Elizabethan 
 audience was probably the most imaginative that 
 has ever existed except in ancient Greece. Who 
 would not gladly abandon our large stages with 
 retreating scenes, our play of artificial lights, our 
 realism of setting, if we could as a nation reach that 
 fervor of imaginative passion out of which a Shake- 
 speare might arise ? 
 
 II. Shakespeakb's Life 
 
 1564-1616. We know about Shakespeare's life as much as we 
 know about that of many of his contemporaries, 
 though not nearly so much as we should like to know. 
 He was a country boy, not city-bred like Spenser, 
 and his only university was the big world. Strangers 
 to-day, visiting his birthplace, Stratford-on-Avon, 
 may still pray in the church where he is buried, a 
 church quite recent in his day, see with their own 
 eyes what the town as he saw it looked like, and 
 wander through the region which he knew. It 
 is a rich, pleasant, level country that lies around 
 Stratford ; the natural home and background for 
 human life, with no surprising beauty nor grandeur 
 to arrest or absorb the mind. Such as it was, Shake- 
 speare knew and loved it well ; this we know from 
 many touches in his plays, and also because he 
 returned thither when his fame was won, to live 
 and die. 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 237 
 
 Shakespeare's father was a respected tradesman of 
 Stratford, and at one time mayor of the town. It 
 is interesting to notice that during his year of office 
 the corporation for the first time entertained actors 
 at Stratford ; but William was only four years old 
 at this time. The family fortunes seemingly con- 
 tinued good till he was a boy of about thirteen, but 
 after that time they declined and the family sank 
 into debt. The one thing we know for certain about 
 his life at this time is that when he was only eighteen 
 years old he married a woman named Anne Hatha- 
 way, eight years older than himself, and that before 
 he was twenty-two three children were born to him. 
 When he was about twenty-three years old, he left 
 Stratford and his wife and little family, and went 
 up to London to try his fortunes. 
 
 Shakespeare attached himself to the stage, at first, 
 if tradition speaks true, as a call-boy or even in a 
 lower capacity. But very soon he became an actor, 
 and continued to act till late in life, being one of the 
 company appointed king's players at the accession 
 of James I. We all long to know the parts that 
 Shakespeare acted, but as far as tradition tells us 
 they were very minpr parts ; the Ghost in " Ham- 
 let," for instance, and old Adam in " As You Like 
 It." Just when he began to make plays we do 
 not know, but by 1592 the references of a jealous 
 rival show that he was already known as a drama- 
 tist. For a while, however, he probably wrote noth- 
 ing wholly his own, but was employed, after the 
 fashion of the time, in furbishing up old plays. By 
 the time he was thirty-four we find references which 
 prove him to have been a respected and fairly pros- 
 
238 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 perous man, and we have various indications that he 
 restored the fortunes of his house, bought property 
 at Stratford, and was a shrewd man of business. His 
 early love for Stratford he apparently never lost, for 
 to the little town he returned when he was about 
 forty-five years old, and lived there as a country 
 gentleman till his death, in 1616. His daughters 
 survived him ; his only son, Hamnet, had died when 
 eleven years old. 
 
 This is a dry record. And yet Shakespeare's life 
 was really one of the most varied and eventful ever 
 known by man. For within the compass of his mind 
 were lived out the experiences of Falstaff and Mac- 
 beth, of Lear and Beatrice, of Titania and Cleopatra, 
 of Juliet, Prospero, and Hamlet. Their jests, their 
 joys, their agonies, their anxieties, their passions, were 
 all explored by him, and he doubtless knew much about 
 them all which he never saw fit to tell. The inner 
 world is, when we come to think of it, the only real 
 world for everybody. But it is to be questioned 
 if any other man ever lived in an inner world where 
 such marvellous things happened as in Shakespeare's. 
 
 We dare to feel that we draw near to Shake- 
 speare's own personal experience as we follow the 
 line of development in his dramas. To attempt 
 this is indeed somewhat precarious, for the drama 
 deliberately veils personality instead of revealing it, 
 as the lyric claims to do. Yet a man's character and 
 experience may be partly judged by the society he 
 chooses, and Shakespeare was assuredly not in the 
 same mood when he lived in his dreams with Titania 
 as when he lived with King Lear. 
 
 Let us follow his works in order, remembering 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 239 
 
 that tlie detail of the chronology is often debatable, 
 but that critics are fairly well agreed to-day on the 
 main divisions or groupings of the plays. 
 
 III. Shakespbaee's Work 
 
 By the time Shakespeare was twenty-nine he had First 
 produced seven plays and two long poems. This foenPa'and 
 was no inconsiderable achievement ; yet had he died p^^i,^ 
 at twenty-nine, like Marlowe, we should not have "i^^"ie 
 regretted his loss keenly, for this work, though shop." 
 clever in the extreme, was not immeasurably above 
 the average level of the day. 
 
 Very likely Shakespeare himself cared more for 
 the poems than for the plays. The names of them 
 were " Venus and Adonis " and " The Rape of 
 Lucrece." They show the literary tastes of the 
 time : the fastidious choice of phrase, the quest for 
 sweetness in movement, the classic sentiment, often 
 caught at second-hand. They are not so poetic, 
 not so powerful, as a youthftd poem of Marlowe's, 
 " Hero and Leander." Almost the only promise of 
 the great dramatist in them is in an occasional con- 
 creteness and freshness of style, as in a famous de- 
 scription of horses found in " Venus and Adonis," a 
 description which at once shows the author to be a 
 man who could look straight at fact. 
 
 The probable plays of the period are : " Titus 
 Andronicus," a tragedy of blood ; " Henry VI," a 
 historical chronicle play in three parts ; " Love's 
 Labor's Lost," a bright society comedy, after the 
 fashion of Lyly : " The Comedy of Errors," modelled 
 upon a Latin play of Plautus : and " The Two Gen- 
 
world." 
 
 240 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 tlemen of Verona," a romantic comedy from an 
 Italian source, in which Shakespeare's power in 
 creating character first clearly appears. Several of 
 these dramas were probably old plays which Shake- 
 speare touched up ; and the mere list shows how 
 modestly he was learning his trade, making available 
 material more effective for the stage, and following 
 on the conventional dramatic lines. The dramas of 
 this time show a growing command of style, and a 
 surprising versatility and facility in dramatic ex- 
 periments. 
 Second It is quite different with the next group, written 
 
 ^in"the when Shakespeare was between twenty-nine and 
 thirty-six years old. Here the great genius appears, 
 greater in knowledge of the human heart and in 
 command of poetry than any other Englishman of 
 his age. Shakespeare had found himself. " A Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream," " Romeo and Juliet," " Rich- 
 ard III," « Richard II," "King John," " The Merchant 
 of Venice," "Henry IV," in its two parts, "Henry V," 
 " The Taming of the Shrew," " The Merry Wives of 
 Windsor," "As You Like It," "Much Ado About 
 Nothing," and "Twelfth Night," are the dramas 
 commonly assigned to this period. They comprise, 
 as will be seen, six historical plays, one tragedy, and 
 seven comedies. 
 
 The historical plays of this group are the most 
 notable expression of her national consciousness 
 that England has ever had. Some of them have 
 archaic elements derived from the old chronicle 
 plays ; they seem to us at times operatic, or lyrical 
 rather than dramatic. But from these elements the 
 later plays, notably "Henry IV," and "Henry V," 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 241 
 
 escape into the large air of reality. They manifest 
 triumphantly the breadth of Shakespeare's knowledge 
 of men. At his touch, living persons rise up from 
 the dry records of history. We no longer listen to 
 moral harangues, or didactic lessons drawn from the 
 fates of nations, as in "Gorboduc"; we move about 
 easily, in the tavern, on the battlefield, in the coun- 
 cil chamber, face to face with our fellow-men. 
 It was a joyous and warmly human heart which 
 discovered Falstaff; it was a heart that thrilled 
 responsive to the image of grave heroic nobleness, 
 which divined in history and made live forever that 
 splendid English picture of manhood charged at once 
 with energy and humility, King Henry V. Yet in 
 the remaining dramas of this time we find a still 
 greater treasure. Two of these dramas are rather 
 boisterous comedies, and incite us less to joy than 
 to laughter : " The Merry Wives of Windsor " and 
 "The Taming of the Shrew." Those that remain 
 — "A Midsummer Night's Dream," "Romeo and 
 Juliet," "The Merchant of Venice," "Much Ado 
 About Nothing," "As You Like It," and "Twelfth 
 Night" — are of a different type. They manifest to 
 us the fullest beauty consistent with an actual hu- 
 manity that our literature knows. They are radiant 
 with happy grace, with sparkling wit, with feeling 
 tender, gay, and pure. The world they show us is 
 a world in which we may rejoice, and the characters 
 they make known are people who endear human 
 nature. Shakespeare wrote at this time only one 
 tragedy, and in " Romeo and Juliet," the beauty of 
 poetry and feeling overpowers pain. We leave the 
 tomb over which the bereft fathers clasp their hands 
 
242 THE KENAISSANCE 
 
 in reconciliation, grieving indeed, but exulting also, 
 in a loveliness sealed eternal by death. 
 
 Five of these six dramas are placed in Italy, the land 
 of romance. Almost all the chief actors are young ; 
 age when it appears is only a foil, and the world is 
 to youth and love. However the plot tangles, we 
 trust that joy will follow ; that lovers bewildered by 
 fairy pranks will straighten out their sentiments in 
 the morning, that maidens will escape their exile in 
 strange lands, lay aside their masculine costume, and 
 win at last their hearts' desire, that slanders will be 
 disabused, and a way found to avoid all the tragedy 
 that threatens. For threats of tragedy these dramas 
 give, just enough to impart zest to merriment and 
 character to bliss. A grim figure like Shylock may 
 at rare intervals pass across our vision, but he serves 
 only to enhance the revel of sumptuous joy and gen- 
 erous friendship. Sorrow is in this world of Shake- 
 speare's early comedies, because it is in the world of 
 real human life ; but harmony is their outcome. They 
 reflect and glorify the earlier mood of the Eliza- 
 bethan age ; the ecstasy in living, the light-hearted 
 recognition of a blessedness at the heart of the 
 world. 
 
 Transi- But here we must stop for a little. "Twelfth 
 
 tion. 
 
 Night," the last play of this period, was acted in 
 
 1601 and probably written in 1600. It is a delight- 
 ful and masterly summary, as it were, of all the 
 motifs and the dramatic elements of which, in the pre- 
 ceding dramas, Shakespeare had discovered the 
 charm. The queen had only three more years to live. 
 Shakespeare himself was now thirty-six years old, 
 and a man married at eighteen does not feel young 
 
nets. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 243 
 
 at thirty-six. We should know without being told 
 that "Much Ado About Nothing" and "Twelfth 
 Night" were the work of an older man than "A 
 Midsummer Night's Dream." A little graver note 
 is creeping in, a touch of irony at times, almost a 
 stealthy shadow. We long to know what was hap- 
 pening to the man himself as these bright plays 
 flowed from him. 
 
 It is a great temptation to think that we can tell. The aon- 
 For at this time, and perhaps during the following 
 years, Shakespeare was writing a series of sonnets. 
 Sonnets are lyrics, and lyrics purport to be self-reveal- 
 ing. They were the literary fashion of the time, yet 
 we know that, under some of the sonnet-sequences, 
 as under Spenser's, there was a real story. Whether 
 or not there was such a story here we cannot tell. 
 Critics wrangle about it, and not only critics but 
 poets. 
 
 " With this key, 
 Shakespeare unlocked his heart," 
 
 says Wordsworth ; and Browning retorts : — 
 " Did Shakespeare ? If so, the less Shakespeare he." 
 
 If we take the sonnets at their face value and in 
 their commonly accepted order, they seem to pass 
 from light, elaborate, literary exercises into poems 
 of grave and deep passion. The first series, of 126, 
 is addressed to a young man, Shakespeare's dear and 
 cherished friend ; the second series, of 27, to a 
 woman. Who this woman is, we do not know, and 
 concerning the identity of the friend of the first 
 series, there has been much discussion. We know 
 
244 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 that Shakespeare had by this time won the patron- 
 age of the Earl of Southampton, a brilliant noble- 
 man, nine years younger than himself, to whom he 
 had dedicated his narrative poems ; and most critics 
 agree on him as the friend to whom the sonnets 
 were addressed. We can easily see how the beauti- 
 ful nobleman — for Southampton's portrait shows 
 him to have possessed great beauty — may have fasci- 
 nated the poor player. But the story of the sonnets 
 is sad; for Shakespeare's mistress seems to have 
 betrayed him for his beloved friend, and he was left 
 doubly desolate. Spenser's love story ran melodi- 
 ously smooth ; Sidney faced indeed sharp tempta- 
 tion, but looked upward at least to his beloved, 
 rejoiced in her virtue, and was purified by her pur- 
 ity. Shakespeare, if we may trust the sonnets, knew 
 that bitter experience — a love that does not aspire 
 but stoops, a passion for one unworthy. 
 
 Whether the story of the sonnets is literally true 
 or not does not after all so much matter. What they 
 incontrovertibly tell us is that Shakespeare, in mid- 
 dle life, whether through personal or imaginative 
 experience, had plunged his plummet into the tumul- 
 tuous depths of human agony and sin. The thought 
 that beauty, life, even loyalty itself, are mutable and 
 vanish into darkness, wrings the poet's heart ; and 
 the one consolation to which he desperately clings is, 
 not that there is another country where decay enters 
 not, but that even human love can rise triumphant in 
 constancy over faithlessness and change : — 
 
 " Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds 
 -Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 245 
 
 no ! it is an ever fixed mark 
 
 That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark 
 
 Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken." 
 
 This is the highest habitual level reached by the 
 sonnets ; they reveal a mental state which none of 
 the moods of cheerful or sentimental feeling that 
 Shakespeare had so far expressed in his dramas 
 could comfort or relieve. 
 
 " Out of the Depths " is the heading given by Mr. Third 
 Dowden to the next great group of plays. They in- "Out of 
 elude three dark and ironical comedies, quite differ- depths." 
 ent in tone from the comedies that preceded, " All's 
 Well that Ends Well," "Measure for Measure," and 
 " Troilus and Cressida " ; and the great tragedies 
 "Julius Caesar," "Hamlet," "Othello," "Lear," 
 "Macbeth," "Antony and Cleopatra," " Coriolanus," 
 " Timon of Athens. " All these plays were written 
 when Shakespeare was between thirty-six and forty- 
 four years old — between 1600 and 1608. His worldly 
 fortunes were improving at this time; he was part 
 owner from 1599 of the Globe Theatre, and we 
 have evidence that he did not neglect practical 
 affairs. But what must his inner life have been ! 
 
 None of these plays are from English history ; 
 three are drawn from the stern annals of Rome, 
 which Shakespeare knew through North's noble 
 translation of Plutarch. The comedies are all sad- 
 der if possible than tragedy. The tragedies comprise 
 the greatest tragic work, apart from the dramas of 
 ^schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, that the world 
 has ever seen. 
 
 It is almost impossible to discuss Shakespeare's 
 
246 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 tragedies. One wishes to bow before them, awe- 
 struck into silence ; for they reveal the mysterious 
 depths of life. Such depths are sometimes, perhaps, 
 sounded in youth, but not often ; the persons in 
 these dramas have advanced farther on their life's 
 journey than in those of the last period. The plays 
 as a rule disregard the shallow law of unity in time, 
 and cover a wide sweep of years, showing us the 
 greater unity that binds together in phases of one 
 experience, crises of youth, of middle life, of age. 
 Hamlet is young, though not so young as Eomeo, 
 but it is the sin of mature man and woman that 
 drives him to a madness only half simulated. Mac- 
 beth, when the drama opens, is beset by that tempta- 
 tion of middle life, ambition ; and his way of life is 
 fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf, before the story 
 reaches its tragic end. Othello himself tells us that 
 he is "declined into the vale of years." Cleopatra 
 is no novice in winning the hearts of men. And 
 " Lear," finally, is the supreme and naked tragedy of 
 deserted old age. 
 
 These dramas face steadily the worst that man can 
 conceive of sin and shame. They show us tragedy 
 deeper far than that of Shakespeare's early story 
 of the star-crossed lovers, the helpless brightness of 
 whose youth and love was overtaken by the swift 
 shadow of death. For here we contemplate moral 
 wreck rather than material disaster : character is 
 destiny, — character how often weak, passionate, per- 
 verse, — and all the sorrow to which the dramas 
 move springs direct from human folly, wilfulness, or 
 sin. 
 
 The first two tragedies, "Julius Caesar" and 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 247 
 
 "Hamlet," have been called the tragedies of thought. 
 They reveal a new Shakespeare, a man who has re- 
 flected profoundly and gravely, though the philo- 
 sophical element, strong in both dramas, is merged, 
 as it ought to be, in concrete human experience. Sad 
 though these dramas are, they uplift us because 
 each shows a protagonist whom we may love and 
 honor. Yet Brutus and Hamlet both fail in fulfilling 
 their appointed task. Noble as they are, a profound 
 inner weakness makes it impossible for either to be 
 an adequate instrument in the restoration of a broken 
 harmony. Their failure, not their death, is the 
 tragedy of these plays. 
 
 In the other dramas of this period, we trace the 
 titanic ravages of passion; we are called upon to 
 watch, not weakness only, but sin. Dark characters 
 appear, such as the bright imagination of the younger 
 Shakespeare never could have conceived : an lago, a 
 Regan, a Goneril. The main characters never pass 
 out of the pale of our sympathy ; while we condemn 
 Macbeth and his wife, Othello, Lear, we do not cease 
 to love them ; yet we recognize how the terrible 
 sorrow, which they both inflict and bear, springs from 
 their own wrong-doing. In all these dramas, holy 
 human ties are wrenched asunder by selfish passion, 
 leaving a world in ruins. In Macbeth, these are the 
 ties that hold a subject loyal to his king ; in Othello, 
 the bonds of marriage ; in Lear, the tender bonds of 
 kindred, violated first by the wilful king, then, in 
 retaliation inevitable though fearful, by his unnatural 
 daughters. The theme in "Antony and Cleopatra" 
 and " Coriolanus" is in general the same, for the claims 
 of country are subordinated to the insistent demands 
 
248 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 of personal desire. Law thus is disregarded, and we 
 see exposed the elemental forces of wild passion, 
 making their fierce way toward chaos. We skirt the 
 borders of madness ; and in the moral gloom that 
 hangs over these great tragedies, strange visitants, 
 witches and ghosts, gather out of the shadow. 
 
 Why is it a greater happiness than pain to know 
 these heart-breaking dramas ? Why do we love to 
 see them on the stage, to read them in our closets ? 
 The answer would lead us far into the whole phi- 
 losophy of art and its relations to life. The truth is 
 that we all crave to know what life really is, whether 
 the knowledge make us glad or not, for life, even at 
 its darkest, is sacred. And there is one reassuring 
 thing about these storm-tossed dramas of Shake- 
 speare's. Never for one moment does he let us 
 lose sight of the difference between good and evil. 
 The actors may lose sight of it ; may cry in weari- 
 ness and horror that " all best things are now con- 
 fused to ill " ; all the persons in the play may be 
 bewildered, invaded by the worst of evils, moral 
 confusion : not we. There is indeed little vision of 
 the heavens suggested by these dramas ; such vision, 
 in Shakespeare, we never find. But the moral values 
 remain august and intact, and the Law of Right, 
 inexorable, terrible, yet awfully luminous, shines 
 through their earth-born murkiness with a lustre 
 never darkened nor dimmed. 
 Fourth During this period, we must notice, the whole 
 
 ^Onthe aspect of English literature had changed. The 
 heights." queen had died; James I was on the throne. Silent 
 were Shakespeare's early contemporaries : Marlowe, 
 Greene, Peele, and Lodge. Others were rising to 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 249 
 
 take their place: Ben Jonson, Dekker, Hey wood, 
 Middleton, Beaumont and Fletcher, Webster, and 
 Tourneur. The nation was at the height of 
 imaginative power and production, but a shadow 
 was invading it ; the lyric was becoming thought- 
 freighted, often grave and sad ; philosophical prose 
 was developing. Shakespeare's tragedies are by no 
 means the darkest expression of life which was to be 
 produced by the literature of the Renaissance; for 
 even when they lead us into a gloom of midnight, 
 the eternal stars shine out, and with almost no excep- 
 tion they end with a hint of a new dawn. Yet their 
 sadness is part of a general mood of sadness, which 
 was succeeding in England the ecstasy, the sponta- 
 neous and light-hearted joy, of the early Renaissance. 
 But in sadness Shakespeare's mighty spirit did not 
 permanently dwell. It skirted madness and despair, 
 but passed them by, and emerged into a noble sanity. 
 The plays of his last period prove this ; this period 
 lasts from 1608 to 1616, the year of his death. It 
 includes two inferior plays, probably written in col- 
 laboration with some one else, " Timon of Athens," 
 and " Pericles," and these seem to express exhaustion 
 of creative power, and a sort of helplessness rare in 
 Shakespeare ; but during these last years he gave 
 us also three dramas illumined with fair and peace- 
 ful light : " Cymbeline," " The Tempest," and " The 
 Winter's Tale." It is probable that these plays were 
 written at Stratford, where, during the later years of 
 his life, he seems mostly to have lived. There is no 
 record directly connecting him with theatrical life 
 after 1609, but there are various traces of his presence 
 in the country. 
 
250 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 The dramas of this time — including Henry VIII, 
 of which Fletcher probably wrote a large portion — 
 show the master craftsman; yet there is in them 
 something that makes us feel the author withdrawn 
 from the stage. They gain less from acting, more 
 from reading, than the earlier plays. Shakespeare 
 writes no longer tragedies of passion, of ambition, 
 jealousy, voluptuousness, or the ravings of madness ; 
 he reverts to the serener themes of high romance. 
 There is less richness of imagination and fancy, less 
 spontaneous poetry, than in the comedies of his eager 
 youth; but, reading these plays, we rejoice with 
 Wordsworth in "years that bring the philosophic 
 mind," feeling with him that, though the first splendor 
 of life's fresh dawn soon fades, there is compensation 
 in the sober colors of " the clouds that gather round 
 the setting sun." Once more Shakespeare writes of 
 youth ; youth not now self -sufficiently absorbing the 
 scene, but interpreted by a loving age, that touches 
 its bright beauty with hands of tender benediction. 
 Perdita among her flowers, Miranda on her desert 
 isle, true-hearted Imogen in her high mountain refuge, 
 do not fascinate us with charm, sweet or baleful, like 
 the earlier heroines from Juliet to Cleopatra ; they 
 are described with a spirit of tender and touching 
 affection, but it is the spirit of the father and the 
 sage, rather than that of the lover. 
 
 Over all these dramas rests an exquisite calm. 
 They have been called the dramas of reconciliation, 
 for as the plays of the preceding period deal with 
 ties torn asunder, these in every case deal with ties 
 renewed and harmony restored. We are glad that 
 it was on such pictures as these that the last thoughts 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 251 
 
 of Shakespeare dwelt. One of these dramas, " The 
 Tempest," is in particular of peculiar beauty. It 
 is a symbolic poem, baffling, yet alluring us with 
 subtlest hints of hidden spiritual meaning ; and it 
 interests us profoundly as the one important excur- 
 sion of our greatest realist into the realm of mys- 
 ticism. At the very outset of his artistic career, 
 Shakespeare had written another fairy drama, and 
 we see all he had learned about life if we compare 
 " The Midsummer Night's Dream" and " The Tem- 
 pest." On the whole, it is fair to conclude that 
 he had gained, not only in insight, but in abiding 
 joy. In the early poem humanity is quite at the 
 mercy of fairy sport and play, helpless to direct 
 even its emotions, bewildered and befooled at every 
 turn ; in the later, Prospero, the great and wise 
 magician, governs with serene power the elemental 
 forces, and bends their freakish wills at his pleasure 
 to beneficent human service. Manhood has become 
 to Shakespeare's older eyes more potent and august 
 than to his youth. This play, and all the plays of 
 this period, are on the heights indeed, knowing, but 
 knowing from above, the passions of earth. So closed 
 the work of Shakespeare ; and his last recorded mood 
 was a mood of large sanity and hard-won peace. 
 
 IV. Shakespeare's Akt 
 
 Shakespeare's dramas are, next to our authorized ^^^ces. 
 translation of the Bible, the crowning glory of the 
 English tongue. And yet, of what we sometimes 
 mean by originality they have but little. The 
 great dramatist continued in every respect the tra- 
 
252 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ditions that had preceded him, the forms of tragedy, 
 history, comedy, that earlier dramatists had evolved. 
 His plots were almost all borrowed from some well- 
 known source. " Love's Labor's Lost " and " The 
 Tempest " are, according to present critical knowl- 
 edge, the only stories which he probabl}'' invented as 
 a whole. More than this, he not only followed earlier 
 writers with docility, he took up many popular motifs 
 of his day. A ghost crying revenge, for instance, 
 was a stock character of the Elizabethan stage; 
 Shakespeare introduced him in " Hamlet " and again 
 in "Julius Csesar." Nor was he contented with 
 copying other people ; he continually copied himself, 
 and when he had found an episode, like a heroine 
 disguised in boy's clothes or a case of mistaken 
 identity, pleasing to his public, he fearlessly used the 
 same thing over and over. 
 Hisorigi- And yet, what does all this matter? It simply 
 goes to prove how the individuality of the greatest 
 genius is rooted in that of the race. But the pecu- 
 liar power of the genius is that he raises the dead to 
 life. Shakespeare breathed into these old stories, 
 and men and women, in their habit as they lived, arise 
 and walk before us. What though Viola repeat the 
 situation of Rosalind? She is not Rosalind, but a 
 new creation, fresh with an immortal morning. How 
 did Shakespeare make his people live? That is 
 his secret. The daring temper of exploration that 
 marked the Renaissance was in him turned full 
 upon the world of men and women ; and wonderful 
 was the result of his search. How did he know that 
 Desdemona breathed out her soul in a lie to exoner- 
 ate her husband, murmuring, when asked to name 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 253 
 
 her murderer, "Nobody; I myself; farewell"? 
 How did he know that Lady Macbeth, not yet guilty, 
 started at the innocent word of the messenger, " The 
 king comes here to-night," with the strange cry, 
 " Thou'rt mad to say it " ? How did he know that 
 Lear sighed, in the midst of his dying, remorseful 
 sorrow over the corpse of Cordelia, " Prithee, undo 
 this button"? He knew because he was Shake- 
 speare. He did not try, like Dante, to penetrate 
 spiritual mysteries, though he keenly felt their pres- 
 ence ; he was content to discover and record the 
 actual contents of the consciousness of men. 
 
 The verse of Shakespeare follows with exquisite His 
 iitness the changes in his ethical mood and dramatic 
 method. His style is always concrete ; that is, he 
 writes with his eye, not on his idea of the object, 
 but on the object itself. At first he uses frequent 
 rhyme, his verse is delicately finished, each line is 
 end-stopped or complete in itself ; it is a style fitted 
 to render with artificial perfection the fulness of 
 charm and grace. As he goes on his manner changes. 
 Rhyme becomes less and less frequent. Weak and 
 light endings give variety to the blank verse, and, as 
 it flows onward, the force of thought presses unnot- 
 ing over such small barriers as the ends of lines, and 
 we have what is called overflow verse. The move- 
 ment is stronger, freer, more broken in cadence, and 
 the verse falls into larger harmonic groups indepen- 
 dent of the line division, and reading at times like 
 noble prose. The style is charged and weighted with 
 meaning to the point of obscurity, pressing nearer 
 and nearer to thought, till it seems at times strug- 
 gling to reveal the consciousness that lies below all 
 power of speech. 
 
254 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Shaie- 
 speare the 
 climax of 
 romantic 
 drama. 
 
 If Shakespeare's work does not seek to penetrate 
 spiritual mysteries, it is none the less wholly 
 noble. He dares to show us a world shaken and 
 swept by temptation and sorrow, but it is a world in 
 which the moral proportions are sound. His work 
 is never morbid, unless in one or two inferior 
 plays like "Troilus and Cressida" and "Timon of 
 Athens " ; it is never shallow. The great roman- 
 tic drama vindicated in him its claim to freedom. 
 For romantic art rejected all those safeguards of' 
 sanity and order afforded by the canons of classic 
 drama ; it claimed a right to obey its own free im- 
 pulse and to roam unchecked throughout the universe. 
 Again and again, in lesser men, both before and after 
 Shakespeare, liberty degenerated into license, and the 
 result was an art painfully uneven, full of flashes of 
 power and beauty, but often aesthetically extravagant 
 and morally unsound. Not so in the drama of Shake- 
 speare. There, romantic art developed an inner 
 strength, a moral harmony and poise, that make it 
 healthful as it is free, inspiring as it is profound. 
 "We rise from Shakespeare's dramas assured that 
 human life is a greater thing and more worth living 
 than ever we have realized before. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 The Globe Shakespeare. The Temple Shakespeare (single 
 plays, in compact, attractive form). Fueness's Variorum 
 Shakespeare, in publication. Kolfe's edition, Clarendon Press 
 edition, single plays edited for students. Edward Dow- 
 den, Shakespeare Primer; Shakespeare, His Mind and Art. 
 Sidney Lee, Life of Shakespeare. Barrett Wendell, Will- 
 iam Shakespeare. Halliwell-Phillips, Outlines of the Life 
 of Shakespeare. H. W. Mabie, Life of Shakespeare. Cole- 
 KiDGB, Notes and Lectures on the Plays of Shakespeare. G. 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 255 
 
 Brandes, William Shakespeare, a critical study. Abbott, 
 Shakespearean Grammar. G. L. Graik, The English of Shake- 
 speare. Swinburne, A Study of Shakespeare. Garlyle, 
 Heroes and Hero- Worship. W. Hazlitt, Gharacters of Shake- 
 speare's Plays. B,. MouLTON, Shakespeare as a Dramatic 
 Artist. Bennett, Master Skylark. Black, Judith Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 It is better to read Shakespeare than to criticise him. If 
 three plays are read, let one be historical ("Julius Gsesar," 
 "Henry V"), one a comedy ("The Merchant of Venice," "As 
 You Like It"), one a tragedy ("Macbeth,"' "King Lear"). 
 Part reading in class is almost always enjoyable, and students 
 above the age of twelve can learn by heart, and act simply, 
 with or without costume, various scenes, if not entire plays. 
 Of course an infinite number of questions for discussion come 
 up during the reading, and it is better to let them arise natu- 
 rally than to attempt a formal plan of work. 
 
 GHRONOLOGY OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 
 
 The exact chronology of Shakespeare's plays is very uncertain. 
 Critics, however, are coming to agree about the general order and 
 grouping of the dramas, with a few marked exceptions. The table 
 given below is based on the authority of Sidney Lee. It will be 
 seen that In several cases, notably in the case of ' ' Titus Androni- 
 cus," of "Romeo and Juliet," of "Midsummer Night's Dream," 
 of "All's Well that Ends Well," the order is different from that 
 suggested in the text, where the more common, but less recent, 
 theory of Edward Dowden is followed. The general line of treat- 
 ment in the text is not, however, affected by these changes. 
 
 The first folio, published in 1623, is the first trustworthy author- 
 ity for the text of many of the plays, and contains all the plays, 
 except "Pericles." The quartos are in some instances merely 
 actors' copies surreptitiously printed, though of course they have 
 their value. 
 
256 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 Shakespeare's Plays 
 
 Date of 
 
 Pnblioation of 
 
 Title 
 
 Composition 
 
 First Qnarto 
 
 1591 
 
 1598 
 
 Love's Labor's Lost 
 
 1591 
 
 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona 
 
 1592 
 
 
 Comedy of Errors 
 
 1592 
 
 1597 
 
 Eomeo and Juliet 
 
 1592 
 
 
 1, 2, 3, Hemy VI 
 
 1593 
 
 1597 
 
 Richard III 
 
 1593 
 
 1597 
 
 Richard II 
 
 1593 
 
 1600 
 
 Titiis Andronicus 
 
 1594 
 
 1600 (2 editions) 
 
 The Merchant of Venice 
 
 1594 
 
 
 King John 
 
 1594-5 
 
 1600 (2 editions) 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream 
 
 1595 
 
 
 All's WeU that Ends Well 
 
 1595 
 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew 
 
 1597 
 
 1598 
 
 1 Henry IV 
 
 1597 
 
 1600 
 
 2 Henry IV 
 
 1597 
 
 1602 
 
 The Merry "Wives of Windsor 
 
 1598 
 
 1600 
 
 Henry V 
 
 1599 
 
 1600 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing 
 
 1599 
 
 
 As You Like It 
 
 1600 
 
 
 Twelfth Night 
 
 1601 
 
 
 Julius Caesar 
 
 1602 
 
 1603 
 
 Hamlet 
 
 1603 
 
 1609 (2 editions) 
 
 Troilus and Cressida 
 
 1604 
 
 1622 
 
 Othello 
 
 1604 
 
 
 Measure for Measure 
 
 1606 
 
 
 Macbeth 
 
 1606 
 
 1608 (2 editions) 
 
 King Lear 
 
 1607 
 
 
 Timon of Athens 
 
 1608 
 
 1609 (2 editions) 
 
 Pericles 
 
 1608 
 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra 
 
 1609 
 
 
 Coriolanus 
 
 1610 
 
 
 Cymbeline 
 
 1611 
 
 
 A Winter's Tale 
 
 1611 
 
 
 The Tempest 
 
 1611 
 
 
 Henry VIII (with Fletcher) 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen (a few 
 touches are Shakespeare's) 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 THE DECLINE OP THE DRAMA 
 
 I. Grouping and Chronology 
 
 ^HAKESPEARE overtops all his companions ; yet 
 ^^ his work is only the richest expression of the 
 dramatic impulse that was controlling England. 
 He had contemporaries and successors only less won- 
 derful than himself. Upward of seven hundred 
 plays were acted in England before the end of the 
 reign of King James, and a surprising proportion 
 of those that have come down to us have some 
 mark of genius. 
 
 We can tell exactly when the last ripple of this 
 dramatic upheaval died away ; for in 1642, when the 
 Civil War broke out, the theatres were closed. 
 Puritan England had other interests than play- 
 acting, and other matters whereon to exercise her 
 imagination. The drama of the Renaissance ran its 
 great course in about fifty years. 
 
 The chief dramatists who wrote during the first 
 quarter of the seventeenth century were Ben Jon- 
 son, Chapman, Dekker, Heywood, Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, Webster, Tourneur, Middleton, Ford, Mas- 
 singer, and Shirley. As we follow them, we take a 
 short journey in time but a long one in spirit ; for 
 we pass from the gay mood and careless art of the 
 Elizabethan dramatists to the grave and often mor- 
 
 257 
 
258 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 bid attitude, the more conscious art, that marks the 
 Jacobean period of English Literature. It is much 
 the same journey that we have just pursued with 
 Shakespeare, from the " Midsummer Night's Dream " 
 to "King Lear," only it explores further reaches of 
 darkness, and does not emerge, as does the drama of 
 Shakespeare, into light and peace. 
 
 None of these men began to work till the last five 
 years of the sixteenth century, yet some of them 
 seem, in their loose technique and free joyous spirit, 
 to belong rather to the Elizabethan than to the 
 Jacobean period. Such are especially Dekker and 
 Heywood. Others, though not really so much 
 younger, belong to another generation. Such, for 
 instance, is Beaumont, who died at the age of thirty- 
 one, in the same year with Shakespeare, yet presents 
 an art, despite its beauty, far advanced toward decay. 
 The brevity of the whole development is patent when 
 we find Dekker, who represents its first stage, writ- 
 ing a drama, the "Virgin Martyr," in collaboration 
 with Massinger, who is a dramatist of its very close. 
 It is best to group all these men under the title of 
 the Jacobean dramatists. 
 
 II. Ben Jokson 
 
 Ben The first name that we meet in this great group is 
 
 1573-1637. that of "rare Ben Jonson," — Shakespeare's junior 
 by only nine years, leader of a rival school. Jon- 
 son, a sturdy recalcitrant from romance just when 
 romance was scoring its greatest triumphs, did his 
 best all through his life of sixty-four years to 
 establish and maintain in England the classical school 
 
THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA 259 
 
 of dramatic art. No one can read Ben Jonson with- 
 out being amazed at the weight and force of his 
 intellect ; imagination and passion are conspicuous 
 by absence. The only light his famous comedies 
 and his stately Roman plays kindle in the mind is 
 admiration, a sort of Aurora Borealis, that illumines 
 but does not warm. They proceed from analysis, 
 not from sympathy. The title of the first was, 
 "Every Man in His Humour," and Jonson's art 
 always gave humors, not men, personified traits set 
 moving on the stage rather than complex men and 
 women. His work reminds one of the method used 
 later in the seventeenth century by Moliere in 
 France, and it is good for us to remember that 
 some keen foreign critics prefer the art of Moliere 
 to that of Shakespeare. 
 
 " Every Man in His Humour," " Every Man out Dramas, 
 of His Humour," "Volpone or the Fox," "The 
 Silent Woman," "The Alchemist," "Bartholomew 
 Fair," are the names of some of Jonson's best come- 
 dies. Of these, " Volpone " and " The Alchemist " 
 are the finest, and there is a kind of splendor and 
 an amazing vigor to them. "Bartholomew Fair," 
 though not so well constructed, is nearer to life, 
 and affords a rich and entertaining study of man- 
 ners. Jonson's two Roman tragedies, " Sejanus " 
 and " Catiline," are nobly hewn by sheer force out 
 of the bed-rock of his learned mind ; but they are 
 difficult to read from their lack of human warmth. 
 Jonson posed as a moralist in the drama, which 
 Shakespeare never did ; but his labored works re- 
 veal hate and scorn of vice rather than love of 
 virtue, and hence are not a moral force in the same 
 
and lyrics. 
 
 260 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 full sense as the loving, unconscious work of Shake- 
 speare. 
 Masques By one of the most curious paradoxes in literature 
 
 this massive genius was also the author of some of 
 the daintiest, most charming trifles that the welter 
 of time has borne down to us. In connection with 
 Inigo Jones, the architect and decorator, he invented 
 masques to amuse the court of King James. Simply 
 to read the splendid stage directions for these 
 masques stimulates the imagination. Jonson wrote 
 other little lyrics too, and we have also a collection 
 of his vigorous table-talk. His genius may have 
 mellowed as he grew older ; at least, he left unfin- 
 ished at his death a pastoral drama, " The Sad Shep- 
 herd," which has a delicate aerial tenderness hard 
 to reconcile with his other dramatic work. 
 
 In his later years Jonson became a literary oracle. 
 Younger poets and wits all gathered about his 
 burly figure as he sat in state at the Mermaid 
 Tavern, and listened delightedly to the jokes he 
 cracked and the wisdom he dispensed. We hear of 
 " the tribe of Ben " as we never heard of the tribe 
 of Will. And yet, admired autocrat as he was, the 
 drama would not follow him. The great romantic 
 impulse was too strong. He tried to stem it in mid- 
 current and failed. Had he lived half a century 
 later, when the stream flowed more weakly, it might 
 have been different. For the time came — we are 
 to reach it soon — when the principles Jonson 
 defended prevailed for a season, and people were 
 filled with enthusiasm for law and set rules in writ- 
 ing. But while he lived, the day was still to free- 
 dom and romance. 
 
THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA 261 
 
 III. The Romantic Dramatists 
 
 We return then from Jonson to the romantic 
 drama ; and we shall have to look at it in its mass 
 and movement rather than in detail, only touching 
 on some authors who illustrate most forcibly its vari- 
 ous phases. At the outset of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury we find that this drama still expresses the 
 delight in life, unsubdued and compelling, of the 
 early Renaissance. The charming, careless, sponta- 
 neous plays of Dekker, especially his " Old Fortuna- Thomas 
 tus" and "Shoemaker's Holiday," are bubbling over about*"^' 
 with fun and alit with pure poetry ; the work of 1570-1637. 
 Heywood, even when tragic, has the simplicity and Thomas 
 natural sweetness that bespeak rather closeness to i58i7?)- ' 
 life than intimacy with stagecraft ; and these drama- 1640(?) 
 tists are, like all the best Elizabethans, thoroughly 
 wholesome even when too outspoken for our modern 
 tastes. 
 
 But before long, a taint seems to creep over the Francis 
 drama even while its beauty deepens. This is most limc?)- ' 
 evident in Beaumont and Fletcher, the twin drama- joJfn^"'^ 
 tists whose fame in their own day almost eclipsed that ^g^^^gg^ 
 of Shakespeare. Their work has many delightful 
 qualities. They have interesting plots, and under- 
 stand the secret of effective dramatic construction; 
 they control real passion and pathos, and can impart 
 with careless ease that thrill of emotion which Jon- 
 son's brilliant labored art can never arouse. Above 
 all, they write poetry of an enchanting sweetness. 
 Yet with all this, theirs is the drama of decadence. Its 
 defects are not those of the undeveloped drama of 
 Marlowe, but those of an art in decay. They lack 
 
262 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 John 
 Webster, 
 16th and 
 17th 
 centuries. 
 
 Cyril 
 Tourneur, 
 17th 
 century. 
 
 large sanity and healthfulness ; their work is subtly 
 overwrought. They sentimentalize, and on their 
 fairest creations rests too often the stigma from 
 which the work of Shakespeare is so nobly free, 
 the grave stigma of impurity. 
 
 The Jacobean drama shows decline in another way 
 yet more clearly ; that is, in the terrible gloom that 
 invades it, in its fascinated dwelling on crime and 
 horror, in the tone which it often reflects of fatalism 
 and despair. Shakespeare's most sorrowful tragedies 
 never leave humanity, as do these later plays, helpless 
 and hopeless in the presence of an overmastering fate, 
 the passive prey to its own passions. Outraged old 
 Gloster in " King Lear " may cry aloud, " As flies to 
 wanton boys are we to the gods ; they kill us for 
 their sport": but we all know that his sorrows are 
 self-inflicted, that " man is man and master of his 
 fate." But when a character in Webster's "Duchess 
 of Malfi " exclaims bitterly, " "We are merely the 
 stars' tennis balls, struck and bandied which way 
 please them," we feel that he expresses the soul of 
 the dramatist himself. 
 
 John Webster and Cyril Tourneur were past 
 masters in this drama of horror, and the chief ex- 
 amples of the type are Webster's "Duchess of 
 Malfi," and his powerful play, " The White Devil," 
 and the inferior and almost appalling dramas of 
 Tourneur, « The Atheist's Tragedy " and " The Re- 
 venger's Tragedy." These plays are lineal descend- 
 ants of the old " Tragedy of Blood " ; but that 
 archaic drama presented its terrors with a sort of 
 lusty zest, while the work of Webster and Tourneur 
 springs from a mind diseased and burdened with 
 
THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA 263 
 
 anguish. " The Duchess of Malfi " is the most 
 attractive and human drama of this group, and it is 
 a heart-breaking story of torments heaped on the 
 head of a sweet and unoffending woman, and of the 
 remorse, even to death and madness, visited on her 
 tormentors. Intolerable pathos is almost the only 
 thing that relieves the riotous pageant of evil in 
 these dark plays. 
 
 The last of the significant and powerful dramatists Philip 
 of the Renaissance were Massinger and Ford; and i584r-i640.' 
 in reading them we feel that the stream of inspira- 
 tion is running dry. Ford is a great poet, however. John Ford, 
 He has sincerity of feeling, though not always of or later, 
 perception, and an impassioned sensitiveness that 
 reminds one of Shelley. In his best drama, "The 
 Broken Heart," he renders, in a manner worthy of 
 the Sparta where the scene is laid, a high and intense 
 endurance which retains its noble calm in the very 
 presence of despair. But Ford's work is all over- 
 strained, and spoiled by an insufferable morbidness 
 of theme. Massinger, on the other hand, is no dis- 
 eased victim of his own feelings ; , he is manly, digni- 
 fied, and moral ; but his copious work shows another 
 evil quality of a dying art, for, though excellent in 
 mechanical construction, it is, even when comic, dry 
 and hard. 
 
 So the drama of the Renaissance slowly died ; and The fate 
 its doom was just. It had burnt itself out. It had drama, 
 turned away from the heavens, and sought for the 
 full gratification of life in experience of all the joys 
 which this world offers ; it found itself confronting 
 death, in a world which mocked desire with satiety 
 or despair. Its gifts of imagination and passion, its 
 
264 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 power of poetry, availed nothing ; and the closing 
 of the theatres by an outraged Puritan England was 
 only a righteous check from without upon an art 
 which was already languishing from mortal disease 
 within, and dying, like Webster's heroes, " in a 
 mist " of doubt, decay, and pain. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 See Ch. VH. The Mermaid Series, with excellent Introduc- 
 tions, gives good text of selected plays. Gosse, The Jacobean 
 Poets. Ward, Vols. II, III. Hazlitt, Dramatic Literature of 
 the Age of Elizabeth. Charles Lamb, Selections from the 
 Old Dramatists. Fleay, Biographical Chronicle. Dictionary 
 of National Biography. Swinburne has critical studies on 
 many of these men, especially an elaborate monograph on Ben 
 Jonson. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 This chapter in our literary history would better be passed 
 over by young students lightly. Readings may be assigned, or 
 given in class by the teacher, from Ben Jonson's " Masques," 
 or selected scenes from the dramas, as, for instance, the scenes 
 between the child and his uncle in " Bonduca," the 'prentice 
 scenes in " The Shoemaker's Holiday," or the burlesque scenes 
 from " The Knight of the Burning Pestle." Lyrics of Fletch- 
 er's and Webster's may be taught. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 VERSE Airo PROSE OF THE LATER RENAISSANCE 
 
 WE dropped the study of non-dramatic literature 
 with the death of the queen in 1603 ; we re- 
 turn now to take a brief survey of that literature 
 from the accession of James I in 1603 to the Restora- 
 tion in 1660. 
 
 I. HiSTOKICAL AND LiTBEAEY CONDITIONS 
 
 Those were stirring times in English history. The The 
 drama of national life was more mighty by far than struggle. 
 that presented on the stage, for it determined the 
 civil and religious destiny of the nation. In the 
 sixteenth century, the Anglican Church had faced 
 the Roman Catholic, and had prevailed ; in the 
 seventeenth, it faced the Puritans, and was tempo- 
 rarily worsted. At the same time, the great strug- 
 gle was going on between the feudal idea of an abso- 
 lute monarchy, valorously maintained by the unhappy 
 race of the Stuart kings and their devoted followers, 
 and the larger idea of political freedom toward which 
 the whole nation had for centuries been moving. 
 During the reign of James, this double struggle, 
 though threatening, was quiescent. It rose to a head 
 in the times of Charles I, and the Civil War led to a 
 king's death on the scaffold, and to a Puritan Com- 
 monwealth. The Commonwealth endured until the 
 
 265 
 
266 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Phases of 
 seven- 
 teenth- 
 century 
 literature. 
 
 The spirit 
 of the 
 Renais- 
 sance. 
 
 The 
 
 Puritan 
 
 spirit. 
 
 The 
 
 classical 
 
 spirit. 
 
 temporary reaction in the latter part of the century 
 restored to the throne a degenerate Stuart and to the 
 nation a set of political ideas from which the real life 
 had fled. 
 
 These heart-searching agitations affected litera- 
 ture, but did not subdue it. During the last period 
 of civil strife, the Wars of the Roses, the Muses had 
 fled from England ; during this period, their singing, 
 though faint at times, was constantly heard over the 
 cries of battle. They had gained in confidence. 
 The expression of personal life through art had 
 become a necessary and permanent factor in national 
 experience ; and the seventeenth century produced 
 a copious literature both in prose and poetry. 
 
 We may distinguish three phases in this literature 
 of the seventeenth century : — 
 
 First, it is a wonderful witness to the vitality of 
 the spirit of the Renaissance that this spirit continues 
 potent till near the end of the century, producing 
 both poetry and prose in the hostile and heated 
 atmosphere of the civil war and of the Common- 
 wealth. 
 
 Second, we find a scanty but extremely significant 
 literature which expresses that phase of national 
 life which was for the time victorious and compel- 
 ling : the literature of Puritanism. 
 
 Third, toward the end of the century, after the 
 Restoration, literature entered into a new allegiance, 
 and an entirely new literary period began. This 
 period, of so-called classical literature, will occupy 
 the next book. In this book we have still to trace 
 the last literature of the Renaissance, to study the 
 literature of Puritanism, and to discuss the work of 
 
VERSE AND PROSE 267 
 
 one of our greatest poets, John Milton, in whom 
 these two currents, strangely united, meet the new 
 current making for classicism in art. 
 
 II. Seventeenth-cbntukt Poetey 
 
 The literature of the later Renaissance is quite 
 different in tone from that of the early. It has the 
 same imaginative fervor and feeling, but it is much 
 graver and more conscious. Its passion often 
 " leaves the earth, to lose itself in the sky," revert- 
 ing to the religious preoccupation so natural to the 
 Anglo-Saxon race, but so markedly absent .during 
 certain phases of the earlier Renaissance. 
 
 In Jacobean times, we meet several pleasant Minor 
 minor poets, whose work entitles them to a place in poets!^^° 
 the history of letters. Thomas Campion, a belated Thomas 
 Elizabethan in spirit, with a more sustained art, i^Eims 
 scattered through various " books of airs " little 
 lyrics of ravishing melody which sing themselves 
 in a magical way even when divorced from their 
 music. William Drummond of Hawthornden is a wmiam 
 gentle scholar in verse, with a sense for beauty. mon™i^ 
 Michael Drayton's powerful but unillumined mind ^^^^i^ig. 
 produced, in 1613, a massive English geography Dayton 
 inverse, called the "Polyolbion." Much of Dray- 1563-I63i. 
 ton's work belonged to the Elizabethan age, but his oibion'" 
 best sonnet is Jacobean, and so is the noble ode, ^^^^' ^^^^' 
 "The Battle of Agincourt." For the sake of these 
 and a few other short poems we forgive him the 
 "Polyolbion." William Browne, a writer of pastoral WiUiam 
 poems, of which the most important is called " Bri- 1590-I645. 
 tannia's Pastorals," has by some critics been compared 
 
268 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Phineas 
 
 Fletcher, 
 
 158a-1650. 
 
 Giles 
 
 Fletcher, 
 
 1588-1623. 
 
 John 
 
 Donne, 
 
 1573-1631. 
 
 Caroline 
 poets. 
 
 to Keats, but he is a Keats turned very languid. 
 Two brother imitators of Spenser, Phineas and Giles 
 Fletcher, cousins of the dramatist, had more original 
 power. Phineas Fletcher's poem in Spenserian 
 stanzas, " The Purple Island," is a long allegory of 
 the human body, and despite its unpromising physi- 
 ological subject shows real sense for beauty in de- 
 scription. This poem suggests the new interest in 
 science and in semi-philosophical thought which 
 was invading poetry ; the poem of Giles Fletcher, 
 " Christ's Victory and Triumph," opens with dignity 
 and imagination the religious poetry of the seven- 
 teenth century. 
 
 More important than any of these men, however, 
 was the paradoxical figure of John Donne, Dean of 
 St. Paul's. He began to write long before the death 
 of the queen ; he was Dean of St. Paul's under 
 James I, and esteemed the most powerful preacher 
 in England. His poems were apparently not pub- 
 Ushed till 1631, after his death, but they exercised 
 long before this time a profound, obscure influence 
 over younger men, something like that of Browning 
 and Rossetti in our own age. He lounded the 
 last school of poetry in the Renaissance, for he in- 
 augurated the style which marks the decadence of 
 romantic art ; a style of obscure allusion and fan- 
 tastic metaphor, showing almost in a diseased way 
 the quest for strangeness so characteristic of the 
 romantic temper. 
 
 An interesting group of poets belongs to the time 
 of Charles, or to the Commonwealth. Let us enu- 
 merate them : George Wither, Francis Quarles, 
 George Herbert, Thomas Carew, Richard Crashaw, 
 
VERSE AND PROSE 269 
 
 William Habington, Sir John Suckling, Henry 
 Vaughan, Sir Richard Lovelace, Robert Herrick. 
 
 Donne had sung his experience as sinner and as The reii- 
 saint with equal energy. In this group of men, two |J,etl. 
 tendencies appear, the secular, and the religious. 
 The work of the stronger of them, of Herbert, Cra- 
 shaw, Vaughan, and at times of several others, is 
 suffused with a glow of spiritual feeling. They 
 were deeply religious, but not in the austere and 
 argumentative fashion of the Puritanism current 
 in their day. They belonged to the Anglican tra- 
 dition ; some of them were, some of them became, 
 Roman Catholics. They brought grace, imaginative 
 passion, and instinctive love of symbolism, even a 
 sort of chivalrous loyalty, into their life of faith. 
 They were of the monarchical party, and their gaze, 
 when not turned upward and inward, often seems 
 to us to be directed backward ; but they had rich 
 natures, and their poetry pulsates and shines. Theirs 
 is the red afterglow of the great Renaissance day. 
 Mr. Shorthouse's beautiful novel, " John Inglesant," 
 gives the best idea of the spirit and character of 
 these seventeenth-century men. 
 
 Saintly George Herbert, with his collection of George 
 poems called " The Temple," is the most famous of isls-igss. 
 these poets, and his work has a quaint, sincere, un- 
 dying charm. But another of the group, Henry Henry 
 Vaughan, equally saintly, was the more original i622?i695'. 
 spirit. Vaughan's poems, of which the best are in 
 the collection he named, in the fantastic fashion of 
 the day, " Silex Scintillans," strike distinctly a new 
 note. He had a far-darting imagination, and he 
 knew the soul of man. He lived among the Welsh 
 
270 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 The secu- 
 lar poets. 
 
 Richard 
 
 Lovelace, 
 
 1618-1658. 
 
 Sir John 
 
 Suckling, 
 
 1609-1641. 
 
 Robert 
 
 Herrick, 
 
 1591-1674. 
 
 hills, and to find any parallel for his feeling toward 
 nature, we must travel back to Cynewulf and the 
 Welsh bards, or forward to Wordsworth, who in his 
 " Ode on the Intimations of Immortality " distinctly 
 caught his inspiration from Vaughan. The life of 
 the Church and the life of nature are fused in his 
 work with daring sacramental passion. 
 
 The other men of this group, among whom 
 Vaughan was perhaps the most surprising genius, 
 had each a temperament and a word all his own ; no 
 set of minor authors better deserves study. One likes 
 to feel that the music of the Renaissance died away 
 in their work rather than in the loose, though gay 
 and sweet melodies of the reckless so-called Cava- 
 lier poets. Yet we could ill afford to miss the spir- 
 ited little songs of those gallant, ill-starred gentlemen, 
 Lovelace and Suckling, in whom the mood of adven- 
 ture leaped into a last bright flame. They have left 
 us but a handful of lyrics, — the swan song of chiv- 
 alry and loyalty in the Renaissance. 
 
 One of these poets, however, is of higher rank ; 
 Herrick, the festive, pagan-souled clergyman, who 
 through times of stormy national disaster lived in 
 his country parsonage, and sang with a gayety 
 worthy of an earlier day of Julia's silk attire, of 
 harvest homes and Mayings, of daffodils and gilly- 
 flowers, and all the bright detail of the country. 
 But let him give us his own programme : — 
 
 " I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, 
 Of April, May, of June and July flowers, 
 I sing of Maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, 
 Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes. 
 
VERSE AND PROSE 271 
 
 I sing of Hell ; I sing, and ever shall, 
 
 Of Heaven, — and hope to have it after all." i 
 
 It is a hope that his every reader echoes ; for Her- " Hes- 
 rick endears himself to them all. But the " Noble l^^^^'' 
 Numbers," in which he sings of divine and lofty "Noble 
 themes, are less delightful to us than the little lyrics ^^^7, 
 of the " Hesperides," wherein the first part of his 1648.' 
 promise is so well fulfilled. These dainty, often 
 minute poems, seem to catch the last fine echo of the 
 sweet laughter of the Elizabethan dawn. With Her- 
 rick it may almost be said that we bid farewell to 
 spontaneity, to pure joyousness, to lyrical ease, till 
 we are greeted by them again, a century and a half 
 later, in the poems of Robert Burns. 
 
 III. Sbventeenth-centuky Prose 
 
 Prose, in the seventeenth century, had become at 
 last a well-accredited and dignified instrument, with 
 an assured literary tradition. In style, as in substance, 
 it continued on the lines established by Bacon and 
 Hooker. The chief work of Bacon, indeed, belongs Francis 
 to the seventeenth century. The first ten Essays Lord'st. 
 were printed in 1597, but the last complete author's ^6i-i626. 
 edition, in which the number was enlarged to fifty- 
 eight, did not appear till 1625, the year before Bacon's 
 death. The majestic "Advancement of Learning" 
 appeared in 1605 ; in 1620 came the Latin " Novum 
 Organum." Bacon first taught people to try to dis- 
 cover the truths of nature and natural law instead of 
 inventing them ; he started in England that induc- 
 
 1 Herrick, first poem in the " Hesperides." 
 
272 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Edward 
 Hyde, 
 Earl of 
 Clarendon, 
 1608-1674. 
 
 Keligious 
 prose. 
 
 tive method which has revolutionized thought and 
 given us modern science. It is indeed a worthy 
 part of the achievement of the Renaissance to have 
 started men on the quest for the realities of nature 
 as well as the realities of character. The unfinished 
 "New Atlantis," published in 1627, completed Bacon's 
 work with a dream of a new world inhabited by men 
 who, having mastered the forces of nature, shaped 
 life almost as they would. 
 
 History reached a dignified success in Lord Claren- 
 don's " History of the Great Rebellion," which was 
 actually begun while the Civil War was in progress, 
 and also in his autobiography. But most of the prose 
 produced during the reigns of James and Charles 
 and during the Commonwealth, was of a religious 
 character. Much of it, naturally enough, consider- 
 ing what was happening at the time, was controver- 
 sial ; but the breath of controversy withers art, and 
 this extensive pamphlet literature, except when writ- 
 ten by a man like Milton, so great that even contro- 
 versy can scorch his work only in spots, does not 
 interest the pilgrim of beauty. It is otherwise, how- 
 ever, with some great and living books of the seven- 
 teenth century : with Bishop Andrewes's sermons 
 and devotions, Richard Burton's " Anatomy of Mel- 
 ancholy," the very name of which suggests the 
 temper of the times ; Fuller's " Holy and Profane 
 State " and his " "Worthies of England " ; and the 
 works of Jeremy Taylor, of Izaak Walton, of Sir 
 Thomas Browne. These books breathe an ampler 
 air than that of theological discussion. They com- 
 mand rich harmonies of style; they have a quaint 
 stateliness, a fervor, an eloquence, that is all their 
 
VEESE AND PROSE 273 
 
 own. The thought and style of Jeremy Taylor are Jeremy 
 borne upward by the " wingy mysteries of divinity," Je^^YfieT. 
 and his "Holy Living" and "Holy Dying" still 
 hold their own on many tables beside the "Imita- 
 tion of Christ." Reading these books, or the devo- 
 tions of Lancelot Andrewes, we realize the intense 
 religious experience that in this strange century of 
 contrasts coexisted with the mood which produced 
 the dramas of Ford. 
 
 There is a sweet meditative earnestness about the izaak 
 "Lives "of Izaak Walton; his "Compleat Angler" Zd^im. 
 takes us, in delightful company, into cool nooks 
 beside the running streams of rural England. Like 
 many seventeenth-century writers, Walton becomes 
 to us a very vivid and distinct personality. But 
 among all these delightful men, there is none whom 
 one would more eagerly call friend than that most 
 sympathetic of physicians, Sir Thomas Browne. It sir 
 is in his " Vulgar Errors," his " Urn Burial," above iro™l, 
 all in his " Religio Medici," that he reveals to us his 1605-1682. 
 lovable personality ; a personality full of quaint and 
 kindly humor, of large charity, of mingled intelli- 
 gence and superstition. His English is the nobly 
 modulated and glowing prose of which the secret, 
 after the seventeenth century, was lost till Lamb 
 discovered it once more. Far more than Bacon, Sir 
 Thomas Browne deserves the title of our English 
 Montaigne. 
 
 We cannot talk of the prose literature of England The 
 and omit the Book which is the greatest glory of BiWe^*^ 
 English prose in its first power and freshness ; which 
 has entered more fully than any other book, more 
 fully even than Shakespeare, into the blood and 
 
274 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 sinew of the English race : the Authorized Version 
 of the Bible, which was issued in 1611. 
 Early Many versions had preceded it. After the trans- 
 
 versions. ^^^.^^^ ^^ Wyclif in the fourteenth century, made 
 from the Latin Vulgate, came the long age of arrest, 
 during which people were no more alive to the Scrip- 
 tures than to other high matters. But with the 
 New Learning the desire for a Bible that could be 
 " understanded of the people " grew swiftly clamor- 
 ous. Thrilling is the story of the disinterested 
 labors given to this great cause. The famous New 
 Testament of William Tyndale, printed in 1526, 
 was only the first of numerous translations of either 
 the whole or part of the Bible, published before 
 1539. All this work was done by private men, but 
 in 1539 appeared the noble Bishop's Bible, under the 
 auspices of Cranmer and sanctioned for public use. 
 The Prayer-book version of the Psalter, still in use, 
 is from this Bible, which was the basis of all later 
 translation. After this time Bibles multiplied ; but 
 the language was in flux, and the times were perhaps 
 hardly ripe for a permanent version until, in 1604, a 
 year after the death of Queen Elizabeth, the most 
 godly and learned men of the Renaissance at its 
 prime gathered together at the summons of King 
 James, to produce, working on the basis of their 
 predecessors, the version which is in all our hands 
 to-day. 
 The No moment could have been more fortunate from 
 
 Author- ^jjg point of view of letters. Only men of strong 
 version, Christian faith could have produced the Book, only 
 men of learniag. The necessity of clinging to the 
 original Hebrew and Greek rescued the style from 
 
VERSE AND PROSE 275 
 
 the extravagance and prolixity which were the dan- 
 gers of the time, while the rich vocabulary, the color 
 and movement, the uplifted harmonies and poignant 
 cadences, that marked the best seventeenth-century 
 prose find their culmination here. 
 
 With marvellous swiftness the Book took posses- 
 sion of England, and the style of our best authors 
 ever since has been formed upon it. To instance 
 only moderns, what would the prose of Carlyle, of 
 Ruskin, of Newman, of Matthew Arnold, be without 
 the influence of the Scriptures? We may note at 
 once, during the seventeenth century, two literary 
 results from its appearance. It became the book of 
 the common people ; it reached a public which no 
 other English book had ever reached; ; and it was 
 thus a uniting force, making for intellectual and 
 spiritual democracy. Then, it emphasized immensely, 
 though of course it did not introduce, the influence 
 of the Hebrew race over the English people. Greece 
 and Rome, France, Italy, Spain, and Germany, have 
 all had their respective parts to play in shaping the 
 English; but no national influence has struck so 
 deep or has so penetrated the vital regions of Eng- 
 lish personality as the influence of Palestine, felt 
 through the Hebrew Scriptures. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 For the history of the times, S. R. Gakdiner, The First 
 Two Stuarts and the Puritan Revolution. Green's History, 
 
 ch. vni. 
 
 GossB gives a good account of many of the poets treated in 
 this chapter in his Jacobean Poets. Extracts from all are 
 found in Ward's English Poets, II. Attractive editions of 
 Herrick, Donne, Vaughan, are in the Muses Library (Charles 
 
276 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Scribners). Herbert's Temple has been reprinted in fac- 
 simile, with a Preface by John Shorthouse. Bacon's New 
 Atlantis is found in Morlby's Ideal Commonwealths. Clar- 
 endon is accessible in Selections by the Very Kev. G. D. Boyle, 
 Clarendon Press. Walton's Compleat Angler can be had in 
 Cassell's Universal Library. Browne's Religio Medici is in the 
 Camelot Series. Cbaik's English Prose Selections, II, gives 
 extracts from the prose writers here treated. 
 
 Masson's Life of Milton, I, Ch. VI, describes admirably the 
 state of literature in 1630. Masterman's The Age of Milton 
 covers the period. 
 
 Traill, Social England, Vol. IV. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The authors treated in this chapter are among the most 
 interesting minor figures in English letters. But until the stu- 
 dent knows something of the great men, Chaucer, Shakespeare, 
 Spenser, Milton, he would better take these on trust. A few 
 hours may, however, well be spent in pure, unanalyzed enjoy- 
 ment of Herrick and Herbert, and little appreciations of these 
 poets may be prepared as compositions. Walton and Browne 
 should be introduced, so that the few who are born their 
 friends may enter as soon as may be into the rich privilege 
 of their friendship. The rhythm and fervor of the Authorized 
 Version of the Scriptures should be studied in carefully chosen 
 extracts. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The Historical Background of the Times; Bacon's "New 
 Atlantis " compared with More's " Utopia " ; Literary Influence 
 of the English Bible. 
 
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CHAPTER XI 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 THE men of the seventeenth century are singu- 
 larly interesting, but as a rule, every man stands 
 for one of the forces of that complex age. Milton 
 towers above them all. He is the greatest spirit of 
 the age, for he is the most comprehensive. 
 
 It is in times of spiritual transition that great 
 imaginative leaders most often appear. They stand 
 at a parting of the ways. If we gaze earnestly into 
 their minds, we shall see there the past and the fu- 
 ture meet. Such was the case with Dante, Chaucer, 
 Spenser. But there is no English writer in whom 
 more currents unite than in John Milton. In the 
 quality of his imagination, and in his poetic art, 
 especially through his early work, he is the last son 
 of the Renaissance ; in the whole body of his intel- 
 lectual and moral convictions he is Republican and 
 Puritan; in the character of his emotion, and in a 
 certain sustained self-mastery and dignity of style, 
 he foretells, especially through his later work, the 
 coming revival of classical standards. 
 
 Two words sum up the temper of Milton's life 
 and of his work : lofty purity. His life is a high 
 romance ; in reading of it, his own youthful words 
 again and again recur to us : " My mind gave 
 me," he wrote in 1642, "that every free and gentle 
 spirit ought to be born a knight. " " He who would 
 
 286 
 
JOHN MILTON 287 
 
 not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in 
 laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem." 
 
 I. Milton's Life and Eakly Wokk 
 
 Milton was born in London, eight years before Milton's 
 the death of Shakespeare. Compared with Shake- leos.' 
 speare, he was a child of privilege and convention. 
 His father was a Puritan gentleman in whom re- 
 ligious severity had not exiled the arts, in particu- 
 lar the art of music. Milton went to Cambridge 
 University, where he spent seven years, and received, and youth, 
 as befitted a young English gentleman, a scholar's 
 training. He was very beautiful in his youth, and 
 was given the nickname of " the lady of Christ's," Cam- 
 his college, because of his curling long auburn hair 1625-1632. 
 and delicate face. Leaving the University a master 
 of arts, he spent five years and nine months in retire- 
 ment at his father's country home at Horton. Then 
 he went to Italy, after the fashion of young men of Italian 
 the Renaissance, made many friends, saw the blind i638-i639. 
 Galileo in his tower, and became at every point a 
 courtly and accomplished gentleman. 
 
 No fairer training can be imagined for a poet ; and a 
 poet Milton had already shown himself to be. In these 
 years, before he was thirty years old, he had written 
 that group of minor poems which would in themselves 
 have set him above all other poets of his age. The 
 most beautiful of these poems are : the " Ode on the 
 Morning of Christ's Nativity," written while he was 
 still at college ; " L' Allegro " and " II Penseroso," 
 companion pieces, breathing of his literary studies and 
 rural wanderings at Horton ; the two poems in 
 
minor 
 poems 
 
 288 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 wliich the literary masque of the Renaissance passed 
 away, glorified in its death, "Arcades," and more 
 important, "Comus"; and "Lycidas," a pastoral elegy 
 on the death of his college friend or acquaintance, 
 Edward King. 
 
 Early The manner of the Renaissance reigns supreme in 
 
 these poems ; inspires the delicate fashioning of the 
 verse, the quest for felicity of phrase, the pervading 
 sense of art and beauty. Yet a temper more austere 
 gives their sweetness strength, — the temper of high 
 moral idealism, compelling and complete. We feel 
 the rich sensuous equipment of the poet, we respond 
 to his appeal to the eye, to the ear, to the imagina- 
 tion ; but thrilling through all these, the soul of 
 them all, is the clear call of the appeal to con- 
 science. " L' Allegro " and " II Penseroso " are, for 
 instance, quite unethical in purport. They are poems 
 of youth ; they express those fleeting moods of joy 
 or pensiveness which seem to youth so fraught with 
 significance. Yet even here it is a youth almost as- 
 cetic in the inmost trend of its nature, however sen- 
 sitive to beauty, that speaks to us ; we feel that 
 Milton's feet are more at home pacing alone the 
 dry smooth-shaven green, or the studious cloister's 
 pale than in the haunts of innocent gayety. 
 
 In "Lycidas," Milton's great elegy, the double 
 forces that at this time controlled his nature show 
 in a way almost startling. It is, like most of the 
 elegiac work so popular in the Renaissance, a pol- 
 ished piece of literary art, carefully based on classic 
 models. But Edward King had been destined for 
 the Church ; and this fact wakens Milton's soul. 
 He pours out his fiery indignation against ecclesi- 
 
JOHN MILTON 289 
 
 astical corruption in a famous passage. The harsh 
 Hebraic and Puritan passion breaks with strange 
 effect against the mellifluous classicism of the con- 
 ventional pastoral strain ; and only the serene and 
 even dignity of Milton's marvellous style, — for 
 already the gift is his to find the inevitable word, — 
 reconciles us to the abrupt transition and carries us 
 without shock from the one world into the other. 
 
 In " Comus," the most important poem of this 
 period, we feel with especial clearness that we have 
 entered a new imaginative region. The masque, 
 presented before the Earl of Bridgewater at Ludlow 
 Castle by his own children, shows us a lady separated 
 from her two brothers and wandering lost in a wood. 
 Deceived by the arts of an evil magician, Comus, son 
 of Circe, she yet resists his spells and is finally found 
 and rescued by her brothers, aided by an attendant 
 spirit in the guise of a shepherd, and the river 
 nymph, Sabrina. In the poetic presentment of this 
 theme, we have the changing charm of beautiful 
 landscape, of fair human figures, of dance and feast, 
 of grotesque revel and pastoral sweetness ; we have 
 all this wedded to most melodious measures. But 
 if we put " Comus " beside the masques of Jonson 
 or Campion or the " Faithful Shepherdess " of 
 Fletcher, we are amazed at the contrast ; for here all 
 arts of pleasing, present in perfection, are subordi- 
 nate to another aim. 
 
 " Mortals that would follow me, 
 Love Virtue : she alone is free." 
 
 In these early poems, the style of Milton already 
 shows its individual and choice distinction ; a surety 
 
290 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Political 
 activities. 
 
 Latin 
 
 Secretary, 
 1649-1660. 
 
 Prose 
 work. 
 
 of selective principle, a cool firmness of workman- 
 ship which the Renaissance rarely reached. Milton's 
 youthful feet, like those of his compeers, strayed in 
 fields full of blossoms ; but theirs were the lush 
 meadows of the lowlands, his the high pastures close 
 beneath the everlasting snows. The light of the 
 upper air is in the cool brilliance of the flowers he 
 tenders us. 
 
 No man ever took his poetic vocation with more 
 seriousness than Milton. He had consecrated him- 
 self to it in the spirit of a knight. Then came the 
 call of an alien duty ; and without hesitation his 
 young manhood turned away from his chosen task, 
 and leaped to this new labor. 
 
 He was still in Italy when the news of the break- 
 ing out of the Civil War reached him. Instantly 
 he changed his plans, dropped his ties, and made his 
 way homeward, to put himself at the service of his 
 country. Through twenty years poetry was not 
 for him. He was not needed on the battlefield ; 
 but he devoted his powers to the war of ideas by 
 which, quite as much as by the fortunes of battle, 
 the destinies of the time were decided. From 1649 
 to 1658 he was Latin Secretary to " Cromwell, our 
 chief of men," as he addressed him in a noble sonnet. 
 He held the office nominally till the Restoration. 
 
 We sigh when we think that we have from Milton 
 only the poems of youth and of old age, not of his 
 manly prime. The prose on which he lavished his 
 efforts was, like most of the controversial prose of the 
 day, acrid and harsh. He fought the foes of the Lord 
 with any weapons that came to hand, whether abstract 
 argument or personal abuse. The result is not pleas- 
 
JOHN MILTON 291 
 
 ant reading. Still, one looks at this prose with rev- 
 erence ; for it was all written in the cause of liberty, 
 liberty political, civil, social. At times, Milton's true 
 self and his great imagination broke forth, as in the 
 "Areopagitica," his finest pamphlet, which was written 
 in defence of intellectual liberty, the freedom of the 
 press. 
 
 Milton had married during these years, unhappily Private 
 and hastily it seems, a young girl of a Royalist 
 family. After a separation and reunion, she died, 
 leaving him three daughters, and some time later he 
 married again a woman whom he tenderly loved. 
 She was shortly taken from him, and he mourned 
 her loss in a sonnet of exceeding beauty. The one 
 poetic legacy of these years, indeed, is a series of 
 sonnets. They are personal outbursts inspired by Sonnets. 
 passing events, usually political. Milton uplifted 
 the sonnet to the uses of patriotism : — 
 
 " In his hand 
 The thing became a trumpet, whence he blew 
 Soul-animating strains, alas ! too few." ' 
 
 His sonnets were written in a manner of his own ; 
 with the Italian rhyme-scheme, but frequently with 
 no break between the octave and the sestet. 
 
 One of these sonnets tells us with high and beauti- 
 ful pathos of the final sacrifice that Milton laid upon 
 the altar of his country's freedom. It was the sacri- 
 fice of his sight. For in 1652 Milton became blind. 
 He had overstrained his delicate eyesight in the hasty 
 composition of a pamphlet which he thought it his 
 immediate duty to write. At times he was con- 
 
 1 Wordsworth : " Scorn not the sonnet." 
 
292 THE KENAISSANCE 
 
 sumed under his afaiction with restless pain, even 
 with self-reproach, at the thought of " that one talent 
 which is death to hide lodged with me useless ; " 
 but he was comforted by the thought : " God doth 
 not need either man's work or his own gifts ; — they 
 also serve who only stand and wait," and also by the 
 consciousness that his eyes had been lost "in Lib- 
 erty's defence, my noble task." We can see that he 
 bore his deprivation with magnanimity and faith. 
 Later But a worsc evil than loss of sight was to befall 
 
 his spirit. After the death of Cromwell, that reli- 
 gious republic for which Milton had given eyesight 
 and the best years of his life crumbled and fell. 
 The nation abjured Puritanism ; a corrupt Stuart 
 returned to power. Blind, lonely, sad, Milton lived 
 on into the days of the Restoration ; and then it was, 
 while Charles and his courtiers revelled in coarse 
 gayety, like Comus and his crew, that Milton lifted 
 up his soul into a lofty calm, and unsealed the eyes 
 of his spirit to behold the counsels of the Most High, 
 the vast shades of Pandemonium, and the vision of an 
 unfallen humanity dwelling on an earth unblighted. 
 
 yeais. 
 
 Pub. 1667. 
 
 II. "Pakadisb Lost" 
 
 The " Paradise Lost " was the work of Milton's 
 later years. He wrote it between 1.658 and 1665. 
 We like to think of the solitary man, sitting in his 
 eternal darkness, listening to the harmonies which 
 the Muse, he tells us, nightly whispered in his ear. 
 Milton had always meant to write a great poem. In 
 his youth he had dallied with the subject of the 
 national hero. King Arthur ; we do not wonder that 
 
JOHN MILTON 293 
 
 he changed his plan, and we see how only the theme 
 of " Paradise Lost " could satisfy the sorrowful Puri- 
 tan, fallen on evil days and evil tongues. 
 
 Perhaps no one reading the great poem is likely 
 to regret the choice ; yet the defects of the subject 
 for epic treatment are obvious. It is doubtful at the 
 outset whether a great heroic epic can ever be written 
 save in the childhood of the race, though the way is 
 always open to a romantic narrative like Spenser's. 
 " Paradise Lost," moreover, has a technical defect ; 
 there is no hero. Is Adam the hero ? He is quite 
 too passive, acting in one point alone, where he yields 
 to the temptation offered by the serpent through the 
 woman. Messiah has been called the protagonist ; 
 but not all Milton's glorious verse can reconcile us 
 to this Personality who discusses theology with the 
 Eternal Father, and in harsh warfare drives the rebel 
 angels over the battlements of Heaven. Remains the 
 Devil ; and, despite all arguments to the contrary, he 
 is surely the figure on whom our interest centres, and 
 who gathers to himself the sympathy of our impulse, 
 though not of our conviction. Milton the repub- 
 lican let his imagination play fascinated on this 
 mightiest of rebels from an autocratic Power, though 
 Milton the theologian doomed him to an eternity of 
 crime and withering woe. 
 
 But there is a deeper criticism to be passed on 
 " Paradise Lost " ; it is impossible to handle the 
 Scriptures imaginatively in such a way as to satisfy 
 many generations. The mysterious Story of the 
 Fall in Genesis comes to us out of the solemn twi- 
 light of the first morning of the race ; to take that 
 great Story into the hard light of a weary noon, to 
 
294 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 translate it into the theological terms of one's own 
 time, is audacious and unwise. There is little re- 
 semblance between the version in Genesis and the 
 elaborated epic of Milton. To apprehend the poem 
 aright, we must disregard its relation to the Scrip- 
 tures, and regard it simply as what it is, a stu- 
 pendous imaginative invention. 
 
 Even from this point of view it has its disappoint- 
 ments. Milton's Heaven is a dull country, too 
 definitely laid out. He imparts to us no sense of 
 the mystery of spiritual things as Dante does ; nor 
 does he give us the sense which Dante so solemnly 
 imparts of the holiness of the Most High. His 
 treatment of Heaven is anthropomorphic, not sym- 
 bolic; hence it is open to the charge of irreverence. 
 
 But detraction is poor business in the presence of 
 one of the great poems of the English tongue. 
 Remembering the work of Csedmon, so strangely 
 prophetic, we can believe that the impulse to create 
 an epic on this theme was due to no temporary 
 causes, but was deep-rooted in the race. What other 
 theme could be so mighty ? All epic lives by the 
 consciousness of battle ; where else is a battle like 
 this, — the contest of the forces of eternal good and 
 undying evil for victory over the human race ? If 
 Milton's treatment of the Divine seems to dwarf 
 infinitude, no conception was ever grander than that 
 presented by his poem of the rebel hosts, and of 
 Lucifer, who leads them with "faded splendor 
 wan." Dante's devil sticks in the centre of the 
 world, grotesque, earth-bound, the very concrete 
 incarnation of impotent Death. Milton's, less logical 
 it may be as an impersonation of evil, is far more 
 
JOHN MILTON 295 
 
 magnificent. With dignity unimpaired he convenes 
 his vast demon hosts, — finely conceived as the 
 false gods of the nations to be, — or wings his way 
 through the profound gulfs of Chaos, or pours forth 
 his agony in the marvellous soliloquy on Mount 
 Niphates. Powerful is the study of his faint com- 
 punctions, — for in him at the outset much of the 
 archangel lingers yet, — and of the final Doom, when, 
 the deed accomplished and the ruin of man achieved, 
 he returns to his gloomy shades. 
 
 Nor would one ignore the lovely descriptions of 
 the " bowery loneliness " of Eden, nor the splen- 
 did picturing of the angels. Not mystically fair 
 like the significant spiritual presences in Dante, these 
 angels are yet glorious creatures ; one feels in them 
 the dying effort of the opulent imagination of the 
 Renaissance to conceive supreme beauty. And it 
 were hard to dwell too much on the grand sweep 
 and scope of the intellectual conception of the poem, 
 moving logically as it does from creation to redemp- 
 tion. 
 
 All this great action is presented in uplifted 
 verse which it would be an impertinence to praise. 
 No one has ever drawn from blank verse the deep 
 inward music of Milton. Tennyson's words are best 
 about it : — 
 
 " O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, 
 skilled to sing of time or eternity, 
 God-gifted organ-voice of England, 
 Milton, a name to resound for ages ! " 
 
296 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 III. Last Woek and Death 
 
 "Para- Milton did not stop writing with "Paradise 
 
 gained," Lost "; and we are glad that his spirit did not pause 
 
 ^^^^' with considering temptation victorious over Eve, 
 
 but went on to consider temptation conquered by 
 
 Christ. But the poetry of the " Paradise Regained " 
 
 has never held men, like the " Paradise Lost." One 
 
 more great and worthy poem the old man was to 
 
 "Sam- write, however — "Samson Agonistes." We feel 
 
 nistes^*^ that no subject could have expressed with a nobler 
 
 ^^^- pathos the mood of his latter days. Righteousness 
 
 is worsted, humbled, in the toils ; yet dying it 
 
 conquers, and the victory of faith is assured. In 
 
 art, the poem like " Lycidas," is the offspring of the 
 
 mingled Hebraic and Hellenic elements in Milton's 
 
 nature ; for the Old Testament story is treated like 
 
 a Greek tragedy. But the two elements are fused 
 
 at last, and are no longer, as in " Lycidas," in sharp 
 
 and questionable juxtaposition. The drama has been 
 
 called the last expression of the noble dramatic 
 
 impulse in the England of the Renaissance; it has been 
 
 compared to a fortress rock, the last outpost of a 
 
 chain of Alpine heights, standing alone in its plain. 
 
 MUton' " S^™son Agonistes " was probably written after 
 
 death, 1667 ; Milton lived till 1674. Then his great and 
 
 1674. . . ° 
 
 pure spirit passed into that unseen world where his 
 imagination had loved to dwell. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 David Massost, The Life of John MUton ; also standard 
 edition, in three volumes, of Milton's works. J. H. B. Mas- 
 TERMAN, The Age of Milton. Stopford Brooke, Milton. 
 Life, by Richard Gaknett, Great Writers Series. Life, 
 
JOHN MILTON 297 
 
 by Mark Pattison, English Men of Letters. Life, by Dr. 
 Johnson, in his Lives of the Poets. Masson's Three Devils ; 
 Luther's, Milton's, and Goethe's. Essays on Milton, by Macau- 
 lay ; Edmond Scherer, in Essays on English Literature ; 
 Matthew Arnold, in Essays in Criticism, Series II; and 
 Edward Dowdkn, Transcripts and Studies. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Close, line by line, analysis of the minor poems of Milton 
 is one of the best means English literature affords for train- 
 ing the ear to appreciation of lyrical beauty, and the mind 
 to the understanding of poetic expression. Study of metrical 
 structure, of choice of epithet, of metaphor, of pause melody, 
 etc., should be as full as time allows. Recitations in class 
 should be encouraged, and " Lycidas," " L' Allegro," and " II 
 Penseroso," made permanent possessions. 
 
 "Paradise Lost" may be read more rapidly, though the 
 power of the blank verse should be brought home to the stu- 
 dent in every possible way. But substance should here engage 
 as much attention as style. The portions of the poem referring 
 to Satan always prove most stirring to a class, and the great 
 character should be studied stage by stage, in its majesty, in 
 its pathos, in its terrible moral decline. 
 
 Special topics may, of course, be given to great advantage 
 by advanced students on such topics as The Greek Elegies on 
 which " Lycidas " is founded, Milton's Possible Debt to Csedmon, 
 Milton's Sonnet Structure, Milton's Treatment of the Gods of 
 the Ancient World compared with Spenser's, etc. 
 
 But the student must clearly feel that the work on Milton 
 in any general course is only an introduction to what deserves 
 lifelong study. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The comparisons with Dante suggested in the text may well 
 be carried further. Since few classes can read the " Paradise 
 Lost" through, lectures on the poem as a whole, with read- 
 ings, and presentation of the intellectual scheme and structure, 
 are very desirable. Lectures on the political history of the 
 times, with special references to the Puritan type of character, 
 are also helpful. 
 
298 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MILTON'S LIFE AND WORKS 
 
 Tear 
 
 Life and Works 
 
 G-eneial Englisli 
 History 
 
 Literary History 
 
 1608 
 
 Milton born. 
 
 Fifth year of James 
 
 " King Lear " pub- 
 
 
 LiTed in his father's 
 
 I's reign. 
 
 lished. 
 
 
 house in London 
 
 First permanent 
 
 Thomas Fuller born. 
 
 
 for sixteen years. 
 
 English settle- 
 ment in America. 
 
 
 1611 
 
 
 
 Authorized Version 
 of Bible. 
 
 1612 
 
 
 
 Samuel Butler born. 
 
 1613 
 
 
 
 JeremyTaylor born. 
 
 1615 
 
 
 
 Richard Baxter 
 born. 
 
 1616 
 
 
 
 Shakespeare and 
 Beaumont died. 
 
 1618 
 
 
 
 Abraham Cowley 
 born. 
 
 1619 
 
 
 
 Ben Jonson poet 
 laureate. 
 
 1620 
 
 St. Paul's School. 
 
 First Puritan emi- 
 gration to Amer- 
 ica. 
 
 
 1622 
 
 
 
 Henry Vaughan 
 born. 
 
 1623 
 
 
 
 The First Folio of 
 Shakespeare pub- 
 lished. Fletcher 
 died. 
 
 1625 
 
 Cambridge. 
 
 Charles I, king. 
 
 
 1626 
 
 "On a Fair Infant." 
 
 
 Bacon and 
 
 Andrewes died. 
 
 1628 
 
 " Vacation Exer- 
 cise." 
 
 Laud, bishop of 
 London. 
 
 John Bunyan born. 
 
 1629 
 
 B. A. "Nativity 
 Ode." 
 
 Charlesdissolveshis 
 
 
 
 third Parliament. 
 
 
 
 
 No new Parlia- 
 
 
 
 
 ment until 1640. 
 
 
 1630 
 
 "The Circumci- 
 sion." "On 
 Time." "At a 
 Solemn Music." 
 "Epitaph on 
 Shakespeare." 
 
 
 
 1631 
 
 "Epitaph on the 
 
 
 Drayton and Donne 
 
 
 Marchioness of 
 
 
 died. 
 
 
 Winchester." 
 " Song on May 
 
 
 Dryden born. 
 
 
 Morning." 
 
 
 
 1632 
 
 M. A., Cambridge; 
 Sonnet I. 
 
 
 John Locke born. 
 
JOHN MILTON 
 
 299 
 
 Tear 
 
 Life and Works 
 
 Qeneral Englieli 
 
 History 
 
 Literary History 
 
 1632 
 
 Beginning of six 
 years at Horton. 
 Sonnet II. 
 
 
 
 1633 
 
 "Arcades" (per- 
 haps 1631). 
 
 Laud, archbishop of 
 
 George Herbert 
 
 
 Canterbury. 
 
 died. 
 
 
 "L' Allegro" and 
 
 
 
 
 " n Penseroso" 
 
 
 
 
 (at about this 
 
 
 
 
 time). 
 
 
 
 1634 
 
 "Comus" acted. 
 
 
 George Chapman 
 died. 
 
 1635 
 
 M. A., Oxford. 
 
 
 
 1637 
 
 "Lycidas." "Co- 
 
 
 Dekker and Ben 
 
 
 mus" published. 
 
 
 Jonson died. 
 
 1638-39 
 
 Continental jour- 
 
 Discontent in Eng- 
 
 
 
 ney. 
 
 land. 
 
 
 
 " Italian Sonnets." 
 
 War with Scotland. 
 
 
 1639 
 
 To London. "Epi- 
 taphium Da- 
 monis." 
 
 
 
 1639-40 
 
 First notes for 
 
 Long Parliament 
 
 Ford and Massinger 
 
 
 " Paradise Lost." 
 
 (1640). 
 
 died. 
 
 1641-42 
 
 Controversial pam- 
 
 Execution of Straf- 
 
 Publication of 
 
 
 phlets on episco- 
 pacy and Church 
 
 ford. 
 Civil War. Battle 
 
 Browne's "Ke- 
 ligio Medici." 
 
 
 reform. 
 
 of EdgehlU. 
 
 
 
 Beginning of prose 
 
 
 
 
 period of about 20 
 
 
 
 
 years. Sonnets 
 
 
 
 
 and poetic trans- 
 
 
 
 
 lations through- 
 
 
 
 
 out this period. 
 
 
 
 1643 
 
 First marriage. 
 
 Battles of Chalgro ve 
 and Newbury. 
 Hampden and 
 Pym died. 
 
 
 1644-45 
 
 Tracts on "Di- 
 
 Battle of Marston 
 
 
 
 vorce," "Edu- 
 
 Moor. Use of 
 
 
 
 cation," and 
 
 Prayer Book pro- 
 
 
 
 notably, the 
 
 hibited by Par- 
 
 
 
 " Areopagitica " 
 
 liament. Laud 
 
 
 
 on the liberty of 
 
 executed. Battle 
 
 
 
 the press. 
 
 of Naseby. 
 
 
 1646 
 
 Collected edition of 
 
 Charles I surren- 
 
 
 
 poems, English, 
 
 ders to the Scots. 
 
 
 
 Italian.andLatin. 
 
 
 
 1648 
 
 
 Second Civil War. 
 
 
 1649 
 
 Latin Secretary. 
 
 Execution of 
 
 
 
 Political pamphlets. 
 
 Charles and of 
 
 
 
 written at inter- 
 
 many of his ad- 
 
 
 
 vals. 
 
 herents. 
 
 
300 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Year 
 
 Life and 'Works 
 
 General Engliali 
 History 
 
 Literary History 
 
 1649 
 
 
 Abolition of mon- 
 archy and House 
 of Lords by Par- 
 liament. 
 
 
 1652 
 
 Milton became 
 blind. 
 
 
 Webster died. 
 
 1653 
 
 Death of first wife. 
 
 Long Parliament 
 dissolved. Pro- 
 tectorate. 
 
 
 1656 
 
 Second marriage. 
 
 
 
 1657 
 
 Andrew Marvell 
 ass't secretary. 
 
 
 
 1658 
 
 Death of second 
 wife. 
 
 Death of Cromwell. 
 
 
 1660 
 
 
 The Restoration. 
 
 
 1661 
 
 
 
 Fuller died. 
 
 1664 
 
 Third marriage. 
 
 
 
 1665 
 
 
 Great Plague. 
 
 
 1666 
 
 
 Great Fire of Lon- 
 don. 
 
 
 1667 
 
 "Paradise Lost" 
 
 
 
 
 published: the 
 
 
 Cowley and Taylor 
 
 
 writing, except 
 
 
 died. 
 
 
 for earlier notes, 
 
 
 Swift born. 
 
 
 begun in 1658, and 
 completed at lat- 
 est in 1665. Pub- 
 
 
 Several of Dryden's 
 works appeared. 
 
 
 lication delayed 
 
 
 
 
 by Great Plague 
 
 
 
 
 and Fire. 
 
 
 
 1669 
 
 " History of Eng- 
 land." 
 
 
 
 1671 
 
 "Paradise Re- 
 gained" pub- 
 lished: begun 
 
 
 Steele born. 
 
 
 
 
 
 probably in 1665, 
 
 
 
 
 finished in 1666. 
 
 
 
 
 " Samson Agonis- 
 
 
 
 
 tes " published. 
 
 
 
 
 written probably 
 
 
 
 
 after 1667. 
 
 
 
 1672 
 
 " Artis Logicse." 
 
 
 Addison born. 
 
 1673 
 
 " Of True Religion, 
 Heresy, and 
 Schism." 
 
 
 
 1674 
 
 Milton died. 
 
 
 
 1824 or 
 
 "Treatise on Chris- 
 
 
 
 1825 
 
 tian Doctrine" 
 discovered and 
 published : writ- 
 ten after the Res- 
 toration. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM 
 
 rriHIS will be a short chapter. Puritanism could 
 -■- be a potent factor in a great genius like Mil- 
 ton's, but left to itself it did not produce much 
 literature. It had other ways of manifesting itself, 
 and its importance in seventeenth-century England 
 is out of all proportion to its literary product. 
 
 The Puritan was the result of an entirely neces- 
 sary reaction from the revel of the senses that 
 marked the later Renaissance. In the sixteenth cen- 
 tury the Renaissance and the Reformation blended 
 harmoniously ; in the seventeenth, they sprang 
 apart. The Puritan was the child of the Reforma- 
 tion alone, and the Reformation carried to an ex- 
 treme. He was unaffected by the sweetness and 
 light, the love of learning and beauty, in a word 
 the Hellenism of the Renaissance ; he turned aside 
 from it with scorn and hate, nourished himself on 
 one Book only, though that the greatest, and became 
 Hebraic in every fibre. He gave strange Scriptural 
 names to his children ; his conversation was a curi- 
 ous medley of Scriptural phrases. He had a noble 
 moral strength, but he was often unlovely in aspect 
 and manner, and intolerant and narrow. He enjoyed 
 theological abstractions, and was always trying to 
 "justify the ways of God to man." His asceticism 
 was of a different type from that of the middle 
 
 301 
 
302 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 less compatible with the free play of the im- 
 agination, which likes images better than abstrac- 
 tions, more distrustful of beauty and of all that 
 gives life charm. 
 
 Its weak- 
 ness. 
 
 Its 
 strength. 
 
 I. Puritan Litbratuee 
 
 It is easy to look at the unpleasant aspects of the 
 great forces that were pulling men toward this 
 world and away from it. We have seen the riot of 
 sensuousness in the worldly literature of the Renais- 
 sance; on the other hand, Puritanism presents us 
 with a literature often marked by an insufferable 
 asperity. The mere titles of some of the Puritan 
 tracts for the times illustrate this temper : " A 
 Pleasant Purge for a Roman Catholic," " The Un- 
 loveliness of Lovelocks," "Sighs from Hell," "A 
 Declaration of the Vile and Wicked Waies of the 
 Cruell Cavaliers." 
 
 Puritanism militant is not attractive. But when 
 we turn away from the Puritanism that was fighting 
 the ungodly world, to the Puritanism that was seek- 
 ing with solemn consecration of mind and spirit for 
 personal holiness, we enter into the secret strength 
 of the great Power in which our own Republic was 
 founded, and bow in reverence before it. Of the 
 deep spiritual fervor, of the passion for freedom, of 
 the intellectual force, which showed themselves in 
 Puritan character and theology, English literature, 
 strictly speaking, holds no full expression. That 
 expression is found in confessions of faith, and insti- 
 tutions which, even though they be partially out- 
 grown, must remain a monument to one of the most 
 
THE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM 303 
 
 strenuous and impressive efforts ever made by the 
 human race to uplift itself into the comprehension of 
 the nature and the will of God. When we think 
 what the real aim of the Puritans was, all criticism 
 dwindles, and we cease to wonder at their indiffer- 
 ence to beauty. 
 
 One does not turn to the religious books which 
 Puritanism copiously produced for the joy which art Richard 
 must engender. Now and then, however, one of le^s^ie'gi. 
 
 these books becomes literature. Such a book is "The 
 
 Saints 
 Baxter's " Saints' Everlasting Rest." It is written Everiast- 
 
 with an ardor, a purity, an eloquence, which give it leso. 
 
 an enduring hold on the hearts of men. 
 
 But there is one book in which all the harshness 
 of Puritanism is turned to fragrance ; a book which johu 
 is still cherished next to the Bible by thousands of i628?f688. 
 simple folk. This is Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress." 
 It is the only book, missionaries tell us, apart from "The 
 the Bible, which bears translation without change Progress," 
 into Oriental languages and reaches the heathen 
 peoples with instant appeal. We put it in our 
 thought beside the poems of Milton, when we 
 wish to sum up the contribution of Puritanism to 
 letters. 
 
 The " Pilgrim's Progress " is the work, if not of 
 an unlettered, at least of an uncultured man. There 
 is absolutely no trace in it of the humanizing influ- 
 ences of the Renaissance, of love of classical learning, 
 or of ornament for its own sake. One influence, and 
 one alone, has formed its style and thought and 
 imagery — the influence of the Bible. Yet it is as 
 intensely imaginative a work as the English genius 
 ever produced. It is the great symbolic romance of 
 
 1678-1684. 
 
304 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 the seventeenth century, and bears the same relation 
 to Puritanism that Langland's poem bears to the 
 middle ages, and Spenser's to the Renaissance. In 
 spirit, it reminds us more of Langland than of 
 Spenser. But Bunyan differs from both Langland 
 and Spenser in that he cares not one whit what 
 may happen to the world around him. That is 
 given over to the devil ; the duty of the Pilgrim is 
 with eternity and his own soul alone. 
 
 The book is a book of the plain people, not, like 
 so much of the literature of the Renaissance, a book 
 of the aristocracy. The immense influence of Puri- 
 tanism in preparing the way for democracy is evi- 
 dent in it. Christian, the hero, is no courtly knight ; 
 he is a simple burgher of the middle class, a pedler 
 with a pack on his back. His journey is a spiritual 
 one, as he flees from the City of Destruction, and 
 plods his weary way toward the heavenly Jerusalem ; 
 but it is through seventeenth-century England that 
 he passes, along its dusty, narrow roads, through its 
 wicket gates, past its sweet meadows, its turnstiles, 
 its country places, its occasional feudal castles, where 
 the giants of the old romances might still well abide. 
 The life of that middle class, which was just rising 
 into prominence in the seventeenth century, is no- 
 where so graphically pictured for us as in the " Pil- 
 grim's Progress." 
 
 Of the depth of spiritual experience shown in the 
 book, one does not need to speak. Its theology has 
 some elements not universal nor permanent, but its 
 faith springs deep from the heart of Christendom, 
 and will speak to that heart as long as there is any 
 reality left to belief in God's love and in His justice, 
 
THE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM 305 
 
 in the mystery of sin and the mystery of redemption. 
 It is a stern book. It starts with the watchword, 
 " Flee from the wrath to come," and the path of the 
 fleeing Pilgrim is beset with many perils vividly 
 described ; yet it has at times an exquisite tender- 
 ness and beauty. Of the style it is enough to say 
 that it is not unworthy of its model, the English 
 Bible. Bunyan gave Puritan England what it 
 needed : a book expressing, not the theology and 
 intellectual conceptions which Milton had so nobly 
 rendered, but the secrets of its hidden life. 
 
 The book was begun in Bedford jail, where Bunyan 
 spent twelve years of his life. He had been a tinker ; 
 but after his conversion he became an itinerant 
 preacher, and was imprisoned under the Restoration 
 because he would not give up his delivery of his mes- 
 sage. Bunyan wrote other books besides the "Pil- 
 grim's Progress." The finest of these are: "Grace "Grace 
 Abounding," the autobiography of his spiritual life, ing," 
 a book of singularly naive power and candor ; " The ^^^' 
 Life and Death of Mr. Badman," a grim bit of real- " Life and 
 istic fiction, almost in the manner of Defoe; and Mr^Bad- 
 "The Holy War," an allegory which would be 
 thought very fine had not the greater allegory 
 overshadowed it. All these books are the work of 
 a man of genius, all show Puritan faith at white 
 heat; yet Bunyan lives by the one book, "The 
 Pilgrim's Progress." 
 
 Bunyan was twenty years younger than Milton, 
 and he lived tiU 1688. " The Pilgrim's Progress " 
 was published in 1678, four years after Milton's 
 death. By this time the Restoration was in full 
 possession ; a spirit wholly new had taken possession 
 
 man, 
 1680. 
 
306 
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 of art and letters. That new spirit we must take a 
 new book to describe. 
 
 Overbury, 
 " Charac- 
 ters," 
 1614. 
 Jonson, 
 "The 
 Alche- 
 mist," 
 1610. 
 
 "Bartholo- 
 mew 
 Fair," 
 1614. ■ 
 
 II. Satires on Puritanism 
 
 It is no wonder if some of the most vivid litera- 
 ture that Puritanism called forth was in the line of 
 antagonistic satire. The facile, graceful, gallant 
 cavaliers attached to the court, their brilliant per- 
 sonality still irradiated by the sunshine of the Re- 
 naissance, were incapable of appreciating the religious 
 strenuousness and intellectual force of the Puritan. 
 For his devotion to the cause of freedom of con- 
 science they cared nothing. To them he seemed 
 simply irritating and absurd ; and all through the 
 seventeenth century are to be found caricatures of 
 Puritanism. Some of these are very funny. Such 
 are certain sketches by Sir Thomas Overbury, in his 
 book of " Characters," written early in the century ; 
 such are Ben Jonson's irresistible pictures of the 
 sanctimonious Brethren in " The Alchemist," or of 
 Rabbi Zeal - of - the - Land - Busy, in " Bartholomew 
 Fair." Urged by a group of the faithful to visit 
 the riotous delights of the Fair, nay to eat roast pig 
 therein, the Rabbi snuffles : — 
 
 In the -way of comfort to the weak, I will go and eat. 
 I will eat exceedingly, and prophesy. . . ." ^ 
 
 Having accordingly gone, and eaten exceedingly, 
 the Rabbi is forthwith seized with a saintly wrath 
 against the merriment of the Fair, and kicks over the 
 pedler's basket of gingerbread ; and in the racket 
 
 1 " Bartholomew Fair," Act I, Scene I. 
 
THE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM 307 
 
 that ensues, his voice is loudest of all as he bellows 
 to the officer who seeks to stop his noise, — 
 
 " Thou canst not : 'tis a sanctified noise. I will make 
 a loud and a strong noise, till I have daunted the profane 
 enemy." ' 
 
 Another satirical picture of Puritanism, more 
 famous, and even more unjust, is that given by 
 Butler, in his " Hudibras," a curious, clever, doggerel Butler, 
 poem, in octosyllabic couplets, written toward the end bras',"'" 
 of the century, when the Puritans had proved them- 1*563-1678. 
 selves vigorous fighters. He laughs at the Puritans 
 as sanctimonious prigs, and pictures them as argu- 
 mentative, wrong-headed, quarrelsome people who 
 
 " With more care keep holy-day 
 The wrong, than others the right way, 
 Compound for sins they are inclined to 
 By damning those they have no mind to : 
 Still so perverse and opposite 
 As if they worshipped God for spite. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Rather than fail, they will defy 
 
 That which they love most tenderly, 
 
 Quarrel with minced-pies, and disparage 
 
 Their best and dearest friend, — plum-porridge : 
 
 Fat pig, and goose itself, oppose, 
 
 And blaspheme custard through the nose." ^ 
 
 His poem had an immense vogue ; but the picture is 
 so overdrawn as to be ridiculous, and in some respects 
 it is wholly false. 
 
 1 Act III, Scene I. 
 
 a " Hudibras," Part I, Canto I. 
 
308 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Butler's Hudibras, over which an entertaining hour may 
 be spent, is in Morley's Universal Library. Selections in 
 Ward. Editions of the " Pilgrim's Progress " are too numer- 
 ous to mention. "Grace Abounding" is in the Clarendon 
 Press edition. Lives of Bunyan are by J. A. Fkoude (English 
 Men of Letters) and Edmund Venables (Great Writers). 
 J. TuLLOCH, English Puritanism and its Leaders : Cromwell, 
 Milton, Baxter, Bunyan. Macaulay's Essay on Milton gives 
 a famous panegyric on the Puritan, while Matthew Arnold, 
 in his "Literature and Dogma,'' and "Culture and Anarchy," 
 discusses the Puritan type from a less favorable point of view. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Study the influence of the Bible on Bunyan's style. What 
 did he gain, what lose, by being an ignorant man ? Compare 
 his allegory in some detail with that of Spenser, of Langland. 
 Describe seventeenth-century England as it is seen in his book. 
 
PART IV 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE CHAJSTGE IN TASTE 
 
 I. The New Temper 
 
 TMAGINATION and passion had been the great 
 -^ forces that governed English literature from 
 the beginning. Other forces had, to be sure, been 
 cooperating with these during the last one hundred 
 and fifty years : the desire for facts, such as we see 
 illustrated in the works of Bacon ; the desire for defi- 
 nite principles in art, such as we see in the works of 
 Jonson. But these instincts, though present, had 
 been subordinate. It was the romantic temper that 
 produced Arthurian romance, the works of Chaucer, 
 the "Faerie Queene," and, blending with the knowl- 
 edge of experience, the dramas of Shakespeare. 
 
 The romantic temper loves freedom ; it loves vari- 
 ety. It works best under excitement ; it is in a con- 
 stant attitude of expectant wonder. It loves beauty, 
 too, but beauty, as has well been said, touched 
 with strangeness. This temper, indulged without 
 restraint, had led to strange excesses; and it came 
 to pass in time that men wearied of it. The seven- 
 teenth century had been full of sensations ; we have 
 been able only to hint at its violent extremes. Now 
 a great reaction set in. People were exhausted by 
 all these shocks. They did not want to press into 
 new regions of thought and emotion ; they wanted 
 
 311 
 
prose. 
 
 312 THE AGE OF PKOSE 
 
 to understand what they had, to tabulate, to arrange. 
 They craved uniformity, placidity, monotony even. 
 Imagination and passion, both a little weary, with- 
 drew from sight into the inmost recesses of men's 
 natures ; withdrew so far that they seemed lost for- 
 ever. Reason and intelligence — salutary powers 
 always, essential at that juncture — assumed exclu- 
 sive command. A love of science arose, illustrated 
 by the foundation, in 1660, of the Royal Society, the 
 purpose of which was the investigation of natural 
 Rise of phenomena. And prose, which had always led a 
 subordinate, though an increasingly distinct, exist- 
 ence, became before long the dominant form of art. 
 
 II. Periods of the Age of Prose 
 
 This Age of Prose in English literature is often 
 called the Classical Age. The reason is that people 
 at this time first began to read the classic authors, 
 not so much with the childlike delight of the Renais- 
 sance in the discovery of a new world of beauty and 
 wisdom, but with the aim of imitation. The theory 
 was followed that to copy the ancients was the one 
 goal of modern art. Moreover, there were certain 
 points of real affinity between the Greek and Roman 
 temper, especially the Roman, and the temper of the 
 eighteenth century. The distaste for mystery, the 
 stress placed on reason, sanity, and clearness of 
 thought, the desire for law and order rather than 
 for freedom and variety, are all real marks of the clas- 
 sic spirit as distinguished from the romantic. At 
 the same time, it is an obvious misnomer to apply 
 
THE CHANGE IN TASTE 313 
 
 to the work of Pope and Dryden the same adjective 
 that one applies to Homer and JEschylus and Vu'- 
 gil. If we use the term " classic " at all, we should 
 put a modifying adverb before it, and call this the 
 Pseudo-Classic Age. But the term, Age of Prose, 
 seems, all things considered, more satisfactory. 
 
 Whatever we call the period, it is an absolutely 
 distinct one. It lasted about one hundred and 
 twenty -five years, and it falls naturally into three 
 divisions : — 
 
 1660-1702. The first division opens with the Res- The Age of 
 toration. It was the Stuart dynasty that was '^ *°' 
 restored, though before the period was over the 
 Revolution of 1688 placed William of Orange, who 
 had married a Stuart princess, on the throne. In 
 literary study, we may most conveniently remember 
 this as the Age of Dryden ; for Dryden was the com- 
 manding man of letters of the time. He wrote both 
 poetry and prose, and his prose was at least as sig- 
 nificant as his poetry. 
 
 1702-1744. The first part of this period is most The Age of 
 conveniently named from the reigning monarch, the smft!*" 
 Age of Queen Anne. In 1714, the House of Han- 
 over was established on the throne. No one author 
 dominated the world of letters. Pope (d. 1744) 
 was the most notable writer of verse, but the prose 
 essayists, especially Addison and Swift, were yet 
 more representative. 
 
 1744-1789. During this period, the Georges, dull The Age of 
 and unpicturesque monarchs, continued to reign. 
 The end coincides with no event in English history, 
 but with the Fall of the Bastille in France. In 
 literature, the period was dominated by the massive 
 
taste. 
 
 314 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 figure of Samuel Johnson. Johnson is remembered 
 almost solely as a prose writer. By 1789 America 
 was a free country and the modern world was born. 
 
 III. Charactbeistics of the Age of Pkose 
 
 The best way to realize the change in taste that 
 marks this period is through illustrations. A cur- 
 sory examination of the books of the time shows what 
 niustra- words were in the ascendant. " Admirable," judi- 
 tions of cious," " elegant," " graceful," " polite," are the favor- 
 ite adjectives ; "enthusiastic" is a frequent term of 
 reproach. We hear of " invention," of " imitation " ; 
 of passion or imagination never. " Nature " is a term 
 often invoked ; but, to use the words of Pope, " 'tis 
 nature still, but nature methodized." Above all, 
 " wit," by which men then meant cleverness and intelli- 
 gence, is the word that recurs a dozen times on every 
 page, the final summary of all that seems most desii'- 
 able in life and art. To chase this word through 
 eighteenth-century literature is perhaps as good a 
 way as can be found of feeling the prevailing instinct 
 of the age. Another good way is to note the atti- 
 tude of the time toward the great poets of earlier 
 ages, the Masters of Romance. 
 
 This is easy to do, especially in Dryden's time ; 
 for that vigorous writer set to work to improve 
 both Shakespeare and Milton. 
 Dryden on Milton was of coursc Dryden's contemporary ; and 
 the new writer, in the flush of popularity, asked the 
 blind neglected bard for permission to turn " Para- 
 dise Lost" into an opera. We may imagine the 
 state of mind with which Milton consented. Dry- 
 
 Milton. 
 
THE CHANGE IN TASTE 315 
 
 den did the thing. He translated Milton's organ 
 verse into neatly turned rhymed couplets ; he ar- 
 ranged the whole poem, or the leading portions of it, 
 in operatic scenes. A specimen will suffice. Adam, 
 fresh from the hand of the Creator, awakens upon a 
 flowery bank. He wonders at himself, but proceeds 
 to argue his own existence, — "I think, therefore I 
 am," with Cartesian precision ; then, looking about 
 him, immediately exclaims, " How full of ornament 
 is all I view . . . in this well-ordered scene." Pres- 
 ently, we find ourselves in the presence of Eve, 
 coquetting with her reflection in a fountain. Adam 
 draws near, and wooes her with due decorum of com- 
 pliments ; she is inclined to him, yet, with inimitable 
 instinct for the etiquette of the occasion, murmurs : — 
 
 " Some restraining thought, I know not why, 
 Tells me you long should beg, I long deny." 
 
 If, even with Milton, we hardly felt ourselves in the 
 actual presence of primitive humanity, where are we 
 now ? 
 
 But the opera found warm admirers ; and certain 
 instructive verses by one of these are after the fash- 
 ion of the times prefixed to it : — 
 
 " For Milton did the wealthy mine disclose, 
 And rudely cast what you could well dispose. 
 
 ****** 
 He first beheld the beauteous rustic maid, 
 And to a place of strength the prize conveyed : 
 You took her thence ; to Court this virgin brought, 
 Drest her with gems, new-weaved her hard-spun 
 
 thought 
 And softest language, sweetest manners taught." ^ 
 
 1 Nathaniel Lee, the dramatist. 
 
316 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 Exactly ! And Milton's muse, brought to the 
 
 court of Charles II, is a noteworthy object indeed. 
 
 Equally suggestive was the treatment of Shake- 
 
 Dryden on speare. Dryden rewrote two of Shakespeare's plays ; 
 
 spe'it. " Antony and Cleopatra," which he shaped into the 
 strongest of his own dramas, and renamed, " All for 
 Love " ; and the " Tempest," which he manipulated 
 in collaboration with a minor dramatist of the time. 
 Sir William Davenant. Let us see what they made 
 of that most magical, mystical, and profound of plays. 
 But a glance at the scenery is enough ; the curtain 
 rises on " Three walks of cypress trees ; each side 
 walk leads to a cave, in one of which Prospero keeps 
 his daughters, in the other Hippolito. The middle 
 walk is of great depth and leads to an open part of 
 the island." As implied, here, Miranda has been 
 supplied with a twin sister ; and, to provide two 
 pair of lovers, the happy thought occurred of match- 
 ing the girl who had never seen a man with a man 
 who had never seen a woman. This is Hippolito, 
 who, although confined in an adjacent cave for twenty 
 years, has never laid eyes upon his fair fellow-island- 
 ers. Not content with this, Caliban is presented 
 with a twin sister named Sycorax, and Ariel has " a 
 gentle spirit " called Milcha " for his love." Surely 
 the passion for symmetry could no farther go. 
 
 Addison on A little later, we find a boyish poem of Addison, 
 
 and Spen- on " the Muse-possessed," valuable because it reflects 
 the taste of his day, though for no other reason. 
 This is how it speaks of Chaucer and Spenser : — 
 
 " But age has rusted what the poet writ, 
 Worn out his language, and obscured his wit. 
 
 set. 
 
THE CHANGE IN TASTE 317 
 
 In vain he jests in his unpolished strain, 
 And tries to make his readers laugh in vain. 
 Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage. 
 In ancient tales amused a barb'rous age, 
 
 ***** 
 But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, 
 Can charm an understanding age no more." 
 
 We may conclude these illustrations of the taste 
 of the age of prose by a quotation of a cri£ic of some 
 repute in his day, Thomas Rymer. " In the neigh- 
 ing of a horse," says Rymer, "or in the growling 
 of a mastiff, there is more meaning, there is as lively 
 expression, and may I say more humanity, than many 
 times in the tragical flights of Shakespeare." 
 
 We must not think that this was a stupid period. The worth 
 Not at all ; it was an age of unusual cleverness, temper. 
 The very awakening of the critical instinct, what- 
 ever blunders accompanied it at first, was in itself 
 a most important fact. Once before, at the begin- 
 ning of the Elizabethan age, this instinct had stirred 
 faintly ; but it had shrunk back, overborne by the 
 great tide of creative energy. Now, the day was its 
 own, and it did an essential work. Fortunately, 
 English life was not to be stirred again till the end 
 of the eighteenth century by any great or searching 
 struggle, and in the comparative quietude people 
 were to enter into fuller self-knowledge and fuller 
 mastery over the means of expression. Emphasis 
 was to change from substance to style ; correctness 
 was to be more sought than originality. If the 
 resultant literature seems a little tame to us, we 
 must remember that to seek positive standards of 
 excellence in style is a quest of high importance. 
 
318 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 It is a task that could only be attempted when 
 passion burned low ; to watch the stages of its 
 accomplishment is an occupation full of interest. 
 The influ- The foreign influence under which this work was 
 France. carried on, was, next to the classics, the literature of 
 France. During the Renaissance, from the days of 
 Chaucer, indeed until the days of Ford, England 
 had turned for inspiration to Italy. Next to Italy, 
 Spain had been in most vital relations with her. 
 Now all this was changed. It was still a Latin 
 race which was, during the next hundred years, 
 to affect her most profoundly, but a race in which 
 the instincts of logic were stronger than those 
 of imagination, a race always marked by a subtle 
 feeling for perfection of form. The seventeenth 
 century was, we must remember, the blossoming 
 time of French literature ; the age of Moliere and 
 Corneille and Racine, of Bossuet, of Boileau. It is 
 easy to exaggerate the direct influence which the 
 French had over English letters ; but a strong 
 connection is indisputable, from the time when the 
 court of Charles II returned from France, to the 
 French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 General authorities for the Age of Prose : Gosse, From 
 Shakespeare to Pope (traces the gradual change in taste 
 through the seventeenth century) ; Eighteenth Century Literar 
 ture. Perky, Eighteenth Century Literature. Taine, Bk. III. 
 Saintsbury, Short History of English Literature, Bks. VIH 
 and IX. W. C. Sydney, Social Life in England from the 
 Restoration to the Revolution; England and the English in 
 the Eighteenth Century. Lecky, History of England in the 
 
THE CHANGE IN TASTE 319 
 
 Eighteenth Century. Leslie Stephen, History of English 
 Thought in the Eighteenth Century. See Macaulay's His- 
 tory of England, Vol. I, Ch. Ill, for famous description of the 
 condition of England on the accession of Charles H. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The best way to make the change in taste vivid is to bring 
 short, sharply contrasted passages from the romantic and the 
 Augustan literatures before the class for analysis. For instance, 
 Spenser's description of Belphoebe, "Faerie Queene," Bk. II, 
 Canto HI, may be compared with Pope's description of Be- 
 linda in the " Rape of the Lock " ; the description of the voyage 
 of Cleopatra in Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra" may 
 be set against that given by Dryden in " All for Love." A 
 satirical portrait like Dryden's Zimri or Achitophel, or Pope's 
 Atticus, may be compared with Shakespeare's presentation of 
 Henry V or Macbeth, and a general discussion may be aroused 
 on the new point of view, and new method in studying human 
 life, signified by the rise of satire. In prose, single sentences 
 from Milton or Browne or Jeremy Taylor should be opposed to 
 brief passages from Dryden or Addison. The more detailed 
 this work is, the more instructive it will be found, and after an 
 introductory drill of this kind the student can go on quietly 
 and intelligently with the study of the consecutive literary his- 
 tory and the chief personalities of the time. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The brief treatment in the text could well be supplemented, 
 if time permits, by a study of the gradual approach of the 
 classical spirit and the first attempts in the new style in Waller, 
 Cowley, etc. A lecture on the seventeenth-century literature of 
 France in its relation to that of England would also be useful. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE AGE OF DRYDEN 
 
 Edmund 
 
 Waller, 
 
 1605-168T. 
 
 Sir John 
 Denham, 
 1615-1668. 
 
 Abraham 
 
 Cowley, 
 
 1618-1667. 
 
 Andrew 
 Marvell, 
 1621-1678. 
 
 I. Revival of Classicism 
 
 IT would be interesting, had we time, to go back 
 and trace the beginning of the new impulse. 
 The men in whom it appeared were minor writers, 
 but significant ones. The chief were Edmund Wal- 
 ler, who as early as 1623 was writing heroic couplets 
 as even as Pope's, and Sir John Denham, who pub- 
 lished in 1642 a dull topographical poem, " Cooper's 
 Hill," in couplets of the new cadence. Two very 
 interesting men, Abraham Cowley and Andrew Mar- 
 vell, seem in parts of their work belated Elizabethans, 
 visited by flashes of living imagination, and at other 
 times frigid though expert practitioners in the new 
 fashion. Cowley produced, besides lyrics of the fan- 
 tastic type of the later Renaissance, and couplets 
 predicting the age of prose, a species of elaborated 
 odes which he called Pindaric, which found many 
 imitators. Marvell was Milton's secretary, a real 
 poet at heart. 
 
 But no sooner had the gay court of Charles II 
 returned to England, than the new spirit became 
 wholly dominant. One man, of rare intellectual 
 vigor, gave it the impetus that it long retained. 
 This was John Dryden. He towered above all the 
 
 320 
 
THE AGE OF DRYDEN 321 
 
 other writers of his age. It is better to spend our 
 time on him than to discuss minor authors. 
 
 II. John Dryden 
 
 Dryden was born in 1631, and grew up during lesi-iTOO. 
 stirring times. His family connections leaned to 
 Puritanism, and his first poem was a lament on the 
 death of Cromwell. But he did not mix his politics 
 with ideals like the men of the preceding generation, 
 and his next significant poem was a courtly welcome 
 to Charles II, " Astrsea Redux. " He was about thirty 
 years old at this time ; twenty-three years younger Review of 
 than Milton. From now on he was an indefatigable 
 and most versatile writer, and in variety of scope 
 and vigor of handling his work thoroughly expresses 
 the tastes, standards, interests, of his age. Yet if pigg^ggjo^ 
 we put him in our minds between Pope and Shake- of Ws 
 speare, we perceive that he is in a way a figure of 
 transition. There is a rush, a fervor, an energy, 
 about his work, which one does not find in the more 
 highly polished writings of the next generation ; we 
 may discern in this the last stir of the retreating 
 tide of life that marked the Renaissance. In the 
 variety of forms which he attempted we note the 
 same transition. Sometimes he presses into quite 
 new modes of artistic expression ; sometimes he 
 clings to the old. 
 
 During eighteen years Dryden worked chiefly as a Dramatic 
 dramatist and produced twenty-two plays. In 1642, period, 
 at the outbreak of the Civil War, Puritanism had 
 closed the theatres. Now the spirit of this world, 
 returning to power, opened them again. Women 
 
322 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 were introduced as actors for the first time, the 
 ballet appeared, scenery was much developed ; the 
 old primitive traditions were replaced by the modern 
 stage. Dryden catered to the lively hunger of a 
 people dramatically starved for twenty years. The 
 time arrived, however, when he wearied of drama, 
 and abandoned it, until the Revolution which placed 
 William and Mary on the throne so injured his 
 prospects that he returned, for the sake of making 
 money, to a little unimportant play-writing. 
 Work Let us look at his plays. The next period was to 
 
 influence discard drama almost altogether. Dryden wrote 
 of the plays with a certain zest, but tried to write them by 
 sance. rule. He put a great deal of careful, energetic 
 thinking upon the true principles of dramatic art. 
 "The Wild He produced comedies, like "The Wild Gallant," 
 ?^3*"''" and tragedies like "The Indian Emperor," "The 
 "The Conquest of Granada," and " Aurengzebe." These 
 Emperor," pl^js were what is called Heroic. They were in 
 1665. rhymed couplets, and Dryden mastered his instru- 
 
 'T^tof°°" ™ent upon them. But after a time he tired of coup- 
 Granada," lets, and deliberately "disencumbered himself of 
 rhyme," in "All for Love," his adaptation of " Antony 
 zebe," and Cleopatra." Now the heroic plays try to handle 
 the high themes of passion and action loved by the 
 free drama of the Renaissance ; but self-conscious 
 16'^^- art supplants impulse, invention rules instead of 
 
 imagination, and violence is mistaken for intensity. 
 The result is a cold absurdity such as the most ex- 
 treme of the Jacobean dramatists was never guilty 
 of. We feel that the whole thing is reasoned out 
 beforehand ; and, indeed, the inveterate habit of 
 dispute invades even the most impassioned mo- 
 ments : — 
 
 "All for 
 Love, 
 
THE AGE OF DRYDEN 323 
 
 " Have I not answered all you can invent, 
 Even the least shadow of an argument ? " 
 
 queries a distracted lover of his lady in the crisis 
 of his fate. The Duke of Buckingham wrote a 
 parody of heroic plays, called "The Rehearsal," 
 which is still one of the most entertaining things in 
 English literature. It practically killed them. 
 
 During his dramatic period Dryden had also been Lyrics, 
 writing lyrics, and had produced one brilliant poem, Mirab- 
 the "Annus MirabUis," inspired by contemporary ieer. 
 politics and by the great fire of London. His affin- 
 ity for the Renaissance is shown in the very fact 
 that he wrote lyrics : for the next generation dis- 
 carded lyrics with drama, and disliked all manipula- 
 tion of verse except the heroic couplet. The " Ode 
 on St. Cecilia's Day " and that on Mrs. Anne Killi- 
 grew are his most famous lyrics, and they are fine 
 things. Eloquence, rhetoric, studied workmanship, 
 replace inspiration. These poems retain forever a 
 place in English letters ; but they are hardly the 
 stuff of pure poetry. 
 
 In his remaining writings, Dryden advanced to his Work of 
 greatest success. He gave up reworkmg exhausted era. 
 inspirations, and perfected with his strong and fertile 
 mind new forms of expression, which delighted the 
 world for over a century. Critical prose, satire, and 
 didactic verse were distinctive art forms of the new 
 era. Here Dryden's keen intelligence moved easily 
 in the world familiar to him ; making no effort to 
 explore an ideal realm, or the kingdoms of romance, 
 but contented with the artificial and polished society 
 of the seventeenth century. 
 
324 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 Prose 
 criticisiu. 
 
 Satirical 
 and didac- 
 tic verse. 
 " Absalom 
 and Achit- 
 ophel," 
 1681. 
 
 "Tlie 
 
 Medal," 
 
 1682. 
 
 "Mac- 
 Fleck- 
 noe," 1682. 
 
 Satires. 
 
 Dryden's prefaces to his plays are really more im- 
 portant than the plays themselves, for they mark 
 the beginning of modern prose criticism. He is 
 not a man who has strayed into prose by mistake, 
 as we are tempted to think was the case with Mil- 
 ton or Sir Thomas Browne ; he writes in this me- 
 dium con amore. His prose possesses a freedom 
 from inversions and involutions, a clarity of diction 
 and sentence structure, such as we have not found 
 before. It is full of strong common sense, and its 
 sincere interest in literary matters is very pleasing. 
 It is of no use to turn to Dryden, however, for 
 any deep insight into critical principles. He goes 
 as far as clear intelligence can carry him, but he 
 has slight, if any, perception of the more elusive 
 qualities that are out of the range of conscious in- 
 vention and composition. 
 
 Dryden's splendid satires, " Absalom and Achit- 
 ophel," "The Medal," and " MacFlecknoe," were 
 called forth by the party politics and the literary 
 dissensions of his day. A new kind of realism is 
 found in them. It is not the Shakespearean kind, 
 for it starts, not with sympathy, but with analysis, 
 but it does dissect the tissues nearest the skin with 
 amazing keenness. Every person sketched was un- 
 mistakable, and each one was defined by his greatest 
 weakness. The workmanship of these poems was 
 brilliant ; it is still an intellectual joy to read the clear, 
 scathing lines in which every word brings out into 
 sharper relief the personality of Achitophel-Shaftes- 
 bury, or Zimri-Buckingham. There can be no ques- 
 tion that contempt and distaste — the natural ani- 
 mus of satire — can carry one a certain distance in 
 
THE AGE OF DRYDEN 325 
 
 the understanding of character ; just how far, is 
 matter for debate. 
 
 Equally clever were his argumentative poems. "Reiigio 
 The first of these, " Reiigio Laici," is an argument ^^gT' ' 
 for the Church of England. It sounds quite con- 
 vincing, till one reads Dryden's other theological 
 poem, " The Hind and the Panther," which is a yet "Theffind 
 abler plea for the Church of Rome. Dry den had panthll:- 
 become a Roman Catholic in 1686, on the accession ^^^'^• 
 of the Romanist king, James II, and there is some- 
 thing entertaining in the cheerful alacrity with 
 which he argues for his new faith. Milton had died Religious 
 before these poems were written ; one wonders what didactic 
 he would have thought of them. His religion had ^^''^^■ 
 been cold and austere, but it controlled the inmost 
 springs of life and conduct. Dryden's was a purely 
 intellectual matter. It bore no relation to emotion 
 or experience. Very likely, he was quite sincere in 
 his change of church. If he was convinced of the 
 truth of a set of arguments in favor of a new creed, 
 he adopted them with no inward struggle. He saw 
 no impropriety in presenting churches under the 
 allegorical disguise of animals. We listen to the 
 neatly turned couplets in which the beasts who repre- 
 sent the Roman and the Anglican Churches, the Hind 
 and the Panther, discourse. We admire, and rub our 
 eyes, wondering whether what is going on is actually 
 a discussion of one of the most solemn themes in the 
 whole world. 
 
 It is characteristic that some of Dryden's best Transia- 
 work was in the form of translations. These show 
 the lively interest in literary matters taken by the 
 age. The time felt its own mission to be the work- 
 
326 
 
 THE AGE OF PKOSE 
 
 •' Virgil," 
 1697. 
 
 "Fables, 
 Ancient 
 and Mod- 
 ern," 1700. 
 
 Dryden's 
 
 verse. 
 
 ing over of material already accumulated into better 
 and more correct form. Dryden's versions of Chaucer 
 and Boccaccio contain some of his best writing. His 
 most important work in this line was, however, his 
 conscientious and praiseworthy translation of Virgil. 
 The handling of the measure, and in a way the 
 conduct of the narrative, in these poems, is de- 
 serving of much praise. Like the greater part of 
 Dryden's work, they are written in couplets; and 
 here, as elsewhere, feeling the splendid ardor of 
 movement, the " energy divine " of his verse, we un- 
 derstand the lines of Gray in the next century allud- 
 ing to the couplet, where, putting Dryden next to 
 Milton, he exclaims : — 
 
 " Behold -where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
 Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
 Two coursers of ethereal race, 
 With necks in thunder clothed and loud resounding 
 pace." 
 
 Resounding pace ; vigor, clearness, sincerity, modera- 
 tion, — these are the characteristics of the genius of 
 Dryden. They are admirable qualities ; they had 
 been too much ignored, and were exactly what our 
 literature at the time most needed. But they are 
 the qualities of prose, and, although most of Dryden's 
 work was in verse, it was as the inaugurator of the 
 age of prose that he is most justly remembered. 
 
 In 1700 Dryden died. His private life had not 
 been unhappy. He had been healthily and heartily 
 pre-occupied with the interests of the visible world 
 around him ; for many years before his death he had 
 held a commanding place in English letters, and 
 
THE AGE OF DRYDEN 327 
 
 had been looked up to by the young writers of the 
 rising generation somewhat as Ben Jonson had been 
 in his day. He never suffered as Milton suffered ; 
 on the other hand, he possessed no world of ideal 
 imaginings, such as Milton could withdraw into when- 
 he would. 
 
 III. Other Liteeatuee of the Restoeation 
 
 We shall dwell but briefly on the other literature Comedy, 
 of this period. There was a strong dramatic devel- 
 opment apart from Dryden ; two tragedies of his 
 contemporary, Thomas Otway, are still acted ; but, 
 so far at least as comedy was concerned, the less 
 said about the drama the better. In the hands of 
 Etherege, of Wycherley, of Congreve, of Farquhar, 
 of Vanbrugh, it pandered to the very worst ele- 
 ments in the society of the time. It reflected with 
 singular accuracy the fashionable world around ; it 
 scintillated with gayety, sprightly grace, and wit; 
 it is forgotten. The Jacobean drama had been fear- 
 less in speech and theme to a degree intolerable to 
 our modern ears and taste ; but sincerity of pas- 
 sion and imaginative insight always kept it from 
 being wholly ignoble. The comedy of the Restora- 
 tion is deadened by its own indecency. It repre- 
 sents the only moment when English literature has 
 yielded itself wholly and without reserve to the do- 
 minion of the senses ; and the senses, when they 
 have had, as here, their perfect work, kill poetry. 
 The sturdy Puritanism still extant in late seven- 
 teenth-century England rose at last to deal this de- 
 praved drama its death blow. A good old divine. 
 
328 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 Rise of 
 Memoirs. 
 
 John 
 Evelyn's 
 " Diary," 
 1641-1697. 
 
 Samuel 
 Pepys's 
 "Diary," 
 1660-1669. 
 
 Jeremy Collier, was its instrument, and it is re- 
 freshing still to read the honest indignation of his 
 pamphlet, " A short View of the Immorality and Pro- 
 faneness of the British Stage." "The characters," 
 says Collier, in describing this " superlatively scan- 
 dalous " stage, " The characters do all forget them- 
 selves extreamely." It is really unnecessary to say 
 anything further. 
 
 One other significant matter is to be noted in the 
 literary world ; the rise of those often delightful 
 records of private lives and daily doings which we 
 call Journals or Memoirs. They suggest the grow- 
 ing interest in the affairs of simple ordinary life. 
 The most famous writers of this kind were John 
 Evelyn and Samuel Pepys ; of these, Evelyn was 
 the more estimable character, but he is not so good 
 reading as the graceless Pepys, whose journal, writ- 
 ten in cipher for his private delectation, is one of 
 the most frank revelations of personality ever vouch- 
 safed to an astonished world. History too at this 
 time is very like memoirs, but we shall not mention 
 the historians. Neither shall we discuss the men of 
 science, nor the philosophers, like Hobbes and Locke, 
 who were such great intellectual forces in the seven- 
 teenth century. For the time is come when the 
 harvest of books is so rich that at least in an ele- 
 mentary work we can pause to treat only of those 
 which directly and obviously, through their pre- 
 sentation of life in the concrete and in beautiful 
 form, belong to literature as an art. 
 
THE AGE OF DRYDEN 329 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 The standard edition of Dryden is Scott's, ed. by Saints- 
 bury. Globe edition of the non-dramatic works. Gaenett, 
 Age of Dryden. Saintsbury, Life of Dryden. William 
 Stkunk, Dryden's Essays on the Drama. Margaret Sher- 
 wood, Dryden's Dramatic Theory and Practice. Lowell, 
 essay on Dryden in Among my Books. Johnson, Life of 
 Dryden, in Lives of the Poets. Macaulay, Essay on Dryden. 
 
 "The Rehearsal," found in the Arber reprints, is one of 
 the most instructive parodies in English literature. Charles 
 Lamb, on the Artificial Comedy of the Last Century, in " Essays 
 of Elia," has a brief criticism of distilled excellence. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 This should be almost wholly on Dryden. The selections 
 in Ward's " English Poets " are enough to illustrate his lyric, 
 his didactic verse, and his satire. A running series of ques- 
 tions should elicit the distinctive characteristics of all this 
 verse, and the difference between Dryden and the great masters 
 of romance should be constantly pointed out, and the student 
 be encouraged to discover his preferences. From now on it 
 can be the aim of the teacher, far more distinctly than in the 
 earlier periods of our literature, to develop in the student that 
 true critical instinct which can only be formed when standards 
 of comparison are established. Until the eighteenth century 
 the chief aim in the study of literature is to quicken delight, 
 appreciation, and sensitiveness; now another aim should be 
 added — the formation of sound judgment. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 As the class will hardly have time to read an heroic play, 
 the teacher might well analyze and summarize one, — say " The 
 Conquest of Granada." To omit quotations from the burlesque 
 passages in " The Rehearsal " would be to miss an opportunity. 
 
 A lecture on the daily life of the times, constructed from 
 Pepys, with copious quotations, would be quite worth giving. 
 

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CHAPTER III 
 THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE ; ITS POET 
 
 ONE day, when Dryden was sitting in state at 
 Will's Coffee House in the later years of his 
 life, a sickly little lad, with large, dark, shining eyes, 
 paid the place a visit and gazed reverently at the 
 great man. His name was Alexander Pope, and 
 this visit was a great event to him, for already he 
 cared more about books and writers than about any- 
 thing else in the world. This boy was to be Dry- 
 den's successor. He was to carry to perfection the 
 literary methods of Dryden's time, and the kinds of 
 writing that Dryden inaugurated ; he was to be the 
 most important writer of verse in the age of Queen 
 Anne. 
 
 Pope was born in 1688, the year of that Revolution Alexander 
 which determined that the country should be per- 1688-1744. 
 manently Protestant. But his parents were Roman 
 Catholic, and this meant that Pope always lived a 
 little apart from the run of society and politics in 
 his day. At all events, a puny, suffering body would 
 have doomed him to a life of seclusion. All his best 
 interests were in literature ; to study his works is to 
 study his biography. 
 
 Pope was one of the most precocious of English Pope's We 
 authors. When he was twelve years old, he com- 
 posed two thousand heroic couplets on a certain 
 Prince Alcander, and it is significant that in the ze- 
 
 333 
 
334 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 nith of his powers many years later he inserted some 
 of these very couplets in his great work, " The Dun- 
 ciad." There was, in truth, almost no development 
 in Pope's style. He was still a lad of sixteen when 
 he wrote certain poems which at once secured him 
 "Pasto- recognition in literary circles, a series of "Pasto- 
 1709'. rals." In these poems, the couplet already rings 
 
 delicately true. They are a cold mosaic from Theoc- 
 ritus, Virgil, and Spenser. But they are surprising 
 work for a boy. 
 
 Even before the "Pastorals" were published. Pope 
 had begun to form literary connections. He had 
 admired, helped, probably quarrelled with, the old 
 dramatist, Wycherley ; and he had received from a 
 minor critic of the day, William Walsh, advice which 
 he never forgot. Other English poets, Walsh told 
 the young aspirant, had~been great ; but no great 
 poet had ever been correct. To correctness, there- 
 fore. Pope set his efforts. It was Walsh also who 
 emphasized to him the idea that the best and only 
 hope for modern verse is the imitation of the an- 
 cients ; this idea, too, which Pope clearly enunciated 
 in the preface to his " Pastorals," he never disavowed, 
 though instinct was sometimes too strong to allow 
 him literally to follow it. 
 
 In 1709, the "Pastorals" were published; and 
 the period from this year till 1715, when the first 
 volume of the " Iliad " came out, may be considered 
 the first period of his work. His private life during 
 this time and later was uneventful. He formed and 
 broke sundry literary and personal connections, and 
 lived quietly with his parents in the country not far 
 from London. 
 
THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 335 
 
 Shortly after the " Pastorals," Pope wrote several 
 other minor poems, the most important being " The 
 Messiah," and "Windsor Forest." "The Messiah" "The 
 is a mosaic of passages from Isaiah and Virgil. It 1712. ' 
 has fine rhetorical ring, and part of it has passed into " Windsor 
 a familiar hymn, " Rise, crowned with light, imperial 1713!^ ' 
 Salem, rise " ; but it has not much to do with either 
 Christianity or poetry. Pope's boyhood was passed 
 near Windsor Forest, and he might have given us a 
 fine poem on its mighty shade, but he did not. He 
 was interested in the forest, not for its beautiful 
 mystery, but for its literary and political associations, 
 and for the opportunities it offered to the sportsman. 
 
 His first poem of great significance, was the "Essay " Essay on 
 on Criticism." Here he polished, till they shone, the 1711. ' 
 critical maxims which he found in Boileau's "Art 
 Poetique " and elsewhere, and the conclusions of his 
 own common sense. The poem has little continuity, 
 but it admirably expresses the general critical stand- 
 ards and methods of the time. 
 
 A little longer treatment must be given to the "The Rape 
 daintiest trifle that ever came from Pope's pen, Lock^" 
 "The Rape of the Lock." It is a mock-heroic 1712-1714. 
 poem in five cantos. A pretty society girl. Miss 
 Arabella Fermor, was vexed because a young gentle- 
 man. Lord Petre, had cut off one of her curls. 
 Hoping to restore her to good humor. Pope, with 
 scintillating wit and grace and neatness, though 
 with a constant ripple of delicate satire, described 
 the occasion, and incidentally the social life of the 
 times. When he rewrote the poem, he added a 
 machinery of fairy beings ; sylphs, who are, as he 
 tells us, the disembodied presences of the coquettes 
 
336 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 Trans- 
 lation of 
 "The 
 Iliad," 
 1715-1720. 
 
 Transla- 
 tion of 
 "The 
 Odyssey," 
 1723-1725. 
 
 of the past, whose function it is to " tend the fair," 
 while they hover around the scenes of their old tri- 
 umphs. It is clever invention ; " The Rape of the 
 Lock " has justly been called the imaginative epos 
 of the age of Queen Anne. To put Pope's fairies 
 beside Shakespeare's in the " Midsummer Night's 
 Dream" and "The Tempest," to compare their 
 tastes and functions, is a highly instructive and 
 entertaining occupation. The poem as a whole is 
 charmingly playful, if one does not shrink from the 
 scorn of women and of society that gleams through 
 its graceful raillery. The art of belittling was 
 never carried further than in its whole treatment, 
 nor was the anti-climax ever more effectively used 
 than in many of its details. 
 
 In 1715 Pope published the first books of his 
 translation of " The Iliad " ; by 1725, he had com- 
 pleted this, and had also produced, with the collabo- 
 ration of others, a translation of "The Odyssey." 
 This was the work that brought him widest fame 
 and greatest fortune. Milton had received ^610 
 for the first edition of "Paradise Lost"; Pope was 
 paid for his Homer, over X8000. We are shocked at 
 the discrepancy, yet we may be glad of the indication 
 of a growing interest in letters and of a public that 
 bought books. Pope translating Homer is a curious 
 spectacle. The pseudo-classic age thought it admired 
 the ancients very much, but Pope is enough to show 
 us that it had remarkably little idea what the ancients 
 were really like. " It is a pretty poem, Mr. Pope, 
 but it is not Homer," said Bentley, a critic in advance 
 of his time, to the proud little author ; and the dic- 
 tum has never been improved upon. Pope gives us 
 
THE AGE OP QUEEN ANNE 337 
 
 resounding and spirited verse, but the effect of the 
 translation is as if Hector and Paris and Achilles 
 fought in periwigs. The poem had, however, genu- 
 ine fire and movement, and, hybrid thing as it was, 
 it proved, and has remained to this daj', immensely 
 popular. 
 
 There is no object after this in following Pope's 
 work chronologically, for his manner at fifty was 
 much what it was at twelve, and it is more interest- 
 ing: to see the different sorts of things he liked to " Eaaay on 
 
 ■ TT T • T . ,. , . Man," 
 
 write. He very much enjoyed composmg didactic 1732-1734. 
 verse ; and his "Moral Essays" and "Essay on Man" " Moral 
 remain the best examples our literature affords of 17^31^735. 
 this kind of work. The eighteenth century liked 
 moral abstractions and general truths ; indeed, it 
 relished nothing better than a series of truisms 
 neatly put. This Pope gave it. He did not pre- 
 tend to originality ; in these poems he simply versi- 
 fied the deistic philosophy of his friend, Bolingbroke. 
 And with so perfect a felicity of concise and epi- 
 grammatic expression did he do this that he bestowed 
 on this philosophy a far longer life in the general 
 mind than it deserved. 
 
 But the native air of Pope was satire. This is 
 already evident in " The Rape of the Lock," where 
 he tries, as it were, to breathe the air of pure fancy, 
 and fails. His best, most characteristic, and most 
 enduring work, that where he really attains a great 
 aim of the artist and sets his own personality free in Dunciad," 
 effective form, is satirical. His " Imitations of Hor- "^; i^H; 
 ace," his " Epistles," his " Dunciad," are work of this „ j^^^^_ 
 class ; and they are all masterpieces. Pope's satire ^'^1°^ „ 
 was not political, like that of Dryden ; it was nearly 1733-1737. 
 
338 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 all, one regrets to say, levelled against his personal 
 enemies; and in the art of wounding he was certainly- 
 past master. Such a description as the famous por- 
 trait of Addison, under the name Atticus, sticks 
 like a burr to the memory of that amiable man. 
 But even if we find Pope ill-natured, we can- 
 not fail to admire the splendid ease of his satirical 
 verse, the keenness of his wit, and his penetrat- 
 ing eye. He belonged to a time that was inclined 
 to satire, because it looked at men with the eyes of 
 reason rather than of love, and he shared its attitude. 
 We are glad that his greatest satire of all has a 
 wider than personal application. This is the " Dun- 
 ciad," written doubtless under the influence of the 
 larger nature of Swift. The " Dunciad " is an attack 
 on Dulness, modelled somewhat on Dryden's " Mac- 
 Flecknoe," but with a stinging power all its own. 
 It is perhaps the masterpiece of the verse of the 
 period ; an attack on Dulness was exactly the work 
 which the age of Queen Anne was best fitted to 
 achieve, for whatever else may be said about that 
 age, dull it was not. The special writers whom 
 Pope singled out for ridicule in this poem are for- 
 gotten, but this does not matter. There are always 
 plenty of the tribe of Dunces left. We may almost 
 say that any person must belong to the tribe who 
 fails to enjoy the biting wit of this poem, and the 
 great final picture of the whole universe crumbling 
 away while chaos returns to reign. 
 The heroic We have now passed in review the principal phases 
 of Pope's work. Of 15,851 lines produced by him, 
 excluding translations, all but 1,468 are in heroic 
 couplets. The chief excellence and capacity of the 
 
 couplet. 
 
THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 339 
 
 couplet is in neat epigram, clever antithesis, in con- 
 densation, brilliancy, point. Pope used it for all 
 imaginable purposes. He condemned Spenser for 
 introducing a variety of meters in the " Shepherd's 
 Calendar." Did he himself wish to express the 
 graceful simplicity of rustic life ? He used the 
 rhymed couplet. Was his theme the throbbing 
 passion of a cloistered woman, torn by remorse and 
 desire ? It was in rhymed couplets that her laments 
 reached his ear. Was it the flutter of fairy beings 
 around the form of a lovely maiden ? Their very 
 flutter was in antithetical beats. Was it the clash 
 and clang of arms in the primitive warfare of heroes ? 
 Their blows were symmetrically measured. All this 
 seems very strange to us ; but no other metrical 
 movement pleased the ear of Pope's contemporaries. 
 We feel in only one department of his writing that 
 the couplet is exactly adapted to what he wishes to 
 convey ; this is, of course, in his satires. Here each 
 line stabs, and leaves no ragged edges to the wound. 
 
 Criticism, translation, ethical treatises in verse. Literary 
 satires, — these are Pope's subjects. They were the 
 staple subjects of his age. We do not find literature 
 in the eighteenth century seeking to pursue and cap- 
 ture the retreating vision of the winged ideal ; it is 
 pedestrian, realistic, haunted by no glamour of illu- 
 sion. In such a period personal interests are sure 
 to become very important in men's minds. Men of 
 letters were preoccupied, not with great dreams nor 
 with great causes, but with little contemporary affairs. 
 Literature had become more than ever before a dis- 
 tinct profession; but the literary world was a narrow 
 one: it centred in London, which was still quite a 
 
340 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 small town. All the authors of the day, therefore, 
 knew one another, and met at the clubs which were 
 becoming a feature of the times. Literary history 
 becomes largely a record of their intrigues, animosi- 
 Pope's ties, and friendships. In all these. Pope took his 
 
 person- i j i i • 
 
 aiity. part. He was not strong enough to share much in 
 
 club life, but at his little villa at Twickenham, where 
 he had " methodized nature " to his heart's content, 
 he enjoyed the converse of his friends. We may know 
 a great deal about his private life if we will; his 
 friendships, often breaking into feuds, with Addison, 
 with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, with Swift, with 
 Bolingbroke, with Gay, and others; the queer tricks 
 to which he resorted to raise his reputation ; the or- 
 naments with which he decked the damp little arti- 
 ficial grotto on his grounds which was his great 
 delight. He was an irascible, sickly, oversensitive, 
 intensely human man. He was often spiteful, and 
 his clever pen enabled him to make his small spites 
 immortal. But we must also remember to his credit 
 that he was a devoted and tender son, who soothed 
 with truest filial devotion the last years of his aged 
 mother ; that he loved some of his friends, like Swift 
 and Gay, with constant loyalty, if he quarrelled with 
 others ; that to one woman friend, Martha Blount, 
 he showed the most delicate and faithful affection ; 
 and that he dedicated his whole life, with unswerving 
 enthusiasm, to the cause of literature. 
 
 Pope's When Pope was fifty-six years old, he escaped 
 
 from what he himself calls "that long disease, my 
 life." His deathbed was touching. His friends, 
 who loved him well, had gathered around him. 
 " What is that ? " said he, waving his skinny arm 
 
THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 341 
 
 above the counterpane; then, sinking back on his pil- 
 lows with a smile of wonderful sweetness : " 'Twas 
 a vision ! " The clever little man had not seen many 
 visions in his lifetime; we are glad if one came to 
 him when he was dying. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Globe edition of Pope. Letters of Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu. Life of Pope, by Leslie Stephen, English Men 
 of Letters Series. Dennis, The Age of Pope. Life, by John- 
 son, edited by Kate Stephens. Lowell, essay in My Study 
 Windows. Leslie Stephen, Hours in a Library, Pope as a 
 moralist. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The " Rape of the Lock,'' the first canto of the " Essay on 
 Man," a few aphorisms from the "Essay on Criticism," the 
 satirical portrait of Addison in the " Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot," 
 and the conclusion of the " Dunciad " should be read. Recita- 
 tions of epigrams from Pope, selected by the student, will help 
 to make the chief merits of his style appreciated. A special 
 topic may be given by a student who reads Homer, showing 
 how Pope altered Homer. Pope's friendships also afford oppor- 
 tunity for a pleasant special study, and Pope's quarrels for one 
 less pleasant but not uninstructive. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The range of Pope's ethics would probably better be handled 
 by the teacher than by the class. Leslie Stephen's analysis in 
 the books referred to above, and also in the " History of Eng- 
 lish Thought in the Eighteenth Century," is admirable. Ruskin 
 has also, in " Fors Clavigera," an interesting tribute to the 
 " Essay on Man." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 
 
 I. The Rise op Prose 
 
 A LL the good qualities of Pope's poetry appear 
 -^-^ to equal advantage in contemporary prose. 
 The fact is significant. In the seventeenth century 
 some noble prose had been written, more fervid and of 
 richer harmonies than any we find in the eighteenth. 
 But, in exact reverse to what happens now, the 
 qualities that make the prose of Sir Thomas Browne 
 or Jeremy Taylor delightful, are qualities shared 
 with poetry. In the time of Dryden prose began to 
 develop standards and virtues of its own; in the time 
 of Addison and Swift it perfects these virtues, and 
 becomes, what England had not possessed before, a 
 thoroughly suitable instrument for conveying that 
 wide range of everyday experience which deserves 
 to get into literature, but is not fittingly expressed 
 through poetry. No single life, it is to be hoped, is 
 all prose ; none certainly is all poetry. A nation, 
 like a person, needs both means of expression. 
 
 A new reading public was rapidly forming during 
 the age of Queen Anne. Education was getting 
 diffused, the great middle class was becoming intel- 
 ligent as well as powerful, books were multiplying. 
 There had been a time when literature addressed 
 itself chiefly to the court, or to chosen scholars, 
 
 342 
 
PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 343 
 
 when the visible drama which men could hear or see 
 was the popular art form. Now all this was changed. 
 The new public craved a new kind of books. We 
 can imagine how it rejoiced in a prose that was clear, 
 supple, conversational, while yet possessed of a polish 
 and purity which made it quite different from mere 
 written talk. Such was the prose given by Swift, 
 Addison, and Steele. Let us look at these three 
 men. 
 
 II. Jonathan Swift 
 
 To many people. Swift seems the greatest spirit of 1667-1745. 
 his time, and the most interesting. This is because 
 his strong, sad nature was torn by inward conflict, and 
 was never quite at home, as the natures of most of 
 his contemporaries were, in the social ceremonials 
 and party strifes that preoccupied the age. Swift 
 passed much of his life in Irish exile, far from Lon- 
 don, the one intellectual centre of his day. Under- 
 stand him aright, and we shall see that he was from 
 first to last an exile in spirit. He had lost memory 
 or hope perhaps of a better country, but he was not 
 content with what he knew. 
 
 Swift was twenty-one years older than Pope, for Early life. 
 he was born in 1667. Before the seventeenth cen- 
 tury ended he had written some of his most briUiant 
 books. He was a relative of Dryden ; " Cousin Swift, 
 you will never be a poet," or as another version has 
 it, " a Pindaric poet," said the great man to the greater, 
 on one occasion. He was also a relative of Sir Will- 
 iam Temple. Temple was a retired statesman, him- 
 self a pleasant essayist and patron of men of letters ; 
 
344 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 and in his household Swift passed several years as 
 secretary. It was here that he wrote his first note- 
 worthy books, " The Battle of the Books," and "The 
 Tale of a Tub," both in 1697. 
 j^'^Battie of « The Battle of the Books " is a clever allegory, 
 Books," bearing on the controversy then in vogue concerning 
 1697, pub- the relative merits of the ancients and the moderns. 
 170^ It is here that occurs the famous phrase, "sweetness 
 
 and light," which Matthew Arnold was to adopt. 
 "The Tale But " The Tale of a Tub " is of wider interest. It is 
 
 of a Tub," 
 
 written a satirical allegory describing the religious parties of 
 published England under the names of Peter, who represented 
 the Church of Rome, Jack, who stood for the Cal- 
 vinistic sects, and Martin, the type of the Anglican 
 and Lutheran Churches. The characters and adven- 
 tures of the three brothers are described with much 
 cleverness, but the book is not reverent; and, though 
 one is sorry for Swift, one cannot wonder if " The 
 Tale of a Tub " hindered his advancement in the 
 Church. 
 
 For to the Church this sardonic young man be- 
 longed. He was, according to his lights, a perfectly 
 honest clergyman. He admired the liturgy of the 
 Prayer-Book, and he conscientiously defended the 
 Anglican position against the Deists, who were be- 
 coming popular in his day. But his weapon of 
 defence was almost always satire, as in the case of 
 one of the ablest satirical pamphlets ever written, his 
 "Argument against abolishing Christianity," the 
 smooth scathing irony of which seems far indeed 
 removed from the method and spirit of the Gospels. 
 About 1710 Swift threw himself with energy into 
 the political strife of the day. He had originally 
 
PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 345 
 
 been a "Whig, but he now identified himself with Political 
 the Tories, and did vigorous pamphleteering on ^' 
 
 their behalf. They gave him their personal friend- 
 ship, and for a time he had much political influ- 
 ence. But he never received the preferment which 
 he seemingly desired. In 1713 he was made Dean 
 of St. Patrick's in Dublin, a position which was Dean of St. 
 very far from satisfying his ambition. The death Duufn/' 
 of the queen, however, in 1714, threw the Tories ^'^^^' 
 out of power, and destroyed all further hopes for 
 Swift. 
 
 The rest of his life, accordingly, he spent in Ireland, 
 and he became a great Irish patriot, which was better 
 than being a church dignitary in England. He put 
 his powerful pen at the service of " that most distress- 
 ful country." Her sufferings drew from him at one 
 time the brilliant series of " Drapier's Letters," argu- "Letters 
 ing against the introduction of a currency which DrapiM" 
 would, as he believed, injure the national interests; 1724,1725. 
 at another time, he poured from his indignant soul "Modest 
 one of the most amazing pieces of restrained irony fo™pre^ 
 in our own or any language, his " Modest Proposal th^cwM- 
 for preventing Children of Poor People from being ?f " °' 
 a Burden." The Irish became passionately devoted People 
 to him, and his name is still revered among their being a 
 
 , Burden," 
 
 peasantry. 1729. 
 
 In 1726 and 1727 we find Swift in London : pay- 
 ing pleasant visits to Pope, to whom he was warmly 
 attached, at Twickenham, and helping to found 
 the Martinus Scriblerus Club, organized for the 
 express purpose of waging war against stupidity. 
 It certainly did good service toward its end, for it is 
 connected, not only with Pope's " Dunciad," but with 
 
346 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 " Travels 
 of Lemuel 
 GuUlTer," 
 1726. 
 
 " Direc- 
 tions to 
 Servants," 
 written 
 before 
 1738, pub- 
 lished, 
 1745. 
 " Polite 
 Conversa- 
 tion," 
 1745. 
 
 Verse. 
 
 another great book, which was pretty certainly sug- 
 gested by its meetings. This was Swift's masterpiece, 
 " Gulliver's Travels." The book, as every one knows, 
 is a story about the imaginary journeyings of one 
 Lemuel Gulliver. It is one of the saddest satires on 
 human life ever written, and it has had the curious 
 fate of becoming a classic for children. This is due 
 to the fertility of its invention, and to the sober 
 realism, suffused with a delightful sense of fun, 
 with which the life of the tiny people and the big 
 people and the nation of horses are described to us. 
 But if we think closely, we shall see how sad the 
 book is. There is no illusion about it, there is little 
 imagination, properly speaking. Swift looks first 
 through the little, then through the big, end of a 
 telescope, but the instrument points straight all the 
 time at the world he knew, and it is not an attractive 
 world. " Gulliver's Travels " has been compared 
 with More's "Utopia"; we may also put it beside the 
 great allegories of human life in the sixteenth and 
 seventeenth centuries, the " Faerie Queene " and the 
 " Pilgrim's Progress." Any one who cares to pursue 
 these comparisons will feel the difference between 
 the vision of the idealist and of the realist. 
 
 Other clever things Swift wrote, notably certain 
 social satires sparkling with wit. He was also skil- 
 ful in writing light, bright, society verse. We enjoy 
 Swift's easy octosyllables, and the relief they afford 
 from the all but unbroken run of the heroic couplet. 
 On the whole, however, we must accept Dryden's 
 dictum. Swift is no poet ; it is enough for him to 
 be our greatest English satirist. His melancholy 
 spirit, so clear-sighted in one way, so blind in 
 
PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEK ANNE 347 
 
 another, belongs rather to the family of Rabelais 
 than to any English group. 
 
 Swift's mind gave way at last, and during the Death, 
 closing years of his life his condition was tragic. He 
 died in 1745 at his home in Dublin. 
 
 The nearer one presses to Swift, the more interest- 
 ing he becomes. There was a fund of tenderness 
 hidden under his savage ways. He was a man 
 whom women loved, often passionately, sometimes 
 to their great sorrow. He seemed to have loved one 
 only : Esther Johnson, whom he had known from 
 her childhood, and whom he has made the world 
 know under the name of Stella. She lived near 
 him in Ireland; and when Swift was in London, he 
 wrote her a journal, in a "little language " of endear- 
 ing playfulness, which remains a singularly touching 
 and intimate thing. Perhaps he married Miss John- 
 son ; we cannot tell : there is a mystery here. At 
 all events, it seems to have been her death that has- 
 tened his last, long, painful illness. 
 
 In person, Swift was " a tall, powerful man, with a 
 rather duU face, illuminated by very singular and 
 flashing blue eyes." One shrinks from the great 
 Dean a little; but one gives him admiration, and 
 deep compassion. 
 
 III. Daniel Depob 
 
 In some ways the contemporary writer with whom I66i-i73i. 
 
 Swift had the strongest affinity was Daniel Defoe, 
 
 who was six vears his senior. Defoe wrote " Robin- "Eobinson 
 
 •^ Crusoe, 
 
 son Crusoe," and this immortal work, like " Gulliver's 1719, 1720. 
 
 Travels," derives its charm from its knack at con- 
 
348 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 vincing us that the impossible is the most natural 
 thing in the world. This is what the realistic art 
 of the eighteenth century can accomplish. Defoe 
 wrote other books, and was also one of the pioneers 
 of modern journalism. But he did not belong to 
 the accredited literary circles of his day. If the 
 truth must be told, he was a time-seryer and a 
 tramp; but he knew a good many things about 
 human nature, and there was sweetness and whole- 
 someness somewhere in him, or he could not have 
 written "Robinson Crusoe." It is a little remark- 
 able that the book, as well as all his other books 
 of value, was written when he was well on in years, 
 over fifty years old. 
 
 IV. Addison and Steele 
 
 I Addison and Steele are the leading essayists of the 
 eighteenth century. We do not shrink from them 
 as from Swift, but neither do they give us the same 
 impression of greatness. We know them well, as we 
 know all these men, in a pleasant, familiar, modern 
 way. We grow fond of Irish, extravagant,' right- 
 feeliag, wrongdoing Steele ; as our temperaments 
 may decide, we are attached to his kindly, reason- 
 able friend, or just a little bored by him. 
 Sir Rich- ^ It will be noted that all these prose writers were a 
 1671-im' good deal older than Pope, though the precocious 
 little poet got into the life of letters almost as soon 
 as they did. Addison and Steele were boys together 
 at the Charter House School in London ; and their 
 best work in after life was done together. But their 
 careers were very different. Steele was always in 
 
PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 349 
 
 debt, always in scrapes. He left the University 
 without a degree, to turn soldier : he wrote a reli- 
 gious book called " The Christian Hero," to which " The 
 he plaintively remarked that he found it hard to Hero," 
 live up ; he wrote also a number of forgotten dramas. 
 He married for love, he was warmly and loyally 
 devoted to his friends, he was a blundering, lova- 
 ble man of genius. (A.ddison, on the other hand, Joseph 
 went through life with sweet, unimpeachable grav- 1672-1719. 
 ity and correctness/ "A parson in a tye-wig," 
 a friend called him. He was always decorous, 
 amiable, cultured, dignified, usually most kind and 
 generous. (He had good principles which he felt 
 no temptation to deny, and tastes which were a 
 credit to him.) He was of an academic turn of mind 
 and type of person. He wrote as a young man well- 
 turned verse in the fashion of the day, some of which 
 made a political hit and secured him a pension ; he 
 
 also wrote a tragedy, " Cato," which showed little "9*to."o 
 " ■' acted 1713. 
 
 except that the age of Queen Anne did well not to 
 attempt drama. But Addison might never have 
 been a great name in English letters had it not been 
 for an enterprise into which Steele drew him. 
 •5 This was the Periodical Essay. Everything was The peri- 
 ready for it. All London, we may almost say, was essay, 
 waiting for the appearance of a new literary form. 
 Nearly two thousand coffee-houses were sharpening 
 the wits of the men, promoting clever talk and eager 
 interest in all the topics of the day. The rise of 
 women in social importance, on the other hand, was 
 creating a clamorous demand for the introduction of 
 the social graces into the intellectual life. Society 
 was limited enough to share most of its interests in 
 
350 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 The 
 Tatler 
 April 12, 
 1709, to 
 Jan. 2, 
 1711. 
 
 The 
 
 Spectator, 
 March 1, 
 1711 to 
 Dec. 6, 
 1712, and 
 again in 
 1714. 
 
 The 
 Guardian. 
 
 common, and large enough to welcome a new medium 
 of communication. To meet the needs of society, 
 accordingly, — we might go further, and say to meet 
 the needs of the town, — the periodical essay arose. 
 It belonged, in origin and character, to what we 
 describe as occasional literature ; but so charmingly 
 was it handled by Addison and Steele, that their 
 daily journals have become classics of the language, 
 f The last years of the seventeenth century had 
 been feeling toward something of the kind ; Defoe 
 in particular had published a political paper called 
 the Review. But it was under the auspices of 
 Steele, and perhaps with the inspiration of Swift, 
 that the periodical first achieved high success. For 
 in April, 1709, appeared the first number of the 
 Tatler, a delightful miscellany on politics, literature, 
 and art, which came out three times a week. Steele 
 started it. Addison did not begin to write till the 
 eighteenth number, and of the 271 numbers which 
 appeared in all, Steele wrote 188 to Addison's 36. 
 Before long, the Tatler was abandoned, and was 
 followed by its famous successor the Spectator, which 
 appeared daily. Addison wrote rather more, Steele 
 rather less, than half the Spectator, and there were 
 other contributors, among them Pope, whose " Mes- 
 siah " appeared as one of these daily numbers. The 
 Guardian succeeded the Spectator, but did not have 
 the same success. 
 
 5" Perhaps Steele was a little more inventive than 
 Addison. Not only was the whole scheme his, but 
 he also was the first creator of the immortal Sir 
 Roger de Coverley, the character who did so much 
 to make the Spectator famous. But it is Addison of 
 
PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 351 
 
 whom people in general think when the Spectator 
 is mentioned, and not unjustly, for his powers were 
 both more versatile and better sustained than 
 Steele's. V^The mind and character of Addison are a 
 perfect expression of the best ideals of the age^ 
 {, Grace, urbanity, timeliness, marked the daily 
 essays that made up the Spectator. Now the editors Charac- 
 would treat their audience to a bit of character 
 drawing, gently humorous though never unkind, as 
 in the delightful series on Sir Roger de Coverley ; 
 now there would be a discussion of Italian opera, 
 new in those days, as Wagner was not so very long 
 ago. Now a coquette's heart would be dissected, 
 or a lady's library described with delicate raillery ; 
 it is surprising how large a proportion of the Spec- 
 tator is addressed to the fair sex. Now, discreetly 
 introduced, we find admirable moral reflections, or 
 it may be a paper of literary criticism, commending 
 with moderation " Paradise Lost," or half -apolo- 
 getically confessing to a weakness for old English 
 ballads, ^o one can fail to be pleased with the 
 cheerful good humor, the sweet reasonableness, the 
 agreeable style, of the whole Spectator ^'^J AdA.ison!s 
 aim was distinctly that of a censor of manners and 
 morals. " To enliven morality with wit, and to 
 temper wit with morality," he announced as his 
 plan. He certainly succeeded, and this tempered 
 union continued for several generations to satisfy 
 English instincts. 
 
 7 It was distinctly a morality for polite society. Ethics of 
 No cries from Swift's miserable Irish penetrated its spectator. 
 charmed circle. The frivolous occupations of the 
 town and the lightness of its manners won at times 
 
352 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 a gentle rebuke from its self-appointed critic ; but 
 he offered it few suggestions of higher interests 
 or larger desires. The times were complacent 
 and self-satisfied, assured of their own finality, 
 pursued by no haunting sense of a future different 
 from themselves toward which they might press. 
 " It is impossible," wrote Addison, " for us who live 
 in the latter ages of the world to make observations 
 in Wit, Morality, or any Art or Science, which have 
 not been touched upon by others. We have little 
 left us but to represent the common Sense of Man- 
 kind in more strong, more beautiful, or more uncom- 
 mon Lights." ^ What would Addison have thought 
 had he been confronted with the poetry of Shelley ? 
 <7 The other writers of the period we have no time 
 to discuss, though Shaftesbury, Arbuthnot, and 
 others are interesting minor figures. The great 
 Berkeley, the idealist philosopher of a matter-of-fact 
 age, lies in any case outside our scope. We have 
 already illustrated all the characteristic phases of 
 Augustan literature as the literature of this age is 
 sometimes called. Its strength lay in its rational 
 delineation of the life around it, and this delineation 
 was always tinged with satire. Sometimes the satire 
 had a spiteful, personal animus, as in Pope ; some- 
 times it was courteous and cheerful, glancing at 
 manners rather than at passion, as in Addison. In 
 Swift it took a wider sweep, assumed a fiercer cast, 
 and allied itself less to jest than to tragedy. But 
 satire, in one form or another, is rarely far away in 
 the age of Queen Anne. Its prevalence points to the 
 one essential, fundamental fact, in the attitude of 
 1 Addison on " The Essay on Criticism," Spectator, No. 253. 
 
PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 353 
 
 this period ; this is the fact that the Understanding 
 has supplanted the Imagination as the governing 
 principle in life. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 AsHTON, Social Life in the Age of Queen Anne. 
 
 Thackeray's Henry Esmond gives the best picture of the 
 age of Queen Anne taken as a whole which we possess. See, 
 also, Lecky's History of England in the Eighteenth Century, 
 Vol. I, Ch. IV, and Sydney's England in the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury. H. Williams, English Letters and Letter-writing in the 
 Eighteenth Century. 
 
 Addison, see Courthope's Life, in English Men of Letters ; 
 Macaulay's Essays. Swift, Selections by Stanley Lane 
 Poole ; Life, by Leslie Stephen ; Thackeray, English Hu- 
 morists ; ScuDDER, Social Ideals in English Letters, Ch. HI. 
 Steele, Life, by Austin Dobson; Thackeray, English 
 Humourists. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 A picture of the social and literary life of the age of Queen 
 Anne is one of the great things to be aimed at. To this end no 
 means is so good as copious reading from the Spectator. The 
 range of manners and morals should be carefully noted by in- 
 ductive work, never simpler than here. Country life, as shown 
 in the Sir Roger papers ; town life, of the clubs, of the drawing- 
 rooms, of the home ; the interests of women ; the daily life of 
 an average citizen ; — aU these can be studied in this first 
 literature of absolute realism. 
 
 It is instructive to turn from the graceful society studies of 
 the Spectator to Swift's picture of the state of Ireland. But if 
 this seems too cruel a transition, " Gulliver's Travels " shows 
 the general, deliberate estimate of civilization, formed by the 
 strongest, though not the sanest, intellect of the time. The 
 book should be read, not only for its marvellous art, but for 
 the intellectual concept behind it, and should be put beside the 
 social pictures of an imaginary society found in earlier and 
 later times ; the absence of any social idealism in it should be, 
 not only suggested, but accounted for. 
 
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 Joseph Addison, 1672-1719. 
 
 Sib Richard Steele, 1671-1729. 
 
 Nicholas Eowe, 1673-1718. 
 (dramatist) . 
 
 Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, 
 1608-1674. 
 
 "History of the Great Rebel- 
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 "History of Civil War in Ire- 
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 " Life of Edward, Earl of Claren- 
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 till the eighteenth.) 
 
 Jonathan Swift, 1667-1745. 
 
 Daniel Defoe, 1661-1731. 
 
 (writer of fiction) . 
 George Berkeley, 1685-1753. 
 
 " New Theory of Vision," 1709. 
 
 "Principles of Human Knowl- 
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CHAPTER V 
 
 THE RISE OF THE NOVEL 
 
 "IT^VEN while Addison was saying that nothing 
 -■-* new was ever to be expected in literature, an 
 entirely new thing of much importance was on its 
 way. The middle years of the eighteenth century 
 witnessed the rise of the novel. Already, as Addi- 
 son's own work shows us, literature was trem- 
 bling toward it. The romantic narratives of Defoe 
 and Swift gained their power from their realism of 
 detail; writing like the Sir Roger de Coverley pa- 
 pers, and, still more, the little airy, sparkling sketches 
 of episodes in social life, and the short, sentimental 
 tales frequent in the Spectator, pointed yet more 
 plainly to real modern novels. 
 
 I. Samuel Richakdsok 
 
 In 1740, accordingly, the first actual novel ap- i689-i76i. 
 peared. Its name was " Pamela " ; its author, Sam- 
 uel Richardson, a stout, sentimental little printer, 
 fifty years old. 
 
 The occasion of " Pamela " was curiously acci- " Pamela, 
 dental for a book that was to inaugurate so vast a virtue Be- 
 literary development as modern fiction. People at ^f^^^'" 
 that time cared a great deal for good letter-writing ; 
 indeed, no age has ever produced so many witty, 
 delightful letters as the eighteenth century. But 
 
 367 
 
358 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 not every one who wanted to write letters properly 
 knew how to do so, and there grew up a demand for 
 the sort of books of direction and example that used 
 to be called "The Polite Letter- writer. " Now the 
 printer Richardson loved to write letters, and he had 
 so pleasant and facile a flow of language that young 
 women used to get him to compose their love letters 
 for them. A certain bookseller got wind of this gift 
 of Richardson's, and invited him to write for publica- 
 tion a set of model letters. Richardson was pleased 
 to accept ; he began the series ; they were to be from 
 a young servant girl to her parents in the country. 
 He named her Pamela, and as he went on he thought 
 that it would be a good plan to connect the letters 
 so that they should tell a story. He wrote on and 
 on, and by and by a complete novel was before him, 
 and Pamela had married her master ! 
 
 Over the adventures of this young woman the town 
 went wild. Richardson, having discovered his power, 
 was not slow in following this book with others ; 
 "Clarissa Harlowe," and "Sir Charles Grandison." 
 These are all the books he wrote, but they are enough. 
 They are immensely long, and they are all written 
 in series of letters, which everybody in the book 
 "1753. -yyrites on the slightest provocation to everybody 
 else. The characters must have spent so much time 
 in letter-writing that we hardly see how there was any 
 time left for the things they write about to happen. 
 But though it is easy to laugh at these queer old 
 books, they have a power of their own. As a picture 
 of the social life of the eighteenth century, nothing 
 equals them. Romances enough had been written 
 before. In the seventeenth century volumes of inter- 
 
 " Clarissa 
 Harlowe," 
 1748. 
 
 "Sir 
 
 Charles 
 
 Grandi- 
 
 son 
 
THE RISE OF THE NOVEL 359 
 
 minable adventure, heroic and amatory, were in 
 vogue. Pope laughs at them when he tells us how 
 the Baron had built an altar to Love in his room, 
 " Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. " But 
 these romances were of a wholly different type from 
 the minute description of contemporary manners and 
 dissection of contemporary feelings in the books of 
 Richardson. 
 
 " Clarissa Harlowe " is the best of these books. 
 It tells of the long persecution to which a young 
 girl is subjected at the hands of the villain Lovelace, 
 of her protracted sufferings and exceedingly delib- 
 erate dying. The pathos is prolix and self-conscious, 
 and as we watch Clarissa designing the device for her 
 own tombstone, we are seized with an impatient recol- 
 lection of Ophelia in her simplicity and Desdemona in 
 her reticence ; but though Richardson's pathos is not 
 Shakespeare's, the only people who deny its heart- 
 breaking reality are those who have never read the 
 book through. The close descriptions, moreover, of 
 family life, and the intricate, subtle, painstaking 
 analysis of character, give the book enduring value. 
 We do not wonder that Rousseau, across the ocean, 
 drew inspiration from it for his own greater work, the 
 "Nouvelle Heloise." As for "Sir Charles Grandi- 
 son," the book has less real value, but it remains a 
 joy forever to those who relish it at all. Richardson 
 wrote it to show what he thought a perfect man 
 should be. Spenser had done a similar thing in the 
 sixteenth century, but it is a far cry from the " Fae- 
 rie Queene " to " Sir Charles Grandison." For Sir 
 Charles is a terrible prig : " He is great," says the 
 French critic Taine ; " he is generous, delicate, pious. 
 
360 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 irreproachable ; he has never done a mean action 
 nor made a wrong gesture. His conscience and his 
 wig are unsullied. Let us canonise him and stuff 
 him with straw." We have seen something of the 
 ideal heroes of the English race, from the old days 
 of Beowulf through those of the noble knights of 
 romance to Sir Philip Sidney. It is a significant 
 fact that Sir Charles Grandison is the ideal hero of 
 the eighteenth century. 
 
 1707-1754. 
 
 "The 
 Adven- 
 tures of 
 Joseph 
 Andrews," 
 1742. 
 
 II. Hbney Fielding 
 
 The imagination of the times produced another 
 hero, not ideal ; his name was Tom Jones. Even the 
 public which welcomed the novels of Richardson so 
 gladly, laughed at the primness of Sir Charles. The 
 person who laughed most effectively was Richard- 
 son's rival novelist, Henry Fielding. Fielding was 
 one of the Bohemian men of letters who were 
 becoming common at this time ; he had written a 
 good deal of more or less acceptable occasional 
 literature, and some rather poor dramas. But 
 amusement at " Pamela " and desire to parody it 
 inspired him to write his first really great novel, 
 "Joseph Andrews." The book was intended to 
 show the adventures of Pamela's brother Joseph, as 
 great a prig of a boy as Pamela was a prig of a girl. 
 The caricature was forgotten before the book had 
 progressed far, however, in Fielding's delight at the 
 pure, racy, independent comedy that grew under his 
 hand. Parson Adams, one of the characters of this 
 book, is as immortal as Falstaff. Having begun to 
 write fiction. Fielding liked it well enough to go on. 
 
THE RISE OF THE NOVEL 361 
 
 He was thirty-five years old when " The Adventures 
 of Joseph Andrews " was published ; in the follow- 
 ing year he followed it by a book, possibly however 
 written earlier, " Jonathan Wild the Great " ; in 1749 "Jonathan 
 appeared the greatest of Fielding's books and one of Great," 
 the greatest of all English novels, " Tom Jones," and ^J*^' 
 in 1751, already in failing health but with genius toryof 
 undiminished, though tending to a graver and more jo^g," 
 pathetic art, his last story, "Amelia." Fielding died ^'^*^' 
 at Lisbon, whither he had gone in search of health, ^75™* '^' 
 in 1754. 
 
 Richardson was a sentimentalist ; he shows us what 
 the eighteenth century liked to consider itself : 
 Fielding was a realist ; he shows us what the 
 eighteenth century probably was. The prevalent 
 coarseness of manner, the prominence of animal 
 instincts, and at the same time the honesty and 
 hearty good-temper that marked the nation as a 
 whole, all find perfect expression in "Tom Jones." 
 The book is the product of a vigorous intelligence. 
 It had, what Richardson quite lacked, a strong sense 
 of humor, not always of the most refined kind ; 
 and, like all Fielding's books, it is written with the 
 author's eye fixed straight on the objects he describes. 
 The book takes us out of the drawing-room and the 
 club, where so much of the literature of the century 
 holds us, into the good fresh air of the road and 
 among the plain people of everyday England. We 
 are interested to see what these people are like, and 
 we discover many good qualities in them ; neverthe- 
 less, it is impossible to deny that one would have 
 strong objections to living in the society which 
 Fielding depicts. 
 
362 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 III. Other Novelists 
 
 Tobias 
 George 
 SmoUett, 
 1721-1771. 
 
 "The 
 Adven- 
 tures of 
 Roderick 
 Random," 
 1748. 
 
 "The 
 Adven- 
 tures of 
 Peregrine 
 Pickle," 
 1751. 
 
 "The 
 Expedi- 
 tion of 
 Humphrey 
 Clinker," 
 1771. 
 
 Laurence 
 
 Sterne, 
 
 1713-1768. 
 
 "The Life 
 and Opin- 
 ions of 
 Tristram 
 Shandy," 
 1759-1767. 
 
 " Senti- 
 mental 
 Journey 
 through 
 France 
 and 
 Italy," 
 1768. 
 
 Later fic- 
 tion of the 
 eighteenth 
 century. 
 
 Into the path broken by Richardson and Fielding 
 others were not slow to follow. Two other novelists 
 of the central years of the century, Smollett and 
 Sterne, are only less famous than these. Smollett's 
 chief works were : " Roderick Random," " Peregrine 
 Pickle," and, twenty years later, the last of the great 
 eighteenth-century novels, born out of due time, 
 " Humphrey Clinker." Smollett wrote history too ; 
 and a translation of " Don Quixote " shows his liter- 
 ary affinities. The type of his novels is suggested by 
 the so-called Picaresque novels of Spain, stories of 
 scapegrace adventure, of which the most famous is 
 " Gil Bias." 
 
 The work of Sterne is " Tristram Shandy " and 
 "The Sentimental Journey." They are wandering 
 books, full of good character sketching and whimsical 
 meditation on life. Sterne illustrates better than any 
 other of these novelists one phase of the eighteenth 
 century — an extreme, almost affected, sensibility of 
 feeling. This sensibility was sometimes real and 
 touching, but it was often self-conscious, and we 
 cannot care for it much, except perhaps as a literary 
 flavor, when we see it combined, as it is in Sterne, 
 with a coarseness of moral sense. 
 
 These novels were long, and they seem serious 
 reading to a generation nourished as ours is on short 
 magazine tales. But they were the lightest and 
 most readable things the world had known, and 
 their popularity was immense. When anything so 
 delightful as the novel was discovered it was sure 
 to multiply fast; and we cannot follow its prog- 
 
THE RISE OF THE NOVEL 363 
 
 ress. Yet it is strange how few really great novels 
 were produced between these pioneers and Sir 
 Walter Scott. All these books, except " Humphrey 
 Clinker," had appeared within about twenty-five 
 years. Johnson and Goldsmith, a little later, both 
 made incursions into the new realm. Miss Burney, 
 a maid of honor at the court of George III, carried 
 on, in her " Evelina," " Cecilia," and " Camilla," the 
 tradition of Richardson. Mackenzie's "Man of 
 Feeling" shows him under the influence of Sterne. 
 But the invigorating realism with which modern 
 fiction had started on its way was not to be sustained 
 without break ; and we shall soon have to note the 
 extravagant absurdities of early romantic fiction. 
 
 IV. Reasons fok the Rise of the Novel 
 
 The accidental way in which the novel seemed to 
 enter literature was only apparent. Looking deeper, 
 we can see that its advent was a philosophical neces- 
 sity. With the new public that read, it took the 
 place that the drama had held with the old public that 
 saw. For the public always needs an art form that 
 shall present to it, not discussion about life, but life 
 itself. The new instrument was in some ways of 
 wider range than the drama. The novel reflects life 
 indeed, but it also admits the element of critical 
 comment which the drama excludes ; so it suits the 
 modern world, which will always be criticising even 
 while it is creative. Moreover, the drama can only 
 present the crises of life, but a great deal determines 
 life besides crises. The novel can show people alone, 
 without resorting to awkward soliloquy ; it can show 
 
364 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 wliat nature means to them. Above all, the novel 
 differs from the drama because of its more habitual 
 interest in homely, everyday people and in homely, 
 everyday doings. It is the art form of the new 
 democracy, and with the rising democracy it arose. 
 There are other ways, too, in which it differs from 
 the drama ; these it is interesting for every one to 
 think out for himself. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 W. L. Cross, Development of the English Novel, Ch. II, III. 
 Sidney Laniek, The English Novel and the Principle of Its 
 Development. Raleigh, the English Novel. Traill, The 
 New Fiction, and Other Essays. Samuel Richardson, The 
 Novel of Manners. Austin Dobson, The Life of Fielding, 
 English Men of Letters. Stephen's Hours in a Library. Vol. I, 
 Essay on Richardson ; Vol. II, Essay on Fielding. Taine is 
 very entertaining on this fiction. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Class-discussion on the scope of the novel as compared with 
 epic and drama may inaugurate the study of fiction. School 
 life being limited in extent, American students cannot enjoy 
 the privilege of following in detail the history of Miss Byron's 
 heart or Tom Jones's wanderings. Selected scenes may be 
 read, as the deathbed of Clarissa, — or a part of it, — the pro- 
 posal of Sir Charles, etc. With older classes, topics like The 
 Eighteenth-century Heroine, The Eighteenth-century Villain, 
 The Eighteenth-century Hero, Home Life in the Eighteenth 
 Century, etc., can be handled. It is salutary to carry out the 
 comparison suggested in the text, and place Sir Charles beside 
 the great heroes of the earlier world. An analysis of the pathos 
 of Richardson and Sterne, compared with the pathos of Shake- 
 speare, is good training. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 
 
 I. Samuel Johnson 
 
 TN 1738, six years before Pope died, an ungainly 1709-1784. 
 -*- young man from tlie country presented to tlie 
 town a satirical poem called, after it, " London. " Pope 
 liked the poem and tried, though in vain, to help 
 Samuel Johnson, the struggling author. He could not 
 know that Johnson was to become his successor, the 
 literary dictator who should rule with a rod of iron 
 the town he had mournfully satirized. But so it 
 was. Johnson's burly figure, in the last half of the 
 eighteenth century, dominates all others. The age 
 of democracy and division was coming in literature 
 as everywhere else : all honor to the last undisputed 
 Monarch of the World of Letters ! 
 
 Johnson's writings, if the truth must be told, 
 sometimes bore us a little, but his personality inter- 
 ests us immensely. Fortunately, this personality we 
 know in every detail through one of the most re- 
 markable biographies in the world, — his "Life," 
 written by his disciple, James Boswell. Johnson 
 himself did a great deal to lift biography into a dig- 
 nified literary form, through his admirable "Lives 
 of the Poets"; and people in the modern world have 
 grown to care for it more and more as interest in 
 individuals, in the happenings of every day, and in 
 the intimacies of character, has become keener. But 
 
 365 
 
366 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 perhaps no biography has ever so perfectly revealed 
 its subject, as Boswell's "Johnson." Boswell, a 
 somewhat insignificant and fatuous person, the son 
 of a good Scotch family, was in a way a very small 
 man ; but he had the grace to recognize and love a 
 great one, and this grace enabled him to write an 
 immortal book. 
 Personal Johnson was very ill with scrofula when he was a 
 
 '*' ^' child ; and perhaps he was one of the last children in 
 England to be taken by his mother to be touched for 
 " the king's evil," as this disease was then called. But 
 the touch of Queen Anne did not cure him, and all 
 his life was affected by the illness. From one eye he 
 could not see at all ; his face was scarred, as well as 
 plain and heavy. He had a great clumsy body which 
 he rolled awkwardly about, he was untidy in his dress 
 and his wigs, and he very much liked a large din- 
 ner. His curious impulses and tricks bewildered his 
 friends. " I have not had a roll for a long time," 
 said the great lexicographer one day, when standing 
 on the tip of a little hill ; and he deliberately placed 
 his large body on the ground, and rolled over, and 
 - over, and over, to the bottom. His manners were 
 uncouth. " You may observe," he said to Boswell, 
 " that I am well-bred to a degree of needless scrupu- 
 losity," but few people would have agreed with him. 
 He had a terrible way of snubbing people, and a sav- 
 age veracity. Moreover, he was often unjust, wholly 
 devoid of tact and of the arts and graces that make 
 life pleasant. Yet despite his eccentricities, few 
 men have been more loved than Johnson, and few 
 have deserved it better. He had the most forceful 
 mind of his generation, he had also a large and tender 
 heart and a devout religious spirit. 
 
JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 367 
 
 Johnson's early life, like that of most literary men Early uie. 
 of the day, was filled with struggles and poverty. 
 Somehow, it is not quite clear how, he got to Ox- 
 ford; but he left the University without a degree. 
 A little later, "having," as Mr. Leslie Stephen re- 
 marks, " no money and no prospects, Johnson natu- 
 rally married." His wife, the " dear Tetty " of his 
 constant affections, was twenty-one years older than 
 himself, very fat, and far from attractive to other 
 people ; Johnson, however, loved her deeply, and 
 mourned her intensely during the thirty years that 
 he survived her. Writing of her death many years 
 afterward, he said : " I have ever since seemed to 
 myself broken off from mankind ; . . . a gloomy 
 gazer on a world to which I have little relation. " 
 
 Meanwhile, having tried in vain to support him- Johnson in 
 self by keeping school, he came to London, with, as 173° . °°' 
 he afterward declared, two pence halfpenny in his 
 pocket, to seek his fortune. A pupil of his, David 
 Garrick, later the famous actor, was with him ; and 
 a hard time the two had of it. Literature was not J'ondi-'^^ 
 yet, properly speaking, a profession ; Johnson him- '''°"^- 
 self was to do more than any one man to lift it into 
 an honorable rank. Things were even worse than 
 in the days of Queen Anne, when letters had been 
 comparatively popular and prosperous. So intense 
 was the misery and discomfort of the poor authors 
 who then and earlier lived in Grub Street, a wretched 
 quarter of London, that the name of the street has 
 become a sort of metaphor. The only way to suc- 
 ceed was to secure the patronage of some great or 
 distinguished person by dedicating a work to him, 
 — a most uncertain method, to say nothing of its 
 
368 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 unpleasantness. Johnson, who was of a finely inde- 
 pendent temper, practically dealt this system of pat- 
 ronage its death-blow, in one of the most scathing 
 epistles ever written, his " Letter to Lord Chester- 
 field," published some years later in connection with 
 his Dictionary. " I thought," growled Johnson, con- 
 cerning this nobleman, "that he had been a lord 
 among wits ; but I find he was only a wit among 
 lords." But the Dictionary at this time was un- 
 dreamed of, and Johnson struggled and suffered with 
 the rest. Many years later, he burst into tears in 
 speaking of the wretchedness of this time. 
 
 "London," Somehow or other, however, by any hackwork he 
 could secure, Johnson eked out a living. " London " 
 made rather a hit and gave him something of a name 
 to start with. Ten years later, his dull tragedy of 
 
 acteTrng. " Irene " was acted, through the influence of Garrick, 
 
 who had rapidly risen in his profession, and Johnson 
 
 made quite a little money by it. In the same year 
 
 "Vanity appeared his "Vanity of Human Wishes," another 
 of Human ^..^ •' , _ , -r , „ 
 
 Wishes," satirical poem, stronger and finer than "London. 
 
 Both of these poems were imitated from Juvenal, 
 for whose sardonic genius Johnson had much affinity. 
 At about this time, he also tried his hand at periodi- 
 cal essays after the fashion of Addison ; and the 
 Rambler, Rambler and the Idler had a certain success and 
 The Idler iiicreased his reputation, though we find it hard to 
 1758-1760. enjoy them to-day. 
 
 aii^'of "the ^^* ^^s " Dictionary of the English Language " is 
 English Johnson's most important achievement. He planned 
 guage," it in 1747, finished it in 1755 ; and it was a great work. 
 1747, pub- It takes a vigorous and courageous mind to plan a 
 X756* dictionary, and to put it through, as Johnson did. 
 
las," 1759. 
 
 JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 369 
 
 practically by himself. Of course a dictionary is 
 not literature, and is soon superseded; but it ren- 
 ders a great service to literature, and nothing better 
 illustrates the growth of sound critical instincts in 
 the eighteenth century than the demand for such 
 a work. 
 
 The publication of the Dictionary gave Johnson a " Raase- 
 commanding position in the world of letters, and 
 soon placed him above want. Not at once, however, 
 for, in 1759, we find him writing with great rapidity 
 his philosophical romance of "Rasselas," to defray 
 the expenses of his mother's funeral. This became 
 the most popular of his works, and one may meet 
 translations of it all over the world. It describes 
 the search for happiness of a certain Prince and 
 Princess, and moves to a suggestion that this search 
 can never be fulfilled. Says the Eastern sage, Imlac, 
 " Human life is everywhere a state in which much 
 is to be endured and little to be enjoyed." This 
 grave conclusion is doubtless Johnson's own. 
 
 After this time Johnson did not write much, until 
 in his ripe old age he produced, as prefaces to an i^^^^^^g^ 
 edition of the poets, those " Lives " which are really 
 his best and most living works. But we cannot call 
 him idle. For manyyears he devoted himself to a great 
 neglected art, the Art of Conversation. Several other 
 famous Englishmen have excelled in this art, notably 
 Ben Jonson and Samuel Taylor Coleridge : but surely 
 Johnson was the greatest talker of them all. When 
 he wrote, his style was pompous, though solid and 
 weighty ; he used a great many big words and Latin- 
 ized inversions, so that a " Johnsonian style " has 
 become a proverb. But when he talked, the fertility 
 
 " Lives of 
 the 
 
370 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 of his mind was amazing, and he had an alarming 
 gift for going directly to the point. His understand- 
 ing was singularly powerful in all regions which it 
 was competent to enter, and, as we read the happily 
 abundant records of his words, we feel that he was 
 indeed a masterly critic of society and life. 
 
 Johnson in It was during these years that Boswell, to our 
 advantage and the regret of his "lady," attached 
 himself to the footsteps of the great man ; " I have 
 seen a bear led by a man," sighed Mrs. Boswell, 
 "but I never before saw a man led by a bear." 
 The bear, however, was the friendliest of creatures. 
 Surely, never can there have been more delightful 
 and memorable converse than that held at the Club 
 which he frequented. There met with him nearly 
 all the distinguished men of the day. Garrick, kind- 
 hearted beneath all his affectations, was a member ; 
 so were Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great artist, Burke 
 the statesman and orator, C. J. Fox, Boswell, and 
 Oliver Goldsmith. We have scant time in our hur- 
 ried age for such leisurely, rich intercourse as that 
 this group enjoyed ; even to think of it stimulates 
 the imagination. 
 
 Johnson's The more we studv Johnson, the more we appre- 
 
 character. . _ . . 
 
 ciate his extraordinary vigor of mind and character. 
 Toward the end of his life he suffered much, and on 
 one occasion his organs of speech were paralyzed in 
 the night ; this is how he described the experience 
 to a friend : " I was alarmed, and prayed God that, 
 however He might afflict my body, He would spare 
 my understanding. This prayer, that I might try 
 the integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin verse. 
 The lines were not very good, but I knew them not 
 
JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 371 
 
 to be very good. I made them easily, and concluded 
 myself to be unimpaired in my faculties." The man 
 who could take such an experience in such a way 
 had sanity of nature. There are times when noth- 
 ing is more salutary to us than Johnson's sincere 
 common sense. His estimates are full of discern- 
 ment. "He thinks justly, but he thinks faintly," 
 says Johnson of some one ; and that whole mind is 
 known to us. 
 
 Johnson disavowed all false emotion and hated sen- 
 timentality. Yet never was there a tenderer heart. 
 The man who would snub a literary upstart with 
 incredible savageness, would, in his nocturnal ram- 
 bles round London, gently tuck pennies into the fists 
 of little sleeping ragamuffins, pleased to think of 
 their surprise in the morning. He filled his house 
 with a queer set of dependents : a blind old lady, 
 a negro servant, and others, who squabbled with one 
 another and grumbled at him ; and not only did he 
 bear their presence with resignation, but he actually 
 loved them with loyal, uncritical affection. Despite 
 his gruffness, he was a warm and faithful friend. 
 And we respect Johnson most of all when we learn 
 that under his kindliness and his social good cheer 
 there lay a profound constitutional melancholy so 
 deep that it was what doctors to-day call melan- 
 cholia. His ceaseless depression, borne with Chris- 
 tian courage and equanimity, makes him, when 
 rightly understood, a profoundly pathetic figure. 
 
 Opinions are often rather an unimportant part 
 of a personality ; but Johnson's opinions were very 
 much a portion of him. He was an extreme Tory 
 and a High Churchman. He liked the Stuarts, 
 
372 
 
 THE AGE OF PKOSE 
 
 thougli in rather a whimsical fashion ; it was a 
 great event to him, however, when king George sum- 
 moned him to a talk. He fasted always on Good 
 Friday, and observed the discipline of the Church 
 with scrupulous, solemn devotion. His religion was 
 intensely real to him. This is somewhat remark- 
 able, for Johnson did not have the great help of an 
 imagination in being religious. He was the sum- 
 mary of his age at its best and highest ; he embod- 
 ied both its limitations and its strength. 
 
 1728-1774. 
 
 "The 
 Travel- 
 ler," 1764. 
 
 II. Oliver Goldsmith 
 
 Goldsmith is the one author of the age to dispute 
 with Johnson the position of literary preeminence ; 
 and there are many to whom the disreputable, ugly, 
 soft-hearted Irishman seems a more engaging, if less 
 honorable, figure than the great Doctor himself. 
 Oliver Goldsmith, the son of an Irish clergyman, 
 received his education at Trinity College, Dublin. 
 He led a wandering life, for some years, mainly on 
 the Continent ; but, in 1756, he settled in London, 
 and picked up a living as he could by miscellaneous 
 hackwork in literature. Like many men of letters 
 at the time, he led a reckless, unconventional, pov- 
 erty-stricken, but, on the whole, light-hearted sort 
 of existence. He was continually in debt ; but this 
 was largely because he was so generous to his friends, 
 and, even when we disapprove of him the most, we 
 find him distinctly lovable. He died, unmarried, in 
 his forty-sixth year. 
 
 Apart from the large body of his occasional and 
 miscellaneous work. Goldsmith produced a surpris- 
 
JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 373 
 
 ing amount of permanent value. His two serious "The 
 poems, "The Traveller" and "The Deserted Vil- wake-° 
 lage," are in Pope's metre, the heroic couplet ; and i^^' ' 
 they were submitted to Johnson for criticism, and, "The 
 perhaps, for revision. But they have a sincere feel- village," 
 ing and a sweetness of melody that we do not find in 
 Pope, and a simplicity of art and emotion unknown 
 to Johnson. They are the last great work of the 
 artificial school in poetry. " The Vicar of Wake- 
 field " is a story of undying charm. It is an idyl of << xhe 
 simple English country life, preposterous enough in „ °°uj.gd 
 plot, but sparkling with delicate realism in the treat- M^"'" 
 ment of character. Humor and sentiment blend "she 
 inimitably in it. In Goldsmith's two comedies, confer?" 
 " The Good-natured Man " and " She Stoops to Con- i"3. 
 
 quer," the cleverness of the drama of the Restora- 
 
 ^ .1,1 ... Richard 
 
 tion seems revived ; but the merry spirit is purer Bnnsiey 
 
 and tenderer. With the brilliant society dramas of 175*1-1816'. 
 Sheridan, "The School for Scandal" and "The 
 Rivals," they constitute the most important dra- 
 matic work of the eighteenth century. Goldsmith's 
 writings, as a whole, reveal a sensitive, emotional 
 temperament; not assertive enough to escape the 
 literary conventions around him, but strong enough 
 to manifest itself even through acquiescence in these 
 conventions. They have a grace, an ease, a gift of 
 humor and tenderness, unknown to Johnson and 
 his type of writers. Yet Johnson was the larger 
 man ; and Goldsmith, like most of his contempo- 
 raries, was submissive to the massive dictatorship of 
 the great lexicographer. 
 
374 THE AGE OE PROSE 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Boswell's Life of Johnson, ed. by Augustine Bireell. 
 Temple edition, Selected Essays of Johnson, ed. by George 
 BiRKBECK Hill. Rasselas, ed. by George Birkbeck Hill, 
 Clarendon Press. The Johnson Club papers, London, 1899, 
 Carlyle's Essay on Johnson. Macaulay's Essay on John- 
 son. Life of Johnson, Leslie Stephen (Acme Biography 
 Series). 
 
 Life of Goldsmith, Austin Dobson (Great Writers Series) 
 bibliography at end. William Black (English Men of Letters). 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Boswell should be read as much as time permits. It is 
 instructive to read the "Lives of the Poets," especially those 
 which treat of authors familiar to the class, and to discuss 
 Johnson's estimates. The critical standards and methods of 
 the age of prose become well understood in this way. Simple 
 capping of anecdotes about the great man may seem frivolous, 
 but it is worth whUe. 
 
 Of course, " The Vicar of Wakefield " should be read entirely. 
 It is a book to read rather than to analyze, however. 
 
 Personal character sketches are in order at this point of our 
 literary history. It is useful for the students to make them, 
 and literary gossip is more enticing perhaps, and more valu- 
 able here than at any previous point, because the material for 
 personal knowledge of Johnson's famous contemporaries, espe- 
 cially of the members of the Literary Club, is so full. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 An hour may be spent in a reproduction of an evening at 
 Johnson's club. A sort of story could be made of it, with 
 sketches of the distinguished people present, and little biogra- 
 phies of them. 
 
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CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 
 
 I. LiTEEATUEB OF AeT 
 
 A STRANGE thing happened to the brilliant lit- 
 erature of the eighteenth century ; the curse 
 of stupidity fell upon it. 
 
 There is a certain irony about this fate. The 
 century had aimed before all things at polish, lucid- 
 ity, sparkle. In the pursuit of these it had for- 
 gotten all other matters ; and its desires had largely 
 been attained. The wits of Queen Anne's day had 
 brought into literature the grace of the best society. 
 Every one applauded, every one thought that new 
 standards of correctness and of charm had been 
 established for all time. But it was not so. The 
 delightful play on the surface of life which pleases 
 us in the age of Queen Anne ceases before the cen- 
 tury is half over. At times a little of it lingers, as 
 in the witty comedies of Goldsmith and Sheridan ; 
 but on the whole, the literature of the latter half of 
 the century is very serious reading, and, if the truth 
 must be told, often it is extremely dull. 
 
 The truth is, that new ways of saying things can 
 charm us only a short time, unless there is some- 
 thing to say. When people prefer decorum to origi- 
 nality, they get either frivolous or tedious ; and an 
 
 378 
 
THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 379 
 
 age which aims at form alone soon exhausts itself. 
 The eighteenth century was emphatically such an 
 age. Propriety, respectability, prevail in the litera- 
 ture produced under the Georges ; and in the pres- 
 ence of this proper and respectable literature, we feel 
 an irresistible desire to yawn. 
 
 Edward Young, for instance, who was a clever Edward 
 man, reclaimed an infidel in several books of rhymed J^gi-fras. 
 arguments, which he called "Night Thoughts." "Night 
 Before we are half through, we feel a depraved 1742-1745! 
 sympathy for that unfortunate Infidel. Blair's Robert 
 " The Grave " and Akenside's " Pleasures of the 1699-1746. 
 Imagination" are other books of this class. It is "The 
 possible to discover merits in both, particularly in 1743. 
 Akenside, but no one is likely to do so unless he is Mark 
 obliged to read them. As for the sermons and 1721-1770! 
 didactic work, of which a large amount was pro- "Pieas- 
 duced in prose during the latter part of the century, imagina- 
 only the stinging pen of the author of the " Dun- 17°^; 
 ciad " could do it justice. Johnson's " Vanity of 
 Human Wishes " and his " Rasselas " are probably 
 the best work of this kind that the age produced. 
 There is real power in them, for they are the work 
 of a strong mind ; but they are not enlivening 
 to read. Even the men of lighter temper, with 
 instincts of the pure artist in them, feel the con- 
 tagion ; Goldsmith, in his most sensitive poetry, 
 pauses to moralize and preach. 
 
 II. LiTERATUEE OF THOUGHT 
 
 Charm and refreshment are as a rule far to seek in 
 later eighteenth-century literature. Yet the times 
 were not dead ; they did a solid, important work. 
 
380 
 
 THE AGE OE PROSE 
 
 Rise of 
 history. 
 
 David 
 Hume, 
 1711-1776. 
 
 " History 
 of Eng- 
 land," 
 1754r-1762. 
 
 Smollett's 
 "A Com- 
 plete His- 
 tory of 
 England," 
 1757-1765. 
 
 William 
 
 Robertson, 
 
 1721-1793. 
 
 Edward 
 Gibbon, 
 1737-1794. 
 
 "The His- 
 tory of the 
 Decline 
 and Fall 
 of the 
 Roman 
 Empire," 
 1776-1788. 
 
 Philoso- 
 phy and 
 theology. 
 
 It was just the kind of work which one would expect 
 from an age which had placed itself under the rule 
 of the understanding. Art values are slight in it, 
 but thought values are great; and the achieve- 
 ment of the unemotional, vigorous minds of that 
 day had a large share in making the nineteenth 
 century what it was. We must dismiss this in- 
 tellectual work, too briefly for its importance, but 
 it must at least be mentioned. 
 
 In the first place, as we run our eyes down the 
 century, we notice, shortly after 1750, a very impor- 
 tant appearance ; that of modern history. Within 
 about twenty-five years, a significant group of histo- 
 rians appears. The first is Hume, a great name 
 whom every one knows ; then Smollett, the novel- 
 ist, who continued Hume's " History of England " ; 
 then Robertson, a Scotchman, as Hume was ; and 
 finally, the greatest of all. Gibbon, whose " Decline 
 and Fall of the Roman Empire " belongs strictly to 
 literature proper, so magnificently is it written, so 
 truly is it a product of the synthetic imagination as 
 well as of the constructive intellect. 
 
 History had of course existed in England before 
 this time, but it had been chiefly in the form of con- 
 temporary memoirs and chronicles. The new interest 
 in actual life of the eighteenth century created and 
 demanded more than this. Of course, the historians 
 of that time had not the great help offered to their 
 successors by modern evolutionary methods ; we are 
 all the more filled with admiration for them when 
 we see what substantial, and in some cases abiding, 
 work they accomplished without this help. 
 
 Even before history is fairly under way, we notice 
 
THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 381 
 
 a strong, significant development of philosophical 
 
 and theological writing. Here, too, the rationalist 
 
 methods of the age had a great though partial work 
 
 to do. Butler's " Analogy " was published nearly Joseph 
 
 ten years before Pope's death. From this time, Bishop oi 
 
 through the philosophical writings of Hume, to 1692-1752. 
 
 Paley's "Evidences," we have a number of books, "Analogy 
 
 some among them of almost the first importance, iigion," 
 
 dealing, from an orthodox or a radical point of 
 
 view, with religious and philosophical matters. Paiey ™ 
 
 This new activity, this variety of thought, is yet i'^*^-!*'^^- 
 more evident when we come to the next group, Evidences 
 the political and economic writings of the times. tianUy^"' 
 Speculations of this order became especially promi- i^^*- 
 nent during the closing years of the century ; we Political 
 might say, after 1775. Doubtless our affairs here in nomio 
 America had something to do with this quickening ^^^^^'^s^- 
 of thought on political lines. We meet among 
 writers in this group some of the same names as 
 those in the other lines, for men of vigorous thought 
 pass easily from history to politics, and from meta- 
 physics to social philosophy. Also, we meet some 
 new names. We find, as in religious discussion, 
 many shades of opinion represented. We have the 
 noble conservatism of Burke, the great statesman, Edmund 
 the orator supreme in eloquence, — author, apart 1729-1797. 
 from his great and glowing political speeches and 
 pamphlets, of the first important essay on aesthetics, 
 in our literature. We have the instinct of radical 
 social speculation in Adam Smith and Bentham. Adam 
 We have also the writings, of less intellectual 1723-1790. 
 worth, but with more power to make intellectual Jeremy 
 
 V, v/iuii, i Bentham, 
 
 theories dynamic, of Thomas Fame, l^inaily, we 1748-I832. 
 
382 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 Thomas 
 
 Paine, 
 
 1737-1809. 
 
 William 
 Godwin, 
 1756-1836. 
 
 have Godwin's "Political Justice," published in 
 1794; this may be taken as the last work of this 
 class during the century, and with Paley's "Evi- 
 dences " concludes the period. 
 
 Current 
 conserva- 
 tism. 
 
 Latent 
 radical 
 tenden- 
 cies, reli- 
 gious and 
 social. 
 
 III. The Trend op Thought 
 
 To discuss this large work in history, theology, 
 philosophy, politics, and sociology would be out of 
 our scope. But the student of letters should realize 
 its importance. As we look back down the vista of the 
 ages, these books, in the last half of the eighteenth 
 century, stand out as an achievement. They were 
 preparing the way for a revolution in art and life. 
 
 Conservatism was the order of the day in the 
 eighteenth century. The violent challenge of ex- 
 isting authorities and institutions in which the 
 seventeenth century had spent its force had grown 
 repugnant to men. The Church became the accred- 
 ited champion and guardian of the existing order, — 
 a strange enough role for her to play, when one 
 thinks of it. Politics had sunk largely into party 
 strife for personal ends. People were all in a quiet 
 frame of mind. They anticipated no grave changes, 
 they had settled down into a pleasant loyalty to the 
 constitutional monarchy and the Established Church. 
 
 Reassured in this way, men began to let the intel- 
 lect travel where it liked, and it travelled into strange 
 regions. Safe within the pale of outward conformity, 
 developed slowly an immense speculative ardor. It 
 started in England as far back as the times of Hobbes 
 and Locke ; it continued in the feeble but significant 
 movement of the English deists during the closing 
 
THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 383 
 
 years of the seventeenth and the beginning of the 
 eighteenth century. From England it journeyed to 
 France, where two great men, Voltaire and Rousseau, 
 carried it much farther toward scepticism in social 
 and religious lines than sober England had done ; 
 Voltaire, in particular, pursuing his inquiries wher- 
 ever they led with a keen audacity at which men held 
 their breath. Then, from France, it came back again 
 to England ; Hume is, at least, as great a sceptic as 
 Voltaire, and Godwin and Tom Paine carry the 
 movement of inquiry to alarming if logical extremes 
 in their social speculations. 
 
 So, if we look below the surface, we see that this The chai- 
 most conservative of ages was also one of the most authority 
 radical. Lulled by a false security, quickened by all 
 the influences of a period which laid strong emphasis 
 on clear and vigorous wits, men formed brand-new, 
 startling theories of the state and of society. They 
 challenged all authority, religious and social. It in- 
 terested them to do this ; they took a hearty, placid 
 enjoyment in it. Their speculation does not seem 
 particularly to have affected their practical relation 
 to the system around them. Voltaire, the arch- 
 sceptic, built a little church at Fernex, where the 
 devout peasants still revere his memory. We find 
 Hume, the adversary of Christianity, and Paley, its 
 defender, both advising young men of free-thinking 
 tendencies to take holy orders. Pope, the Roman 
 Catholic, wrote uncriticised his deist "Essay on Man." 
 In social theory the incongruity was equally great. 
 The strange thing is that, whenever any definite 
 controversy arose, the conservative forces were likely 
 to get the best of the argument, yet these forces 
 
384 THE AGE OF PKOSE 
 
 themselves were becoming unconsciously suffused 
 with the scepticism they meant to controvert. 
 
 So it came to pass that, while the Town played 
 cards and flirted, and the Wits flavored their tea 
 with personal satire, and the Moralists droned, the 
 Thinkers were quietly putting up a row of question 
 marks on the horizon. By and by the eyes of all 
 men would be uplifted to that horizon, and then 
 strange things might happen. Beneath all frivolity 
 and outward stagnation new forces were seething. 
 As yet, they appeared in the literature of thought 
 only, not in the literature of art ; but a touch of 
 passion, and they would become active. Amazed 
 enough would the thinkers have been could they 
 have foreseen the near results of their intellectual 
 freedom and their critical temper. But they could 
 not foresee the nineteenth century, any more than 
 the nineteenth was able to foresee the twentieth. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Leslie Stephen, History of English Thought in the Eigh- 
 teenth Century, esp. Vol. II, Ch. IX. Huxley, Life of Hnme, 
 English Men of Letters. Lecky, Life of Gibbon. Mobley, 
 Burke. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 A little reading should be done in the extremely dull authors 
 mentioned in the first of the chapter, to give the students an 
 added appreciation of the literature of the awakening that is to 
 f oUow. The extracts in Ward's " English Poets " would suffice. 
 The philosophical, historical, and sociological books discussed 
 in the latter part of the chapter can hardly be attempted in 
 class, though selections from Hume and Gibbon in Craik's 
 "English Prose" might be read, and Burke is available and 
 valuable reading for young people. 
 
THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 885 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The hasty study in the text of the intellectual forces leading 
 up to the Revolution might well be supplemented by a lecture 
 ■which should trace more fully the growth of social theories 
 during the eighteenth century. Stephen's " History,'' as given 
 above, Morley's "Burke," "Diderot," "Rousseau,"' Royce's 
 " Spirit of Modern Philosophy," wiU give ample material for 
 such a lecture or series of lectures. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 
 
 FORCES of intellectual revolt had then been 
 silently gathering all through the eighteenth 
 century. But forces of emotional revolt had been 
 gathering too, and by and by these two would meet. 
 We trace these forces of emotional revolt through 
 what is known as the "Romantic Revival." 
 
 The classic ideal is restrictive ; it instinctively or 
 deliberately adopts certain limits within which art is 
 to aim at perfection. In this sense, the eighteenth 
 century was really classic, for it was a restrictive 
 period. The romantic ideal on the other hand is 
 expansive, and in this chapter we are to trace the im- 
 pulses making, even in this restrictive age, for free- 
 dom, and preparing the way for that great outbreak 
 of romantic feeling in which the modern world was 
 born. Passion, faith, wonder, had, as we know, been 
 replaced by candor and common sense ; it is their 
 gradual return which we are to watch. 
 
 I. The Return to Nature 
 
 The first step in this process was the turning away 
 from civilization to Nature. In the age of Queen 
 Anne men's thoughts had centred wholly in the 
 sophisticated society of the town; the marvel and 
 beauty of the natural world were quite sealed to their 
 
 386 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 387 
 
 eyes. Pope, in the Preface to his " Pastorals," con- 
 demned Spenser's " Shepherd's Calendar " because it 
 gave a separate lyric to each month ; the months 
 were so much alike, said Pope, that the poet could not 
 possibly find enough variety in them to inspire him. 
 Things were not much better later in the century. 
 We find Dr. Johnson snubbing Boswell, who had 
 used some admiring adjective concerning a moun- 
 tain they saw together in Scotland. " Sir," said the 
 lexicographer, "it is a considerable protuberance." 
 " The proper study of mankind is Man " was the pre- 
 vailing sentiment, and the climax of such study was 
 undoubtedly, in further words of Pope, " To catch 
 the manners living as they rise." 
 
 But just at the turn of the second quarter of the James 
 century, a poet appeared who began to show people ircw^ms! 
 that the country was worth looking at. His name 
 was James Thomson. It is curious to note that he 
 was a Scotchman, when we remember that the last 
 considerable development of the poetry of Nature had 
 been with the Scottish poets of the fifteenth century. 
 Thomson's " Seasons " were a new departure in form, "Winter," 
 for Thomson used blank verse instead of the all- ^^^' 
 prevalent heroic couplet. They were a yet greater mer,"' 
 departure in substance, for they contained much de- ^™\ 
 liberate description of Nature in her different aspects, im'"^' 
 Thomson's descriptions deal a great deal in enumera- " The 
 tion unfused with personal passion ; he shows little including 
 selective instinct for what is beautiful. He dwells and*"™^ 
 more on Nature's use to man than on her beauty. n^^^.'° 
 He shares the mechanical idea of his day, which i'^^- 
 regarded the universe not as a living whole, but as a 
 great system or order of nicely adjusted parts, wit- 
 
388 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 " Lib- 
 erty," 
 1734^1736. 
 
 "The 
 Castle of 
 Indo- 
 lence," 
 1748. 
 
 nessing by the ingenuity of its plan to the wisdom and 
 beneficence of the Creator. But if Thomson's work 
 is heavy it is truly felt. He really loved the country 
 and looked straight at it, and that is more than any 
 other man was doing at the time. 
 
 Thomson was a young man, under thirty, when 
 he wrote "The Seasons." He grew duller as he 
 grew older. His long poem, " Liberty," was so 
 uninteresting that even the eighteenth century and 
 his personal friends found it hard reading ; and his 
 " Tragedies," of which he wrote several, were also 
 poor. But in 1748 appeared a poem, written fifteen 
 years earlier, which showed even more genius than 
 " The Seasons." This was an imitation of Spenser, 
 called " The Castle of Indolence," a dreamy, roman- 
 tic, allegorical narrative full of charm. It has lines 
 
 like these : — 
 
 " A wood 
 Of blackening pines, ay waving to and fro, 
 Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood," — 
 
 lines which sound like a fragment of Tennyson, 
 wandering forlorn in the age of Johnson. 
 
 II. Quickening of the Imagination 
 
 In the second quarter of the century, the new 
 forces found more varied and significant ex- 
 ponents than Thomson, in William Collins and 
 Thomas Gray. The impulse of Thomson was 
 toward observation and reflection ; the impulse of 
 these two greater poets was purely imaginative. 
 They were lyric poets in an age of prose and sing- 
 song; and while the seesaw of the heroic couplet 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 389 
 
 went on, melodies of intricate and studied 
 loveliness formed on tlieir lips. They were men of 
 a feeling for Greece finer and more sincere than 
 that of the other writers of their day, yet they 
 were both driven by an imperious inward stress to 
 dwell upon the wild, remote, and " gothick " dreams 
 of the visionary ancestors of their race. They wrote 
 classic odes, therefore, with exquisite instinct for 
 lucidity and precision of form, but we find Collins 
 producing also an " Ode on the Superstitions of the 
 West Highlands," full of the thrill of mystery which 
 the taste of his day so disliked ; and Gray turned, in 
 his later years, with the ardor of a mystic to the 
 grim unknown mythology of the North. The whole 
 achievement of Collins and Gray, slight as it is in 
 bulk, is full of contending influences, and it has, 
 therefore, a psychological interest which we do not 
 often find in eighteenth-century verse. 
 
 One is sorry for both these men. One feels that wiiuam 
 the air of the eighteenth century stifled them ; and 1721-1759. 
 indeed the very smallness of their product would 
 imply that their powers were choked at the source. 
 Collins wrote even less than Gray, and his life was 
 tragic. He was educated at Oxford, and printed a 
 little volume of "Persian Eclogues," when he was 
 still an undergraduate; when he was twenty-five 
 years old, appeared a tiny pamphlet, every poem of 
 which, had the public only known, was of pure gold. 
 Here is the famous "Ode to Evening," and "The 
 Passions," and the exquisite lyric, "How sleep the 
 brave who sink to rest." The book, at the time, 
 failed to sell, and Collins destroyed the edition. He 
 was to give the world little more. His feeling for 
 
390 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 Thomson found expression in some charming elegiac 
 verses ; in 1749 the great " Ode on the Superstitions 
 of the Highlands " was written. But terrible melan- 
 choly, which travel proved hopeless to dispel, was 
 gaining on Collins ; in 1751 he became hopelessly 
 insane, and his death found him almost forgotten 
 even by his friends. 
 Thomas It is a sad story, yet hardly sadder than the more 
 
 171^1771. quiet story of the life of Gray. For Gray spent 
 over thirty years of his life in shrinking seclusion 
 at Cambridge, a prey to depression, which, if milder 
 than that of Collins, yet cast a dim shadow over 
 his days. He was a man of a tender and sensi- 
 tive nature, devoted to his mother and his aunt, 
 ardent if at times exacting in friendship, and one 
 of the most modern men in the whole temper of his 
 mind that the eighteenth century shows. " He never 
 spoke out," says Matthew Arnold. Gray's product is, 
 if we except Collins's, the smallest from any English 
 poet of the first quality, or even of the second, and 
 a poet of at least the second quality we must recog- 
 nize in the writer of an " Elegy in a Country Church- 
 yard." He is probably the most important poetic 
 figure in our literature between Pope and Words- 
 worth. 
 
 Gray received his education at Eton and Cam- 
 bridge. He formed a friendship with Horace Wal- 
 pole, a dilettante man of letters of the day, and a 
 good-hearted, if rather frivolous, person. With 
 Walpole he spent three years travelling in France 
 and Italy, at the end of which time he quarrelled, 
 though only temporarily, with his friend, and re- 
 turned to settle down at Cambridge for the rest of 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 391 
 
 his life. Gray is the most purely academic of all our 
 great poets, and his natural nicety of ear was fostered 
 by strict classic studies. He wrote while still young 
 a few short lyrics, which he called odes, poems full 
 of delicate art, hut somewhat frigid and conventional. 
 In 1750, he finished the " Elegy," begun eight years " Elegy in 
 before. Another lapse of years, marked only by chujch-'^'' 
 trifles, and we find him producing two Pindaric odes {^5'^^'" 
 which are probably the noblest poems of this precise 
 class in the language, " The Progress of Poesy " and 
 " The Bard. " The splendid harmonies of these poems 
 doubtless prepared the way for the lyrics of Coleridge 
 and Shelley. Still a few years, and Gray had become 
 possessed with the ancient poetry of the North, par- 
 ticularly of Iceland, and was versifying poems from 
 the " Edda," with the same sort of enthusiasm that 
 William Morris has shown in our own day. Though 
 study without genius could never have produced 
 Gray's poems, genius without study would have been 
 equally incapable. This is just as true of the 
 "Elegy," despite its careful simplicity in style and 
 theme, as of the poems upon the more scholastic sub- 
 jects. All Gray's poetry is exquisitely wrought in 
 detail; in tone it is subdued, although at times very 
 lofty. It has a truly classic sense for style, and a 
 truly romantic choice of subject. 
 
 Gray's Letters and Journal are as charming as his 
 poetry, and show even more clearly how susceptible 
 he was to the new, delicate feeling for Nature. Some 
 of the descriptive phrases in his letters are worthy of 
 Shelley. Gray's whole work is prophetic of what is 
 to be ; but it is more than prophecy, it is a trium- 
 phant, if limited, achievement. 
 
392 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 William 
 Shen- 
 stone's 
 "The 
 School- 
 mistress," 
 1737, 1742. 
 
 James 
 Beattie's 
 "The 
 Minstrel," 
 1771, 1774. 
 
 Ballads. 
 
 Thomas 
 
 Percy, 
 
 Bishop of 
 
 Dromore, 
 
 1728-1811. 
 
 " Reliques 
 
 of Ancient 
 
 English 
 
 Poetry," 
 
 1765. 
 
 Thomas 
 Chatter- 
 ton, 1752- 
 1780. 
 
 III. Literary Revivals 
 
 The third quarter of the century was barren of 
 any new creative work ; but as it went on, a reviv- 
 ing tide of life from the romantic past began to creep 
 over the arid minds of the day. There were three 
 currents in it. The first showed in the numerous 
 imitations of Spenser. " The Castle of Indolence " 
 bore witness, in quite another way than that we have 
 noted, to the indestructibility of the romantic tradi- 
 tion, for it was written in the Spenserian stanza, and 
 in direct imitation of Spenser. This reversion to 
 the prince of romance means a great deal. For half 
 a century Waller, Denham, and Cowley had been the 
 poetic authorities most constantly cited ; now, the 
 spell of Faerie Land began to assert itself once more. 
 Shenstone's " Schoolmistress " was another imitation, 
 and later in the century, in 1771, Beattie's " Min- 
 strel" gave in Spenser's stanza a touching picture of 
 the life of a young poet. There were other less im- 
 portant poems of the same class. 
 
 The second current flowed from the enthusiasm for 
 old English ballads. Addison had liked ballads and 
 defended them, but against the taste of his time. 
 Now, in 1765, the publication of a volume of " Re- 
 liques of Ancient English Poetry," a collection made 
 by Bishop Percy, fairly brought the ballads back into 
 popular favor. The most interesting consequence to 
 follow at once in the world of letters was the work of 
 Thomas Chatterton, a boy of genius, who tried to 
 palm off his own productions on the public as the 
 work of a mediaeval monk named Rowley. Chatter- 
 ton committed suicide when only seventeen years old, 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 393 
 
 and later poets have never ceased to lament the fate 
 of " The sleepless soul that perished in his pride," as 
 Wordsworth called him. 
 
 StiU more searching and pervading at this time 
 was another influence, the strangest that could pos- 
 sibly be conceived as invading the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. It was that of the wild old Celtic epic of 
 Finn and Ossian. In 1760, and again in 1762 and Ossianic 
 1768, a Scotch schoolmaster, James Macpherson, as- "^^^^^ • 
 tonished the world with what he claimed to be trans- Macpher- 
 lations from the ancient Ossianic poems. They were 1796. 
 a new flavor to the jaded appetites of the day, and 
 they gained notoriety at once. Soon the genuine- 
 ness of the poems was called in question, and people 
 in England and Europe came almost to blows over 
 the question. The whole story of Macpherson's Maopher- 
 " Ossian " is one of the most romantic episodes of "°ossian," 
 literary history. Of course, we know to-day that 1763/^^^' 
 he did not invent the whole thing ; that there was, 
 both in Scotland and Ireland, a cycle of poems about 
 Finn and Ossian of which he doubtless possessed 
 some knowledge. But we know also that the primi- 
 tive old epic motifs look strangely when translated 
 into the bombastic, misty, sentimental language which 
 Macpherson adopted, and that his version, if version 
 it may be called, is a curious hybrid thing, which has 
 little value for us now that we have so many original 
 documents in our hands. Even diluted, however, 
 the Celtic magic proved immensely powerful in help- 
 ing to transform the mood and taste of the eigh- 
 teenth century, in Europe as well as in England. 
 
 The vogue of Spenserian imitations, of old ballads, 
 and of Macpherson's " Ossian " were by no means the 
 
394 
 
 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 The 
 
 Gothic 
 
 revival. 
 
 Horace 
 Walpole, 
 Earl of 
 Orford, 
 1717-1797. 
 
 "The 
 Castle of 
 Otranto," 
 1764. 
 
 only symptoms that a new spirit was stirring. Gray's 
 friend Horace Walpole, built himself a country house 
 at Strawberry Hill where all the bizarre absurdities 
 of a half-understood imitation Gothic held merry riot. 
 He also bequeathed a more enduring monument of 
 the change of taste, in a romance called the " Castle 
 of Otranto," which he presented in 1764 to the be- 
 wildered world. This extraordinary little book, which 
 reads like a burlesque on a mediaeval novel of Scott's, 
 valiantly set at defiance the virile tradition of realism 
 in fiction which Fielding and Smollett had by this time 
 established. Its aim was the improbable, its delight 
 the preposterous ; and mammoth helmets, clanging 
 armor, and ghostly voices made up a sort of chari- 
 vari of pleasing and wholly unmotived horrors. 
 The type proved popular, and was followed after a 
 milder and slightly more rational manner by Mrs. 
 Radcliffe in her " Mysteries of Udolpho " and " Chil- 
 dren of the Forest," and by other authors of less 
 repute. 
 
 IV. The Methodist Movement 
 
 We have seen how poetry was ti;irning, for its in- 
 spiration, away from the town and the present to 
 Nature and the past. But another power greater 
 than these was at work in England. It was the 
 power of spiritual passion, bringing with it the love 
 for men. Strangely blind , as educated England 
 seemed in these daj's to all but worldly issues, the 
 English race is profoundly religious at heart, and in 
 the most sterile times of her experience the Spirit 
 has never been without witnesses. Such a witness 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 395 
 
 was William Law, whose " Serious Call to a Devout WiUiam 
 and Holy Life," published in 1729, was a strange ij^eT.' 
 outburst of earnest feeling in a frivolous age. But " Serious 
 a profound spiritual movement sprang up soon after Devout 
 Law's day, and ran its great course apart from the Life,'""''^ 
 keen wits and the Established Church of the time. ^''^^■ 
 While the deists and their clever orthodox oppo- 
 nents combined to prepare the way for modern scep- 
 ticism, the Methodist movement, led by the Wesleys, John 
 was keeping Christianity warm and living at the 1703-1791. 
 nation's heart. Charles 
 
 Methodism did not have at once much visible in- 1708-1788. 
 fluence on literature, though the fervent hymns of 
 the Wesleys are among the few genuine lyrics of 
 the age; but its indirect effect in softening the 
 hearts of the nation and preparing the way for the 
 tender sense of brotherhood among all men cannot 
 be estimated. And the last harbinger of the modern 
 world among the eighteenth-century poets reflects 
 in his work this spiritual movement, with its social 
 correlate. William Cowper is one of the most pa- William 
 thetic, endearing, and tragic figures of English let- im-im. 
 ters. He was not a man of so much imagination as 
 Gray or Collins ; his was the poetry of a sensitive 
 and tender heart, and it marks the return of true, 
 simple feeling into our literature. 
 
 Cowper adds yet another to the many writers of 
 the century whose lives were miserable. The num- 
 ber of these unhappy men is appalling. Genius does 
 not necessarily render unhappy. One is sure that 
 Shakespeare, Spenser, Sidney, loved to be alive, how- 
 ever deep they might at one time or another plunge 
 into anguish. Nor would one dare to call Milton 
 
396 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 unhappy, remembering what lofty idealism sustained 
 him. But neither Swift nor Collins nor Chatterton 
 nor Cowper loved to be alive; Johnson and Gray, 
 though their fate was of a less tragic order, suffered 
 from what would to-day be considered pathological 
 melancholia; the same thing is true of various 
 minor men. It is a strange comment on the craving 
 for equanimity and hatred of extremes of that com- 
 placent age, that its most sensitive sons were pur- 
 sued by madness. 
 
 Cowper's Cowper was a contemporary of Blake and Burns ; 
 but there was enough of the pedestrian gait of the 
 eighteenth century in his work to justify us in treat- 
 ing him first, before we come to those winged ones. 
 It was not till youth was over, and he had known an 
 experience of deep agony, that he became a poet. 
 The first attack of the terrible mental malady, from 
 which he suffered all his life at recurring intervals, 
 came upon him in 1763, as a result of his horror at 
 the ordeal of an examination which he was expected 
 to pass. His illness then, as ever, took the form of 
 despair of the mercy of God. It was impossible 
 hereafter for him to know an active life ; his friends 
 arranged for him to live in the country. In little 
 villages near the river Ouse, Cowper spent, from this 
 time, a life of religious and domestic seclusion with 
 dear friends at his side. There were many gentle, 
 happy days in the intervals of his malady ; and, like 
 many melancholy people, he could be a charming 
 and sunshiny and humorous companion, as his lines 
 on John Gilpin, and his letters about his pet hares 
 and other diversions abundantly testify. 
 
 Hymns. Cowper's first poems were certain hymns which he 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 397 
 
 contributed to the little volume of " Olney Hymns," 
 written by himself and by his pastor and spiritual 
 guide, John Newton. " Oh, for a closer walk with 
 God" and "God moves in a mysterious way" are 
 the most familiar. Two or three years later he 
 began to compose didactic and satirical pieces in 
 the fashion of the day. These are not without 
 merit, but they are quite thrown in the shade by his 
 longer poem, " The Task." This, with a handful of 
 short poems, of which the " Lines written on Receipt 
 of My Mother's Picture " is the most beautiful, form 
 his title to fame. 
 
 At times " The Task " seems to us as didactic " The 
 and heavy and prosy as any poem the eighteenth 17^.' 
 century produced, and we are tempted to lay it 
 down in weariness. But something makes us con- 
 tinue, and the longer we read the more aware we 
 grow that in this wandering poem are the notes of 
 a new era. 
 
 In the first place, it is one of the first poems in 
 which we have a simple, intimate self -revelation, such 
 as gives charm to so much of the poetry of the nine- 
 teenth century, from Wordsworth's "Prelude" to 
 Tennyson's " In Memoriam." Most of the verse of 
 the eighteenth century is impersonal, but Cowper 
 lets us into his confidence and allows us to feel the 
 personality behind the verse. 
 
 Then, the poem is full of a feeling for Nature, far 
 more tender and modern than that of Thomson. 
 Cowper does not care for wild nature. He gives 
 us no rushing cataracts like those loved by Words- 
 worth, but the sluggish little river Ouse, near which 
 he lived ; no up-leaping mountains, but wide, placid 
 
398 THE AGE OF PROSE 
 
 English fields, such as stretched around his cher- 
 ished Olney ; no mystery of enchanted woodland, but 
 a garden and greenhouse in which the cucumbers are, 
 one feels, as great a pleasure to him as the syringas 
 or the roses. We are forced to confess that he is 
 utilitarian at times. But this homely, quiet Nature 
 he loved and described with close fidelity, and at 
 times with a true poetic touch. There are three 
 great relations that man can hold : the relation to 
 God, to Nature, to his fellow-men. We feel assured 
 in reading " The Task " that the second of these re- 
 lations is at last for the first time fully apprehended 
 as a poetic subject. 
 
 The third relation also is conceived, though faintly, 
 in a new way by Cowper. His landscape has single 
 figures in it, — the poor, wandering woman, the post- 
 man, the thresher, — that are quite in the later man- 
 ner. Moreover, his poem breathes, with its strong 
 religious passion, a love for humanity and for free- 
 dom wholly alien to anything to be found, let us say, 
 in Pope. Even inferior creation, the animal world, 
 is treated by Cowper with a loving sympathy such 
 as had never been known before. There is nothing 
 very vivid in " The Task " ; the fulness of life and 
 beauty, so soon to be revealed in Nature and humanity, 
 it was not given to Cowper to feel. All his work is 
 a twilight piece, but its gentle sweetness and true 
 insight endear it to us, and give it a permanent 
 place in English letters. 
 "Transia- Cowper attempted one more long piece of work. 
 Homer " ^ translation of Homer. He tried to be more faith- 
 1791. fui than Pope, and succeeded ; but he did not master 
 
 that elusive secret of Homer which has baffled all 
 
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 399 
 
 translators. He lived till 1800, surviving the dear 
 old friend, Mrs. Unwin, with whom he had lived in 
 domestic comfort for many years, and whose gradual 
 decline he had watched with the tender sorrow which 
 finds touching expression in the lines "To Mary." 
 His last days were sorrowful, yet we need not think 
 of sorrow when we think of Cowper ; we may think 
 of one of the most winning, most tender, and sweetest 
 natures that our literature has known. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 W. Phelps, Beginnings of the English Romantic Movement. 
 Beers's English Romanticism, eighteenth century. Gosse's 
 edition of the prose and verse of Gray. Editions of Gray, Col- 
 lins, Cowper, in the Athenaeum Press Series, with Introductions. 
 GossE, Life of Gray. Essays on Gray, Matthew Arnold, 
 Lowell. Cowper, Life, by Goldwin Smith. Introduction to 
 selections in Golden Treasury Series, by Mrs. Ouphant. Life 
 of Horace Walpole, by Austin Dobson. See esp. the descrip- 
 tion of Strawberry Hill. Centenary edition of Ossian's Poems, 
 ed. by William Sharp (Patrick Geddes, Edinburgh). Percy's 
 ReUques. Stopford Brooke, Theology in the English Poets, 
 has interesting treatment of Cowper. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 This is perhaps a time when the historic estimate (see Mat- 
 thew Arnold, on the "Study of Poetry") is more important 
 than the real estimate, for it is a period of promise and transi- 
 tion, less great in itself than periods which precede and follow, 
 but extremely significant in literary evolution. Readings from 
 Thomson, Gray, Collins, Cowper, should be carried on with 
 the aim of sensitiveness to the romantic elements in their work, 
 whether new or revived. Also the respects in which their work 
 conforms to the tastes and standards of their times should be 
 noted. The awakening feeling for Nature should be traced. 
 The influence of the Greek at first hand should be noted in 
 Gray and CoUins, and the advance toward full romanticism 
 
400 THE AGE OF PKOSE 
 
 followed. One poem, preferably the "Elegy in a Country 
 Churchyard," should be exhaustively studied, stanza by stanza, 
 with notice of epithet, pause melody, sentiment, and all detail. 
 Special topics may be given on Cowper's pets, on Gray's feeling 
 for Nature. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 If time permits, a lecture on any one of these men individ- 
 ually is full of value. The aim should be to trace in their work 
 the interplay of old and new, and also to interest the students 
 in their personalities. 
 
PART V 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE HERALDS: BURNS AND BLAKE 
 
 I. The New Notes 
 
 " Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 
 I dearly like the west, 
 For there the bonie lassie lives, 
 The lassie I lo'e best." 
 
 " The moon like a flower 
 In Heaven's high bower 
 With silent delight 
 Sits and smiles on the night." 
 
 Where do these voices come from, with their 
 sweet and tender melody ? From the fourteenth 
 century? No, surely. From the sixteenth? The 
 answer hesitates a little, but dares not quite say 
 Yes. From the seventeenth? Hesitation still. 
 From the eighteenth? Probably the reply sounds 
 clear. No, not from the eighteenth, not from the 
 century of Pope and Johnson, of satire, reason, and 
 prose. 
 
 Yet these two poems were both written within the 
 last quarter of the eighteenth century. The author 
 of the first was a Scottish yeoman named Robert 
 Burns ; the author of the second a poor artist of 
 London, William Blake. The work comes to the 
 traveller through the cheerless air of the eighteenth 
 
 403 
 
404 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 century with a fresh, delightful surprise. These are 
 the heralds of a new order ; song-birds of the dawn, 
 proclaiming the rise of a new day. 
 
 What makes the poetry of these two men so dif- 
 ferent from what had gone before ? Let us look at 
 them and see. 
 
 II. Robert Burns 
 
 Burns's Robert Burns was born in a cottage built by his 
 
 1759-1796. father's hands in Ayrshire, Scotland. He had little 
 schooling, and was when a boy farm laborer on his 
 father's farm ; poor all his life, with a poverty that 
 sadly deepened toward the end. Not much need be 
 said of his biography ; it is written in his poems. 
 He was of an emotional temperament, — too emo- 
 tional, — and few grave duties or high imaginings 
 came in his way to satisfy his passions and prevent 
 them from feeding on crude self-indulgence. But 
 his nature was rooted firm in sincerity and honor. 
 He won his first fame when he was twenty-seven 
 years old by a volume of poems for which he re- 
 ceived twenty pounds ; he was feted in Edinburgh, 
 and the false taste of the times spoiled some of his 
 verses ; but he was always simple at heart. He mar- 
 ried one of his many early loves, Jean Armour, and 
 settled down into the life of a farmer ; but failing to 
 succeed was appointed exciseman, and moved to the 
 town of Dumfries, where he died, worn out by dis- 
 sipation and anxiety, in 1797. He had lived thirty- 
 seven years, and dowered Scotland with immortal 
 store of song. 
 
 So we see that Burns's life was all lived within 
 
THE HERALDS 405 
 
 the limits of the eighteenth century, but apart from 
 its conditions. In his work the Celt appears once 
 more in our literature, bringing with him the pre- 
 cious gift which he always proffers : sensitive emo- 
 tion, tremulous melody, natural magic. He sings of 
 the elementary realities of life, which the school of 
 artifice had well-nigh forgotten. Open his poems Bums's 
 and note his range of subject. Here two dogs, subfect* 
 inimitably described, chat about the affairs of their 
 masters; here the "wee, sleekit, tim'rous, cowerin' 
 beastie," frightened by the plough, scampers away 
 with a panic in her breastie ; here we are introduced 
 to the auld mare Maggie, or to Mailie, the dying 
 sheep. Again, we turn with relief from Thomson's 
 " polyanthus with imnumbered dyes " to a wee crim- 
 son-tipped daisy. On Saturday night we watch the 
 peasant family gathering after the healthy labors of 
 the week for an evening of affection and rest. Or we 
 find ourselves with a little shock in a less decorous 
 gathering, among the Jolly Beggars in a deserted 
 barn, and hear them troll out their lawless melodies. 
 We see poor Tam o' Shanter, riding post-haste on his 
 old gray horse, while a rout of witches chase him in 
 the Scottish twilight. Even the devil is not excluded 
 from this sociable democracy of feelings; the devil of 
 folk-lore, mediaeval in origin, a malicious but not 
 wholly unattractive companion. 
 
 " Prince ! Chief of many throned powers 
 That led th' embattled Seraphim to war — " 
 
 so had Milton apostrophized his melancholy, majestic 
 Satan : — 
 
406 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 " Thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
 Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie," 
 
 responds Burns, with cheerful and unparalleled au- 
 dacity, and ends the poem with a wistful hint of 
 friendly compassion. 
 
 Finally, we find in Burns's poems the loveliest 
 lyrics since the great days of the sixteenth century. 
 Little, tender, unelaborated things they are, written 
 to match the old melodies of the land, and they sing 
 themselves into the heart and nestle there. They 
 are spontaneous in feeling as the lyrics of the Re- 
 naissance, but they have a more human passion. 
 Treating mostly of love, some of them yet thrill 
 with patriotic ardor or with convivial pleasure, with 
 defiance of the rich, it may be, or better, with a new, 
 deep instinct, half realized, for freedom and brother- 
 hood. 
 Signifi- This poetry of Burns, in its dialect of lowland 
 
 Burns's Scotch, is the full outpouring of the warm, super- 
 poetry, stitious, homely life of the peasant people. It has 
 defects enough, and grave ones, the same defects 
 that stain the life of the poet. His ardent nature 
 was not fed much by knowledge or by art ; he did 
 not think very much, any more than the people for 
 whom he sang, and the spiritual values of life were 
 unknown to him. " Burns is a beast, with splendid 
 gleams," wi'ote Matthew Arnold. But surely this 
 is too harsh a verdict. What we value in Burns 
 is the revelation of the worth of the primitive 
 experiences common to all men, the natural passions, 
 the consciousness of a life lived, not sentimentally 
 but substantially close to the heart of Nature. He 
 
THE HERALDS 407 
 
 first demonstrates that these common experiences 
 are the stuff of poetry ; for he sings them in verse 
 of irresistible charm. We love Burns also for the 
 spirit of democracy that pervades his work. Al- 
 though sometimes he strikes the note of class antago- 
 nism in a painful way, now and again this spirit 
 finds ringing, direct expression : — 
 
 " The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 A man's a man for a' that." 
 
 The sentiment is trite enough to-day, yet it still 
 strikes home to our hearts, because it came so freshly 
 from the heart of Burns. 
 
 III. William Blake 
 
 Burns brought our poetry back from artifice and 1757-1827. 
 decorum to the warm and homely life of earth. 
 Blake escaped from this world almost altogether 
 into the free air of spiritual mysticism. Burns 
 restored passion to the lyric ; Blake summoned to its 
 inspiration the long-exiled imagination. " All things 
 exist in the human imagination," was a strange, brief, 
 pregnant saying of his. People called William Blake 
 insane ; so perhaps in a sense he was ; but there are 
 those who think that his madness knew more truth 
 than the sanity of his age. 
 
 Blake was a little London boy ; and his father, Blake's 
 who was a hosier, gave him small education beyond aiUy"." 
 reading and writing. But the child had no lack of 
 experiences. Once he came home from his walk 
 and told his parents that he had seen a tree full of 
 angels. His father whipped him, but he Avould not 
 
408 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Poetical 
 
 sketches, 
 
 1783. 
 
 "Songs of 
 Inno- 
 cence," 
 1789. 
 
 take it back. All his life long lie was haunted by 
 visions. " When the sun rises," said some one to 
 him, " do you not see a round disk of fire something 
 like a guinea ? " " Oh, no, no," he replied ; " I see 
 an innumerable company of the heavenly host, cry- 
 ing, ' Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty.' " 
 
 " We are led to believe a lie 
 When we see with, not through, the eye," 
 
 he says again, and those who know what he means 
 in this couplet will understand his poetry. 
 
 It was natural that this vision-seeing boy should 
 have turned to the arts that render beauty visible. 
 He was fascinated by painting and by Gothic archi- 
 tecture, and became himself an artist, though most 
 of his work was in the unambitious branch of en- 
 graving. Blake's work in art was valued more 
 highly by the nineteenth century than by his con- 
 temporaries. Some of it, like his illustrations for 
 the Book of Job, has an imaginative power at times 
 sublime. 
 
 Most of the poems of Blake which we care for 
 to-day are in two little volumes, the " Songs of Inno- 
 cence" and the "Songs of Experience." He printed 
 them himself, as he did nearly all his books, and they 
 can still be seen at the British Museum and else- 
 where. Sunset colors flush across their pages, and 
 they are full of melodies, sweet as those of Burns, 
 but with more elfin undertones. The " Songs of 
 Innocence " is a book of verse about children. Chil- 
 dren had not interested the eighteenth century, but 
 they interested Blake. It seems as if he had caught 
 and translated for us the first tremblings of con- 
 
THE HERALDS 409 
 
 sciousness in a baby's soul in some of these verses ; 
 in nearly all we feel that he has given us the true 
 spiritual secret in the heart of the child. What a 
 journey from Gray's Pindaric odes to these little 
 songs ! Yet they are not so far separated in time. 
 The " Songs of Experience " correspond to the " Songs " songs of 
 of Innocence," but where the first give the fair light, f^^"' „ 
 these give the shadow. We have the tiger for the ^''^S- 
 lamb, we have sorrow for joy, and instead of inno- 
 cence a shuddering perception of sin throbs through 
 the verses. 
 
 Blake also wrote what he called his Prophetical Prophet- 
 Books, a series of extraordinary visions in strange, Books: 
 rhythmical prose. These books are for the most !<f'j„gg^ 
 part unintelligible to the ordinary reader, but every jf,™'" 
 now and then a passage flashes out, of profound Marriage 
 beauty or meaning. When we do not understand andHeii," 
 Blake, the fault may often be ours rather than his. "Unzen." 
 For he was a deep and audacious thinker. He was 
 filled with a passionate longing for true social free- 
 dom and justice. He has no thrilling democratic 
 manifesto like Burns's defiant " A man's a man for 
 a' that," but a sweeping phrase of his, " Everything 
 that lives is holy," proclaims with power that has 
 never been excelled the central spiritual truth on "siake's 
 which democracy rests. The misery of the poor ^^°_'^' 
 was heavy on his heart : — 
 
 " The beggar's rags fluttering in air 
 Do to rags the heavens tear," 
 
 he exclaims. He is perhaps the first English poet to 
 be fiUed with the social idealism that looks for the 
 coming of God's kingdom on earth ; four lines of 
 
410 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 his have been taken for the motto of a modern 
 socialist paper : — 
 
 " I will not cease from mental fight, 
 Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, 
 Till we have built Jerusalem 
 In England's green and pleasant land." 
 
 Blake's Despite his speculative ardor and audacity and his 
 
 mysticism. ■* n i* 
 
 defiance of law, Blake was a man of intense faith. 
 
 " If the sun and moon should doubt. 
 They'd immediately go out," 
 
 he naively tells us. All things to him were charged 
 with spiritual meaning ; the emblems or symbols of 
 mysterious forces. To quote his own words for the 
 last time, he can teach us — 
 
 " To see a world in a grain of sand 
 And a heaven in a wild flower, 
 Hold infinity in the palm of your hand. 
 And eternity in an hour." 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 The Cambridge Burns, edited by Henley. Selections from 
 Burns, Athenseum Press Series. Life of Burns, by Shairp 
 (English Men of Letters), by Blaokie (Great Writers Series). 
 Essays on Burns by Carlyle and Stevenson. 
 
 Selections from Blake, edited by Wm. M. Rossetti. Selec- 
 tions, Canterbury Poets. Life, by Gilchrist. Monograph, by 
 Swinburne, Wm. B. Yeats, Ed., with Memoir and interpre- 
 tation. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 If possible, let Burns's songs be sung to the class. Study the 
 life of peasant Scotland as inferred from his poetry ; the new 
 democracy, as expressed by him; the noble and ignoble ele- 
 ments in his genius. Compare his lyrics with those of the six- 
 teenth century ; with the poetry of Pope. 
 
 Let the class see any of Blake's drawings that are accessible. 
 The " Songs of Innocence " and the " Songs of Experience " are 
 delightful to read with a class. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE NEW DEMOCRACY 
 
 I. Review of Forces making fok Demockacy 
 
 rilO explain the poetry of Blake and Burns, we have 
 -^ had to use a great word which we have rarely 
 needed before. It is the word "democracy." With- 
 out that word we cannot go a step farther, for 
 through the power of democracy nearly all the litera- 
 ture of the last century was developed. 
 
 We have glanced at the forces that all through the 
 eighteenth century were making for a new order. 
 The novel has shown us how people were coming to 
 take as much interest in the lives of ordinary men 
 and women as in those of kings and queens and 
 heroes. The poetry of the romantic revival has sug- 
 gested how deep was becoming the restiveness under 
 restraint and convention ; and we have found, now 
 and then, a sensitive person who begins to draw away 
 a little critically from civilization, and to find his 
 pleasure in simple life lived close to the heart of Na- 
 ture. Meanwhile, the thinkers, both in France and 
 England, have begun to challenge authority of all 
 kinds in the Church and in the State ; and before 
 the end of the century, a definite theory, daring in 
 the extreme, has been put forth. It is the theory 
 that all men have equal rights, to life, liberty, and 
 the pursuit of happiness ; that simple manhood is in 
 itself a sacred thing. As early as 1776 the Declara- 
 
 411 
 
412 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 tion of Independence was signed in Philadelphia, and 
 the new ideal — for, trite though it seems to us 
 to-day, men hailed it then as new — had entered the 
 arena of action. But it still took some time for 
 democratic theory to possess with full force the 
 world of letters. When this happened, it re-created 
 literature. 
 
 Literature needed quickening badly enough, for 
 all the old motives and inspirations seemed ex- 
 hausted. The enthusiasm for perfection of form 
 had, as we have seen, worn itself out ; realism was 
 declining upon conventionality. The truth is, — and 
 it is a truth which critics of the school of Addison 
 never surmised, — literature cannot live long unless 
 it is nourished by great ideals. Such ideals the 
 eighteenth century could not supply, nor did it sus- 
 pect that any were in reserve. 
 
 II. The French Revolution and Litekatueb 
 
 Yet all the time, an ideal as great as any that the 
 Christian world has ever known was silently on its 
 way : the love of humanity and of freedom, and the 
 belief that these shall one day transform the earth. 
 That the new passion and faith were astir in people's 
 hearts before any outward events wakened them is 
 evident from the poetry of Blake and Burns ; for 
 the genius of both these men had declared itself 
 before 1789, when the fall of the Bastille in Paris 
 gave the signal of a general quickening. But 
 democratic ardor was stimulated and freed more 
 than we can estimate by the great outbreak of the 
 French Revolution. The eighteenth century ended 
 
THE NEW DEMOCRACY 413 
 
 ill the most dramatic passage of history that the 
 world had seen for many a hundred years. And 
 out of that great drama of death and birth arose 
 three noble words: "liberty, equality, fraternity." 
 This is the revolutionary formula, the revolutionary 
 creed. It has taken men more than a century to un- 
 derstand those words, and we have not finished learn- 
 ing our lesson yet. 
 
 Poor France was too occupied by the swift and 
 amazing events which followed each other through 
 the last decade of the century to express in poetry 
 the new forces that were shaking her to her centre. 
 But the English on their island had sufficient detach- 
 ment to translate experience into art. Revolutionary 
 thought and passion permeate all the countries of 
 Europe in the early nineteenth century, but perhaps 
 there is no literature which is so whoUy possessed by 
 them as that of England. 
 
 We can study the progress of the revolutionary TheEeyo- 
 drama in a poem by one of the great English geen"^ 
 poets of this period: "The Prelude," by William «t^™5f 
 Wordsworth. ^o^tj^'« 
 
 The very form of the poem is suggestive of the lude." 
 new interest in the individual which democracy 
 brought with it ; for it is a long autobiography in 
 verse. "The Prelude" is much like Cowper's 
 " Task " in some ways ; but it lets the personal 
 interest, which in the " Task " slips in surreptitiously, 
 frankly be the centre of the poem. Moreover, it has 
 more passion and enthusiasm than the " Task " ; 
 and at times it soars into a higher poetic heaven 
 than the gentle muse of Cowper ever entered. It is 
 a " Task " with wings. 
 
414 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Wordsworth opens " The Prelude " with some 
 
 books of very great beauty, in which he describes his 
 
 childhood among the lakes and hills of Cumberland, 
 
 the English lake district. Then he tells us of his 
 
 English education at the University of Cambridge : 
 
 then how he went to France during the revolutionary 
 
 period, a shy, mountain-bred boy ; and step by step 
 
 he traces the effect of the great national drama of 
 
 the Revolution on his spirit. A few glimpses of the 
 
 Revolution through the mind of Wordsworth will 
 
 make us understand better what was happening to 
 
 all the men of his age. 
 
 Early When Wordsworth first visited France, the Revo- 
 
 tionary lution was wcU Under way, and it was in its earliest, 
 
 idealism, jj^ppiest stage : — 
 
 " Europe at that time was thrilled with joy, 
 France standing on the top of golden hours, 
 And human nature seeming born again." 
 
 For there was a brief period at the beginning when 
 it really seemed as if the Goddess of Justice had 
 returned to earth again as the old myth promised, 
 and as if brotherly love were going to rule this old 
 earth. Wordsworth, a lad of twenty at this time, 
 made his way across a pleasant France, noting " how 
 bright a face is worn when joy of one is joy for tens 
 of millions," joining in dances of Liberty and happy 
 feasts in the villages, and finding benevolence and 
 blessedness spread everywhere like a fragrance. The 
 whole country throbbed with an ecstatic sense of 
 escape. 
 
 " Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 
 But to be young was very Heaven," 
 
THE NEW DEMOCRACY 415 
 
 sighs the poet, remembering those fair days. Indeed, 
 the spirit of a mighty hope had taken possession of 
 the world ; no less a hope, Wordsworth tells us, than 
 to realize on earth a perfect society. The whole 
 earth seemed to him at that time, he says, a new- 
 fallen inheritance, all his own, which he studied 
 with a delight that was glad to note even the worst 
 and most unhappy things in society, because it would 
 be such joy to watch them suddenly disappear. 
 
 It was a wonderful dream ; so wonderful that 
 Europe has not forgotten it to this day, and there 
 are some who still hold it prophetic. But in the 
 world of fact it did not last. The people, long op- Reaction: 
 pressed by the nobles in France, had begun at last to oi Terror" 
 realize their power ; restraints had been removed, 
 and reverence for the past had been shaken. From 
 a period of ideal optimism, the Revolution in France 
 passed, suddenly it seemed to Europe watching 
 aghast, into the wild excesses of the Reign of Terror. 
 Crimes were perpetrated in the name of liberty and 
 justice. The forces of destruction latent in that 
 young democracy had it all their own way. It took 
 Europe more than one generation to recover from 
 the nervous shock of those days. Other great and 
 dreadful events followed : wars devastated Europe ; 
 England was hurried into the vortex; and finally, 
 revolutionary France, rent, tossed, lawless, fell imder 
 the military despotism of the first Napoleon. The 
 First Empire, with its emphasis on physical power, 
 its thirst for material dominion and for glory of con- 
 quest, seemed to most thoughtful people a tragic 
 anticlimax after that so recent cry, liberty, equality, 
 fraternity. 
 
416 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Wordsworth shared deeply the suffering, the 
 shock, the moral disillusion of the time. Full of com- 
 passion for " the abject multitude," he had believed 
 that their sorrows would be ended when the absolute 
 rule of a monarch should be abolished, and the peo- 
 ple should have a strong hand in framing their own 
 laws. But when that time came, the people proved 
 unworthy of his trust ; in the fevered politics of the 
 day the issue between right and wrong seemed 
 obscured. A sense of horror overwhelmed him as 
 he brooded over the crimes and violence of Paris; 
 the city, hushed and silent at midnight, yet seemed 
 to him a place defenceless as a \yood where tigers 
 roamed; and his sleep was haunted by dreams of 
 innocent victims in their agony. 
 
 He used to wonder at this time — so simple did 
 the matter still appear to childlike minds — if he 
 himself, a youth, a foreigner, unknown and obscure, 
 might not turn the tide once more to righteousness 
 rusiiiusion if he plunged into the arena of politics. But he was 
 spair. ' not allowed to try his nai/ plan. He returned to Eng- 
 land ; and there events as they developed toward the 
 Empire yet further afflicted his spirit, and he passed 
 into a dejection so profound that not only his social 
 idealism and his republicanism, but his faith in God 
 and man, seemed swept away. 
 
 We cannot stop to trace the process by which his 
 pure, sensitive spirit recovered its sanity and its 
 • belief ; that belongs to his story, not to the story of 
 the Revolution. Recover them he did in a measure, 
 though a glory had left the earth, never to return. 
 But we have been dwelling on his experience up to 
 this point because it is typical. All the great poets 
 
THE NEW DEMOCRACY 417 
 
 wlio were his contemporaries grew up in the presence 
 of the astounding drama with which the nineteenth 
 century opened. In every one may be discerned the 
 play of its clashing forces and contending ideals. 
 The Revolution knew three phases. First, an ardent summary, 
 and generous hope for the freedom of all men and the 
 establishment of the perfect state on earth thrilled 
 through the nation. Then came a sudden reaction, 
 and the avenging wrath of the people leaped upward 
 like a conflagration, destroying the old world as by 
 fire. Finally came, so far as thoughtful people were 
 concerned, a collapse into exhaustion and discourage- 
 ment, while the early revolutionary ideals translated 
 themselves into a lust for material power under the 
 hand of Napoleon. All Europe watched this drama 
 breathlessly, and every writer of the first third of the 
 century was, according to his temperament, imbued 
 with the lofty hopes, the lawless passion, or the dis- 
 couragement experienced by the nation. 
 
 III. English Poets op the Revolution 
 
 The revolutionary poets in England fall into 
 three groups, and the tone of their thought is at 
 least partly determined by their relation in time to 
 the historical Revolution. 
 
 First came Blake and Burns. We have called Group i. 
 them the heralds of the dawn. They did not need Bums, 
 the historic Revolution to set their spirits free. They 
 sympathized with it each in his way, but Blake was 
 thirty-two. Burns thirty, when the Bastille fell in 
 1789. Both poets were clearly formed in the pre- 
 revolutionary period. 
 
418 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Group II. 
 Words- 
 worth, 
 Coleridge, 
 Southey. 
 
 Group III. 
 Byron, 
 Shelley, 
 Keats. 
 
 There are three names in the next group : Will- 
 iam Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Robert 
 Southey. They were boys at the most sensitive age, 
 from nineteen to fifteen years old, when the Bastille 
 fell ; in 1804, when Bonaparte became emperor, 
 Wordsworth was thirty-four, Coleridge thirty-two, 
 and Southey thirty. Thus they grew to manhood 
 while the great drama went on. We can imagine 
 the passion of delight with which all these young 
 poets would respond to the young ideals of hope 
 and freedom. We can easily understand, also, how 
 terrible the later phases of the Revolution would be 
 to them, and how they all, with Wordsworth, would 
 suffer a shock of disillusion. It is not strange if 
 we find them all reacting more or less in different 
 ways from the uncritical enthusiasm of their youth, 
 and developing in middle life a conservative bent 
 which made them seem to certain ardent spirits of 
 the younger generation " lost leaders " indeed. Yet 
 we should be surprised if, despite all changes in polit- 
 ical views and in the temper of thought, men of poetic 
 feeling who had once known the rapture and uplift of 
 those great moments ever walked wholly in the light 
 of common day ; and, indeed, to the last, the work 
 of Wordsworth and Coleridge is visited, though with 
 inconstant glance, by the spirit of an ideal faith. ^ 
 
 George Gordon Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
 and John Keats, form the last group of poets of this 
 great period. They were literally children of the 
 
 1 Perhaps we should include in this group Scott, who was almost 
 an exact contemporary of Wordsworth, being one year younger ; 
 hut Scott's fame as a prose writer has so eclipsed his fame as a 
 poet, that it is better to reserve our study of him. 
 
THE NEW DEMOCRACY 419 
 
 Revolution : Byron was born in 1788, just before it 
 broke out, Shelley and Keats during its progress, 
 the first in 1792,'the second in 1795. To all these 
 the earlier phases of the Revolution would be not 
 even a personal memory, though they lay so close 
 behind in the past of the race. The environment of 
 these poets was that of the Europe of the Empire. 
 How differently these young heirs of the historic 
 revolution were affected by the conditions around 
 them we shall see as we turn to closer study of the 
 marvellous development of poetry in England be- 
 tween 1798 and 1830. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 DowDEN, Studies in Literature ; The French Revolution and 
 Literature. Royce, The Spirit of Modern Philosophy, traces 
 in an interesting way the relations between German philosophy 
 and the revolutionary movement. Stopford Brooke, Theology 
 in the English Poets : note in particular a fine analysis of " The 
 Prelude." Mrs. Ouphant, Literary History of England. Han- 
 cock, The French Revolution and the English Poets. " The Pre- 
 lude," edited by A. J. George. Shelley's Prefaces to The 
 Revolt of Islam and Prometheus Unbound show how the revo- 
 lutionary movement appeared to a poet of the second generation. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Book VI, Books IX-XI of " The Prelude," with selections 
 from the later books, gives a class a vivid idea of the inner 
 drama that accompanied the Revolution. Wordsworth's politi- 
 cal sonnets and Coleridge's " Ode to France " may also be read. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 An historical lecture would here be much in place ; also lec- 
 tures on German, French, Italian literature, inspired by the 
 Revolution. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 FROM WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 
 
 THE poetry of the eighteenth century is at best a 
 "twilight-piece." CoUins's " Ode to Evening," 
 or the fine apostrophe to Evening in the " Task " or 
 the opening of Gray's " Elegy " seem to catch its 
 spirit. The great poetry of the revolutionary period 
 glows with the hues of a new day. Sunrise studies, 
 like the exquisite opening of the second act of Shel- 
 ley's " Prometheus Unbound " or the noble passage 
 in the first book of the " Excursion," come to one's 
 mind when one tries to describe it. It is a poetry 
 of renewed youth, of expectancy, of marvel ; the 
 light that shines in it seems to discover a new earth 
 and to promise a new heaven. 
 
 I. "Lyrical Ballads," Chakactek and 
 Significance 
 
 In 1798 a modest little volume appeared, called 
 "Lyrical Ballads." Two young men were the 
 authors, — William Wordsworth and Samuel Tay- 
 lor Coleridge. The two had met after Words- 
 worth's return from France, and the friendship of 
 Coleridge had been one of the powers that restored 
 Wordsworth's troubled mind to sanity and peace. 
 The devotion between the two poets was deep and 
 vital; out of their happy intercourse sprang this 
 
 420 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 421 
 
 little book, born from a summer wandering over 
 the Quantock hills. 
 
 The plan was that Wordsworth should write 
 poems which should show the poetry in common 
 things ; Coleridge was to treat strange, supernatu- 
 ral subjects in such a way that they should appeal 
 to the general heart. The poets kept their promise ; 
 realism and romance, the two great forces that were 
 to re-create modern literature, are in full play in this 
 small volume. Here are short poems of peasant life 
 by Wordsworth, pure as dewdrops ; they reveal the 
 secrets of those little ones of the earth whom the 
 world had long despised. Here is a ballad-poem by 
 Coleridge, the " Ancient Mariner " ; it takes us over 
 perilous seas in fearsome company, thrilling us with 
 images of horror and supernatural beauty, and we 
 feel that the romantic impulse, dim though present 
 in Gray and Collins, has conquered at last. Here, 
 finally, Wordsworth's great poem, the " Lines written 
 above Tintern Abbey," lifts the feeling for Nature, 
 seen in Thomson and Cowper, into a higher realm, 
 and throbs with the impassioned mystical recognition 
 of a life in Nature kindred to our own. 
 
 The little book was greeted with derision, and 
 Wordsworth wrote a preface for the second edition, 
 a kind of manifesto of the new principles, which 
 every one should read. He breaks formally in this 
 preface with the eighteenth-century literary conven- 
 tions about poetry, both as to style and as to subject. 
 He demands that poetry use a selection of the actual 
 language of men. When Cowper wants to describe 
 a man smoking, he says "the sturdy churl " stops for 
 nothing : — 
 
422 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 " But now and then -with pressure of his thumb 
 To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tuhe 
 That fumes beneath his nose." ^ 
 
 Wordsworth would have mentioned the pipe right 
 out. Then Wordsworth pleads that poetry occupy 
 itself no longer with the artificial life of society, 
 with what separates man from man, but with the 
 affections common to all, the primal, elemental expe- 
 rienees that bind the poor and the rich in the bond 
 of a common humanity. This preface is a memorable 
 thing in English critical prose. 
 
 II. WOEDSWORTH, COLBRIDGE, SOUTHEY 
 
 Words- Wordsworth spent his life and wrote his poems in 
 
 1770-1850. loyalty to his faith. He loved the country, and he 
 lived in one of the fairest regions of Eng'land, among 
 the mountains and lakes of Westmoreland, which.he 
 has endeared forever to all who care for his poems. 
 Life. His sister Dorothy lived with him, a woman of a 
 
 beautiful soul. He married a cousin named Mary 
 Hutchinson, and the tender depth of his feeling for 
 her shows in many of his poems. During his early 
 years he was very poor, but in later life he was ap- 
 pointed controller of stamps, and had money enough 
 to live with frugal comfort. It was a life of deep 
 retirement, of contemplation, and of peace ; and out 
 of it came a poetry which speaks to the heart with 
 strange, penetrating purity. 
 
 1 " The Task," Book V. 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 423 
 
 The central passion of the democratic thought Subjects, 
 which was entering the world shows itself in Words- 
 worth, not in excited dreams of a new social order, 
 but in reverent interpretation of the lives of the 
 laboring poor. Ladies fair and lovely knights had Human- 
 up to this time peopled the world of the imagina- especially 
 tion ; great personages and clever personages and *^® ^°°^- 
 leaders of society and people to whom extraordi- 
 nary things happened had moved there. Words- 
 worth introduced into this world, where life can 
 never die, people of a different kind : an old shep- 
 herd grieving for his son, moving among the mists 
 to his sheepfold ; a highland girl reaping long rows 
 of grain and singing to the movement of her scythe ; 
 a little cottage maid with tangled curls, who knew 
 better than any philosopher that death is shadow, 
 life the only truth. The leech-gatherer, the sailor, 
 the beggar, the pedler, the wood-cutter, arid many 
 more simple folk meet us in Wordsworth's poetry. 
 They are not people of elegant leisure, occupied with 
 their pleasures or their passions ; they work with 
 their hands, helping in the fruitful labor of the world. 
 
 Poet of humanity, Wordsworth was also the poet Nature, 
 of Nature. The two were never separate in his 
 thought. He tells us in the "Prelude" that the 
 first men who pleased him were shepherds, seen 
 from afar in the mountains, uplifted against the 
 sunset sky; his characters always move in wide 
 reaches of light under the open heavens. When he 
 turns to Nature, she gains new glory in his eyes from 
 her fellowship and kinship with man. Wordsworth 
 did not simply admire Nature as the eighteenth cen- 
 tury did. He loved her because she was alive with 
 
424 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 a life full of joy and mystery. The time of heavy, 
 cold, descriptive poetry is past ; Wordsworth makes 
 us know Nature, not by careful enumeration of parts, 
 but by the emotion she kindles in his mind. The 
 "Prelude " tells us the slow process by which the sen- 
 sitive child grew to feel in all her ministries a revela- 
 tion of the very life of God. There came to him — 
 
 " A sense sublime 
 Of something far more deeply interfused 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
 And the round ocean and the living air, 
 And the blue sky and in the mind of man : 
 A motion and a spirit that impels 
 All thinking things, all objects of all thoughts. 
 And roUs through all things." * 
 
 Poetic Most of Wordsworth's best poetry was written 
 
 qia 1 y- between 1798 and 1806 ; it is made up chiefly of 
 lyrics, sonnets, and of short narrative poems, but it 
 includes also his noble autobiography in blank verse, 
 the "Prelude." These poems are the result, to use 
 his own fine phrase, of emotion recollected in tran- 
 quillity. A certain hush broods over them, and we 
 realize, as we read, that out of great sorrow and 
 searching of heart the poet's spirit has found peace. 
 Sometimes his theory leads him astray, and he drops 
 into prose ; simplicity becomes flatness in lines like 
 these : — 
 
 " Who weeps for strangers ? Many wept 
 For George and Sarah Green ; 
 Wept for that pair's unhappy fate, 
 Whose grave may here be seen." ' 
 
 1 " Lines written above Tintern Abbey." 
 
 2 " George and Sarah Green." 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 425 
 
 But the same poem rises into purest poetry a little 
 later : — 
 
 " Now do these sternly featured hills, 
 Look gently on this grave, 
 And quiet now are the depths of air 
 As a sea without a wave. 
 
 " But deeper lies the heart of peace 
 In quiet more profound, 
 The very heart of quietness 
 Is in this churchyard bound. 
 
 " And from all agony of mind, 
 It keeps them safe, and far 
 From fear and grief, and from all need 
 Of sun or guiding star." 
 
 Coleridge's criticism on Wordsworth is the best 
 and most penetrating that has ever been written, 
 though many have written well of a poet who has 
 in singular degree the power to draw to himself the 
 hearts of men. The chief merits of Wordsworth's 
 poetry are, says Coleridge, first, an austere purity of 
 language ; second, a weight and sanity of thought ; 
 third, the " curiosa felicitas " of diction, the sinewy 
 strength and originality of single lines ; fourth, the 
 perfect truth to Nature in his images and descrip- 
 tions ; fifth, a meditative pathos, a union of deep and 
 subtle thought vsdth sensibility; and last, the gift 
 of imagination in the highest and strictest sense of 
 the word. 
 
 In Wordsworth's later life, though he still occa- Later 
 sionally wrote a fine poem, his inspiration flagged. 
 His long epic, " The Excursion," has strong passages, 
 but it is weighted down with moralizing ; in his 
 
426 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Samuel 
 Taylor 
 Coleridge, 
 1772-1834. 
 
 Life. 
 
 Work. 
 
 shorter poems, the " vision splendid " has faded into 
 the "light of common day." His genius no longer 
 " startles and waylays." He had become less happy ; 
 the conditions of national life did not satisfy him ; 
 he noted with intense regret the encroachments, 
 already beginning, of the modern factory system on 
 the lives of the rural poor. He took to preaching 
 and pleading, and his natural magic of utterance 
 failed. In 1843 he was made poet laureate ; in 1850 
 he died. 
 
 We turn to the study of Wordsworth's brother in 
 spirit, Coleridge. He was not a country boy, steeped 
 in the profound love of Nature, as Wordsworth was, 
 he was city -bred. He had been a classmate of the 
 gentle essayist, Charles Lamb, at the Bluecoat 
 School in London, and then had gone to Cam- 
 bridge shortly after Wordsworth had quitted it. 
 He did not know or love the real world so well as 
 Wordsworth, but the passion for freedom and the 
 quickening impulse of love for all things living 
 which the new democracy brought with it entered 
 the inner world of high romance in which his spirit 
 dwelt. His career, however, was broken and clouded, 
 and the promise of his youth overcast. Unstable, 
 despite his genius and warmth of nature, he fell 
 under the dominion of the opium habit, and though 
 the force of the habit was largely overcome during 
 his later years, partly by his own efforts, partly by 
 the ministries of devoted friends, it left him shat- 
 tered, — a wreck, though a noble wreck, of what he 
 might have been. 
 
 The poetry of Coleridge belongs to his youth; 
 there is very little of it, but that little is of ' 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 427 
 
 purest gold. " The Ancient Mariner," of which we "The An- 
 have already spoken, is his most important poem, and fil?!"*'^'^" 
 wonderful it is. It shows, in its use of the irregular 
 old ballad form, as well as in other ways, that impulse 
 to return to the past for inspiration which blends so 
 curiously in the poetry of the first of the nineteenth 
 century with the forces making toward the future. 
 Its romanticism strikes the chord not only of surprise 
 at outward marvel, but of wonder in the presence of 
 spiritual mystery, dimly understood. 
 
 "Christabel" is, next to "The Ancient Mariner," "Christa- 
 Coleridge's most important poem ; but, like most of 
 his best poetry, it is unfinished. It is a mediaeval 
 tale of unholy magic weaving its spells over innocence 
 and faith. It has the high mystical beauty, the en- 
 chantment of style, of which only Coleridge is master. 
 " The most decrepit vocable in the language," says 
 Lowell, " throws away its crutches to dance and sing 
 at his piping." 
 
 Coleridge produced also a translation of Schiller's other 
 " Wallenstein," and several dramas ; but the body ^°^ ^^' 
 of his poetic writing is small. Nearly all the best 
 of it is the result of the brief, happy time which 
 he spent in intimate relations with Wordsworth and 
 his sister Dorothy. When we find him in middle 
 life rescued at last, after years of weakness, and re- 
 stored to tranquillity, the poet has vanished and a 
 philosopher has taken his place. This is not wholly 
 loss. Coleridge was not only an inspired poet ; he was Prose, 
 a thinker of rare depth and power of spiritual insight, and phiio- 
 His prose works are fragmentary, for he was a broken ^"p^^"^ ■ 
 man when he wrote most of them ; but they are full 
 of suggestion. His "Biographia Literaria" contains 
 
through 
 conver- 
 sation. 
 
 428 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 the most pregnant literary criticism that England had 
 then seen ; it is largely occupied with a discussion 
 of the poetry of Wordsworth, but it has also much 
 valuable treatment of general critical principles. 
 His " Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare " dealt a 
 death-blow at the eighteenth-century custom of dis- 
 paraging our greatest Englishman, and his " Aids to 
 Influence Reflection " well justifies its title. It was as a talker, 
 however, that Coleridge, like Dr. Johnson before him, 
 exerted his greatest power over the rising genera- 
 tion. He sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, near 
 London, where friends had offered him a refuge, and 
 poured forth the treasures of his mind for whosoever 
 would hear. It was a mind nourished on the recent 
 idealist philosophy of Germany, which had put a 
 wholly new face on philosophic thought. Coleridge 
 used philosophy of this order to feed his Chris- 
 tianity, for he was a profoundly Christian man; and 
 he became a quickening force in the spiritual life of 
 the rising generation. The deeper Christianity of 
 the Victorian age, represented by such men as Car- 
 dinal Newman, and Frederick Denison Maurice, owes 
 much to him. 
 
 Yet, after all, it is as a poet that Coleridge is 
 remembered best. His intellectual and spiritual 
 power passed into the minds of other men, and was 
 fertile there ; his imagination gave us works which, 
 if few, are immortal. They hold us spellbound, as 
 the Ancient Mariner held the Wedding Guest, but 
 with a lovelier spell : — 
 
 " A sealike sound the branches breathe, 
 Stirred by the breeze that loiters there, 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 429 
 
 And all that stretch their limbs beneath, 
 Forget the coil of mortal care ; 
 Strange mists along the margin rise, 
 To heal the guests who thither come. 
 And fit the soul to reendure 
 Its earthly martyrdom." 
 
 Not much need be said about Robert Southey, the Robert 
 third member of this older group of poets. He was mVmk 
 poet, not by right divine as were the other two, but 
 by virtue of the contagious fervor of the times. 
 When a young man, he shared the democratic pas- 
 sion of Coleridge, and planned with him a socialist 
 community called the Pantisocracy on the banks of 
 the Susquehanna ; but an early marriage — he and 
 Coleridge married sisters — turned his thoughts to 
 the realities of life. He settled in the Lake country 
 and became an industrious, exemplary man of letters. 
 He poured forth various volumes of verse, — "Tha- 
 laba," "The Curse of Kehama," "Roderick," — con- 
 cocted to meet the rising craving for romantic tales ; 
 he produced also some very good prose, the best of 
 which is the " Life of Nelson. " He was an excellent 
 example of a conscientious literary man without 
 genius, and England made him poet laureate. He 
 held the office till his death, in 1843, when the 
 laurel was placed on the worthier brows of Words- 
 worth. 
 
 III. Byeon, Shelley, Keats 
 
 George Gordon, Lord Byron, was the eldest of the q^°^^ 
 younger group of revolutionary poets ; his stormy Lord 
 life and work heave with the unrest that marked 1788-1824. 
 
430 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 the subsiding passion of the Revolution. The spirit 
 of revolt is in them, the assertion of the unlimited 
 claim of the individual on the universe. They are 
 full of pride and pain. 
 
 Life. Byron belonged by birth to the English aristoc- 
 
 racy . Haughty and passionate from his childhood, 
 he was brought up by an erratic mother with a vio- 
 lent temper, from which he suffered many things. 
 He was superbly handsome, despite a lameness that 
 embittered his life. He won early fame by the publi- 
 cation of the first cantos of " Childe Harold," but the 
 English public turned against him because of quar- 
 rels in his domestic affairs, and he resented their 
 criticism intensely. He moved thereafter through 
 a life, on the Continent, marred by recklessness and 
 self-indulgence, to a noble death ; for he died of a 
 fever contracted in Greece, whither he had gone to 
 help the Greeks in their war of independence. 
 
 Person- Byron's strong nature found nothing in the world 
 
 so interesting as his own passions and sorrows ; and 
 because he was so interested in them, and because 
 he had that strange force we call genius, all Europe 
 was interested in them too. The world has come a 
 little to doubt the value of a vociferous outpouring 
 of rebellion and grievance such as Byron gave us in 
 his large rhythmic harmonies : — 
 
 " What boots it now that Byron bore 
 With haughty pain, that mocked the smart 
 Through Europe to the ^tolian shore 
 The pageant of his bleeding heart ? 
 That Europe counted every groan, 
 And England made his pain her own ? " ^ 
 
 1 Stanzas from the "Grande Chartreuse.'' 
 
 ality. 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 431 
 
 queries Matthew Arnold. But for the time, the dark, 
 romantic, self-willed figure seemed the controlling 
 genius of the age, and Byron is still known through- 
 out Europe better than any other English author 
 except Shakespeare. 
 
 The work that insured Byron's popularity was a Work, 
 series of wild romances in verse : " The Giaour," 
 
 " The Bride of Abydos," " The Corsair," " Lara," Eomances 
 —^ . *i ' 1 'in verse. 
 
 "Parisma." They had force and fire, and they told 
 more or less stirring tales, but their sound and fury 
 signify little to modern ears. " Childe Harold," "Chiide 
 begun in 1812, finished in 1818, is a greater work, igi™ isie, 
 The last cantos were written under the gentle and ^*^*' 
 ennobling influence of Shelley, with whom Byron 
 spent some time by the beautiful lake of Geneva. 
 They give scope for splendidly phrased descriptions 
 of Nature, and for eloquent and vivid descriptions 
 of the monuments of the past. In these Byron 
 showed that strong historic sense which was one of 
 the best features of his intellectual equipment. 
 
 " Manfred " and " Cain " are poems of still another " Man- 
 character ; in them Byron tried to handle wild jgjy; 
 supernatural motifs, something after the fashion jggi™'" 
 of Goethe in "Faust," and, despite occasional pas- 
 sages of sombre beauty, he must be accounted to 
 have failed. His lyrical power was crude and inter- 
 mittent, and he was never really at home when he 
 left the world of visible reality. It is in " Don Juan," " Dou^ 
 Byron's masterpiece, that his genius found itself fully i8f9^i824. 
 at last. The brilliant, mocking poem is wholly of 
 the earth, earthy. Hero, story, setting, style, all 
 perfectly reflect the cynical disillusion, the unre- 
 deemed worldliness, of the post-revolutionary period 
 
432 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Character- 
 istics. 
 
 Percy 
 
 Shelley, 
 1792-1822. 
 
 Relation 
 to the 
 Revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 in which Byron lived. Its easy movement passes 
 with perfect facility from sensuous passion to bitter 
 satire, and these two aspects represent the range of 
 the poem. It is significant and interesting ; for it 
 shows how a man who, despite the romantic storm 
 and stress of his youth, was at heart a realist, un- 
 visited by any far-reaching vision of spiritual hope, 
 looked out on the chaotic society and the shattered 
 faiths that followed the Revolution. 
 
 Byron wrote various other poems, including several 
 dramas of mediocre value. " The moment he begins 
 to reflect," said Goethe, who nevertheless admired 
 him greatly, "he is a child." His imagination had 
 little power to penetrate or to soar. His style was 
 careless in the extreme, full of lapses from taste and 
 melody ; but it was also full of easy eloquence, and 
 it gave a refreshing sense of power. We admire 
 Byron's genius most in " Don Juan " ; but we like 
 best to remember him when, with firm touch and 
 with his eye on the object, he describes some great 
 thing, charged with historic associations, which he 
 knew in the actual world, or when, as in the " Pris- 
 oner of Chillon," he gives a truly felt presentation of 
 the fate of a martyr to liberty. 
 
 Byron's poetry is full of the forces of revolt and 
 of self-assertion. But there were nobler forces at 
 work in the Revolution, impulses not of personal 
 desire, but of a great love, yearning toward justice 
 and social peace. These impulses in their purity and 
 intensity are expressed in the work of the greatest 
 English lyric poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley. Shelley- 
 was ^e son of a stiff-necked English baronet. Like 
 Byron, he belonged to the aristocracy, and grew up 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 433 
 
 in the period of shattered faiths that followed the 
 Revolution. But the conventions of class and rank 
 were nothing to him, and through all the reactionary 
 deadness of the times his spirit caught the light of 
 the new democracy and shone with that light like 
 the clear morning star. "While still a schoolboy, 
 there came to him, as he tells us in the " Ode to 
 Intellectual Beauty," a vision of ideal loveliness. 
 He followed that gleam through the world. He is 
 the eternal seeker, and his voice is the melody of one 
 who watches in hope. 
 
 s^helley's passion for freedom controlled his life.) Life and 
 It led him into touching, amusing attempts at reform aiity. 
 in his early years. It shaped his practical destiny. 
 He was expelled from his University, Oxford, 
 because of a crude pamphlet he had written " On 
 the Necessity of Atheism." He made a hasty and 
 unhappy first marriage because of his desire to set 
 a schoolgirl free from the " tyranny " of her school. 
 Later, he set the laws of marriage at defiance, and 
 lived in self-appointed exile in Italy, with Mary, who 
 later became his second wife. She was the daughter 
 of William Godwin, who had been the intellectual 
 inspiration and guide of Shelley's youth. Shelley 
 died while he was still young, only thirty years old, 
 drowned in the beautiful bay of Spezia. 
 
 In Shelley's personal life there is much to regret ; 
 yet one cannot read the testimony of his contem- 
 poraries, Byron, Hogg, Trelawney, without being 
 struck by the impression of ardent purity, gentleness, 
 honor, which he made" upon them, ^ne and all 
 hailed him as the rarest spirit they had ever known^ 
 Indeed, his whole being vibrated with love for 
 
434 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Work. 
 
 " Queen 
 
 Mab," 
 
 1813. 
 
 " Alastor,' 
 1816. 
 
 "Laonand 
 Cythna : 
 or, The 
 Revolt of 
 Islam," 
 1818. 
 
 Nature, for the ideal principle of beauty, for free- 
 dom, and for his fellow-men. Unlike Sir Thomas 
 More, who rather wished than hoped to see Utopia 
 in England, Shelley had so strong a faith in human 
 nature, in its intrinsic goodness and power, that he 
 believed that the day would come when men would 
 actually see and realize their ideal. He may have 
 been right or wrong ; but his renovating vision has 
 thrilled many hearts from his day to our own. In 
 common with most revolutionary thinkers of his 
 time, he believed that worn-out governments and 
 creeds must be discarded before the new society 
 could be formed. So he was an iconoclast, as the 
 phrase goes ; that is, he believed in the overthrow of 
 authority and law. But his best poetry chants not 
 of battle nor of destruction, but of the Vision behind 
 the veil and of a hope that cannot die. 
 
 As we follow Shelley's writings through the scant 
 five years of his literary maturity, we can see how 
 his genius ripens and gains in patience and in 
 actuality. His first long poem was " Queen Mab," a 
 boyish production, full of crude speculations. Next 
 came, when he was twenty-four years old, "Alastor," 
 and here Shelley found himself. The poem renders 
 the experience of a lonely soul, that pursues through 
 all the universe its haunting vision of beauty, soothed 
 by the solemn ministries of Nature alone. In motif, 
 "Alastor" recalls the "Faerie Queene." 
 
 Shelley's next important poem was the " Revolt of 
 Islam." It is a romantic epic in Spenserian stanza, 
 all about a great struggle for Freedom, led by a 
 youth, Laon, and a maiden, Cythna, of surpassing 
 beauty. There is a gloomy shadow of a Tyrant, 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 436 
 
 there are wars and famines and images of horror, 
 there are Southern seas and skies ; in the end the 
 lovers, martyrs, yet triumphant in defeat, join after 
 death the sacred company in the Temple of the Spirit. 
 It is all told in verse of ardent, daring melody ; one 
 feels the soul of Shelley and of youth itself in the 
 poem ; but it is too far from reality to be great. 
 
 This is not true of the next long poem, written in "Prome- 
 1819. (The " Prometheus Unbound " is the supreme boZiy"" 
 expression of Shelley's genius and of revolutionary ^^^^' 
 faith.) It may seem strange to attribute a sense of 
 reality to this lyrical drama, for the poem deals 
 with no possible earthly story, but with a great 
 primeval myth. But the myth is real to Shelley. 
 He takes the old story from JEschylus, about Prome- 
 theus the Titan, who stole iire from heaven to benefit 
 the race of men, and who was therefore doomed by 
 Jupiter to hang in torture for endless ages on the 
 precipices of Mt. Caucasus. In Shelley's mind, the 
 Rebel has become the Hero, who endures in awful 
 patience, the representative of a humanity tortured, 
 yet purified through its pains. The "Prometheus 
 Unbound," in its mysticism, will always remain to 
 many a sealed book ; but even those who care noth- 
 ing for the intellectual conception can delight in the 
 lyric beauty, and in an imagery and an interpreta- 
 tion of Nature unrivalled in English verse. 
 
 Even while Shelley was producing the "Prome- "The_ 
 theus," he turned aside from this drama of the upper isig. ' 
 air to write swiftly and fervently a drama of solid 
 earth. " The Cenci " is firm as sculpture in its out- 
 lines ; it has more dramatic power and terror than 
 any tragedy since the seventeenth century. It shows 
 us a wholly new side of Shelley's genius. 
 
436 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 '• Epipsy- This list of Shelley's longest poems by no means 
 i82i!°"' exhausts, it only suggests, his creative energy. 
 "Ado- Others, less long, hardly less great, crowd on the 
 i82i!" memory: "Hellas," "Epipsychidion," "Adonais." 
 "HeUa3,"\ The "Adonais," Shelley's elegy on his brother poet, 
 Keats, ranks with the great elegies of the English 
 nmphof tongue, with " Lycidas " and " In Memoriam." It has 
 finished), not the Christian note of clear faith as these others 
 have; Shelley's intuition of spiritual things was vague 
 and pantheistic, and the inner truth of Christianity 
 he was always unable to discern through the tradi- 
 tions of his day. But spiritual insight of its own 
 order the "Adonais" surely possesses. No other 
 elegy so palpitates with the sense of the mystery of 
 life, and its unity in man and Nature through the 
 whole creation. 
 Lyrics. But Shelley is greatest of all perhaps in his minor 
 
 . lyrics. They soar like his own skylark in the free 
 heaven of idealism. Some of them are ' as elabo- 
 rate in structure as the odes of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, but they give quite a different impression of 
 movement and freedom. Others penetrate the soul 
 with a poignant simplicity of phrasing. They sing 
 of the changing phases of the life of Nature, of the 
 beauty that dies as it is born, of the darkness that 
 forever blends with the dawning light; in like man- 
 ner, they sing of the swiftly changing passions of 
 the soul of the poet, and through all change they 
 I seek, but never find, the beauty that shall endure. 
 i In all Shelley's work glows such an intuition of spir- 
 i itual loveliness, so intense a faith in a nobler future 
 • for this old world, that we must hail him, not only as 
 poet, but as prophet. He died in youth, nor can any 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 437 
 
 one guess what he might have achieved had he lived 
 to fuller manhood. As it is, he seems like the very- 
 embodiment of the new youth of the world. A few 
 lines of his own give the secret of his power : — 
 
 "Within a cavern of man's trackless spirit 
 
 Is throned an Image, so intensely fair. 
 That the adventurous thoughts that wander near it 
 
 Worship, and as they kneel tremble and wear 
 The splendor of its presence, and the light 
 
 Penetrates their dreamlike frame 
 Till they become charged with the strength of flame." 
 
 John Keats, the last of this group of poets, and John 
 the youngest, was not, like Byron and Shelley, of 1795-1821. 
 noble birth ; his father had been in youth a hostler, 
 and later owned a stable in London. The boy went 
 to a good school, and was apprenticed to a surgeon. 
 Till his love of letters brought him into literary 
 society, his connections were unpoetic. He lived in Life and 
 London, which was, however, more accessible to the auty!°' 
 country then than now, until, with a wasting dis- 
 ease upon him, he went to Italy, there to die when 
 he was only twenty-four years old. 
 
 It does not seem to matter much where poets are 
 born, or how they are brought up. This poor boy, 
 who had so little of beauty or wonder in the outward 
 condition of his life, really lived in a world which 
 any one of us might envy. " The other day," he 
 said to a friend when at the medical school, " during 
 the lecture there came a sunbeam into the room, and 
 with it a whole troop of creatures floating in the 
 ray ; and I was off with them to Oberon and fairy- 
 land." From fairy-land, one is tempted to say, he 
 never returned. 
 
438 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Poet of the Keats took refuge from a sordid present in a world 
 revolt" of dreams. He cared nothing for political or social 
 freedom; his poetry shows no trace of the passion 
 of brotherhood, almost no trace of human feeling. 
 Only through his art do we recognize in him a child 
 of the Revolution. His early poem, " Sleep and 
 Poetry," marks the entire breaking away from the 
 traditions of the eighteenth century. Keats took 
 the rhymed couplet, which had been so stiff and 
 smart in the hands of Pope, ran over the ends of 
 lines at his will, let it fall as it would into irregular 
 melodic units, gave it freedom, variety, sweetness. 
 No matter what form he chose as his work went on, 
 blank verse or lyric ode, his grace and richness of 
 utterance were constant. He set poetry free from 
 measured rule, and let it beat close to the rhythmic 
 heart of life. 
 
 j In subject, also, Keats showed how the romantic 
 I temper had conquered at last. He revelled in all 
 Work. marvel and in all beauty. In his " Endymion " and 
 j'Endym- in the noble fragment, "Hyperion," his mind sped 
 "Hype- back to that ancient world of myth where fair and 
 divine forms meet an innocent humanity only less 
 fair, in the green dusk of the woodlands or the cav- 
 erns below the seaj/br he seeks the abode where 
 mighty Titans bemoan with the large utterance of 
 the early gods their vanished glory, recognizing to 
 their sorrow that the day is to those younger deities 
 who, first in beauty, must therefore be first also in 
 " Lamia," might. " Lamia," also, and the exquisite short " Ode 
 to a Grecian Urn," breathe the classic inspiration. 
 Again, as in " The Eve of St. Agnes," the unfinished 
 "Eve of St. Mark," and the ballad, "La Belle Dame 
 
 rion 
 1819, 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 439 
 
 sans Merci," Keats turns to the middle ages for 
 inspiration, as Coleridge did in "Christabel," and 
 finds there a beauty less charged with mysticism 
 than did Coleridge, but aglow with color and feel- 
 ing. The same romantic temper controls his shorter 
 poems, especially the handful of immortal odes, — ^ho odes, 
 " To a Nightingale," " To Psyche," « To Autumn," ^*^^' 
 "To Melancholy," "On a Grecian Urn." By these 
 alone, even had he left nothing else, we should know 
 that a great poet had been with us. 
 
 " Beauty is truth, truth beauty ; this is all 
 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know : " 
 
 so Keats formulated his creed ; and he said the same Distinc- 
 thing in prose, when he wrote : "What the imagina- pXer. 
 tion seizes as beauty must be truth — whether it 
 existed before or not." " I have loved the principled 
 of beauty in all things," he said in his last days.) 
 It is as high priest of beauty that he is immortal. 
 We can notice with more delight the return of the 
 sense of beauty to our literature in his work than in 1 
 that of his contemporaries, because there is less to 
 distract us from it. 
 
 Sometimes the beauty which he reveals to us is The appeal 
 sensuous, sometimes imaginative. Keats's senses ° ^^^^' 
 were perhaps more delicate and intense than those 
 of any other among our poets. Color was an ecstasy 
 to him, and he makes it an ecstasy to us. He was 
 more sensitive than even his master, Spenser, to the 
 appeal of sound, from the " solemn tenor and deep 
 organ tone " of the speech of the Titan woman to — 
 
 " A little noiseless noise among the leaves, To the ear. 
 
 Born of the very sense that silence heaves.'' 
 
440 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 To the 
 imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 Keats's 
 promise. 
 
 Fragrance and even taste are noted again and again 
 in his verse. Yet his poetry, though responsive 
 from first to last to the charm of the senses, recog- 
 nizes constantly a nobler appeal. This is the appeal 
 of the imaginative past. It is the sense that we are 
 made free of the whole realm of the beautiful, opened 
 by the human race from the beginning of time, that 
 gives breadth and power to a poetry into which the 
 air of the actual world is seldom indeed allowed to 
 enter. 
 
 There are indications in Keats's poetry and also in 
 his letters that had he lived he hoped to emerge from 
 his dreams and to throw the light of his imagination 
 upon the world of men. But this was not vouch- 
 safed him. The year 1819 was the annus mirdbilis 
 of his genius. In this year he produced " The Eve 
 of St. Agnes," " Hyperion," and his great odes. It 
 was the year of the " Prometheus Unbound," a nota- 
 ble year indeed in the annals of English poetry ! The 
 next year he sickened, and in 1821 he died. Matthew 
 Arnold says, quoting from one of his letters : " No 
 one else in English poetry save Shakespeare has in 
 expression quite the fascinating felicity of Keats, his 
 perfection of loveliness. ' I think,' he said humbly, 
 ' I shall be among the English poets after my death.' 
 . . . He is ; he is with Shakespeare." 
 
 IV. Genbkal Chakacteeistics 
 
 We have passed the great poets of the first of the 
 century in rapid review. "Widely different though 
 they are, their achievement, when we look at it 
 broadly, yet shows a certain unity. It has been said 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 441 
 
 to express the renascence of wonder. And indeed The renas- 
 the sense of wonder rests on all of it, whether evi- wonder! 
 denced in the crude excitements in which Byron 
 revelled, in the contemplative awe of Wordsworth, 
 in the darting spiritual intuition of Shelley, or in 
 the quest for remote delights of Coleridge and Keats. 
 But the renascence of beauty is as strong as the 
 renascence of wonder ; beauty, which had fled the Of beauty, 
 eighteenth century, abides forever here, whether she 
 " dwells in deep retreats " as in Wordsworth, or 
 flashes glory on us wherever we may gaze, as in the 
 work of Keats and Shelley. Again, and here we The new 
 meet what is rather a new birth than a rebirth, the democ- 
 exultant impulse of freedom and brotherhood is almost ^^''^' 
 without exception the informing spirit of this modern 
 song. Sometimes this spirit shows itself in tender 
 brooding over the lives of the individual poor, some- 
 times in enraptured distant vision of a regenerate 
 world; but always it comes from the quickened 
 sense of the sacredness of humanity. And with this 
 new feeling comes an awakened sense of loving kin- 
 ship with the great visible world which is, at least 
 while he is on pilgrimage, the home of man. Noth- T'le love 
 ing like the passionate love of Nature shown by 
 these poets had been seen in our English literature 
 since the days of Cynewulf ; nothing like it has 
 been seen since. The delighted interpretation of 
 her language, the joy in her beauty, the sympathy 
 with her life, enriched our race with a neglected 
 heritage, and the Return to Nature is a great watch- 
 word which is not yet exhausted. 
 
 The quest for wonder, for beauty, for freedom 
 and brotherhood, for fellowship with Nature, play 
 
442 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Summary. 
 Romance 
 and de- 
 mocracy. 
 
 into one another till cause cannot be distinguished 
 from effect in all this poetry. But the great words 
 which remain in our mind as we turn away are 
 two: Romance and Democracy. Romance and de- 
 mocracy! Many will say that as the century has 
 advanced they keep pace with each other no longer ; 
 and indeed democracy seems unromantic enough in 
 some of its aspects to-day. But it is well, perhaps, 
 for us to remember that the two blended and en- 
 hanced each the other in the great burst of song that 
 accompanied the advent of the modern world. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 General. Saintsbuky, History of Nineteenth Century Lit- 
 erature. Mrs. Oliphant, Literary History of the Nineteenth 
 Century. Dowden, Studies in Literature; Transcripts and 
 Studies. Hekfoed, The Age of Wordsworth. Matthew 
 Arnold, Essays in Criticism. Shairp, The Poetic Interpreta- 
 tion of Nature ; Aspects of Poetry. Bagehot, Literary Studies. 
 Lowell, Among my Books. 
 
 Wordsworth. Globe edition. Introduction by John Mor- 
 LEY. Selections, ed. by Matthew Arnold. Life, by Myers 
 (English Men of Letters). Knight (3 vols). Essays, by Ar- 
 nold, HuTTON, Bagehot, Aubrey de Vere, Pater, Low- 
 ell (3 essays), Leslie Stephen. Knight, Through the 
 Wordsworth Country. 
 
 Coleridge. Globe edition. Life, by Campbell. Life, Traill 
 (English Men of Letters), Caine (Great Writers Series). 
 Essays, Pater, Swinburne, Arnold, Lowell. Selections 
 from prose writings, H. A. Beers. Brandl, S. T. Coleridge 
 and the English Romantic School. 
 
 Byron. Cambridge Byron, ed. by Paul Elmer More. 
 Life, Nichol (English Men of Letters), Noel (Great Writers 
 Series). Essays, John Morley, Macaulay, Swinburne 
 ("Wordsworth and Byron"), Arnold, Trelawney. 
 
 Shelley. Centenary edition, Woodberry (6 vols.). Selec- 
 tions, Stopford Brooke (Golden Treasury Series). Life, Ed- 
 ward DowDEN (2 vols.), Symonds (English Men of Letters), 
 Garnett (Great Writers Series), William Rossetti. Essays, 
 
WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 443 
 
 by Bagehot, Hutton, Arnold, Dowden. Scudder, Intro- 
 duction to the "Prometheus Unbound." Publications of the 
 Shelley Society. 
 
 Keats. Cambridge Keats, ed. by H. E. Scudder. Lite, by 
 CoLviN (English Men of Letters), Rossetti (Great Writers 
 Series). Essays, Lowell, Arnold. 
 
 See, also, articles on all these men in Dictionary of National 
 Biography. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 This chapter offers material for a year's study. Hints of 
 minimum reading may be given. From Wordsworth, Arnold's 
 "Selections"; from Coleridge, "The Ancient Mariner" and 
 " Christabel " ; from Shelley, the " Adonais " and the Lyrics 
 published with "Prometheus Unbound." From Byron, "The 
 Prisoner of Chillon," and selections from " Childe Harold " ; 
 from Keats, " The Eve of St. Agnes," the great odes. 
 
 Wordszoorth. Take Coleridge's analysis, and let the class 
 find illustrations of every point he makes, favorable and un- 
 favorable. Let the " Ode on the Intimation of Immortality," 
 the " Ode to Duty," and some of the sonnets, be learned by 
 heart, and thoroughly discussed. Subjects for study : Words- 
 worth's Treatment of Humanity. What kind of people? where 
 placed? what happens to them? Wordsworth's Treatment of 
 Nature. Compare with Cowper. Wordsworth's Poetic Theory 
 and Practice. Wordsworth's Spiritual Attitude. Special topics : 
 Wordsworth's Sonnets compared with Milton's, Bird-life in 
 Wordsworth, Wordsworth's Children. 
 
 Coleridge. "The Ancient Mariner" should be read with 
 consecutive analysis. Watch the pictures, follow and interpret 
 a little the symbolism, be sensitive to the verse movement. 
 Special topics : Compare "The Ancient Mariner " with old bal- 
 lads of shipwreck and the supernatural ; Coleridge's Feeling for 
 Nature compared with Wordsworth's. 
 
 Shelley. Reconstruct Shelley's personality from his lyrics. 
 Treatment of Nature compared with Wordsworth — favorite 
 type of landscape, method of interpretation. The meaning of 
 freedom to Shelley. Why could not Shelley draw a character 
 as Shakespeare could? Analyze the metrical structure of 
 the " Ode to the West Wind," the " Ode to Liberty," the cho- 
 ruses to "Hellas." Special topics; The "Adonais" compared 
 with "Lycidas," The Debt of the "Adonais" to the Greek 
 
444 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Elegies, Shelley as a Colorist, Shelley's Defence of Poetry com- 
 pared with Sir Philip Sidney's. 
 
 Byron. Illustrate with photographs, if possible, Byron's de- 
 scriptions of statues, architecture, scenery, as, for instance, 
 the "Dying Gladiator," the "Niobe,"the "Lake of Geneva." 
 Compare the sources of discontent in Byron, Wordsworth, and 
 Shelley. Compare their enthusiasms. In what points does Byron 
 surpass Shelley ? Special topic : Byron's Handling of the Spen- 
 serian Stanza in " Childe Harold " studied in Comparison with 
 Shelley's in " Adonais," Keats's in " Eve of St. Agnes." 
 
 Keats. Compare the romanticism of Keats with that of 
 Scott, of Coleridge, of Byron. Illustrate from Keats's poems 
 the sensitiveness of his eye, of his ear, of his touch, of his taste, 
 of his smell. Describe some of the pictures from the world 
 in which his imagination moved. Special topics : Compare 
 style and substance in Keats's " Sleep and Poetry " and Pope's 
 " Essay on Criticism " ; compare the treatment of Greek my- 
 thology in Keats and Shelley. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The work of the class should be detailed, devoted chiefly to 
 close study of a few poems, and to the enjoyment of one poet 
 after another. A few talks from the teacher on more general 
 lines could make more vivid the whole character of the period : 
 Social Ideals in Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley ; The Relation of 
 Nature to Humanity in Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats ; 
 The Spiritual Outlook of the Revolutionary Poets. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 PROSE TILL 1830 
 
 I. Fiction 
 
 THE spirit of prose, which had so fully controlled 
 the literature of the eighteenth century even 
 when that literature happened to be written in 
 verse, slipped once more into the background during 
 the thirty years after the revolutionary movement. 
 Delightful and important prose was written at this 
 time ; but as a whole the prose had neither the scope 
 nor the significance of the poetry. 
 
 The prose of the period is, as we should expect, 
 touched with the instinct of romance, and its great- 
 est name is that of a novelist, — Sir Walter Scott. 
 Scott, like Coleridge, wrote in both verse and prose ; 
 but we put Coleridge into the last chapter because 
 he was poet in the depths of him, and we put Scott 
 here because, while his tales in verse are full of fire 
 and facile grace, the entire breadth and force of his 
 nature found no outlet till he turned to prose. 
 
 Scott was an almost exact contemporary of Words- Sir Waiter 
 worth ; but he was not bound to the little group' of 1771-1832. 
 the older revolutionary poets by any personal ties. 
 He was a Scotchman, and his first and last passion 
 was for the romantic history and legend of his native 
 land. We know as we read him that many of his 
 instincts were Celtic, though the sturdy Saxon sense 
 
 445 
 
446 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 for facts controls his ardent romantic impulses. The 
 combination is a good one, for a writer of fiction ; the 
 nineteenth century was to see it again in later years 
 in Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 Scott's Scott gained popularity more easily than his greater 
 
 ^"^ ^' contemporaries of the South. His first original work 
 took the public by storm. This was a series of 
 spirited romances in verse, — " The Lay of the Last 
 Minstrel," " Marmion," " The Lady of the Lake," and 
 others not so good as these. To this day there are no 
 stories better told in English verse than Scott's. But 
 his poetry had no profound imaginative quality like 
 that of his contemporaries. He could dream dreams, 
 but he could not see visions. Nor had he magic of 
 utterance, though he had sincerity and fire. He used 
 the rapidly moving couplet of four beats, which is the 
 basal measure of " Christabel " ; but if we put the 
 "Lay of the Last Minstrel " beside " Christabel," we 
 feel instantly how Coleridge is beyond calculation 
 the master in imparting those undertones and over- 
 tones, those subtle variations in pause and accent, 
 that give enchantment to the music of verse. 
 
 The poetry of Scott was just the kind to have 
 great vogue for a time and then to fall into neg- 
 lect. Byron began to pour forth his early romances, 
 — far more fervid and surprising than those of Scott, 
 though less healthy and to-day less interesting ; 
 fickle readers turned to the new voice, and it seemed 
 as if Scott's day were over. 
 Scott's Then, in 1814, appeared an anonymous novel called 
 
 "Waverley." It was full of adventure, humor, and 
 charm. We must remember that there were very 
 few good novels in those days ; the art of fiction 
 
PROSE TILL 1830 447 
 
 had fallen from the strong hands of Richardson 
 and Fielding into the grasp of inferior people. The 
 mystery of the authorship of the book enhanced its 
 popularity. Soon others, no less delightful, followed 
 in quick succession : " Guy Mannering," " The An- 
 tiquary," " Old Mortality," " Rob Roy," " The Heart 
 of Midlothian," "The Bride of Lammermoor," 
 " Ivanhoe," " The Abbot," " Kenilworth," " Quentin 
 Durward," " Redgauntlet," — twenty -nine all told. 
 It was not long before the secret leaked out ; the 
 author of these novels was Sir Walter Scott. He 
 had come to his true power at last. 
 
 The Waverley novels and Scott's second series, 
 the "Tales of My Landlord," form one of the treas- 
 ures of English literature. Seventeen of them are 
 historic ; and they are on the whole the most impor- 
 tant expression we have of that enthusiasm for the 
 past, especially for the middle ages, which has 
 stirred so strongly in the quickened modern imagi- 
 nation. Scott's scholarship is not always so accurate His revi- 
 as that of later times, but he made an honest effort tory. 
 to project himself ' into the periods of which he 
 treats, and he had the great help of an eye that could 
 see the past clearly. He really created historical 
 romance in England as a worthy art form. The 
 great novel of the eighteenth century had derived 
 its power from its realism. It had been followed by 
 a feeble romantic school in fiction, that turned too 
 far away from reality to live. Now came Scott, 
 and he took this weak romantic impulse, and 
 thrilled it into life. His romances have helped us 
 all, more perhaps than we realize, to make our inward 
 pictures of the times of which they treat. 
 
448 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 His real- 
 ism. 
 
 Scott's 
 
 later 
 
 years. 
 
 Jane 
 
 Austen, 
 
 1775-1817. 
 
 But if Scott is a great master of historical fiction, 
 it is because he has an intense feeling for reality. 
 And after aU, his truest and deepest power is not in 
 his famous portraits, like those of Queen Elizabeth 
 and Mary Queen of Scots and Richard Cceur de 
 Lion, fine though these are, but in his keen under- 
 standing of the homely Scotch people whom he met 
 all around him. Characters like Jeanie Deans and 
 Dan die Dinmont are his greatest triumphs. It is in 
 his sympathetic and humorous rendering of the life 
 of these simple folk that Scott, half unconsciously 
 to himself, draws power from the democratic feeling 
 of his age ; it is here that his work touches Words- 
 worth's, and here, and here only, do his method and 
 his genius suggest Shakespeare. 
 
 The end of Scott's life was mournful. He had 
 made large sums of money by his books, and he had 
 built for himself at Abbotsford a Gothic mansion, 
 which visitors still flock to see. In 1825 the failure 
 of a business firm for which he held himself respon- 
 sible threw him into heavy debt. |He was a man 
 of high spirit and splendid honor ; he set himself to 
 remove that mountain of debt by the labor of his peny 
 He undertook, not only novels, but hackwork of 
 various descriptions ; he wrote furiously, copiously, 
 — and, at last, badly. Even his valiant and fertile 
 powers failed before the Herculean task was achieved. 
 His last novels show traces of mental wreck, and 
 Scott died at the age of sixty-one, worn out in 
 mind as in body. It is an heroic, pitiful tale. 
 
 Sooner or later excellence wins its way. Half a 
 dozen modest and unobtrusive novels, the first of 
 which had to wait fifteen years for a publisher, have 
 
PROSE TILL 1830 449 
 
 quietly slipped into a place beside the work of Scott 
 aud of the other great revealers of life through fic- 
 tion. They were written by Jane Austen, the 
 daughter of a country clergyman. Compared with 
 the novels of Scott, they seem like dainty miniatures 
 on porcelain beside large historical paintings. 
 
 Jane Austen was a witty and pretty woman, and 
 she wrote her books on the sly, in the intervals of a 
 proper feminine career, seemingly occupied by the 
 claims of family and society. Her stories describe 
 exactly the life she knew, that of placid villages and 
 country houses, where leisure and decorous manners 
 prevailed, where the range of interests was still that 
 of the eighteenth century, and nothing ever hap- 
 pened more exciting than a clandestine engagement. 
 Perhaps Miss Austen never realized that she was 
 reviving the tradition of close realism in the English 
 novel, and doing this with a delicacy and minuteness 
 of observation before unknown. But this is what is 
 really accomplished by her six stories, "Pride and "Senae 
 Prejudice," " Sense and Sensibility," " Northanger biiity," 
 Abbey," " Mansfield Park," « Emma," and " Persua- ^f"^'^^ 
 sion." We feel in these books the expression of andPreju- 
 the special sort of fine pleasure felt by a clever and 1812'. 
 cheerful woman in the everyday drama of social life. " Mans- 
 They show, as the "Vicar of Wakefield" showed, Park," 
 but as the eighteenth-century fiction in general did 
 not show, what delightful humor, untinged by coarse- 18I6. ' 
 ness, is afforded by the gentle, commonplace play of "North- 
 character on character. Jane Austen is not the first Abbey," 
 woman novelist in England ; women from the first 
 
 PsrsuSi- 
 
 took to novel-writing more readily than they had sion," 
 taken to any other literary work ; Miss Burney, and 
 
450 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 in a way Mrs. Radcliffe, were already respected 
 names. But she was the first to take a leading 
 place. Her province was the novel of manners ; 
 some of her successors, like Charlotte Bronte in 
 England, and George Sand in France, were to excel 
 in the novel of passion ; others, like George Eliot, 
 in what we may call the novel of conscience. No 
 great novel of action has ever yet been written by 
 a woman. 
 
 II. Essay 
 
 Apart from the novel there was at this time a 
 significant development of critical prose. More im- 
 The great portant perhaps than the work of any one author 
 was the establishment of several great critical re- 
 views ; for from these have proceeded the maga- 
 zines of our own day, which have so large a share in 
 shaping the intellectual life of the public. First 
 of these was the Edinburgh Review, founded in 
 1802 by Sydney Smith, Francis Jeffrey, and other 
 clever young men, as an organ of the Liberals. The 
 Edinburgh has the proud distinction of having in- 
 troduced Macaulay and Garlyle to the public. In 
 1808, the Quarterly was established, as the organ of 
 the Tories, and in 1817, Blackwood's, in which ap- 
 peared the charming work of Wilson (Christopher 
 North). These were all Scottish. In 1824, was 
 started the Westminster, the first important review in 
 England. 
 
 Criticism gained a chance to expand and experi- 
 ment in these organs. At first it was autocratic in 
 tone, and it made some memorable blunders, as when 
 
 critical 
 reviews. 
 
PROSE TILL 1830 451 
 
 Jeffrey denounced Wordsworth, or the Quarterly 
 sneered at Keats. But slowly critics learned that 
 our minds live more truly by admiration than by 
 contempt, and that good criticism must always spring 
 from sympathy before it can venture on judgment. 
 We may follow in these reviews and their successors 
 all the phases through which the great art of criticism 
 passes between Johnson and Arnold. 
 
 Among the individual essayists of this period, the Charles 
 dearest to us is assuredly Charles Lamb. There is 17^^1834. 
 no more lovable figure in all our long story than this 
 gentle friend of Coleridge. We love the man for 
 his quaint and sweet essays, and these essays gain 
 new charm for us when we know his brave, pathetic 
 life. Lamb was a schoolmate of Coleridge at the 
 famous Bluecoat School. A tragedy threw its shadow 
 over him when he was young ; his sister Mary, a 
 spirit hardly less rare than his own, killed her mother 
 in a fit of insanity. Charles devoted his life to this Life, 
 sister, whose days were clouded by recurrent attacks 
 of the malady. They were never rich. Lamb, for 
 thirty-one years a clerk in India House, passed his 
 days in bondage and controlled only his evenings. 
 Still, this brother and sister were not unhappy. 
 They both had active minds and keen powers of 
 enjoyment, they were endeared to a large circle of 
 friends, and they had the deep comfort of serene, 
 unassuming, religious faith. Lamb found his de- 
 lights, perforce, not, like the great poets his comrades, 
 in nature or in travel, but in the world of books and Work, 
 men. These delights he has recorded for us in a 
 fascinating way in his "Essays of Elia," and in the mund 
 fine introductions to his " Selections from the Drama- lygg"^' 
 
452 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 "John 
 
 Woodvil," 
 
 1801. 
 
 "Mr. H.," 
 1807. 
 
 "Tales 
 from 
 Shake- 
 speare," 
 1807. 
 
 " Speci- 
 mens 
 from the 
 Dramatic 
 Poets," 
 1808. 
 
 of Elia, 
 1822, 1824, 
 1833. 
 
 William 
 Hazlitt, 
 1778-1830. 
 
 Leigh 
 Hunt, 
 1784-1859. 
 
 Thomas 
 De 
 
 Qulncey, 
 1785-1859. 
 
 tists." Lamb was steeped in the Elizabethan drama, 
 and in the essayists of the seventeenth century, and 
 his writings are a joy to the cultivated ear, partly 
 because, with all their individuality, they are vocal 
 with echoes of past delights. The pleasurableness 
 of the literature of our latter days is largely due, 
 often, to its power of quickening associations, as the 
 fresh singing of a young girl sometimes makes her 
 hearers start in response to the tones of her mother. 
 
 Lamb wrote, besides his essays, a little tale, " Rosa- 
 mund Gray," and two dramas, a comedy, "Mr. H.," 
 and a tragedy, "John Woodvil." "With his sister, 
 he wrote the " Tales from Shakespeare," which have 
 become a classic in their way. He died in 1834, sur- 
 viving by only a few months Coleridge, whose friend- 
 ship had formed the romance of his life. 
 
 William Hazlitt was a vigorous critic of the day. 
 We remember him best because, with Lamb and 
 Coleridge, he helped to revive intelligent enthusiasm 
 for Shakespeare. Leigh Hunt, friend of Shelley and 
 Keats, and editor of a literary periodical, the Exam- 
 iner, was a pleasant essayist of good literary tastes, 
 though a little too much inclined to sweets. But 
 we pass rapidly on to two more important names : 
 Thomas De Quincey and Walter Savage Landor. 
 In Landor and De Quincey we find again the con- 
 stantly recurrent expression of the two forces that 
 are always striving for control in literature and art : 
 classicism and romanticism. 
 
 Thomas De Quincey was born in 1785. He was 
 a precocious and dreamy boy, master of Greek at 
 fifteen, an enthusiast in the accumulation of all kinds 
 of knowledge. At his University, Oxford, he spent 
 
PROSE TILL 1830 453 
 
 several years of recluse life. He had a romantic 
 devotion for Wordsworth, and settled for a time in 
 the Lake country, to be near his idol. He spent his 
 later life in or near Edinburgh. Unfortunately, for 
 himself, but fortunately, perhaps, for English litera- 
 ture, he fell under the influence of the opium habit, 
 and his most remarkable work, " The Confessions of 
 an Opium-Eater," is a kind of autobiography telling 
 the extraordinary experiences of his disease. His 
 writings were all in the form of contributions to 
 periodicals ; some of them are called " Suspiria de 
 Profundis," " Murder as One of the Fine Arts," "The 
 Flight of a Tartar Tribe." 
 
 As might be inferred from these titles, De Quincey's 
 work shows the strength and the weakness of roman- 
 ticism carried to an extreme. The thrill of the un- 
 usual is the chief impression that it gives. It recalls 
 the work of our American Poe. He loved to impart 
 to prose harmonious cadences hitherto undreamed of, 
 and to fill the mind with strange images of beauty, 
 mystery, or terror. A series of majestic visions 
 passes before the inner sight as we read the record 
 of his opium dreams. But although the power of 
 De Quincey's prose is unquestioned, it is a bad 
 model. His style is frequently extravagant and over- 
 wrought, his very stateliness is so self-conscious that 
 it wearies, and he too often confuses the imaginative 
 with the fantastic. 
 
 The style of Walter Savage Landor, on the other Walter 
 hand, was one of chiselled purity. Landor was a Landor, 
 Greek born out of his due time. His very passion i'^'^6-i864. 
 for liberty was of the classic rather than of the revo- 
 lutionary stamp. Few modern men care much about 
 
454 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Poems, 
 1795. 
 
 " Gebir," 
 1798. 
 
 " Count 
 Julian," 
 1812. 
 
 " Imagi- 
 nary 
 
 Conversa- 
 tions," 
 1824-1853. 
 
 "Perieles 
 and As- 
 
 1836. 
 
 " Pentam- 
 
 eron," 
 
 1837. 
 
 "Last 
 Fruit off 
 an old 
 Tree." 
 1853. 
 
 a belated Greek, and Landor will never be popular. 
 But he has had a strong and abiding influence on 
 other literary artists ; and to certain readers, his 
 " Imaginary Conversations," his " Pericles and 
 Aspasia," will always offer a place wherein to take 
 refuge with eternal beauty and calm wisdom. Lan- 
 dor showed as strong an historical sense as Scott, but 
 in a different way. In his " Imaginary Conversa- 
 tions " he would sketch a dramatic setting briefly, 
 sometimes exquisitely, and then he would set the 
 people of the past to talking about things that inter- 
 ested him, and that might have interested them. 
 There is a cool, high intellectual power about these 
 dialogues ; there is at times a rare felicity of style, 
 alluring from its very reserve. 
 
 Landor wrote verse also; a blank verse poem, 
 " Gebir," a drama, " Count Julian," and certain lyrics. 
 His verse is lofty, pure, reserved, like his prose. 
 Rarely competent to move, it has yet at times a pathos 
 enhanced by its dignity. We may sum up Landor's 
 life as he saw it, in his own words : — 
 
 " I strove with none, for none was worth my strife ; 
 Nature I loved, and next to nature, art. 
 I warmed both hands before the fire of life ; 
 It sinks, and I am ready to depart." 
 
 He lived fourteen years after he wrote these noble 
 lines, and died, eighty-nine years old, in Florence. 
 It is curious to know that the author of books so 
 severe and serene was a very choleric man. Legends 
 of his peculiarities of tempei: and disposition still 
 linger. His life is interesting, not only for itself, but 
 for his many literary connections; he is a link be- 
 
PROSE TILL 1830 455 
 
 tween the generation of Southey, who was the friend 
 of his youth, and the generation of Browning, who 
 tended the lionlike old man with the devotion of a 
 son in his lonely and troubled old age. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Life of Soott, by Lockhart ; by Hutton. Essay on Scott, 
 Leslie Stephen. Scott's Journal. Ruskin, in Fors Clavi- 
 gera, has charming fragments of a biography of Scott. Life of 
 Jane Austen, GoLDWisr Smith (Great Writers Series). Life of 
 Lamb, Ainger (English Men of Letters). Page, Life and 
 Writings of De Quincey. Essay on De Quincey, Leslie 
 Stephen. Landor, Selections, by Sidney Colvin, with excel- 
 lent introduction (Golden Treasury Series). Selections, Athe- 
 naBum Press Series. Life, Sidney Colvin. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Scott's poems, especially "Marmion " and the "Lady of the 
 Lake," form admirable preparation for the greater romantic 
 work of his contemporaries. Study of the novel as an art 
 form may be begun with Scott better than with any other 
 novelist, for his art is at once sound and obvious, a rare com- 
 bination. Plot development, character presentation, dramatic 
 contrast, etc., can be missed in his work by no one who looks 
 for them. Jane Austen may well be studied immediately after 
 Scott, to point a contrast. 
 
 It is a pity to analyze Charles Lamb. The influence of 
 seventeenth-century prose upon the style should, however, be 
 carefully noted. Landor and De Quincey may well be read to- 
 gether, in short extracts, for the sake of contrast. Reading of a 
 few selected early reviews is profitable as a warniug against 
 critical blunders, and a point of departure from which the 
 evolution of modern criticism can be traced. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 The Personality of Scott ; of Charles Lamb ; Early Modern 
 Criticism, its Strength and its Weakness ; the Classical and the 
 Romantic in Prose Style ; The Art of Jane Austen. 
 
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CHAPTER V 
 
 CONDITIONS OF VICTORIAN LITERATURE 
 
 A FTER the short but great literary period which 
 -^-^ followed the revolutionary upheaval, England 
 fell once more for a brief time into silence. Once 
 more it seemed as if all the stories had been told 
 and all the songs sung, as if the last inspiration had 
 worn itself out. And then once more the spiritual 
 force in the nation rose and pressed forth through 
 new channels, prepared for it by new conditions. 
 We have reached the period which has only just 
 closed. We are so near to it that many of the forces 
 which controlled it are yet imperfectly understood. 
 But of one thing at least we may be fairly sure : 
 life grows richer as it goes on, not poorer, and there 
 was never a period when that beautiful utterance of 
 life which we call literature had more vitality, vari- 
 ety, and expressiveness than during the last seventy 
 years of the nineteenth century. 
 
 The conditions under which Victorian literature 
 expanded were so complex that we feel timid in 
 attempting to describe them ; yet a few stand out 
 so clearly that they must at least be suggested. 
 
 I. The Foeces at Work 
 
 First, we all recognize, of course, man's conquest 
 of material forces. This conquest seemed accom- 
 
 459 
 
science. 
 
 460 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 plished in the Renaissance, when men discovered the 
 shape and size of this earth, and its relation to the 
 starry universe ; and we all know how these discov- 
 Appiied eries quickened the imagination. But they were no 
 more startling than the discoveries made in our time, 
 which have brought already under human control 
 such forces as steam and electricity. We do not yet 
 begin to know all that this new dominion of ours 
 is to mean. But already it has given the earnest, 
 though not the fulfilment, of the partial release of 
 humanity from the heavy burden of material labor, 
 and it has bound the nations into one and enabled 
 us to evade, even more swiftly than Shakespeare's 
 Ariel could do, the harsh tyranny of space. Peoples 
 no longer live in remote isolation each from each; 
 they share from day to day their daily life. Rail- 
 roads, telegraphs, telephones, and the rest are not in 
 themselves ends in which we can glory, and it is a 
 mistake so to regard them ; but they are means for 
 the conquest of the world of matter by the world 
 of mind, and they quicken and liberate the imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 But the triumph of mind over' the material world 
 achieved by natural science, sinks into insignificance 
 beside the transformation of the world of thought by 
 scientific theory. It was in 1859 that Darwin's " Ori- 
 gin of Species," probably the most epoch-making book 
 of the modern world, was published. From this 
 time on and even earlier, the great principle of evo- 
 lution began to make its way. Slowly men realized 
 that the knowledge of this principle brought a new 
 revelation of the method and significance of natural 
 law, and of the past history of the visible world ; 
 
VICTORIAN LITERATURE 461 
 
 more slowly yet they became aware that it had pro- 
 found, almost revolutionary significance in almost 
 every sphere of thought. The infusion of evolu- 
 tionary method and evolutionary conceptions into 
 religion, ethics, sociology, criticism, was the chief 
 intellectual achievement of the nineteenth century. 
 As a mere theory of process and relations in the 
 natural world, evolution would not concern us here : 
 as a principle of interpretation applied more and 
 more in every department of human activity, it has 
 pervaded and profoundly modified our literature. 
 
 The social situation, in the presence of which The social 
 modern authors have written, has been one of absorb- ment. 
 ing and dramatic interest. We saw how profoundly 
 Europe was stirred at the end of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury by the new cry for brotherhood and freedom ; 
 we saw how, despite the unconquerable idealism of 
 the poets, society succumbed to a conservative reac- 
 tion. There was little democratic passion or hope 
 stirring in English hearts when Victoria came to 
 the throne. Yet an ideal, once seen by the race, 
 never quite vanishes. Democracy during the nine- 
 teenth century has advanced, often by ways un- 
 dreamed of. But it has met with serious checks 
 and unforeseen dangers. The aristocracy of birth has 
 been growing gradually weaker over Europe ; our 
 great American civilization has been built up with- 
 out it. But a new aristocracy threatens us, even 
 worse, because more ignobly devoid of appeal to the 
 imagination, — the aristocracy of money. Again, 
 the revolutionary leaders trusted that freedom and 
 joy were close at hand for the great company of the 
 poor and the unprivileged, but modern life has 
 
462 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 seemed to consign the poor to a new bondage. 
 While the middle classes have risen to prosperity 
 and power, the working classes have remained in 
 material and spiritual need. Political freedom has 
 as yet availed them little. At the end of the eigh- 
 teenth century an industrial revolution as important 
 as the political, though less noted at the time, substi- 
 tuted machine labor for hand labor. Putting the 
 machines in the hands of the employing class, this 
 revolution threw the laboring people, by whose daily 
 work society subsists, into a sharply defined class by 
 themselves, and into conditions in some ways pecu- 
 liarly painful and degrading. All these things 
 modern literature has noted. The cry of the toilers 
 makes itself ever more clearly heard through our 
 noblest books. Our authors have turned from 
 visions like Shelley's to observation and experi- 
 ment ; they have believed in evolution rather than 
 in revolution. Hope of a nobler social order has at 
 times seemed far away, but it has never died. Social 
 study and social passion are among the most dis- 
 tinctive features of Victorian literature, especially of 
 Victorian prose. 
 The re- The period of experiment on which men entered 
 
 mOTe-^ at the end of the eighteenth century did not confine 
 itself to social matters ; it invaded the religious 
 world also. People were driven to question their 
 relations to God as well as their relations to their 
 fellow-men. The authority of the Church was as 
 much weakened as that of the old idea of the State. 
 Unfortunately, during the searching experience of 
 the Revolution, the Christian Church had sided with 
 the party of privilege and wealth rather than with 
 
 ment. 
 
VICTORIAN LITERATURE 463 
 
 the people, or with the cause of freedom; and this 
 choice of hers had sadly loosened her hold, not only 
 on the working classes, but on many of the pure 
 spirits who made a religion of humanity. We can 
 not wonder that the Church chose in this way, when 
 we remember the condition of Christianity in the 
 eighteenth century; but all Christian people must 
 regret it, for the effect of this false step is still felt 
 to-day. Many other reasons weakened the hold of 
 historic creeds ; and the nineteenth century, in every 
 European country, has been a time of doubt and of 
 spiritual striving. Perhaps on this very account it 
 has been a time of intense spiritual earnestness. 
 "The torpor of assurance," to use a phrase of 
 Browning's, has been well shaken from our creed. 
 A little after the middle of the century came the 
 great expansion due to the introduction of evolu- 
 tionary theory. This theory affected religious con- 
 ceptions very powerfully, strengthening at first the 
 forces that made for denial and scepticism, and later 
 transforming many of the outlying and more mechan- 
 ical modes of religious thought. All this ferment of 
 religious inquiry, this exultant pleasure in escape 
 from narrow dogma, this lament for dead faith, this 
 joy in faith reconquered, all the phases of profound 
 interest in the life of the soul which characterize 
 modern life, are expressed in Victorian literature, 
 especially in Victorian poetry. 
 
 Many other forces have of course found expression The sbs- 
 in modern literature. The nineteenth century knew moTei 
 a great movement toward beauty, which poets and ™®°*- 
 prose writers did as much as artists to foster; it 
 knew a quickened desire to penetrate the secrets of 
 
464 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Nature with loving heart and mind. These things 
 and others we shall watch as we come to read the 
 authors who have interpreted for us the last stages 
 of that great story which we have followed from the 
 beginning — the story of the imaginative life of the 
 English race as shown in English letters. 
 
 II. The Decade of Origins 
 
 A back- It is rather arbitrary to call a literary period by 
 
 gia^e. tlie name of a sovereign, but the last period of our 
 English literature does almost exactly coincide with 
 the reign of Victoria although it begins a few years 
 before she ascended the throne. It is strange to see 
 how many of the great men of the revolutionary 
 period had been swept away before her accession. 
 Keats, Shelley, Byron, had all died, in the inverse 
 order of their ages, before 1825. Another decade, 
 and the older men, Hazlitt, Scott, Coleridge, and 
 Lamb, were hushed, while Wordsworth's work as a 
 poet, though not as a man, was practically over. 
 The silent air waited for new voices, and in the ten 
 years between 1830 and 1840 hew voices made them- 
 selves heard. 
 Social and This is One of the most significant and interesting 
 ligai&^^ decades in our literary history : a birth-decade, in 
 which we see the first appearance of the two great 
 forces that, as we have said, stand out as most com- 
 pelling in the confusion of modern life : the force of 
 social unrest, the force of religious inquiry. At the 
 beginning, the movement culminating in the Reform 
 Bill definitely placed political power in the hands of 
 the middle class ; at the end we are confronted with 
 
 cance. 
 
VICTORIAN LITERATURE 465 
 
 Chartism, the first effort, significant if feeble, at self- 
 assertion on the part of the working class. Reli- 
 giously, this was the period of that strong spiritual 
 movement, led by John Henry Newman and his col- 
 leagues, which stirred England to the depths, with its 
 appeal for a return to strict self-renunciation and to 
 the faith and practice of the primitive Church. Un- 
 der the inspiration of John Stuart Mill and his fel- 
 lows a strong sceptical movement was also gathering 
 force, after its fashion as true a witness to moral ear- 
 nestness as the Catholic revival ; and at the same 
 time men of the type of Frederick Denison Maurice, 
 formed by the influence of Coleridge, were begin- 
 ning to feel their way toward a Christianity which 
 should be the home at once of faith and of freedom. 
 
 The first books of Tennyson and of Browning were First ap- 
 published in this decade ; with these, Victorian poetry ^j^^^^"" 
 began. Victorian essay opened significantly with iro^^ing, 
 Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus," — the book which more ^h'^S^' ' 
 than any other one struck the key-note of the new eray, 
 age, — and with such of the "Tracts for the Times" Newman, 
 as were written by Newman and Pusey. It is worth 
 while to remember one special year, 1833, for Tenny- 
 son's first poems of importance. Browning's earliest 
 poem, " Pauline," the first of the " Tracts for the 
 Times," and " Sartor Resartus," were in this year all 
 given to the world. One short year later, and Vic- 
 torian fiction gave promise, in Dickens's " Sketches 
 by Boz," of its long and brilliant career, and the 
 "Pickwick Papers" in 1836, and "Oliver Twist" in 
 1837, showed that the career was fairly begun ; in 
 1837 the great name of Thackeray, whom we couple 
 with Dickens as we couple Browning with Tenny- 
 son, appears with the " Yellowplush Papers." 
 
466 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Difficul- 
 ties of 
 judgment 
 In modern 
 literature. 
 
 Victorian fiction, Victorian essay, Victorian poetry, 
 then are well on their way before this decade has closed. 
 We shall study these three in successive chapters. 
 Which has been the greatest it is difficult to say. Re- 
 membering the copiousness, flexibility, and power of 
 modern prose, the expressiveness of our novels, the 
 force and beauty of our essays, we are ready to ex- 
 claim that prose is the characteristic art form of 
 modern life ; but the words hesitate on our lips, as 
 the incommunicable grace of a lyric from Tennyson, 
 the imagery of a sonnet from Rossetti, some poig- 
 nant phrase from Browning, or some haunting mel- 
 ody from Swinburne, float reproachfully through the 
 mind. The truth would seem to be that at last the 
 two great instruments of literary expression are 
 equally mature, and that they hold their own in har- 
 monious and balanced power. Assuredly there seems 
 to be need of both of them, adequately to render the 
 eager and varied life of the Victorian age. 
 
 It is well for us to remember, as we approach this 
 literature, so full of special interest to us, the caution 
 of Matthew Arnold. He warns us that there are 
 three possible estimates of literature : the historic, 
 the personal, and the real. Of these the real be- 
 comes more and more difficult to obtain as we come 
 near to our own days, the historic and the personal 
 become more alluring. We can learn to know the 
 movement of life in the times just preceding our 
 own better through the study of Victorian literature 
 than in any other way. We can also find personal 
 friends who will help us in the inner life of mind 
 and soul, more readily perhaps among modern authors 
 than among any others. Both these things it is right 
 
VICTORIAN LITERATURE 467 
 
 and well for us to do ; only we must not confuse 
 proportions, and we must avoid dogmatism. It is 
 unwise to make assertions about the absolute and 
 permanent value of modern books. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Traill, Social England, Vol. VI. Saintsbury, History of 
 Nineteeth-century Literature. Gosse, Modern English Litera- 
 ture. Justin McCarthy, History of Our Own Times. Dow- 
 den, Studies in Literature ; The Scientific Movement and 
 Literature ; Transcripts and Studies, Victorian Literature. 
 Frederic Harrison, Victorian Literature. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 It would be helpful if the services of other departments 
 could be engaged at this point for one or two general talks 
 on the Political and Social History of the Victorian Age, the 
 Scientific Movement knd its Reaction on Literature, the Modern 
 Artistic Movement and its Relations to Literature, the Oxford 
 Movement in its Literary Connections. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 VICTOBIAIJ FICTION 
 
 Realism of /^NE of the best ways to understand modern Eng- 
 iltera"*" ^"^ ^^^*i i^ *° ^^^^ *^^ great Victorian novels ; for 
 **"«• the novel, in these latter days, has pressed nearer 
 
 and nearer to life. We have had, it is true, some 
 strong writers of romance ; but on the whole the fic- 
 tion of the great masters has reverted to the realistic 
 tradition of the eighteenth century. Realism in art 
 is sure to be the cry of an age possessed like ours 
 with the desire for knowledge of all kinds, in particu- 
 lar for self-knowledge ; and the novel, though it has 
 some conventions, lends itself to realism more easily 
 than does any other art form. 
 
 Curiously enough, it is the very hardest thing for 
 art to do, to show life exactly as it is. Art must 
 move toward realism as far as it can, the farther the 
 better, — so long as it does not quite arrive. As soon 
 as it wholly arrived it would cease to be art. We 
 can watch this gradual penetration into reality in a 
 very interesting way through Victorian fiction. 
 
 I. Chables Dickens 
 
 1812-1870. Dickens is the first revealer of modern life in fic- 
 tion ; and what a revelation it is ! His realism is of 
 just the type that we should expect early in a liter- 
 ary development, for it is realism of sight. No other 
 
 468 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 469 
 
 English novelist has had such power to make us see 
 the world he watched. Analyze a chapter of Dickens, 
 and note how largely it is made up of visual images. His reai- 
 The great presence of London is around us as we 
 read him ; we tread its streets, watch its darkly flow- 
 ing river, penetrate its foulest haunts. Or, we are 
 in the fresh country, and the old life of the inn and 
 the coach slips gayly along before our inner eyes. 
 People, too, throng upon our vision : the plain, often 
 the poor, people of the Victorian world. We see 
 their clothes, we note their gestures ; we should 
 know them anywhere. 
 
 Dickens had the best sort of training to make his His train- 
 imagination a mirror in this way. He never had any ™^' 
 time to think about life ; he was too busy looking at 
 it. His father (whom he sketched in Mr. Micawber) 
 and his mother (whom he sketched in Mrs. Nickleby) 
 seem to have been rather irresponsible about their 
 offspring; at least, when Mr. Dickens, who was a 
 poor clerk in the Navy Office, fell into debt, his 
 second son Charles, a sensitive little fellow eleven 
 years old, was tossed into the maelstrom of London, 
 there to fend for himself and pick up a living by 
 pasting labels on blacking bottles in a big ware- 
 house. He was a dreamy child; before this time 
 he had fed his mind on the strong fiction of the 
 eighteenth century, which he found in an attic. His 
 experience in the warehouse he has described for us 
 in "David Copperfield." It did not last long, and 
 he was better taken care of afterward ; but his only 
 university — and to develop his unique genius the 
 best he could have had — was the London streets. 
 We find him at fifteen in an attorney's office, a little 
 
470 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 later a reporter, always haunting the theatre and 
 intimate with the life of the stage, and picking up 
 in all these experiences the material for his novels. 
 
 His work. Fame came to him early. All England laughed 
 over the " Pickwick Papers," published in monthly 
 
 Papers^" instalments when he was twenty-four years old. 
 
 1836. They were a series of humorous character sketches, 
 
 in the good old English tradition of very broad fun, 
 but free from the coarseness which had disfigured 
 the fun of the last century. It was enough to make 
 the book immortal that here Sam Weller made his 
 bow to the English public. The next year Dickens 
 brought out in the same fashion his first real novel, 
 
 "Oliver "Oliver Twist." This was a glaring melodrama, 
 
 ^7^*'" with an impossible plot, very little humor, and 
 much bad pathos ; it showed how much false roman- 
 ticism still clung to the author, but it contained 
 descriptions of the life of London thieves and out- 
 casts startling in vividness and truth. Melodrama 
 and farce, with which Dickens thus introduced him- 
 self to the public, continued to be the controlling 
 
 "Nicholas types of his work. "Nicholas Nicklebv" came next, 
 Nickleby " -"^ •' ' 
 
 1838. ' reverting to the type of Pickwick, but less farcical. 
 
 It was a story of roving adventure, loosely strung 
 
 together, bubbling over with delightful fun and sym- 
 
 "Old pathy. Then, for nearly thirty years, the fecund 
 
 Shop°" ^ genius of Dickens continued to pour forth- books 
 
 ^^^- that delighted the English public. They were all 
 
 Chnzzie- novels of plot or of adventure, though sometimes he 
 
 wit," 1843. combined the two. Those in which adventure domi- 
 
 mas nates are by far the best. Dickens never compassed 
 
 liii^' ' realism in plot, though he could construct a fairly 
 
 ingenious melodrama ; the power of his work is in his 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 471 
 
 gift of reproducing the aspect of life, and in his "Dombey 
 
 irresistible humor. It is humor of the simplest, genial, i^. ™' 
 
 infectious, and we treasure it because it makes us for- " David 
 
 get that life has any moral problems. No one can alfi^^' 
 
 think of problems while Mr. Micawber is making a ^^^' 
 
 speech. Dickens was supposed in his own day to be House," 
 
 master of the pathetic also, but his pathos is usually ^^^^' 
 
 of the self-conscious kind started by Richardson, and Times," 
 
 it rings a little false to-day. "^L/tti 
 
 The best of these novels of adventure is " David Dorrit," 
 
 Copperfield " ; surely a book to live as long as kindly , ' 
 
 Engflish folk still read their mother tongue. One Two 
 
 . Cities " 
 
 great plot novel also Dickens wrote, which stands i859. 
 
 curiouslv apart from his other work. It is the "Our 
 
 Mutual 
 
 "Tale of Two Cities," a story of the French Revo- Friend," 
 lution, conceived under the inspiration of Carlyle. 
 The terror of the time gathers visibly before our 
 eyes as we read. 
 
 Dickens's highly nervous organization wore itself 
 out early. He took to imitating himself in his later 
 books ; they are often mannered, and the humor is Dickens's 
 forced. He added to the strain of writing the ex- <i^^*^- 
 citement of lectures and public readings, in England 
 and America, and he died when only fifty-eight 
 years old. 
 
 Dickens's strongest moral impulse is his compassion 
 for the poor. He never discovered the world of 
 manual workers, though he tried to treat it in ,^. 
 
 His scope 
 
 " Hard Times," but the whole world of lower trade and spirit. 
 and poverty in London lives in his pages. Some- 
 times the reformer spoils the artist, yet we love 
 Dickens the better for his unfailing compassion 
 toward suffering children in workhouses or streets. 
 
472 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 toward prisoners, toward victims of the cruelty of 
 man, and for his efforts to right abuses. Better than 
 any special crusade, however, is his spirit of sympathy 
 for aU sorts and conditions of men, except indeed, 
 for the very rich, whom he disliked too much to 
 describe them weU. Dickens has many crude and 
 obvious faults. He lacks the psychological insight 
 of later novelists ; he has no spiritual vision ; he cari- 
 catures and distorts till we feel in reading him that 
 we are looking at life indeed, but at life reflected as 
 it were in a convex mirror. But it is impossible to 
 live with Dickens and not feel our sympathy for our 
 fellow-men quickened and broadened. What better 
 thing can a novelist do for us ? 
 
 II. William Makepeace Thackeray 
 
 1811-1863. Thackeray took English fiction into precisely the 
 regions which Dickens could not enter. He had 
 just the sort of antecedents and training to make 
 this possible for him. He was a gentleman born. 
 His mother married for her second husband an 
 Anglo-Indian officer said to be the original of 
 
 His train- Colonel Newcome. Thackeray was sent home from 
 India to be educated, and studied at the famous 
 Charter House school, and then at Cambridge Uni- 
 versity. He had Bohemian tastes, however, and 
 drifted to Paris, where he studied art for a while. 
 It is interesting that Dickens's leaning, apart from 
 literature, was toward the stage, Thackeray's toward 
 art. He saw more or less of various phases of Euro- 
 pean life, an opportunity never given to Dickens, 
 most useful to a novelist of society. 
 
 ing. 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 473 
 
 Thackeray was a kindly, shy, immensely clever 
 man. He began to write when still very young, but His work, 
 he did not win fame early, like Dickens, though his 
 lovers to-day delight in every word of his early 
 humorous sketches. He was thirty-six when his 
 first great novel, "Vanity Fair," was published, pj*'?;'^ 
 This was a story of English society at the time of 1847.' 
 the battle of Waterloo ; it centres in the amazing 
 figure of Becky Sharp, the adventuress, who passes 
 through all social grades like a rocket, and then falls 
 like a rocket into the mire. The next great novel 
 was " Pendennis," in 1850 : this dealt with strictly ".P™???: 
 
 •' nis," 1850. 
 
 contemporary life. In 1852 came Thackeray's novel , 
 
 of the eighteenth century, "Henry Esmond"; it is Esmond," 
 
 considered by many the best historical novel in Eng- 
 
 1852. 
 The 
 
 lish. In 1854 " The Newcomes " gave a picture of New- 
 
 modern life, sweeter in tone than any Thackeray had i854. ' 
 
 before presented, though very sad. "The Virgin- "TheVir- 
 
 ians," another historical novel, is inferior to " Es- 1857^"^' 
 
 mond," and Thackeray is not at his best in his other "phiiip," 
 
 long finished novel, "Philip." ^*^^- 
 
 Thackeray wrote lectures as well as novels ; in par- 
 ticular, "The English Humourists" and "The Four "English 
 „ HIT .Ti • ^ 1 Humour- 
 Georges, dealing with that eighteenth century istB,"i853. 
 
 which he knew and loved so well. His private life "The Four 
 
 . p Georges, 
 
 was clouded with sorrow. His one longing was for i860. 
 
 simple domestic tenderness, and his wife, early in 
 
 their marriage, became insane. He was a lonely 
 
 man, but cheered by the love of friends and later 
 
 of his daughters. He lectured in England and in 
 
 our own country, though not so much as Dickens. 
 
 His life was really in his books, which were wonder- J^ay^s" 
 
 fully real to him. In 1863 he died. death. 
 
474 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Thackeray's plots are not so much in evidence as 
 Dickens's, and it is almost possible to read him with- 
 out realizing that his books have any plot at all. 
 Yet when we come to think we shall see that in 
 some, at least, of his books, as " Vanity Fair " and 
 " Henry Esmond," he tells his story in the main very 
 well, though he sometimes loses sight of proportions 
 and has to crowd it at the end. But Thackeray's 
 His art. art is always unobtrusive. The same thing is em- 
 phatically true of his style. It is a delightful style, 
 quite different from that of Dickens, and far more 
 charming. His books seem to slip along with the 
 ease and sparkle of well-bred conversation, but their 
 apparent simplicity is really the highest art, as any 
 one will see who tries to write like them. Thackeray 
 pauses a great deal in his narrative for discursive 
 comment, and this habit of his might be tedious were 
 his style not so perfect ; as it is, his digressions are 
 a great charm. Prose has never had a truer, a more 
 legitimate, melody of movement than he imparted 
 to it. 
 
 It is fortunate that he has a more subtle style 
 than Dickens, for he had to describe more subtle 
 people. Dickens begins with the inhabitants of 
 the city slums, and moves easily among poor and 
 simple folk till he reaches the merchant class; his 
 studies are never successful when he goes higher. 
 But Thackeray moves upward, quite out of the 
 
 His social world of trade, among the intellectual and profes- 
 pictures. . , t i • xt 
 
 sional classes, and the aristocracy. He does not 
 
 visualize his world as Dickens does ; he notes less 
 
 the outward aspect of men, than their manners, their 
 
 interests, their relations. He sees the mind, and 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 475 
 
 shows us the play of motives in it, conscious and 
 unconscious. 
 
 It is not a very cheerful picture that he gives us. 
 Dickens's unthinking classes are sound and kindly 
 at heart, though they live on a level not so very 
 much above the animal. But Thackeray's polished 
 and educated people are usually worldly through and 
 through. They have learned how to make, exter- 
 nally, a fine art of life, but they are heartless under- 
 neath. We cannot help feeling that the society 
 which Thackeray describes is almost hopelessly 
 materialized. Money is of paramount importance 
 in it. His people are consumed by that sort of per- 
 sonal ambition which has free play under our modern 
 conditions, where men are no longer born into classes 
 in which they have to stay, but can make their way, 
 if they are clever enough, from class to class. A 
 spirit of pushing unrest pervades Thackeray's world. 
 
 No one reverences simple goodness, innocence, rec- His 
 titude, more than Thackeray does ; no one describes 
 them with more winning penetration and sympathy. 
 But he does not see them very often. He can draw 
 a noble hero, to be sure, which Dickens never could 
 do ; a Dobbin, a Henry Esmond, and, dearest of all, 
 the old soldier with the heart of a child. Colonel 
 Newcome. But unluckily most of the good people 
 in his books are a little dull. This is not true of 
 Henry Esmond, his hero of the eighteenth century, 
 but it is true of the characters in his other books. 
 His good people live apart from the rush and push 
 of life ; they never enter Vanity Fair at all, far less 
 do they dwell there, as some of Bunyan's pilgrims 
 do, and try to help the inhabitants of the place. No, 
 
 animus. 
 
476 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 no, Thackeray seems to say, do not draw near to that 
 Fair. It is a fascinating place, to be sure ; all the 
 wit of the world is there, and the intelligence, and 
 the interest and the charm ; but if you enter it you 
 are lost. Better stay outside and be a little stupid 
 if necessary, but keep your heart fresh. 
 
 One reason why Thackeray shows us so few ideals 
 is that, even more than Dickens, he reflects the ten- 
 dency of our democratic times to fasten attention on 
 the average. Shakespeare and his compeers sought 
 the ideal and the heroic. Thackeray and his fellows 
 deliberately took life as they found it ; and they 
 lived at a time when idealism in society was at low 
 ebb. If we were to infer the interests, occupations, 
 and aims of society at the early Victorian period 
 from the novels of the time, we should certainly be 
 a little discouraged. It is true, as a keen critic has 
 recently said, that we suffer in reading Thackeray's 
 works from an absence of noble expectation. 
 
 Yet it would be a great mistake to call Thackeray 
 a cynic, as has sometimes been done. He certainly 
 does not inspire his readers with a militant desire to 
 conquer evil ; his tone is half playful, half melancholy, 
 a little fatalistic. Nor do his books make for definite 
 reforms like those of Dickens. But he develops a 
 fastidious disgust for hypocrisy and materialism, and 
 a delicate taste for all things sweet and pure. His 
 keen humor always casts ridicule in the right place. 
 His pathos is true and profound, never to be for- 
 gotten ; springing, not like that of Dickens from 
 material accidents, like the death of children or the 
 sufferings of the feeble-minded, but from deeper 
 sources. And in "Henry Esmond," where he 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 477 
 
 escapes from the depressing atmosphere of the mod- 
 ern world, he gives us a picture of life, not idealized 
 nor sentimentalized, but full of attraction. 
 
 III. Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot) 
 
 We turn to George Eliot, the only novelist of 1820-188I. 
 modern England who can to-day claim a fairly 
 assured place beside Thackeray and Dickens. We 
 have seen how sweeping were the views of life which 
 these earlier writers gave us. Their works are a Eeaiismoi 
 great panorama of modern society. Their canvases uie. 
 are crowded by figures, — in one of Dickens's novels 
 there are seventy-five characters, in one of Thack- 
 eray's over sixty ; they show us people, always in 
 social groups, in varied relations with their fellow- 
 men. Of that large part of life which is lived in 
 solitude they tell us little. But modern realism was 
 to press nearer to the individual heart and conscience, 
 to the hidden places of experience, than these great 
 masters had done. 
 
 Mary Anne, or Marian, Evans, better known by Her life. 
 her pen name, was the daughter of a carpenter who 
 afterward became land agent ; she was born in 
 Warwickshire, the beautiful county of Shakespeare. 
 She did not know city life in her childhood as Thack- 
 eray and Dickens did ; she grew up in the sweet, 
 rural, old-fashioned England which was to furnish 
 subjects and setting for her earlier books. 
 
 As a little girl, the strongest fact in her life was 
 her intense devotion to her brother ; she has told us 
 about it in a pretty series of sonnets, " Brother and 
 Sister." Her affections were always profound. Her 
 
478 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 mother died while she was very young, and a little 
 school life and solitary years of keeping house for 
 her father made up her girlhood. She was fervently 
 evangelical at this time, and had serious scruples 
 about reading novels. But when she was twenty- 
 two years old her father and she moved to Coven- 
 try; here she became intimate with some clever 
 people of radical views, and slipped with remarkable 
 ease away from her early faith. She never regained 
 it ; but the problems of the ethical life continued 
 always to be the most important things in the world 
 to her. She translated at this time a famous radi- 
 cal German book, Strauss's "Life of Jesus." Her 
 change of faith was a great grief to her father, but 
 the two became reconciled, and she cared tenderly for 
 his last years. 
 
 After her father's death. Miss Evans spent a winter 
 in Geneva, for rest, and returned to London as an 
 editor of the Westminster Review, the Liberal organ. 
 This was an honorable position for a woman; she 
 must already have made her mark as a person of in- 
 tellect. In London she met the most interesting 
 people of the time; not the people of Dickens's 
 world, nor of Thackeray's, but the leaders of thought 
 and art. She formed two relations which proved 
 most significant to her. One was a close friendship 
 with Herbert Spencer, the philosopher of the new 
 school of evolutionary thought. George Eliot be- 
 came an ardent evolutionist, and eagerly attempted 
 during all the rest of her life to apply evolutionary 
 principles to the moral life of the race. The other 
 relation was with George Henry Lewes, a brilliant 
 man of letters, author, among other things, of the 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 479 
 
 standard life of Goethe. She defied the laws of mar- 
 riage to unite her fortunes to those of Lewes ; and 
 she now knew happiness for the first time, though 
 not an unmixed happiness. They studied, thought, 
 and travelled together. It was a shock and surprise 
 to her friends when after his death, in 1878, she mar- 
 ried a young man, much her junior, J. W. Cross. 
 But she was happy for a few months in this second 
 union. She died, however, very soon. 
 
 Till she was thirty-seven years old George Eliot 
 showed no sign of creative power. It was Lewes's 
 ardent belief in her that first called this power out. 
 Very timidly she wrote her first stories, " Scenes of Her work. 
 Clerical Life," and sent them under the pseudonym "Scenes 
 since so famous to Blackwood's Magazine. They Life,"S. 
 were accepted, and encouraged by their success 
 
 she wrote her first novel, "Adam Bede," a storv "Adam 
 
 Bede " 
 of rural England at the end of the previous century. i859.' 
 
 All the world, reading this book, knew that a great 
 
 new novelist had appeared. Dickens was one of the 
 
 first to divine that the book was written by a woman. 
 
 Soon the veil was dropped, and George Eliot, with a 
 
 tremulous sense of responsibility toward the gift so 
 
 luiexpectedly discovered, devoted her life to writing 
 
 fiction. 
 
 " The Mill on the Floss " held in the first and best "The Mill 
 
 on the 
 
 part charming reminiscences of her own eager child- Floss," 
 
 hood, and was again a story of country life. " Silas „ ' 
 
 Marner " is perhaps the most perfect idyl in English. Marner," 
 
 "Romola" was a more ambitious book; it is George . ' 
 
 Eliot's historical novel, and treats of the Florence of 1863. 
 
 the Renaissance. " Felix Holt," her weakest novel, " ^,^1*? 
 
 JblOlt, 
 
 is a story of the radical movement at the time of the 1866. 
 
480 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Reform Bill. Then came the last great novels, 
 "Middle- " Middlemarch " and "Daniel Deronda," both deal- 
 mz!^'" iiig with the modern English life of the upper class, 
 "Daniel but adding in "Daniel Deronda " a strong contrast in 
 im!"^^'" tlie careful study of the modern Jews. " The Spanish 
 " The Gypsy," a drama in verse, and certain other poems, 
 Gyi»yi" ^^^ ^ series of essays, "Impressions of Theophras- 
 1868. |.^g SucJi^" complete George Eliot's literary output. 
 
 Her scope. Where Thackeray and Dickens study the phenom- 
 ena of society, George Eliot studies those of the 
 Early soul. Her early books treat, with no touch of melo- 
 drama or satire, but with refreshing simplicity and 
 insight, the great primal normal passions which shape 
 the life of all men. Hardy has followed her in this 
 rich field. Most people prefer these early books to 
 the later ones, and they certainly have more charm. 
 They are full of humor, of sympathy ; we escape 
 from city streets and drawing-rooms to the fragrance 
 of fertile lowlands, and the wide unfevered light of 
 the sky. These books strengthen our sanity. " Adam 
 Bede " in particular, though it tells a tragedy, is a 
 story full of rest. Adam himself, probably the first 
 workman hero in fiction, and Dinah Morris, that fair 
 type of spiritual womanhood, enrich our life by their 
 friendship. 
 
 Rarely, however, does George Eliot show us a 
 normal and peaceful society. Already, in "The 
 Mill on the Floss," the modern forces of unrest 
 have begun to stir, and the wistful, passionate figure 
 of Maggie stands out in strange relief against the 
 idyllic and humorous background. George Eliot 
 in her later books moved farther and farther away 
 books. from the life known to her childhood. In " Romola " 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 481 
 
 the Florentine setting but slightly disguises the 
 intellectual and spiritual conditions of modern Eng- 
 land. " Middlemarch " and "Daniel Deronda" deal 
 with the special moral strivings of thoughtful mod- 
 ern men and women. Just on this account they will 
 probably not live as long as the earlier books. 
 Moreover, they have less free play of humor, less 
 beauty of setting. But if we may surmise their real 
 value to be less, their historic value at least is 
 greater. Nowhere else have we an intellect in which 
 creative and critical instincts are so finely balanced, 
 showing us the experience of the modern world, just 
 waking to self-consciousness. The society which 
 George Eliot gives as her background is essentially 
 the same as that pictured by her predecessors, but 
 against it she delineates individuals whose minds and 
 consciences are vibrating to new forces. 
 
 The outcome in "Middlemarch" is melancholy. 
 The best people in the book beat in vain against 
 the conventions that surround them, and make fail- 
 ures of their lives. " Daniel Deronda " is a far more 
 cheering picture. Here George Eliot has done what 
 modern fiction has rarely attempted, — drawn for us 
 a true hero. Many think that she has failed, but the 
 conception is well worth study. If we put it beside 
 Sir Charles Grandison, we see that the ideal of hero- 
 ism in England is rising again, though it is strangely 
 different from what it was in the old days of Beowulf 
 and Roland. George Eliot's hero, however, has at 
 least discovered again that incentive for lack of which 
 heroism perishes : some great aim to strive for. 
 
 All these books of George Eliot's are full, not Her social 
 only of observation, but of reflection. She had been phy.°^°" 
 
482 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 trained as thinker and scholar before she began to 
 write, and the results are clearly evident. Some 
 think they enrich her work, some think they deaden 
 it. She is possessed by a large conception of life as 
 an organic whole, by a sense of the power and the 
 consequent claim of heredity and environment. Her 
 effort is to derive a religion from this philosophy ; 
 to show how the ethical values of life may be main- 
 tained, Christianity being tacitly put out of sight. 
 Hers is the religion of humanity ; her books instil 
 at every turn the truth that peace can only be won 
 by renunciation, by yielding the claims of personal 
 desire to the good of a larger whole. They are 
 stern books and sad, when rightly read, but every- 
 where noble. 
 
 IV. Other Novelists 
 
 Of the bewildering output of novels only less 
 excellent than those which we have discussed, we 
 have no time to speak. Had we more space, many 
 an author would call for full treatment. We 
 should dwell on Charlotte Bronte and her sister 
 Emily, women whose fervid lonely passion burns 
 through their troubling books ; on Anthony Trol- 
 lope, a more copious and less brilliant Thackeray, 
 novelist of manners, of political, domestic, and 
 religious life; on Charles Reade, one of the best 
 constructors of plots, and no mean delineator of 
 character; on Charles Kingsley, most sympathetic 
 of writers, author of many books, from fairy tales to 
 historical novels, that have not yet lost the freshness 
 of their charm nor their power to lift men into finer 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 483 
 
 manhood; on George MacDonald, novelist of Scot- 
 tish life, dowered with the spiritual insight and 
 poetic imagination of the Celt; on the most recent 
 of them all, loved so well that one would not 
 characterize him, so near us that one could not if 
 one would, that other Scotchman of heroic temper, 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. Before he died he had Robert 
 taken his place as master of a very perfect prose o°"'® 
 
 '■ J r r Stevenson 
 
 style, and his essays — individual and charming in 1850-1894. 
 their own way as those of Lamb — are perhaps his 
 most finished achievement. Stevenson was a leader 
 in the modern romantic reaction, and gave promise 
 of pressing into the front rauk among novelists. His 
 romanticism includes not only the simple and obvious 
 novel of adventure, such as " Treasure Island," but a 
 more subtle and psychologic type, as in " The Master 
 of Ballantrae," and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." 
 
 More significant, perhaps, than any one of these Thomas 
 are Thomas Hardy and George Meredith. Hardy's li^-^' 
 books confine themselves to one small section of 
 England, the ancient kingdom of Wessex : here he 
 studies with rich humor, tragic intensity, and poetic 
 feeling, the characteristics of a population rooted to 
 the soil. He is the most pessimistic of English nov- 
 elists. His impassioned love for the ancient earth, 
 and for the sacred ties that bind man to it, are the 
 only wholesome elements in a view of life limited, 
 sombre, charged with pain. 
 
 Meredith, on the other hand, takes us into' the George 
 most intellectual society presented by any Victorian i828- ' 
 novelist, a society where both men and women think 
 keenly and talk almost too brilliantly. Not fearful 
 of tragedy, as " Beauchamp's Career " and " Richard 
 
484 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Feverel " may witness, Meredith finds in comedy his 
 most native sphere. His best and happiest people 
 escape from convention on the one hand, and wilful 
 self-assertion on the other, into harmonious relation 
 to the larger facts of life. "Richard Feverel," 
 Meredith's first great novel, was published in 1859, 
 the same year as "Adam Bede." Like Browning, 
 he waited long for his audience, but won it at last. 
 His work is mannered and lacking in large simplic- 
 ity ; but for those who can receive it, it is singularly 
 invigorating. 
 
 Both Meredith and Hardy are powerful in their 
 delineation of life, but behind the delineation one 
 feels theories and large questionings, such as are 
 absent from Scott and Dickens. Steeped in evolu- 
 tionary thought, the spirit of the age of search has 
 descended upon them. But if the last word of 
 Hardy is Fate, the last word of Mereditli is a disci- 
 plined freedom. 
 
 Looking at Victorian fiction as a whole, we see in 
 it an art-form that becomes constantly more expres- 
 sive. It presents moreover a series of social docu- 
 ments of the highest significance. All classes have 
 been adequately studied in it except the working 
 people, and they are to-day coming to the front more 
 and more. We see in it a significant witness to the 
 growing power of analysis and to the extension 
 of human sympathy that mark our modern times. 
 Whether we see also books that will hold their own 
 among the permanent imaginative treasures of the 
 race, it is impossible to say. Probably English fiction 
 is inferior in artistic power and in the large grasp of 
 human experience to the fiction of France and Russia. 
 
VICTORIAN FICTION 485 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Life of Dickens, Forster (3 vols.). Ward, English Men of 
 Letters. Marzials, Great Writers Series. Life of Thackeray, 
 Trollope, English Men of Letters. Introductions by Mrs. 
 EiTCHiE to Biographical Edition. Life of George Eliot, 
 W. Cross (told in extracts from her own letters), O. Browning 
 (Great Writers Series). George Cooke, George Eliot : a Criti- 
 cal Study. M. Blind, George Eliot. Essays on Thackeray and 
 Dickens in Bagehot's Literary Studies, in Andrew Lang's 
 Letters to Dead Authors, in Masson's British Novelists and 
 their Styles. Essay on George Eliot, Dowden; Studies in 
 Literature, Hutton, Modern Guides, etc. Scudder, Social 
 Ideals in English Letters, Part II, Chs. IV, V, VI. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 Dickens would best be approached through " A Tale of Two 
 Cities" and "David Copperfield." The first offers fine oppor- 
 tunities for studies of plot structure, the second for studies in 
 character drawing. " Henry Esmond " and " The Newcomes " 
 are the most desirable books from Thackeray for young stu- 
 dents. It is interesting to treat Dickens and Thackeray in 
 parallel, comparative work, placing side by side their social 
 scope, their style, their methods in humor and pathos, their 
 conception of heroism, etc. Drill in writing brief character 
 studies ; special topics on child life, on the ideal for women, on 
 the methods in description, etc., can be multiplied ad libitum. 
 
 The best single novel of George Eliot's for beginners is " Silas 
 Marner," though it illustrates only part of her powers. It shows, 
 however, her delicate touch, her interest in regions of personality 
 controlled by conscience, her sympathy with rural life, with child 
 Ufe, etc. " Komola," if added, affords varied material for study. 
 Beside analysis of the book in itself, the story may instructively 
 be put beside " A Tale of Two Cities " and " Henry Esmond." 
 Show why our great Victorian novelists chose three so different 
 fields for their three historical novels. Compare their choice 
 with that of Scott, and explain why none of them returned, as 
 he did, to the middle ages. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Talks on the personality of the different novelists, and on 
 their entire product, would be very valuable. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 
 
 I. Thomas Babington Macattlay, 1800-1859 
 
 WE can see from the writings of Thomas Bab- 
 ington Macaulay just what life looked like 
 to an honest Englishman of vigorous intellect in 
 the pause between the revolutionary idealists and 
 the Victorian seekers. Macaulay's career, personal, 
 political, and literary, was most honorable. He 
 served his country well. He was a "Whig ; that is, 
 he believed, guardedly, in a gradual advance toward 
 constitutional freedom, and in liberty of thought. 
 His ideal for society was a free field in which every 
 man might push his way as far as he could. He 
 was full of admiration for the material prosperity, 
 the applied science, the intellectual enlightenment 
 of his own day. That the next generation could 
 be stirred to any deep discontent with things as they 
 were, would have been inconceivable to him. 
 
 An essay on Milton, published when Macaulay was 
 only twenty-five years old, decided him on a literary 
 career. He followed it by a series of powerful 
 essays on political, literary and historical subjects, 
 published in the Edinburgh Review. These seemed 
 at the time the last word of criticism, and they are 
 still good reading, from their clear common sense, 
 their hearty and healthy interest in all sorts of sub- 
 
 486 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 487 
 
 jects, and their vigorous if somewhat mechanical 
 style. Meanwhile, he was in the House of Commons 
 for several years, and his speeches, which produced 
 a great impression on those who heard them, are 
 perhaps still his best work. There is no imagination 
 in Macaulay's prose, nor in his spirited verse, " The 
 Lays of Ancient Rome," but there is much fine 
 rhetoric. 
 
 His most important work is his " History of Eng- 
 land," undertaken on his return from several years 
 in India. It was planned to extend " from the acces- 
 sion of James I to a time within the memory of 
 men now living," but Macaulay did not live to com- 
 plete the task beyond the death of William III. 
 His ambition was to do for real history what Scott 
 had done for imaginary history ; and he nearly real- 
 ized it. His history is a sort of triumphant presen- 
 tation of the gradual victory of liberal views, but he 
 makes us see his period vividly, and holds our inter- 
 est from first to last. The book inaugurated the 
 literary histories of the Victorian age, the work of 
 Froude, of Freeman, of Gardiner, of Green. 
 
 Macaulay died in 1859. He had reaped his full 
 harvest of appreciation in his lifetime. He is hardly 
 a characteristic author of the Victorian age ; he 
 belongs, as we have said, to the interregnum. 
 
 II. Thomas Caklylb 
 
 Thomas Carlyle, probably the greatest force in 1795-1881. 
 English letters during the first half of the Victorian 
 age, was five years older than Macaulay ; but he was 
 the prophet of the next generation. It was given 
 
488 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 him to lead men into a spiritual region far different 
 from any that Macaulay ever entered. 
 Parentage Carlyle, like Burns, was a Scotchman. He was 
 and early ^^^^ .^ ^^^ ^.^.^^^ village of Ecclefechan, ihto a life 
 
 like that described in "The Cotter's Saturday 
 Night." His father was a mason ; Carlyle said, in 
 later life, that if he could write his books as well 
 as his father had built his houses, he should be 
 wholly content. His mother was a rugged, igno- 
 rant, deeply religious woman, who taught herself to 
 write that she might write to her son, and whom 
 that son all his long life loved more tenderly than 
 he did any one else in the world. 
 
 Like many poor Scottish lads, young Carlyle went 
 to the University of Edinburgh ; he did much think- 
 ing there, if little learning ; passed through a profound 
 spiritual experience of religious struggle and doubt, 
 ending in hard-won faith of his own kind ; and 
 found that his convictions would not allow him to 
 fulfil his parents' desires by becoming a minister. He 
 tried his hand therefore at teaching, at tutoring, at 
 hackwork in literature ; fell under the spell of the 
 romantic literature of Germany, translated " Wilhelm 
 Meister" and wrote a "Life of Schiller"; and made 
 his way into the Edinburgh Review with a series of 
 remarkable, though little noted, critical essays. 
 Meanwhile, he married a Scotch girl of genius hardly 
 less than his own, Jane Baillie Welsh ; and, after a 
 short time in Edinburgh, moved with his young wife 
 to a property of hers called Craigenputtoch, on a 
 lonely Scottish moor. There he brooded and searched 
 his spirit, — cheered once by a visit, as out of the 
 skies, from a young American named Ralph Waldo 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 489 
 
 Emerson, — » till at last in that solitude the fire kin- 
 dled, and Carlyle spake with his tongue. This first 
 utterance was "Sartor Resartus," a strange book, 
 semi-autobiographical, presenting with extraordinary 
 eloquence, though in seeming medley, audacious 
 thoughts concerning the religious and social condi- 
 tions of the modern world. 
 
 Carlyle Avas thirty-seven years old at this time. Work. 
 Fame did not come to him easily or soon. He had 
 served a hard apprenticeship of strife with doubt, 
 poverty, and despair. And no wonder ; for thoughts 
 belonging to a new order were seething in his mind. 
 " Sartor " had to struggle for recognition, and it was " sartor 
 first published in book form in America. But slowly ^If.'^'"^'" 
 the men of the rising generation found in it what 
 they wanted, and made a kind of Bible of it. Car- 
 lyle soon moved to London, and the history of his 
 life became chiefly the history of his writings. The "The 
 French Revolution seemed to him the most tremen- e™o1u- 
 dous event in centuries ; a time of death and birth, ^g^'" 
 In 1837 appeared his history of the time, a book 
 which is still unique. His emotional imagination 
 caught the vibrations of the great revolutionary 
 drama which were still in the air, and he did not 
 so much write a regular history as transmit to all 
 posterity the images and the emotions that accom- 
 panied those great years when democracy was born. 
 
 " Past and Present " and " Latter Day Pamphlets " [' Chart- 
 continued the line of thought of " The French Revo- „ ^^^.^^^ 
 lution," and applied it to modern life. Carlyle's and Hero- 
 
 ' , ^\ ^ . . , , •' T Worship," 
 
 sense of the social dangers oi our time burns clear and i84i. 
 hot through these prophetic books. His edition of "Past and 
 " Cromwell's Letters and Speeches," and his monu- i843. 
 
490 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 " Crom- 
 well's 
 Letters 
 and 
 
 Speeches," 
 1845. 
 
 " Latter 
 Day 
 Pam- 
 phlets," 
 1850. 
 
 "Life of 
 
 Sterling," 
 
 1851. 
 
 " History 
 of Fred- 
 erick II," 
 1858-1865. 
 
 Carlyle's 
 
 death, 
 
 1881. 
 
 Carlyle's 
 message. 
 
 mental " History of Frederick the Great," though 
 they represent the indefatigable work of many weary 
 years, are less full of true force and fire. A course of 
 lectures on " Heroes and Hero Worship," embodying 
 his favorite idea of the strong man as the saviour of 
 the world, has proved one of his most popular works, 
 and his life of his friend, John Sterling, is a tender 
 biography. The old giant lingered till 1881, heart- 
 broken during the later years by the death of his 
 wife ; since his death, his copious letters and jour- 
 nals, sometimes injudiciously edited, have given us 
 a strangely complete knowledge of his character, a 
 strong character, full of the best if also of certain 
 less fine traits of the peasant. 
 
 Carlyle was profoundly discontented with his own 
 time. It seemed to him plunged in materialism or 
 dilettanteism, denying God and oblivious of the suf- 
 fering of men. The misery of the industrial classes, 
 above all, filled him with a fierce rage ; not so much 
 their physical misery, for poverty had few terrors for 
 this hardy son of Scotch peasants, but the misery of 
 their souls, deprived of their spiritual heritage. 
 " That there should one man die ignorant who had 
 capacity for knowledge," he cried, "this I call a 
 tragedy, should it happen twenty times to the min- 
 ute, as by some computations it does."^ Social in- 
 justice Carlyle traced back to religious unbelief. 
 Himself far from the creed of his fathers, he, never- 
 theless, worshipped with profound faith the right- 
 eous law of the indwelling God. 
 
 In his youth he tried to bring the age the message 
 it needed by "Germanizing the public." Later he 
 1 " Sartor Eesartus." 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 491 
 
 turned from criticism to direct invective and appeal. 
 In opposition to the prevalent utilitarianism, he dwelt 
 awestruck on the Divine Mystery in all things. In a 
 society where the freedom of each man to do as he 
 liked was considered the highest possible ideal, he 
 was never weary of preaching man's absolute need 
 to find some heroes to govern him. He pleaded for 
 truth, reality, escape from cant ; above all, he preached 
 the gospel of work, till the shadows should fall. 
 
 His perturbation, his scorn, his sorrow, his hope, Cariyie's 
 he poured forth in a style absolutely individual. It 
 is a dangerous style to imitate, but in his hands 
 it is full of power. Carlyle always thought in pic- 
 tures. When he writes history, no one sets people 
 and events before us so vividly as he does ; when he 
 deals with ideas, his style is as full of pictures as 
 ever, for he translates everything he wants to say 
 into a metaphor. It is a style charged with emo- 
 tion, — ironical, impassioned, eloquent. It is full of 
 surprises ; but it makes the reader think for himself, 
 and suggests far more than it says. It was much 
 influenced by Carlyle's German studies, and it is in 
 the fullest sense a romantic style. 
 
 Carlyle was stronger in denunciation than in con- (jg^^j j^.g 
 struction. He could tell men their faults more readily signifi- 
 
 • 1 cance. 
 
 than he could tell them what to do. That is because 
 he was a pioneer, pushing his own way in much be- 
 wilderment through shadowy paths. His power over 
 the men of his day was largely due to the fact that 
 he expressed the confusion of their own minds, yet 
 clung firmly to eternal principles of truth and justice. 
 He gives the impression of one who lives in the 
 wilderness ; he is the John the Baptist of a new 
 
492 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 era, lifting up his voice witli the note of the fore- 
 runner. 
 
 III. John Heney Newman 
 
 1801-1890. The voice of Carlyle reached those outside the 
 Churches who had lost hold of the historic creeds, 
 and gave them something to cling to still ; the voice 
 of John Henry Newman drew men back within the 
 fold of the Church of Christ. We cannot here 
 speak of Newman's work as a theologian, of the pro- 
 cess that led the leader of the Catholic revival in 
 the Anglican Church to the Church of Rome, nor of 
 his wonderful personality. We can note only, and 
 that too briefly, his quality as a writer. No figure 
 could be in stronger contrast with that of Carlyle 
 than that of this other great spiritual guide, so 
 nearly his contemporary and so one with him in 
 aversion to the prevalent liberalism and individual- 
 ism of the day. Despite his study at the University 
 of Edinburgh, Carlyle was a self-made man. The 
 strong personality of Newman had received all the 
 flexible grace, the suavity, the keen logical power, 
 which an academic life can impart. Newman's style 
 is classical in its lucid ease, its subtlety and simplic- 
 ity combined, its perfect melody and finish. It is 
 perhaps the best model of any modern prose style. 
 The rare persuasiveness, so impressive to his hearers, 
 lingers in the printed page. It is impossible to 
 "Loss and read his autobiography, the "Apologia," his two 
 im.' _ novels, " Callista," and " Loss and Gain," his " Idea 
 iSl!^'^'*' of a University," his great sermons, or above all his 
 one long poem, the " Dream of Gerontius," without 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 493 
 
 feeling his almost irresistible sway. This is due -Apologia 
 
 partly to his literary art, but far more to his keen iJJa Ji864. 
 
 mind, and most of all to his stern, uplifted, holy .,-„ 
 
 . . ' r -I J " Verses on 
 
 spirit. Carlyle was the exponent of the storm and Various 
 
 stress of the nineteenth century ; Newman was a sions," 
 man of the thirteenth century strayed, almost it 
 might seem by mistake, into the modern world. 
 
 IV. John Ruskin 
 
 In John Ruskin we find again a man essentially I8I&-1900. 
 the product of his age, and one of its noblest leaders. 
 Ruskin was the greatest disciple of Carlyle ; but 
 his early life and work were singularly different 
 from those of his master. He was a son of privilege ; 
 he interpreted the beauty of nature and art to a 
 delighted public till he was forty years old. Then a 
 great change passed over his spirit, and for thirty 
 years he sought to give his countrymen a fuller 
 understanding of justice. It is a significant and 
 dramatic career, — as if Spenser had suddenly turned 
 into Wyclif, poet into reformer. Perhaps the two 
 are not so far away from each other as people think. 
 
 Ruskin was the only child of a rich wine-merchant. Parentage 
 He grew up near London in a house with a big gar- life. 
 den, in perfect security, solitude, and peace. The 
 family took its pleasure in driving all over England 
 and Scotland, and later France, Switzerland, and 
 Italy ; so Europe was his university. He received 
 also a good academic education at Oxford, but this 
 was of less importance to him. He was a singu- 
 larly sensitive and chivalrous nature, and, when 
 still hardly more than a boy, he took up his weapons 
 
494 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 " Modern 
 
 Painters," 
 
 1843-1860. 
 
 Work as 
 critic of 
 art. 
 
 "Seven 
 Lamps of 
 Architec- 
 ture," 
 1849. 
 
 "Stones of 
 
 Venice," 
 
 1851-1853. 
 
 in behalf of a great neglected landscape painter, 
 Turner. The work grew on his hands ; it became 
 the first volume of " Modern Painters." The public 
 received the book with enthusiasm ; Ruskin had 
 found his vocation. In 1860 the fifth volume 
 crowned a noble achievement. 
 
 " ' Modern Painters,' " said Ruskin in his old age, 
 " taught the claim of all lower nature on the hearts 
 of men." He therefore put the interpretation of Na- 
 ture first, as the most important achievement of the 
 book ; but this was not its ostensible object. Two 
 other things it accomplished : it vindicated the land- 
 scape art of English painters, especially of Turner ; 
 and it revealed to an indifferent world the power 
 and beauty of the early religious art of Italy. 
 
 These volumes do not represent all Ruskin's prod- 
 uct between 1840 and 1860. He wrote during these 
 years two other books of importance : " The Seven 
 Lamps of Architecture," a treatise on the spiritual 
 and structural principles of Gothic art, and "The 
 Stones of Venice," a history of the decline of Venice, 
 studied through the degeneration of her arts under 
 the influence of the Renaissance. These books mark 
 the culmination of that enthusiasm for the Gothic 
 which springs from some deep region in the modern 
 mind. It had begun, superficially, in the eighteenth 
 century ; Scott had given it picturesque romantic 
 expression ; the Oxford movement had consecrated 
 it to ecclesiastical uses. Now Ruskin penetrated 
 in an illuminating way its spirit, function, and 
 history. 
 
 These studies in art and nature, written in a fasci- 
 nating style, opened new forgotten worlds of joy to 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 495 
 
 the public, and of course the public liked them. Thetransi- 
 But it was not to like the sequel so well. Already, 
 in the last Tolume of " Modern Painters," we find a 
 new tone of sadness and disappointment. Ruskin 
 felt that people, while applauding the beauty of his 
 language, had not really been stirred to any true ap- 
 preciation of Turner, and other broader matters were 
 distressing him. Another revolutionary movement 
 had passed over Europe in 1848 ; it had touched 
 England but lightly, yet it had awakened men even 
 there to a fresh sense of the wretchedness of the 
 poor. Ruskin, in his own line, had been trying to 
 revive the arts in England. He found, through ex- 
 periments in art education and art production, that 
 workmen were so made into machines, and kept so 
 constantly anxious about bread and butter and rent, 
 by modern industrial conditions, that it was hope- 
 less to look to them for any creative power such 
 as had been practically universal in the middle ages. 
 This discovery led him to scrutinize more widely 
 the conditions of modern life. He became filled 
 with profound sorrow and dissatisfaction. He could 
 not increase the pleasure of the classes that live 
 daintily, by writing about art any longer, while the 
 myriads were starving in soul as well as in body. 
 So it came to pass that the high priest of beauty 
 turned social reformer. 
 
 In 1860 Ruskin published in the Cornhill Maga- work as 
 zine the successive chapters of his book " Unto This s"(,\etyf 
 Last." It was a passionate, but for the most part 
 sternly reasoned, arraignment of the injustice of the " Unto 
 modern industrial system. It treated the technical Last," 
 problems of economics in a literary manner ; that is. 
 
496 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 it showed their concrete human significance and 
 brought them within the range of sympathy. The 
 public was amazed and angered by the audacious 
 originality of the thought. Thackeray, the editor, 
 dared not continue the series, and it closed abruptly. 
 Nothing daunted by this reception, Ruskin con- 
 tinued for the rest of his life to present to an irate 
 and mocking public his ideas of the true principles 
 whereon a righteous state must rest. People begged 
 him to go on with art criticism. " You must get 
 your country clean and your people lovely," he re- 
 torted, "before you can have any true art at all." 
 The filth and hideousness of modern English cities 
 pointed his application. Now he wrote for the privi- 
 leged classes, trying to rouse them to their respon- 
 sibilities ; now he addressed himself to working-men. 
 Fors ciavi- JPors Clavigera, a monthly publication to which he 
 1870^1878. devoted much energy in his later years, is a rich 
 treasure-house of his teaching. It would be an 
 unusual working-man who would care for this beau- 
 tiful medley, but for an educated reader it is full 
 of charm and suggestion. 
 
 Ruskin's versatile powers did not confine them- 
 selves, however, to one line. He reverted often to 
 his early interests, and treated them in the light of 
 his new convictions. In 1870 he was appointed Pro- 
 fessor of Fine Arts at Oxford, and he devoted him- 
 self most earnestly to his duties as he conceived them. 
 Later life. His " Inaugural Oxford Lectures " seemed to himself 
 one of his most important works. He did much to 
 quicken . social passion as well as artistic feeling 
 ' among the young sons of privilege at the University. 
 The university settlement movement, among other 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 497 
 
 things, owes its first impetus to his teaching. But 
 at last the continued scorn and indifference of the 
 public to truths he believed vital, proved too great a 
 strain. Ruskin became a victim to successive attacks 
 of mental malady, and his faculties slipped at last 
 into a state of gentle decay. In 1900 his weary 
 spirit found release ; he had given away his large 
 fortune, inherited and made by his books, but he 
 retained a lovely home, Brantwood, in the Lake 
 country, and here the last years of his life were Death, 
 peacefully spent. ^^°°- 
 
 Ruskin's art criticism has led the way to a further 
 development which has in some respects superseded 
 his own work ; his social writings, at first discredited, 
 are exerting a more and more potent influence in our 
 generation. His great principle, " There is no wealth 
 but life," is transforming our political economy. In 
 pursuance of this principle, Ruskin pleads that we Ruskin's 
 should be Christians just as much when we are f^lfs_ 
 buying clothes or hiring workmen as when we are 
 saying our prayers. This principle sounds simple, 
 but the world does not like to admit it, and if ad- 
 mitted it carries us a long way, — quite outside the 
 pale of the present social and industrial order. 
 Ruskin's treatment of the ethics of consumption and 
 production is searching and audacious indeed. 
 
 Like his master, Carlyle, Ruskin never accepted 
 evolutionary thought. Like Carlyle, also, he had a 
 horror of democracy, which as he saw it meant a 
 state of things where each individual was free to 
 grab all he could get. His ideal social state, which 
 he sought, vainly, to realize through his experiment 
 in St. George's Guild, was a sort of socialism com- 
 
498 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 bined with rigid class distinctions. But whatever 
 limitations or mistakes may seem to us to inhere in 
 Ruskin's social teaching, we must revere in him one 
 of the noblest and the most heroic spirits of the 
 English race ; and we may brood long over one sen- 
 tence, which may be said to sum up the convictions 
 of his life, " Life without industry is guilt ; industry 
 without art is brutality." 
 
 1822-1888. 
 
 Parentage 
 and early 
 life. 
 
 v. Matthew Arnold 
 
 Matthew Arnold, like Ruskin and Newman, was 
 an Oxford man ; he was three years younger than 
 Ruskin. His father, Thomas Arnold, was the famous 
 headmaster of Rugby, one of the greatest of English 
 educators, a man of fine intellect, a liberal Christian 
 after the school of Coleridge. 
 
 The serene influences of "Wordsworth were upon 
 Matthew Arnold's early life, for his family lived much 
 at Fox How, near the home of the old poet. After 
 his Rugby days, which he shared with his friend 
 Arthur Hugh Clough, Arnold went to Oxford. The 
 power of Newman was at its height, but his father's 
 mode of thought preserved him from its attractions. 
 The University, however, put its stamp upon him : 
 he is the most academic of our essayists. 
 
 Matthew Arnold was born a poet, and his poetry 
 we shall discuss in another chapter. It belongs to 
 his youth, for the cares of practical life soon sub- 
 merged him. He held the laborious position of 
 Inspector of Schools, and toiled at his task inde- 
 fatigably. But Arnold's energy and efficiency were 
 great, and his working standard high. He was by 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 499 
 
 nature critic as well as poet, and he produced a con- 
 siderable volume of criticism perhaps finer in quality 
 than anything that England had possessed. 
 
 Carlyle had lifted criticism from the spirit of carp- Literary 
 ing and prejudice that disfigures the early reviews ; oism. 
 he had treated such subjects as appealed to him with 
 reverence and sympathy. Arnold lifted it higher 
 yet, for he added to sympathy, discrimination, and a 
 delicate power of psychological analysis. His " Lec- 
 tures on Translating Homer," his " Essays in Criti- "OnTrans- 
 cism," his " Celtic Literature," comprise his literary Homer," 
 
 criticism ; and they are the best things of their kind 
 , -r, , T 1 1 1 , . , . . "Essays in 
 
 that England possesses, though much good criticism Criticism," 
 
 has been produced since his day. He chose his sub- ^^ ' 
 jects, with no insular prejudice, from various non- study 
 English countries, with a preference for France ; he Litera-'" 
 treated them with a breadth that always deduced ^^[ 
 something of wide general interest from the sub- 
 ject in hand, yet with a fineness that interpreted the 
 subtle phases of personality. Arnold believed that 
 the special function of modern life was rather criti- 
 cal than creative ; that we should get clearer ideas 
 of the value and relations of the treasures we have, 
 before we tried to advance into new regions. He also 
 believed that criticism itself, if sensitive and intelli- 
 gent enough, might be a kind of creation, and his 
 own work goes far to prove his claim. 
 
 Arnold was more than a critic of literature ; he Religious 
 was a critic of life. Religious and social conditions cism. 
 found in him more scathing analysis than in any " st. Paul 
 other modern thinker. His chief book of social estant^° 
 criticism is called " Culture and Anarchy " ; his more '="-" ^*™- 
 important writings on religious subjects are " God 
 
500 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 "Litera- and the Bible," "Literature and Dogma," and "St. 
 ture and . „ 
 
 Dogma, " Paul and Protestantism. 
 
 These last books were perhaps the most talked of 
 in Arnold's lifetime, but he is not at his best in them, 
 the Bible," His fundamental assumption is that faith in super- 
 ■^*^^' natural Christianity is dead ; he seeks to find a sub- 
 
 stitute in "morality touched by emotion," as he 
 defines religion, and he tries to prove that the eter- 
 nal value of the Bible is intact, though the belief in 
 a personal God be abandoned. This seems a some- 
 what paradoxical attempt. Still, there is much that 
 is beautiful and helpful in Arnold's religious criti- 
 cism, and we must not forget, though we are some- 
 times tempted to by his manner, that his real aim 
 was always reverent, and that he wished to further 
 the life of the spirit, not to hinder it. 
 Social Arnold's social criticism is interesting and signifi- 
 
 critieism. ^^^^^ jjg jg ^gt an emotional writer, like Carlyle 
 
 (I Culture . . • • 
 
 and Anar- and Ruskin. Cool intellect is to the fore with him, 
 ciiy,"i869. ^^^ j^g habitually writes in a quiet, lightly ironical 
 "Mixed manner, quite different from their method of elo- 
 liisJ^' quent appeal. Nor is he moved, as they are, by the 
 condition of the working classes. But neither Car- 
 lyle nor Ruskin is more deeply dissatisfied with his 
 own time than is Arnold. They castigated our 
 moral defects, he dissects our intellectual weakness. 
 Not lack of justice, but lack of culture, in society, 
 touches him most profoundly ; by culture he means 
 the harmonious understanding of life which is potent 
 to make reason and the will of God prevail. Till 
 men get more of this quality, he thinks that they 
 would better let reforms alone. The class with 
 which he came most in contact was the middle 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 501 
 
 class, dominant in an industrial democracy ; and his 
 attacks on the stupidity and prejudices of this class 
 — attacks which we may all take to ourselves — are 
 not only sound, they are highly entertaining. 
 
 Arnold did not distrust democracy, as Carlyle and 
 Ruskin did. He belonged in thought to a younger 
 generation, and he knew that it was inevitable. Aris- 
 tocracies were, he saw, for epochs of concentration, 
 not for epochs of expansion like ours ; their day was 
 over. But he felt as strongly as his predecessors 
 the grave dangers that beset democracy as it is; 
 dangers of materialism, of selfish laisser-faire. He 
 believed that unless we succeed in spiritualizing the 
 democracy, we shall all make shipwreck; and he 
 thought that culture was the best means to do this, 
 because it lifted us above our ordinary selves to our 
 best selves, and showed us the image of a right 
 society. He emphasized as much as Carlyle or Rus- 
 kin the idea of authority, and he believed, as they 
 did, in an extension of the powers of the State. 
 
 Some people like Arnold's style very much ; others Arnold's 
 find it patronizing, flippant, and at times a little smart. ^*^^°' 
 It is always clever and graceful, and when he allows 
 himself to be serious it is at times noble. He does 
 not admit many figures, and he does not attempt the 
 cadence of poetry ; but his prose has a purity of move- 
 ment all its own. It has one peculiarity, the con- 
 stant use of felicitous phrases to sum up an idea, 
 phrases which Arnold repeats like a motif in music. 
 Often these phrases are borrowed from some one 
 else, sometimes he invents them ; but many of them 
 have become almost proverbial from familiarity. 
 Such are " sweetness and light," " sweet reasonable- 
 
502 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 ness," the definitions of English classes as "Barba- 
 rians, Philistines, Populace," the famous statement 
 that "our inequality materializes our upper class, 
 vulgarizes our middle class, brutalizes our lower 
 class ; " the definition of religion already given, and 
 the definition of God as " a stream of tendency not 
 ourselves that makes for righteousness." Arnold's 
 style appears to be easy and loosely woven, even col- 
 loquial at times ; but when one watches, one finds 
 him to be perhaps more severely logical in the devel- 
 opment of thought than any other modern essayist. 
 It is the style of a keen thinker who is also a man 
 of the world, and who might be a poet if he would 
 let himself. 
 
 VI. Later Essayists 
 
 Walter 
 Pater, 
 1839-1895. 
 
 " Marius 
 the Epicu- 
 rean," 
 1885. 
 
 William 
 
 Morris, 
 
 1834r-1896. 
 
 "A Dream 
 of John 
 Ball," 
 1888. 
 
 " News 
 from 
 
 Nowhere," 
 1890. 
 
 We have left ourselves no space in which to speak 
 of the later Victorian essay; it is as well, for this 
 essay is quite too near for us to judge. Two names 
 stand out with peculiar clearness during the last 
 twenty years of the nineteenth century ; the names 
 of Walter Pater and William Morris. They were 
 both Oxford men, but of most different destinies. 
 Pater, all his life long a recluse in the University, 
 sought refuge and peace in an aesthetic philosophy ; 
 he produced essays critical in scholarship and ex- 
 quisitely fastidious in style, and one remarkable 
 historical romance, " Marius the Epicurean," all sedu- 
 lously remote from the din and stress of our modern 
 conflict. Morris, equally antagonistic by nature to 
 modern conditions, was yet driven by imperious in- 
 ward stress on the same path Ruskin had followed, 
 
VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS 503 
 
 only farther, away from art to the active propaganda 
 of socialism ; he produced, as his finest prose work, 
 essays instinct with modern social passion, and two 
 beautiful romances that pulsate with the hopes of a 
 new day. Other essayists, critics of literature and 
 life, have obtained excellence if not eminence. But 
 the four whom we have treated tower above all others, 
 with only Pater and Morris visible at their side. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Macaulay, Life, by Tkevelyan ; by Cotter Morison (Eng- 
 lish Men of Letters). Essay, by Bagehot, Literary Studies. 
 Carlyle, Life, by Frotjde ; Garnett (Great Writers Series) ; 
 NiCHOL (E. M. L.). Letters and Reminiscences, ed. by C. E. 
 Norton, Essays by Lowell, Morley, Stephen (Dictionary of 
 National Biography). Newman, Life, by Hutton; Apologia 
 pro Vita Sua. The Oxford Movement, Dean Church. Selec- 
 tions, ed. by Lewis Gates. Ruskin, Life, by Collingwood ; 
 Praeterita (his fragmentary but charming autobiography). Mrs. 
 Ritchie, Records of Tennyson, Ruskin, and Browning. Essays, 
 Waldstein, The Work of John Ruskin. V. D. Scudder, 
 Introduction to the Writings of John Ruskin. Hobson, John 
 Ruskin, Social Reformer (an admirable book). Mrs. Mey- 
 NELL, John Ruskin. Arnold, Letters, ed. by G. W. E. Russell ; 
 Life, by Saintsbury. Essays, Gates, Introduction to Selec- 
 tions. Whipple, Recollections of Eminent Men. General 
 references, Bayne, Lessons from My Masters, Carlyle, Ruskin, 
 Arnold. Scudder, Social Ideals in English Letters, Part II. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 As we approach our own times, no two teachers will agree 
 in interpretation or emphasis. Moreover, the selections made 
 must depend wholly on the age and character of a class. Young 
 students, for instance, would better approach Carlyle through 
 " Heroes and Hero- Worship.'' " Sartor Resartus " is far more 
 stimulating for those a little more mature. In carefully chosen 
 extracts from the " French Revolution " and " Past and Present," 
 Book n, all students can be trained to appreciate Carlyle's 
 narrative and descriptive power and the peculiarities of his 
 
504 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 style. Selections from Newman, such as are given by Gates, 
 or passages from the "Idea of a University," serve to point 
 the always useful contrast between classical and romantic styles. 
 The more emotional portions of Newman's work cannot be 
 appreciated by the immature. 
 
 Much in Ruskin's early writings and in his charming minor 
 books, such as "Sesame and Lilies" and the "Ethics of the 
 Dust " can be enjoyed early. Selections illustrating his word 
 painting, his interpretation of nature and art, his simpler ethical 
 teaching are arranged in order in Scudder's " Introduction to the 
 Writings of John Ruskin." It is also pleasant and useful to 
 study in the concrete, by means of photographs, Ruskin's inter- 
 pretation of art in pictures. The whole series of frescoes in the 
 Spanish Chapel at Florence, for instance, can be secured, and 
 studied with the help of the delightful little volume, " Mornings 
 in Florence." Ruskin's method in art criticism should be criti- 
 cised as well as expounded by the teacher, in the light of 
 methods more recent. 
 
 In Arnold, the " Essay on Celtic Literature," especially the 
 latter portion, can be made to serve as a sort of review of the 
 vrhole sweep of English literature, the class being encouraged 
 to trace the three great racial elements in their interplay through 
 the more important books that have been read together. Such 
 of the critical essays of Carlyle and Arnold as treat of authors 
 familiar to the class should be read. 
 
 But care must be taken in this period not to force young 
 minds beyond the point of perception natural to them, by any 
 attempt to present comprehensive analysis of authors who will 
 give stimulus and inspiration all along the pathway of life. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Biographical lectures vrould here be in order, interesting the 
 class in the personality of each of these great men. Ample 
 material for a talk, sure to be enjoyed, on the Childhood of 
 Some Great Men, is offered by Carlyle's " Reminiscences " and 
 "Sartor Resartus," Ruskin's " Praeterita," Newman's "Apolo- 
 gia," and Hughes's " Tom Brown at Rugby." (The latter gives 
 a vivid picture of the conditions surrounding the childhood of 
 Arnold and Clough.) Also: Criticism, from Jeffrey to Arnold ; 
 Why do Artists turn Reformers? (illustrated by Ruskin and 
 Morris). 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 VICTORIAN POETRY 
 
 THE early work of Tennyson and Browning 
 struck an entirely new note. Tennyson's fairy 
 fineness of phrase obviously, indeed, owed much to 
 Keats, while " Pauline " was the work of an avowed 
 disciple of SheUey ; but there was a delicate con- 
 scious artistry in this work of Tennyson, different 
 from the spontaneous onrush of music in his prede- 
 cessors, while Browning in "Pauline" valiantly 
 assayed a new art-form, the dramatic monologue, 
 and showed a new absorption in the scenery of an 
 individual mind other than his own. 
 
 These two greatest of the Victorian poets, as they 
 began first, continued longest in the field. During 
 their prolonged careers, two minor schools of poetry 
 rose and fell. Let us glance at these before we 
 turn to the masters. 
 
 I. Minor Schools 
 
 1. Poets of 
 Doubt. 
 
 The spiritual wistfulness of the Victorian age 
 found searching and melodious expression in the 
 work of Matthew Arnold and Arthur Hugh Clough. Matthew 
 We have already spoken of Arnold's prose. The fg'^il^g 
 poetry of his youth gives us the clew to that under- 
 woof of feeling of which a sensitive reader is con- 
 scious through all the persiflage and argument of 
 
 505 
 
506 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 his later years. Not that his poetry is impassioned ; 
 it is strictly self-controlled, and thrills us chiefly 
 through its exquisite reserve. But it is full of the 
 melancholy sense of spiritual incertitudes ; we feel 
 in it the expression of a soul — 
 
 " Wandering between two worlds, one dead, 
 The other powerless to be born." 
 
 An elegiac strain pervades it ; and indeed the best 
 and most finished work in this highly wrought verse 
 are the avowedly elegiac poems. Arnold's theory 
 of poetry was that it should deal with noble action, 
 should di-aw its themes from the heroic past, should 
 be universal in its appeal. He tried these theories 
 occasionally, and the result, " Sohrab and Rustum," 
 "Poems," "Balder Dead," is fine but a little cold. But as a 
 rule he disregarded his theory, and he has given us 
 poetry which, in its rendering of those subtle emo- 
 tions that spring from the life of thought, could 
 never have been written before the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, and appealed only to the few in its own age. 
 For these few, however, its charm is compelling, and 
 Merope," shows no trace of lessening as the years go on. A 
 lofty self-dependence, resignation, courage, — this is, 
 after all his spiritual striving, the mood in which 
 Arnold seeks to rest. 
 Arthur Arthur Hugh Clough, the friend of Arnold, was 
 
 ciough, of a more robust genius. His training and tradition, 
 at school and University, were the same as Arnold's, 
 but we seem to feel in him a more direct relation to 
 the life of action as well as to the life of thought. 
 He was intensely interested in the social problems 
 that were coming to the fore in '48, as well as in the 
 
 1855. 
 
 1858, 
 
 1819-1861. 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 507 
 
 religious questions that affected his own soul ; his 
 long narrative poems, "The Bothie of Tober-na- "The 
 Vuolich," "Amours de Voyage," " Mari Magno," Tobel-ui 
 show this double interest, and his most characteristic X'^S^'"'''" 
 
 1848. 
 
 poem, " Dipsychus," a sort of latter-day Faust, is full 
 of both. Still, the most important thing in his con- 
 sciousness is man's relation to unseen realities. Like 
 Arnold, he was powerfully drawn to Christianity, yet " ■*:?"^,3''^- 
 smitten by doubt concerning it, and the poems which 1849.' 
 express this mood, like " Easter Day," and " The New 
 Sinai," express with less delicate finish than Arnold, 
 but with a poignant sincerity, his sense of loss, his "Dipsy- 
 hope, his spiritual courage. Clough died at Florence 1862.' 
 in 1861. Like many modern men touched with the 
 Hamlet-temper, we feel that his nature never found 
 full utterance. But few truer notes than his have 
 been struck in the poetry of the century. 
 
 " Oh not unowned, Thou shalt unnamed, forgive," 
 
 he cries. His refuge is not, like Arnold's, in self- 
 dependence, but in faith that clings to a Truth 
 unseen. 
 
 Questions concerning religious creeds did not dis- 2. Poets of 
 tress the second school of minor Victorian poets. 
 We may call them the poets of art, as we called 
 Arnold and Clough the poets of doubt. The eldest, 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti, is the greatest name ; the 
 others of the group are Algernon Charles Swin- 
 burne, and William Morris. 
 
 It shows the tendency of this group that two of General 
 
 . 1 i 1 J. tendency. 
 
 them, Rossetti and Morris, were not only poets but 
 artists. They were closely associated in friendship, 
 moreover, with certain painters, notably Millais, Hoi- 
 
608 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Dante 
 Gabriel 
 
 Rossetti, 
 1828-1882. 
 
 man Hunt, and Sir Edward Burne-Jones, who have 
 largely helped the renaissance of beauty in England. 
 All these men carried further the movement toward 
 beauty which Ruskin had begun, and on lines that 
 he approved. They are often called Preraphaelites 
 because they drew inspiration from the religious 
 feeling and the effort after minute truthfulness to 
 nature, of the Italian painters who precede Raphael. 
 All of them, to use a phrase dear to their school, 
 believe that life might be " made perfect by the love 
 of visible beauty " ; and the habit of thinking in 
 pictures, so that the most passionate emotion imme- 
 diately passes into the concrete symbol, is the distin- 
 guishing mark of their poetry. In a way they 
 derive from Keats, but there is a subconsciousness 
 of sordid modern life in their work which we do not 
 find in his. They force their way violently into that 
 world of dreams wherein he was tranquilly born. 
 One of them at least, Morris, could not stay there, 
 but was drawn forth by the voices of the world's sor- 
 row to join the socialist propaganda ; a thing which 
 we cannot imagine happening to Keats. 
 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti was born of Italian 
 parents, settled in London. We are constantly re- 
 minded in reading him that he is really an Italian 
 writing in English. Italian influence had been 
 slight in England since the time of the later Renais- 
 sance. The Victorian age opened a sensitive sur- 
 face to almost every influence from abroad ; and, 
 among others, Italy affected it, through Rossetti 
 and the Brownings. 
 
 The instinct to paint was stronger than that to 
 write in Rossetti. In 1848, he started, with other 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 609 
 
 young men, the Preraphaelite Brotherhood of artists. 
 It was the revolutionary year; Clough's "Amours de 
 Voyage," Carlyle's " Latter Day Pamphlets," Kings- 
 ley's "Alton Locke," the Christian socialist move- 
 ment started by Kingsley and Frederick Denison 
 Maurice, and Mrs. Browning's " Aurora Leigh " 
 were to express part of the feeling it generated in 
 England. But the fate of the people did not inter- 
 est these young men, who withdrew themselves into 
 an ideal world of poetry, beauty, and feeling. In 
 their significant little organ, the Grerm, appeared 
 some of the loveliest of the early verse of Rossetti, 
 including the "Blessed Damozel." But he seems to 
 have thought lightly of his verse in comparison with 
 his painting, and he continued to be chiefly an artist. 
 His poetry, however, produced from time to time 
 and privately circulated, came to exert a strong 
 influence in certain circles. His charming transla- 
 tions of Dante's " Vita Nuova," and of other early "The 
 Italian poetry, helped to make him better known. Italian^ 
 Finally, in 1870, and again in 1881, volumes of his 1861. ' 
 poems appeared. They gave in words the emotions "Poems," 
 of his paintings. Many of them were of strange and , ' 
 singular beauty: ballad poems, numerous lyrics, and andSon- 
 a series of love sonnets called " The House of Life," issi! 
 which have taken their place in our many sonnet- 
 cycles, beside Shakespeare's sonnets and Mrs. Brown- 
 ing's "Sonnets from the Portuguese." 
 
 Romanticism, from which English fiction was at 
 this time straining away, holds full sway once more 
 in the work of Rossetti. Beauty touched with 
 strangeness exactly describes its charm. His poetry 
 is charged with the sense of mystery, natural and 
 
510 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Algernon 
 Charles 
 Swin- 
 burne, 
 
 1837. 
 
 " Rosa- 
 mund," 
 1861. 
 
 " Atalanta 
 in Caly- 
 don," 1864. 
 
 " Chaste- 
 lard," 
 1865. 
 
 " Poems 
 and 
 
 Ballads," 
 1866-1889. 
 
 " Songs 
 before 
 Sunrise," 
 1871. 
 
 " Songs of 
 the Spring- 
 tide," 
 1880. 
 
 "Tristram 
 of Lyon- 
 esse," 
 1882. 
 
 spiritual ; far from wishing to penetrate the truth 
 which the mystery hides, as Arnold does, and Clough, 
 he exults in the mystery itself. He is not truly 
 spiritual, and, needless to say, he has no large vision 
 of the actual world; but all he writes is full of a 
 passion that is serious and very pure, and to express 
 this passion he finds again and again some strange, 
 haunting, inevitable phrase. 
 
 In some ways, no English poet has ever had a 
 finer endowment than Algernon Charles Swinburne. 
 He is past master of versification and melody. Un- 
 fortunately, his verse has not sufficient intellectual or 
 moral substance to correspond to its marvellous form. 
 His poetry is full of enthusiasm, indeed, for political 
 freedom, but Odes to Liberty, which were genuine 
 in Shelley's day, sound like an academic echo in 
 days that have learned how little political liberty 
 means taken by itself. The senses have too large a 
 part in the inspiration of Swinburne ; the world of 
 thought seems far away, and the world of spiritual 
 vision is quite unguessed. He is at his best, and it 
 is a splendid best, when writing of Nature, especially 
 of the sea. Besides a marvellous wealth of lyrics, 
 Swinburne has produced, among other things, a 
 group of long dramas. They are fine in their way, 
 but destitute of humor and of wide and varied 
 power in character delineation. His two Greek 
 plays, "Atalanta in Calydon," and "Erectheus," 
 although early work, are as beautiful as anything 
 he has written, and contain choruses supreme in 
 lyrical modulations. Swinburne's most interesting 
 mood is one of violent rebellion, hatred of Christian- 
 ity with its doctrine of suffering, exaltation of un- 
 trammelled humanity as the lord of creation: — 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 511 
 
 " Glory to man in the highest : for man is the master of •' Rosa- 
 things." mund," 
 ^ 1900. 
 
 But this vehement agnosticism, though magnifi- 
 cently expressed at times, has as he words it too 
 little philosophical basis to be really great. Swin- 
 burne has, however, fine positive enthusiasms, as 
 shown not only in his verse, but in his copious criti- 
 cal prose, which lacks balance and discrimination, 
 but evinces an enviable power of admiration. 
 
 William Morris, who became during his later life wiiiiam 
 a great force in England, revived for us through his i83^i896. 
 delightful work in verse many of the imaginative 
 pleasures of the past. He most clearly shows the 
 tendency of this school of poets to revert to earlier "TheDe- 
 and simpler times for that rest and beauty which Guene- 
 the modern world does not furnish. " The Earthly Jlsl.' 
 Paradise" is a collection of tales admirably told, 
 
 drawn now from classic stores, now from med- "Life and 
 
 Death of 
 iseval lore, and recalling by the studied grace of Jason," 
 
 handling the manner of the early Renaissance. " The 
 
 Defence of Guinevere," Morris's earliest volume, „^^^ 
 
 holds a series of Arthurian studies. " Jason " is a Earthly 
 
 fine version of the familiar classic story; while dise," 
 
 1 QfiQ 1 ftTO 
 
 "Sigurd the Volsung," Morris's noblest work in 
 verse, is a glorious retelling of the old hero-saga, and „ gigur^ 
 the finest result yet of the enthusiasm for the wild ^^ij?}' 
 myths of our Celtic and Germanic forefathers. Only 1870. 
 a part of Morris's wonderful versatility went into 
 poetry: — 
 
 "When the gods asked him for one deed, he ever gave 
 them twain," 
 
512 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 as he says of his Sigurd. After he turned socialist, 
 a few lyrics were all that he produced in verse ; but 
 his prose romances are the work of a true poet. 
 
 II. Alfred Tennyson 
 
 1809-1892. We turn to the masters ; and we see that in quan- 
 tity of work and in breadth of scope, no less than in 
 quality, they show natures richer and larger than 
 those of the other modern poets. Tennyson does 
 not appeal perhaps to any individual temperament 
 so strongly as Arnold appeals to one, Rossetti to 
 another ; but in the sensitiveness and varied range 
 of his tranquil work, no less than in his artistic per- 
 fection, we recognize that he was the representative 
 English poet of the Victorian age. His whole career 
 befits the poet of an epoch of peace, of constitutional 
 progress, of scientific advance ; and it was in this 
 aspect that the Victorian age appeared to Tennyson. 
 There was, to be sure, another aspect ; this, in his 
 singularly sheltered life, he never adequately realized. 
 
 Life. Alfred Tennyson was the son of a clergyman ; he 
 
 was educated at Cambridge, and always cherished 
 the memory of his college days. He won recognition 
 early, but was not pressed into too hasty work. His 
 life, unstirred by unusual incidents, but marked by 
 high converse with the leading men of his time, was 
 spent in fair and quiet places. Queen Victoria loved 
 the man and his poetry, and after .the death of 
 Wordsworth, in 1850, the laurel was placed, unques- 
 tioned, on his brow. In this year he married. His 
 honored years led to a quiet death. 
 
 Work. The volume of 1830 was one of delicate preludings. 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 513 
 
 In that of 1833 were many of the poems still dearest 
 to the public, including " The Lady of Shalott," " A 
 Dream of Fair Women," "The Palace of Art," 
 "The Two Voices." For the next ten years he pub- 
 lished nothing, but revised with exquisite care what 
 he had already written and wrote new poems slowly " Poems 
 and quietly as inspiration came. In 1842 a volume Brot^rs," 
 of revised selections from his earlier work appeared, ^*^^' 
 and also a new volume, which revealed the full power "Poems," 
 of his art. This is the volume of the "Morte i^'^^^' 
 d' Arthur," earliest member of those blank verse 
 transcriptions of Arthurian legend which were to 
 constitute the most ambitious work of his life. 
 
 In 1847 appeared "The Princess," a playfully «xhe 
 romantic poem on the woman question. A later f^'""®'^'" 
 edition contained some of Tennyson's most magi- 
 cal work in the form of interspersed lyrics. So far, 
 Tennyson's work had expressed no deep personal 
 experience, though a poem like " The Two Voices " 
 showed a nature sensitive to the spiritual drama of 
 the time. His inspiration had been literary and de- 
 rived, and his poems had shown perfect workmanship 
 and fine imagination, but not much passion. In 
 1833, however, an experience had come to him which 
 struck deep. This was the death of his dear friend, 
 the betrothed of his sister, Arthur Hallam. We are 
 glad of this great sorrow, for it has given us one of 
 our great treasures, the crowning expression of the 
 elegiac instinct so strong in the Anglo-Saxon race, 
 — "In Memoriam." Here English elegy escapes at 
 last from the beautiful but conventional setting of 
 classic elegy, used in different ways by Milton, Shel- 
 ley, and Arnold. It faces Grief directly, till at last in 
 
1855, 
 
 514 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Grief's eyes it sees reflected the light of an eternal 
 " "" hope. " In Memoriam " is not a poem of spiritiial 
 
 riam," triumph so much as of spiritual search ; the search 
 
 1850. „ 1 . ,. n .1 1,1 
 
 of a modern man, conscious oi ail the obstacles pre- 
 sented to faith in immortality by the natural order 
 and by philosophic doubt, yet moving to belief that 
 the undying instinct of the heart is witness to a life 
 that cannot die. After long and loving work the 
 poem was published in 1850 ; it is in more senses 
 than one the central poem of the century to English- 
 speaking men. 
 Maud," In 1855, appeared "Maud," a monodrama telling a 
 rather morbid story of passion and sorrow. Tenny- 
 son's genius was mature, and his work came swiftly 
 " Idylls of now. The " Idylls of the King," on which his mind 
 1858-1886. dwelt for many years, grew gradually on his hands, 
 from a series of separate studies to a complete poem 
 with something like epic unity. They are based on 
 Malory, and nowhere can the changes wrought by 
 the modern spirit be more effectively studied than in 
 Tennyson's handling of his original. The old story 
 had a great moral of its own ; Tennyson gives it a 
 new one, to suit the nineteenth century. Some prefer 
 the decorous modern version, some like the passion, 
 truth, and mystery of the wild old tale ; but all must 
 agree that narrative blank verse was never handled 
 with more perfect mastery than in the " Idylls of the 
 King." 
 Other Tennyson wrote a large number of narrative poems, 
 
 dealing with English life, of which " Enoch Arden " 
 is perhaps the best. In his later years he attempted 
 the drama, and added a group of three patriotic 
 dramas from English history to those Shakespeare 
 
 work. 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 615 
 
 left. But his dramatic work, though dignified, is 
 not a marked success. If he lives he will live 
 supremely as a lyric poet, and the lyrical inspiration 
 was his last as it had been his first. 
 
 Tennyson expresses his age in its more obvious Tenny- 
 aspects, especially in the enlargement of thought and relation 
 the social conditions that followed on applied scien- *° '"'^ ^^®' 
 tific inventions and on the rise of evolutionary 
 theory. His poetry is soaked with scientific terms 
 and ideas ; his central faith is in the gradual uplift 
 of the race to a higher and fuller life. He constantly 
 seeks spiritual conviction, but with a keen conscious- 
 ness all the time of the point of view of the doubter. 
 He was keenly aware of the modern struggle with 
 materialism, and threw all the resources of his art 
 on the side of an idealist philosophy. The social 
 unrest and the social evils of his time, however, he 
 never understood, though they caused him distress 
 and perplexity, especially in his later years ; he was 
 never in direct contact with them. He was per- 
 fectly content with England as he saw it, with 
 English homes, those "haunts of ancient peace," 
 with English men and English girls ; the England 
 known to him was the secluded England of the 
 aristocracy, not Dickens's seething England of the 
 middle class. He seems insular to continental criti- 
 cism, and his outlook certainly has marked limita- 
 tions ; but his quiet idyls of English life present a 
 picture of which we cannot fail to feel the beauty. 
 His art is studied and exquisite, lovely in every Tenny- 
 detail; his poetry is of that literary order, just ^™^^'^*- 
 below the highest, which delights us more by the 
 associations and memories it arouses, than by the 
 
516 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 new thought or passion it quickens. His work 
 rarely excites, like that of his predecessors, or like 
 that of his contemporary, Browning ; but in t)ur 
 ordinary and habitual moods it satisfies. 
 
 III. Elizabeth Bakeett Browning 
 
 1809-1861. Robert Browning would wish us to place before 
 his own name, the name of his beloved wife, Eliza- 
 beth Barrett ; and indeed the thought of one of 
 these wedded lovers will always suggest the other. 
 Mrs. Browning is the greatest woman poet of Eng- 
 land, though some think the work of Christina 
 Rossetti, narrower in range though it be, more likely 
 to live because of its more sustained art power. Mrs. 
 Browning's poetry is marred by carelessness ; her 
 impulsive passion and imagination need the check of 
 judgment. She was an invalid for many years, and 
 her work is that of a woman of naturally wide 
 and intense sympathies shut in upon herself. Her 
 genius, however, no one can deny. The soul of 
 melody was in her, as many of her lyrics attest ; 
 " Aurora Leigh," her long novel in verse, is a fine 
 expression of the social ferment in the central years 
 of the century ; of her personal love poems, the 
 " Sonnets from the Portuguese," one must speak softly, 
 with deep reverence for this throbbing revelation of 
 a beautiful heart, given us in beautiful verse. 
 
 IV. RoBEBT Browning 
 
 1812-1889. In Robert Browning we have one of the most 
 paradoxical figures of the Victorian age. Only 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 617 
 
 three years younger than Tennyson, it was his fate 
 to see fame, lavishly bestowed on his brother poet, 
 long elude him. His production was more copi- His repu- 
 ous than Tennyson's ; but his successive volumes, 
 applauded by the few, were ridiculed by the many 
 as obscure, unintelligible, and out of the true range 
 of art. His spirit was never daunted ; and in his old 
 age the tide turned. He lived to see societies estab- 
 lished for the interpretation of his work, and to enjoy 
 a popularity almost ludicrous in its suddenness. It 
 is too soon to know what Browning's final place will 
 be ; we can at least see that he was not a poet to 
 express, like Tennyson, the common consciousness of 
 the educated classes. He expressed, as no one else 
 has done, some of the more occult forces at work 
 beneath the surface of modern life, and so, in the 
 fulness of time, he became, not only an exponent, 
 but a leader. 
 
 Browning's life had practically no events, except Life. 
 his marriage with Miss Barrett. He was a Lon- 
 doner, with no university education. " Italy was 
 my university," he said. He had comfortable means, 
 so that he could devote his life to literature. In 
 1845 he met Miss Barrett, an invalid confined to 
 her room ; he persuaded the frail shadowlike woman 
 to marry him, — secretly, for fear of family opposi- 
 tion, — and to fly with him to the Continent. There, 
 in Florence mainly, they led an enchanted life, till 
 her death in 1861. After that the surviving poet, 
 taking his sorrow bravely, as befitted the author 
 of poems vibrating with faith in immortality, lived, 
 now in London, now in Italy, though not in Florence, 
 till, in 1889, he died in Venice. 
 
618 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Work. 
 
 " Pauline," 
 1833. 
 
 " Para- 
 celsus," 
 1835. 
 
 " Sor- 
 dello," 
 
 1840. 
 
 Dramas, 
 1837-1846. 
 
 "Men and 
 
 Women," 
 
 1855. 
 
 "Dramatis 
 Personae," 
 1869. 
 
 Browning's first work showed the sweep of his 
 power. He began, not with short lyrics, but with 
 three long poems, " Pauline," " Paracelsus," and " Sor- 
 dello." The first two were practically dramatic mono- 
 logues, though " Paracelsus " was nominally a drama. 
 "Sordello" was a long narrative poem, excessively 
 obscure, though full of beautiful detail. In all these 
 poems. Browning is profoundly influenced by Shelley. 
 The series of "Bells and Pomegranates" followed, and 
 it showed the essentially dramatic turn of his genius 
 for it included the great group of dramas, "Pippa 
 Passes," " The Return of the Druses," " A Blot on 
 the 'Scutcheon," " Colombe's Birthday," " Luria," "A 
 Soul's Tragedy," and others. But if his genius 
 was dramatic, it was not so in the sense that the 
 Shakespeareans were dramatic. Browning liked to 
 get into another consciousness, but he did not like 
 to do this for a great many people at once ; his 
 interest centred in individuals. He found his true 
 art form in the brief dramatic monologue. Such 
 monologues were the best and largest element in the 
 two collections, " Men and Women " and " Dramatis 
 Personije." These collections contain the best loved 
 of Browning's work, and remarkable they are. 
 Poetry has here come down from the heights to 
 the cities ; it moves among men, close to their 
 business and bosoms, at home with any nationality 
 or period, Hebrew, Greek, French, Italian, English. 
 It seeks to penetrate men's secrets, to note their 
 motives, those " seeds of act, God holds appraising 
 in His hollow palm." In closeness of condensed 
 portraiture, the Victorian age has no greater work 
 than this. The non-dramatic or slightly dramatic 
 
1868. 
 
 VICTORIAN POETRY 519 
 
 poems of this period, like "Saul," "Christmas Eve 
 and Easter Day," "Rabbi Ben Ezra," and "Abt 
 Vogler," are the most positive expressions of spiritual 
 faith that Victorian poetry has reached. 
 
 BroMrning's masterpiece is "The Ring and the "The 
 Book." It is our modern English epic ; we have thelook,' 
 travelled far indeed from the days of Beowulf. The 
 poem combines in a way the advantages of epic and 
 drama, for it is a series of dramatic monologues, 
 telling the same story from different points of view. 
 This story is the record of an obscure murder case 
 of the late seventeenth century in Rome which 
 Browning found in a yellow parchment book. Out 
 of this unpromising material Browning has evolved 
 a marvellous study of sin, purity, and struggle, 
 shown not only as they affect the main actors, but 
 as they serve as touchstones to reveal the char- 
 acter of the bystanders and critics. To one who 
 cares only for the story, " The Ring and the Book " 
 is insufferably tedious ; to one who cares for events 
 as they create and display character, it is an illumi- 
 nating poem. It sounds depths of vileness and in- 
 iquity, but the study of the woman-child Pompilia 
 and of the wise old Pope Innocent are the fullest 
 expression of the power of the spiritual to transform 
 the natural that Victorian poetry possesses. 
 
 After " The Ring and the Book," Browning's gen- Later 
 
 ius passed into another phase. He indulged his keen ^"'^ 
 
 „ , , . . . p 1-1 Poems of 
 
 intellect by the creation of a series of paradoxical casuistry. 
 
 1871—1876 
 
 poems of casuistry, " Fifine at the Fair," " Aristoph- 
 anes' Apology," "Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau," "LaSai- 
 etc. These poems are stimulating, but imagination f^l[ 
 and beauty seem a little far away, as indeed they do 
 
520 
 
 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 "Dra- 
 matic 
 Idyls," 
 etc., 
 1879-1880. 
 
 "Aso- 
 
 lando," 
 
 1889. 
 
 Brown- 
 ing's 
 spirit. 
 
 in much of Browning's later work. The lyrics of 
 his later life, and of his very last volume, show, how- 
 ever, that the old fire had not abated, and that the 
 old faith still burned clear. 
 
 Anything that expresses life, however grotesque 
 and ugly it be, seemed to Browning fit subject for 
 art. His quest, like that of many modern artists, 
 was less for the beautiful than for the significant. 
 Life, moreover, seemed to him something not finished, 
 but in the making. His poetry thrills with the 
 sense of development through struggle, of the glory 
 of the imperfect. It is splendidly militant. "All 
 to the very end is trial in life," and the crises of trial 
 wherein the destiny of souls is decided he delights 
 to show us. He chants no pensive elegies over the 
 prevalence of doubt ; he voices exultation in a faith 
 all the stronger because won out of the shadows. 
 
 " You call for faith, 
 I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. 
 The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, 
 If faith o'ercomes doubt." ^ 
 
 Browning strikes the most triumphant note of the 
 Victorian period : his creed is Christian, and his in- 
 terpretation of life is pervaded by his Christianity. 
 
 V. Conclusion 
 
 Victorian poetry dealt, not like that of the preced- 
 ing age, with Nature and humanity, but with human- 
 ity alone. It penetrated the heart and soul of man, 
 and feared nothing that it should find there. It saw 
 few visions ; the mark of search was on it, as on all 
 
 1 "Bishop Blougram's Apology." 
 
VICTORIAN POETRY 521 
 
 the literature of the modern world. For the litera- 
 ture of the nineteenth century was one, not of ex- 
 ultant discovery like that of the Renaissance, not 
 of placid formulae, like that of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, but of experiment and doubt. It was marked, 
 more than the literature of any other age, by a pro- 
 found discontent, by a sense of the unity with which 
 the destiny of the whole race is bound together, by 
 an eager pressing toward the future. It yearned 
 toward a nobler society, toward a clearer vision of 
 spiritual truth. Like the last group of prophets 
 painted by Sargent in the Boston Public Library, the 
 faces of the men of imagination and vision in the 
 last century were turned longingly to the East. The 
 good queen, who gave her high prophetic name to 
 one of the great eras of literatures, passed away 
 in the fulness of her years — beloved of all the 
 world. The nineteenth century and the Victorian age 
 went out together. We leave the great literature of 
 the English race, with new horizons opening around 
 it, new questions forming on its lips. What answer 
 will the literature of the twentieth century bring ? 
 What fair, unknown countries will it explore ? We 
 cannot tell ; we watch, and wait, and trust the future. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS 
 
 Stedman, Victorian Poets. Walker, The Age of Tenny- 
 son. Oi/iPHANT, Victorian Age of English Literature. Scud- 
 DER, The Life of the Spirit in the Modern English Poets. 
 
 Essay on Arnold as a Poet, R. H. Hutton (Literary Essays). 
 Essay on Clough, Bagehot (Literary Studies). Life of Ros- 
 setti, Knight (Great Writers Series). Sharp, D. G. Rossetti. 
 William M. Rossetti, D. G. Rossetti, as Designer and Writer. 
 Morris, Life, by Mackail (2 vols.), one of the best and most 
 absorbing of modern biographies. 
 
522 MODERN ENGLAND 
 
 Tennyson, Life, by his Son (2 vols.). S. A. Bkooke, Ten- 
 nyson: His Art and Kelation to Modern Life. Van Dyke, 
 The Poetry of Tennyson. Waugh, Lord Tennyson. Essays 
 by DowDEN, F. W. Myers, Hutton. Mhs. Ritchie, Records 
 of Tennyson, Ruskin, and Browning. Article, by Ainger, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography. 
 
 Browning, Life, by Mrs. Sutherland Orr (2 vols). 
 Sharp (Great Writers Series), Browning Society Papers ; 
 Papers of the Boston Browning Society. Handbook, Mrs. 
 Sutherland Orr. Introduction to the Study of Browning, 
 Arthur Symons. Introduction, Corson. Berdoe, The 
 Browning Cyclopaedia. Essays by Bagehot, Hutton, J. J. 
 Chapman (Emerson and Other Essays) . 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK 
 
 The young student would best study short chosen poems, 
 as Arnold's " Forsaken Merman," " Balder," " Sohrab and Rus- 
 tum " ; Rossetti's " King's Tragedy " and " White Ship " ; stories 
 from Morris's "Earthly Paradise"; the "Idylls of the King," 
 " Enoch Arden," the " Princess," short lyrics, from Tennyson ; 
 the " Flight of the Duchess," " Herve Riel," " Andrea del Sarto," 
 " Abt Vogler," " Rabbi Ben Ezra," from Browning. Each one 
 may be dwelt on by itself, and the temperament and art of the 
 poets should become familiar. It is also possible to make cer- 
 tain modern poems the occasion of a review. Morris's " Sigurd 
 the Volsung " may thus be compared with " Beowulf " and the 
 Volsung Saga ; Rossetti's " Ballads " with genuine old Ballads ; 
 " The Idylls of the King " with Malory. In more advanced 
 classes it is valuable to do with one poem, — as, for instance, 
 "In Memoriam," — all that can be done. Study it in itself, for 
 beauty, structure, thought movement, etc. Relate it to the 
 other work of the author. Relate the poem, and incidentally 
 the author's other work, to the general products and tendencies 
 of his time. Broaden out and compare this poem with poems 
 of similar motif or subject in all the earlier periods of our 
 literature. 
 
 TALKS FROM THE TEACHER 
 
 Here, again, biographical talks are the most valuable. The 
 Preraphaelite Movement in Art, illustrated by photographs ; 
 How Science is Affecting Poetry ; The Spiritual Outlook of the 
 Modern Poets. 
 
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INDEX I 
 
 AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS 
 
 Abelard, Peter, 90. 
 
 Absalom and Achitophel, 324, 331. 
 
 Acta Sanctorum, 283. 
 
 Adam Bede, 479, 480, 484. 
 
 Addison, Joseph, 313, 316, 319, 338, 340, 342, 
 
 343, 348-354, 392, 412. 
 Adonais, 436, 443, 444. 
 Advancement of Learning, 271, 280. 
 Mltiic, 90. 
 
 ^neid, The, 129, 159, 184, 194. 
 .ffischylus, 245, 313, 435. 
 ySsop's Fables, 96, 159, 610. 
 Againbite of Inwyt, The, 83, 97. 
 Akenside, Mark, 375, 379. 
 Alastor, 219, 434. 
 Alchemist, The, 259, 280, 306. 
 Ale-xander the Great (Epic Cycle) , 68, 90, 
 
 95, 98. 
 Alfred (King), 40, 80, 91. 
 Allegro L', 287, 288, 297. 
 All for Love, 316, 319, 322. 
 All's Well that Ends Well, 245, 255. 
 Amadis de Gaul, 124. 
 Amis and Amiloun, 96. 
 Analogy of Religion, 344, 381. 
 Anatomy of Melancholy, The, 272, 282. 
 Ancient Mariner, The, 421, 427, 443. 
 Ancren Riwle, The, 92, 93, 97. 
 Andrew of Wyntoun, 126. 
 Andrewes, Launcelot, 272, 273, 283. 
 Angelioo, Fra, 127, 129. 
 Augelo, Michael, 192. 
 Annus Mirabilis, 323. 
 Anselm, 90. 
 Antony and Cleopatra, '2A5, 247, 316, 319, 
 
 322. 
 Apologia pro Vita Sua, 492, 504. 
 Apologiefor Poetrie, 179, 204, 279, 444. 
 Aquinas, Thomas, 93. 
 Arbuthnot, John, 352. 
 Arcades, 288. 
 
 Arcadia, The, 128, 199, 200, 204, 279. 
 Areopagitica, 291. 
 Ariosto, 192, 206, 225, 228. 
 
 Aristotle, 55, 171. 
 
 Arnold, Sir Edwin, 524. 
 
 Arnold, Matthew, 56, 89, 179, 275, 344, 390, 
 
 406, 431, 440, 451, 466, 498-502, 504-507, 
 
 510, 512, 513, 522, 524. 
 Arnold, Thomas, 523. 
 Arraignment of Paris, 232, 277. 
 Arthur (Epic Cycle and Romances), 25, 
 
 69-74, 76, 77, 79, 85, 91, 92, 98, 124, 219, 
 
 292. 
 Ascham, Roger, 194, 203. 
 As You Like It, 200, 204, 237, 240, 241, 255. 
 Atalanta in Calydon, 510. 
 Athelard of Bath, 90. 
 Aticassin and Nicolette, 68, 91. 
 Aurora Leigh, 509, 516. 
 Austen, Jane, 448-450, 455, 457. 
 Ayala, Pedro Lopez, 124. 
 Aytoun, William Edmonstoune, 523. 
 
 B 
 
 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 382. 
 
 Bacon, Francis (Lord Verulam) , 169, 187, 
 
 189, 190, 205, 206, 271-273, 276, 280, 281, 
 
 311. 
 Bacon, Roger, 92, 125. 
 Baillie, Joanna, 457. 
 Balder Dead, 506, 522. 
 Ballads, 127, 160, 161, 162, 166. 
 Barbauld, Aima Letitia, 376. 
 Barbour, John, 125, 158. 
 Barclay, 164, 173. 
 Barons' Wars, The, 279. 
 Bartholomew Fair, 259, 280, 306. 
 Battle of the Boohs, The, 344. 
 Baxter, Richard, 285, 303. 
 Beattie, James, 376, 392. 
 Beaumont, Francis, 249, 257, 258, 261, 281, 
 
 286. 
 Bede, The Venerable, 37, 43, 49, 50, 178. 
 Beethoven, 456. 
 Behn, Aphra, 330, 332. 
 Bentham, Jeremy, 381, 456. 
 Beowulf, 26, 31-34, 36, 42-45, 48, 50, 68, 
 
 73, 77, 360, 481, 522. 
 
 527 
 
528 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Berkeley, George, 352. 
 
 Bernard, St., 75, 90. 
 
 Berners, Dame Juliana, 127. 
 
 Berners, Lord, 193. 
 
 Besant, Sir Walter, 524. 
 
 Bestiary, The, 93. 
 
 Bible, The, 30, 36, 57, 75, 113, 125-127, 145, 
 
 146, 148, 150, 192-196, 206, 229, 251, 273- 
 
 276, 282, 301, 303, 305, 308, 489, 500. 
 Biographia Literaria, 427. 
 Black, William, 524. 
 Blackmore, K. D., 524. 
 Blackwood's Magazine, 450, 457, 479. 
 Blair, Robert, 375, 379. 
 Blake, William, 396, 403, 407-412, 417, 456. 
 Blind Harry, 127. . 
 
 Boccaccio, 69, 96, 98, 107, 109, 111, 114, 126, 
 
 195, 326. 
 Boethius, 40. 
 Boiardo, 128. 
 Bolleau, 318, 331,335. 
 Boke to an Ankoresse, 97. 
 Boke to Phyllip Sparowe, 128. 
 Book of Martyrs, 186, 195. 
 Bossuet, 318, 331. 
 
 Boswell, James, 365, 366, 370, 374, 377, 387. 
 Botticelli, 128, 176, 228. 
 Brahe, Tycho, 310. 
 Brandan, St., Voyage of, 25. 
 Brandt, Sebastian, 128. 
 Breton, Nicholas, 281, 285. 
 Britannia's Pastorals, 267, 282. 
 Britton's Bower of Delights, 209. 
 Broken Heart, The, 263, 283. 
 Bronte, Anne, 523. 
 Bronte, Charlotte, 450, 482, 523. 
 Bronte, Emily, 482, 523. 
 Brooke, Arthur, 275. 
 Browne, Sir Thomas, 272, 273, 276, 284, 
 
 319 324 344. 
 Browne, William, 267, 282, 285, 319. 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 200, 509, 516, 
 
 517, 523. 
 Browning, Robert, 39, 108, 157, 175, 243, 
 
 268, 455, 463, 465, 466, 484, 305, 516-523. 
 Bruce, The, 125, 158. 
 Brut, 85, 86, 92. 
 Buuyan, John, 138, 139, 303-305, 308, 330, 
 
 475. 
 Bnrgh, Benedict, 192. 
 Burke, Edmund, 370, 376, 381, 384. 
 Bume-Joues, Sir Edward, 508, 524. 
 Burney, Fanny (M'me d'Arblay) , 363, 377, 
 
 449, 
 Burns, Robert, 129, 159, 165, 271, 396, 403- 
 
 407, 409^12, 417, 456, 488. 
 Burton, Robert, 272, 282. 
 Butler, Joseph, 344, 381. 
 Butler, Samuel, 307, 330. 
 
 Byron, Lord (George Gordon), 224, 228, 
 418, 419, 429-433, 437, 441, 443, 444, 446, 
 457, 464. 
 
 C 
 Csedmon, 37, 38, 42, 80, 150, 294, 297, 376. 
 Calverley.C. S.,524. 
 Calvin, John, 193. 
 Cambrensis, Giraldus, 91. 
 Campbell, Thomas, 458. 
 Campion, Thomas, 267, 281, 285, 289. 
 CanoTa, 456. 
 Canterbury Tales, 40, 58, 101, 103, 110-119, 
 
 126, 132, 133. 
 Capgrave, John, 126. 
 Carew, Thomas, 268, 283, 285. 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 148, 169, 275, 450, 465, 
 
 471, 487^93, 497, 499, 500, 501, 503, 504, 
 
 509, 523. 
 Castle of Indolence, The, 388, 392. 
 Castle of Otranto, The, 375, 394. 
 Catullus, 128. 
 
 Caxton, William, 164, 175, 176, 192. 
 Cellini, Benvenuto, 193. 
 Cenci, The, 435. 
 Cervantes, 279. 
 
 Chapman, George, 207, 214, 257, 280, 285. 
 Charlemagne (Epic Cycle) , 44, 45, 68, 90, 
 
 98. 
 Chateaubriand, 456. 
 Chatterton, Thomas, 377, 392, 396. 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 17, 58, 63, 69, 70, 85, 
 
 89, 99-136, 139, 140, 144, 153, 156, 157, 
 
 159, 162, 163, 169, 183, 215, 276, 286, 311, 
 
 316, 318, 326. 
 Chesterfield, Earl of, 376. 
 Chestre, Thomas, 127. 
 Childe Harold, 430, 431, 443, 444. 
 Christ, The, 39, 42. 
 
 Christ's Victory and Triumph, 268, 282. 
 Christabel, 427, 439, 443, 446. 
 Chronicles, 40, 59, 91, 97, 116, 126, 193, 
 
 195, 196, 205, 281. 
 Cibber, Colley, 332. 
 Cicero, 206. 
 Cid, The, 92, 98, 282. 
 Cimabue, 93, 176. 
 Clarendon, Earl of (Edward Hyde), 272, 
 
 354. 
 Clarissa Harlowe, 358, 359. 
 Cleanness, 124, 132. 
 Clough, Arthur Hugh, 295, 498, 504-507, 
 
 509, 510, 523. 
 Coleridge, Hartley, 523. 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 369, 391, 418- 
 
 422, 425^29, 439, 441, 443-446, 481, 452, 
 
 456, 464, 465, 498. 
 Colet, John, 178, 192. 
 Collier, Jeremy, 328, 332. 
 
INDEX 
 
 529 
 
 Collins, William, 344, 388-390, 395, 396, 399, 
 
 420, 421. 
 Collins, William Wilkie, 523. 
 Comedy of Errors, A, 239. 
 Compleat Angler, The, 273, 285. 
 Comus, 288, 289. 
 Conchobar (Celtic hero), 23, 24. 
 Confessio Amantis, 125, 133. 
 Confessions of an Opium Eater, 453. 
 Congreve, William, 327, 332. 
 Consolations of Philosophy, On the, 40. 
 Constable, Henry, 210, 279, 285. 
 Cook, Eliza, 523. 
 Copernicus, 173, 193. 
 Coriolanus, 245, 247. 
 Corneille, 282, 318, 331. 
 Comhill Magazine, The, 495. 
 Coverdale, Miles, 193. 
 Cowley, Abraham, 283, 285, 319, 320, 392. 
 Cowper, William, 377, 395-400, 413, 421, 
 
 443. 
 Crabbe, George, 377. 
 Craik, Dinah Muloch, 524. 
 Cranmer, 193, 194, 274, 301. 
 Crashaw, Richard, 268, 269, 283, 285. 
 CuchulUn (Celtic hero), 21-23, 28, 32. 
 Cursor Mundi, 88, 96. 
 Cymbeline, 79, 249. 
 Cynewulf, 31, 37, 38, 42, 43, 80, 132, 134, 
 
 150, 270, 441. 
 
 Daniel Deronda, 480, 481. 
 Daniel, Samuel, 205, 210, 279, 285. 
 Dante, 61, 79, 95, 98, 100, 107, 110, 253, 286, 
 
 294, 295, 297, 509. 
 Darwin, Charles, 460, 623. 
 Davenant, Sir William, 283, 285, 316. 
 David, 456. 
 
 David Copperfleld, 469, 471, 485. 
 Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 209. 
 De Quincey, Thomas, 452, 453, 455, 458. 
 De Stael, Madame, 456. 
 De Vere, Aubrey, 225. 
 Decameron, The, 96, 98, 110. 
 Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 
 
 The,3S0. 
 Defense of Poetry, A, 199. 
 Defoe, Daniel, 131, 305, 347, 348, 350, 353. 
 Dekker, Thomas, 249, 257, 258, 261, 280, 
 
 282, 285. 
 Demosthenes, 206. 
 
 Denham, Sir John, 283, 285, 320, 392. 
 Descartes, 283. 
 Deserted Village, The, 373. 
 Deth of Blaunche the Duchesse, The, 108. 
 Dickens, Charles, 169, 465, 468^80, 485, 
 
 515, 523. 
 
 Disraeli, Benjamin, 523, 524. 
 
 Divine Comedy, The, 96. 
 
 Dobson, Henry Austin, 524. 
 
 Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, 483. 
 
 Dodgson, C. L. (Lewis Carroll), 524. 
 
 Domesday Book, 90. 
 
 Don Juan, 431, 432. 
 
 Don Quixote, 279, 362. 
 
 Donatello, 127. 
 
 Donne, John, 268, 269, 282, 285. 
 
 Douglas, Gavin, 129, 159. 
 
 Dowden, Edward, 245, 525. 
 
 Drapier's Letters, 345. 
 
 Drayton, Michael, 205, 210, 211, 267, 279, 
 
 285. 
 Dream of Gerontius, The, 492. 
 Dream of John Ball, A, 138, 502. 
 Dream of the Rood, The, 31, 38, 42. 
 Drummond, William, 267, 282, 285. 
 Dryden, John, 313, 314, 316, 319-333, 337, 
 
 338, 342, 343, 346. 
 Du Maurier, George, 524. 
 Duchess of Malfi, The, 262, 263, 282. 
 Dunbar, William, 129, 159, 166. 
 Dunciad, The, 334, 337, 338, 341, 345, 379. 
 Diirer, Albrecht, 192. 
 
 E 
 
 Eadmer, 90. 
 
 Earthly Paradise, The, 117, 135, 511, 622. 
 
 Ecclesiastical History of England, An, 48. 
 
 Ecclesiastical Polity, The, 205, 279. 
 
 Edda, The, 90, 92, 391. 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria, 457. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, 450, 457, 486, 488. 
 
 EdwardII.,WZ,'2^1. 
 
 Eikon Basilike, 284. 
 
 Elegy in a Country Churchyard, An, 375, 
 
 390, 391, 400, 420. 
 Elene, 39, 42. 
 
 Eliot, George, 171, 450, 477-483, 485, 523. 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 489. 
 Endymion, 438. 
 England's Helicon, 209. 
 English Humourists, 473. 
 Epithalamium, 217, 219, 279. 
 Erasmus, 177, 178, 192, 193. 
 Eschenbach, Wolfram von, 92. 
 Essay on Criticism, 335, 341, 356, 444. 
 Essay on Man, 337, 341, 383. 
 Etherege, Sir George, 327, 330, 332. 
 Euphues, 203, 204, 206, 232, 277. 
 Euripides, 245. 
 Evelina, 363, 377. 
 Evelyn, John, 328, 330. 
 Evidences of Christianity, 381, 382. 
 Examiner, The, 452. 
 Excursion, The, 420, 425. 
 
630 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Exeter Book, 90. 
 Exodus, 94. 
 
 Faerie Queene, The, 40, 148, 188, 216-228, 
 
 278, 311, 319, 346, 359, 434. 
 Fairfax, Lord, 207. 
 Faithful Shepherdess, The, 281, 289. 
 Fall ofPnnces, The, 126, 157, 195. 
 Farquhar, Sir John, 327, 332. 
 Fates of the Apostles, The, 39. 
 Faust, 277, 431. 
 Faustus, Dr., 189, 233, 278. 
 Fenelou, 332. 
 Ferrex and Porrex (Gorboduc), 195, 231, 
 
 241. 
 Fielding, Henry, 344, 360-362, 394, 447. 
 Finn (Celtic Cycle), 23, 24, 28, 32, 393. 
 Fitzgerald, Edward, 523. 
 Fletclier, Giles, 268, 282, 285. 
 Fletcher, John, 249, 250, 257, 261, 264, 281, 
 
 285, 289. 
 Fletcher, Phineas, 268, 283, 285. 
 Floire et Blancheflor, 93, 95. 
 Florence of Worcester, 90. 
 Ford, John, 257, 263, 273, 283, 285, 318. 
 Fors Clavigera, 496. 
 Fortescue, Sir John, 127. 
 Fox, C. J., 370. 
 Foxe, John, 186, 195. 
 Freeman, 487, 624. 
 French Revolution, The, 489, 503. 
 Frolssart, Sir John, 58, 124. 
 Froude, 487, 524. 
 Fuller, Thomas, 272, 284. 
 
 G 
 
 Gaimar, Geoffrey, 90, 91. 
 
 Gainsborough, 376. 
 
 Galileo, 281, 287. 
 
 Gammer Gurton's Needle, 231. 
 
 Gardiner, 487. 
 
 Garrick, David, 344, 367, 368, 370. 
 
 Gascoigne, George, 195. 
 
 Gaskell, Elizabeth, 523. 
 
 Gawayne (Sir) and the Green Knight, 
 
 124, 132, 147. 
 Gay, John, 340. 
 Genesis, 94. 
 
 Gentleman's Magazine, The, 344. 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth, 70, 71, 78, 79, 89, 
 
 91. 
 Geoffrey of Vinsanf , 96. 
 Germ, The, 509, 523. 
 Gerusalemme Liberata, 277. 
 Gesta Romanorum, 74, 79, 93. 
 Gibbon, Edward, 376, 380, 384. 
 Gil Bias, 354, 362. 
 
 Giorgione, 192. 
 Giotto, 94, 107, 148, 176. 
 Gladstone, "William Ewart, 525. 
 Godwin, William, 382, 383, 433, 456. 
 Goethe, 375, 377, 431, 432, 456, 457. 
 Golden Legend, The, 74, 75, 95. 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, 363, 370, 372-375, 378, 
 
 379. 
 Gorboduc (Ferrez and Porrex) , 195,231, 
 
 241. 
 Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions, A, 
 
 196, 209. 
 Gosson, Stephen, 199, 277. 
 Gower, John, 125, 132, 133, 147. 
 Grandison, Sir Charles, 358-360, 481. 
 Gray, Thomas, 326, 375, 388-391, 394-396, 
 
 399, 400, 409, 420, 421. 
 Greene, Robert, 232, 248, 277, 285, 487. 
 Greuze, J. B., 375. 
 Grimm (the brothers), 457. 
 Grocyn, 178, 192. 
 Grostete, Robert, 92. 
 Grotius, Hugo, 281. 
 Grub Street Journal, The, 344. 
 Guardian, The, 393. 
 Gudrun, Epic of, 91. 
 Guizot, 457. 
 
 Gulliver's Travels, 131, 346, 347, 353. 
 Gutenberg, 126. 
 
 Habington, William, 269. 
 
 Hakluyt, Richard, 205, 214, 277. 
 
 Hales, Alexander, 92. 
 
 Hallam, Henry, 458. 
 
 Hamlet, 155, 190, 231, 237, 245, 247, 252. 
 
 Handel, 344. 
 
 Handful of Pleasant Delights, 277. 
 
 Handlyng Synne, 98. 
 
 Harding, John, 126. 
 
 Hardy, Thomas, 483, 484, 524. 
 
 Harrington, 207, 279. 
 
 Harrison, 191,214. 
 
 Havelok the Dane, 86, 90, 95. 
 
 Hawes, Stephen, 128, 157. 
 
 Haydn, 376. 
 
 Hazlitt, William, 452, 457, 464. 
 
 Hegel, 456. 
 
 Heine, 457. 
 
 Hemans, Felicia, 458. 
 
 Henry IV., 240. 
 
 Henry V., 40, 240, 241, 255, 319. 
 
 Henry VI., 239. 
 
 Henry FZIZ, 250. 
 
 Henry Esmond, 473, 474, 476, 485. 
 
 Henry of Huntingdon, 91. 
 
 Henryson, Robert, 127, 159, 166. 
 
 Herbert, George, 268, 269, 276, 283. 
 
INDEX 
 
 531 
 
 Heroes and Sero Worship, 490, 603. 
 
 Herriok, Robert, 269-271, 276, 284, 285. 
 
 Hesperides, 271, 284. 
 
 Heywood, John, 193, 229. 
 
 Heywood, Thomas, 249, 257, 258, 261, 281, 
 
 285. 
 Higden.R., 96,124. 
 Hind and the Panther, The, 325. 
 Hobbes, Thomas, 285, 328, 382. 
 Hoccleve, Thomas, 103, 125, 157. 
 Hogarth, 355. 
 Hogg, 433. 
 
 Holbein, Hans, 164, 165, 193. 
 Holinshed, 196, 205. 
 Holy Living and Dying, 273, 284. 
 Holy Maidenhood, The, 94. 
 Holy and Profane State, The, 272. 
 Homer, 42, 69, 171, 207, 214, 280, 313, 336, 
 
 341, 377, 398. 
 Homilies, 97. 
 Hood, Thomas, 523. 
 Hooker, Richard, 187, 189, 205, 206, 215, 
 
 271,280. 
 Horn, King, 86, 91, 95. 
 Hous of Fame, The, 112. 
 Hudibras, 307, 330. 
 Hughes, Thomas, 504, 524. 
 Hugo, Victor, 57, 457. 
 Humboldt, 457. 
 
 Hume, Dayid, 344, 380, 381, 383, 384. 
 Hunt, Holman, 508. 
 Hunt, Leigh, 452, 524. 
 Hyperion, 438, 440. 
 
 Idler, The, 368. 
 
 Idylls of the King, 76, 514, 522. 
 
 n Penseroso, 287, 288, 297. 
 
 Iliad, The, 334, 336. 
 
 Imaginary Conversations, 454. 
 
 Imitation of Christ, The, 125, 273. 
 
 In Memoriam, 39, 397, 436, 513, 514, 
 
 522. 
 Ingelow, Jean, 534. 
 
 James I. (Scotland) , 125, 126, 158. 
 
 Jameson, Anna, 524. 
 
 Jeffrey, Francis, 450, 451, 458, 504. 
 
 John of Capua, 93. 
 
 John of Oxenedes, 93. 
 
 John of Salisbury, 91. 
 
 John of Trevisa, 124. 
 
 Johnson, Samuel, 313, 314, 363, 365-377, 
 
 379, 387, 388, 396, 403, 428, 451. 
 Jones, Inigo, 260, 282. 
 Jouson, Ben, 187, 218, 233, 249, 257-261, 
 
 264, 280, 285, 289, 306, 311, 327, 369. 
 
 Joseph of Exeter, 92. 
 
 Judith, 38, 42. 
 
 Juliana, 39. 
 
 Julius Cxsar, 245, 246, 252, 255. 
 
 Jusserand, J. J., 80, 82, 92, 157. 
 
 Juvenal, 368. 
 
 K 
 
 Kant, 377. 
 
 Keats, John, 224, 228, 268, 418-420, 429, 
 
 436-441, 451, 452, 457, 464, 505, 508. 
 Keble, John, 524. 
 Kempis, Thomas h, 125. 
 King John, 240. 
 King's Quair, The, 126, 159. 
 King's Tragedy, The, 159. 
 Kingsley, Charles, 482, 509, 523. 
 Kipling, Rudyard, 525. 
 Klopstock, 344. 
 Kyd, Thomas, 231, 233, 278, 285. 
 
 La Fontaine, 330. 
 
 La Rochefoucauld, 330. 
 
 Lady of the Lake, The, 446, 455. 
 
 Lamartine, 456. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 89, 273, 426, 451, 452, 455, 
 
 456, 464. 
 Lamb, Mary, 451, 452. 
 Land of Cockayne, The, 100. 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 452-456. 
 Lanfranc, 90. 
 Lang, Andrew, 525. 
 Langland, William, 124, 125, 130-145, 147, 
 
 163, 182, 186, 221, 304, 308. 
 Latimer, Hugh, 186, 193, 194. 
 Latini, Brunette, 92. 
 Law, William, 395. 
 Lay of the Last Minstrel, Tlie, 446. 
 Layamon, 70, 71, 85, 89, 92. 
 Lays of Ancient Some, 487. 
 Lear, King, 79, 235, 245, 246, 255, 258, 262. 
 Lee, Nathaniel, 315, 331, 332. 
 Legende of Good Women, A, 106, 111. 
 Legends of the Saints, 100. 
 Leibnitz, 382. 
 Leopardi, 457. 
 Lessing, 375. 
 Lever, Charles, 523. 
 Leviathan, 285. 
 
 Lewes, George Henry, 478, 479, 524. 
 Life of Johnson, 365, 377. 
 Linacre, 178, 192. 
 Lindsay, Sir David, 193. 
 Lippo Lippi, Fra, 127, 149, 157. 
 Livy, 130. 
 Lobeira, 124. 
 
532 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Locke, John, 328, 332, 382. 
 Lodge, Thomas, 204, 232, 248, 279. 
 Lovelace, Sir Richard, 269, 270, 284, 285. 
 Love's Labor's Lost, 239, 252. 
 Lowell, James Russell, 221, 227, 427. 
 Luther, 192. 
 
 Lycidas, 288, 296, 297, 436, 443. 
 Lydgate, John, 125, 157, 195. 
 Lyly, John, 203, 232, 239, 277, 285. 
 Lyncal Ballads, 420-422, 456. 
 Lytton, Bulwer, 523. 
 Lytton (the younger) , 524. 
 
 M 
 
 Maeaulay, Thomas Babington, 450, 486- 
 
 488, 523. 
 Macbeth, 246, 255, 319. 
 Macdonald, George, 483, 524. 
 MacFlecknoe, 324, 330, 338. 
 Machiavelli, 193. 
 Mackenzie, 363. 
 Macpherson, 23, 24, 375, 393. 
 Maid's Tragedy, The, 281. 
 Malehranche, %S1. 
 Malory, Sir Thomas, 71, 73, 74, 76, 192, 
 
 514, 522. 
 Malthus 457 
 Mandeville, Sir John, 124, 130, 131, 147, 
 
 181. 
 Mannyng, Robert, 96. 
 Map, Walter, 71, 79, 91. 
 Margaritone d'Arezzo, 93. 
 Marie de France, 79, 92. 
 Mari/us, the Epicurean, 502. 
 Marlowe, Christopher, 189, 233, 234, 239, 
 
 248, 261, 277, 285. 
 Marmion, 159, 446, 455. 
 Marryat, Frederick, 523. 
 Marston, John, 281, 285. 
 Martineau, Harriet, 523. 
 Marvell, Andrew, 320. 
 Massinger, Philip, 257, 258, 263, 282, 
 
 285. 
 Maurice, Frederick Denison, 428, 465, 509, 
 
 523. 
 Measure for Measure, 245. 
 Merchant of Venice, The, 240, 241, 255. 
 Meredith, George, 483, 484, 524. 
 Merivale, Charles, 524. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, The, 153, 240, 
 
 241. 
 Meung, Jean de, 95. 
 Michael of Northgate, 97. 
 Michael the Scot, 92. 
 Middlemarch, 480, 481. 
 Middleton, Thomas, 249, 257, 281, 285. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, A, 2.35, 240, 
 
 241, 243, 251, 255, 258, 336. 
 
 Mill on the Floss, The, 479, 480. 
 
 Mill, John Stuart, 465, 523. 
 
 Millais, 507, 524. 
 
 Milton, John, 38, 42, 81, 84, 89, 116, 169, 
 
 184, 267, 272, 276, 284, 286-301, 303, 305, 
 
 314-316, 319-321, 324-327, 336, 376, 395, 
 
 405, 486, 513. 
 Minot, Laurence, 88, 98. 
 Mirrour for Magistrates, A, 195, 231. 
 Mirrour of Life, The, 125. 
 Mitford, Mary Russell, 458. 
 Modern Painters, 494, 495. 
 Molifere, 318, 330, 331. 
 Monstrelet, 125. 
 
 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, 340. 
 Montague, Charles, 331. 
 Montaigne, 273, 277. 
 Montesquieu, 382. 
 Moore, Thomas, 457. 
 More, Hannah, 457. 
 More, Sir Thomas, 178-182, 184-186, 276, 
 
 346,434. 
 Morley, Henry, 525. 
 Morley, John, 525. 
 Morris, Lewis, 524. 
 Morris, William, 117, 135, 138, 391, 502- 
 
 504, 507, 508, 511, 512, 522, 523. 
 Morte d' Arthur, 224. 
 Mozart, 376. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, 240, 241, 243. 
 Mysteries of Vdolpho, The, 394. 
 Mystery of the Ten Virgins, 90. 
 
 N 
 
 Nash, Thomas, 233, 278, 285. 
 
 Neale, J. M., 524. 
 
 Neckham, Alexander, 92. 
 
 New Atlantis, The, 272, 276, 280. 
 
 Newcomes, The, 473, 485. 
 
 Newman, John Heniy, 275, 428, 465, 492, 
 
 493, 498, 503, 523. 
 News from Nowhere, 180, 502. 
 Newton, Sir Isaac, 331. 
 Nicholas NicMeby, 470. 
 Nicholas of Guildford, 94. 
 Niebelungen Lied, 34, 44, 68, 91, 98. 
 Night Thoughts, 344, 379. 
 North, Christopher, 450. 
 North, Sir Thomas, 206, 213, 245, 277. 
 Novum Organum, 271, 280. 
 
 O 
 
 Occam, William of, 96. 
 Odyssey, 336. 
 Oliphant, Mrs., 524. 
 Oliver Twist, 465, 470. 
 Olney Hymns, 397. 
 
INDEX 
 
 533 
 
 Ordericus Vitalis, 91. 
 
 Orlando Furioso, 192, 279. 
 
 Orm, 86, 92. 
 
 Ormulum, 86, 92. 
 
 Orosius, 40. 
 
 Ossian, 23-25, 28, 393. 
 
 Othello, 245. 
 
 Otway, Thomas, 327, 331, 332. 
 
 Overbury, Sir Thomas, 282, 306. 
 
 Ovid, 101, 206. 
 
 Oiol and the Nightingale, The, 91. 
 
 Paine, Thomas, 381, 383, 456. 
 
 Paley, William, 381-383, 456. 
 
 Pamela, 357, 358, 360. 
 
 Paradise Lost, 292-297, 800, 314, 330, 336, 
 
 354. 
 Paradise of Dainty Devices, The, 196, 209. 
 Paradise Regained, 296. 
 Parlement of Foules, The, 103, 111. 
 Pascal, 330. 
 
 Paston Letters, The, 126. 
 Pastoral Care, 40. 
 Pater, Walter, 502, 503, 524. 
 Patience, 124,132. 
 Pauline, 465, 505, 518. 
 Pearl, The, 124, 132. 
 Pecook, Reginald, 126, 158. 
 Peele, George, 232, 248, 277, 285. 
 Pendennis, 473. 
 Pepys, Samuel, 328-330. 
 Percy's Reliques, 375, 392. 
 Pericles, 249, 255. 
 Pericles and Aspasia, 454. 
 Persian Eclognes, 389. 
 Perugino, 128. 
 
 Petrarch, 96, 98, 107, 182, 183, 185, 198. 
 Phillips, Kate, 330. 
 Phcenix, The, 37. 
 Phoenix's Nest, The, 209. 
 Pickwick Papers, The, 465, 470. 
 Piers Plovjman, The Vision concerning, 
 
 124, 133-144. 
 Piers Plowman's Crede, 125. 
 Pilgrim's Progress, The, 138, 303-305, 330, 
 
 346. 
 Plato', 171, 178, 185, 220. 
 Plautus, 239. 
 
 Pleasures of the Imagination, 375, 379. 
 Plutarch's Uves, 206, 213, 245, 277. 
 Poe, Edgar Allan, 453. 
 Poema Morale, 85, 91. 
 Polychronicon, 98, 124. 
 Polyolbion, 205, 267, 279. 
 Pope, Alexander, 313, 314,319-321, 333-343, 
 
 345, 348, 350, 355, 359, 365, 373, 381, 383, 
 
 387, 390, 398, 403, 410, 438, 444. 
 
 Porter, Jane, 467, 458. 
 
 Prayer Book, The, 186, 194, 196, 274, 347. 
 
 Prelude, The, 397, 413-417, 423, 424. 
 
 Prick of Conscience, The, 97. 
 
 Prior, Matthew, 331. 
 
 Procter, Adelaide A., 523. 
 
 Procter, Bryan Waller (Barry Cornwall) , 
 
 523. 
 Prometheus Unbound, 420, 435, 440, 443. 
 Prothalamium, 218, 278. 
 Proverbs of Hendyng , 96. 
 Punch, 523. 
 
 Purple Island, The, 268, 283. 
 Pusey, 465, 523. 
 Puttenham, George, 204, 278. 
 
 Q 
 
 Quarles, Francis, 268, 283, 285. 
 Quarterly Revieio, The, 450, 451, 457. 
 
 Rabelais, 193, 347. 
 
 Racine, 318, 330, 332. 
 
 Radcliffe, Mrs. Anne, 394, 450, 456. 
 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 173, 187, 205, 213, 216, 
 
 217, 219, 221, 277, 279. 
 Ralph Roister Doister, 193, 231 . 
 Rambler, The, 368. 
 Ramsay, Allan, 383. 
 Rape of Lucrece, The, 239. 
 Rape of the Lock, The, 319, 336-337, 341. 
 Raphael, 176, 192. 
 Rasselas, 369, 379. 
 Reade, Charles, 482, 523. 
 Rehearsal, The, 323, 329, 331. 
 Religio Laid, 325. 
 Religio Medici, 273, 284. 
 Rembrandt, 228. 
 Republic, The, 185. 
 Reynard the Fox (Beast epic), 70, 91, 95, 
 
 101 , 129. 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 370, 376. 
 Ricardo, David, 457. 
 Richard II.. 2i0. 
 Richard Hi., 240. 
 Richard Feverel, 483, 484. 
 Richard of Bury, 96. 
 Richard the Redeless, 125. 
 Richardson, Samuel, 344, 357-364, 447. 
 Ring and the Book, The, 519. 
 Rivals, The, 373, 376. 
 Robbia, Luca della, 126. 
 Robert of Gloucester, 96. 
 Robertson, William, 380. 
 Robinson Crusoe, 131, 347, 348. 
 
534 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Robinson, Ralph, 180, 192. 
 
 Roger of Hoveden, 92. 
 
 Roger of Wendover, 92. 
 
 Roland, The Song of, 44-48, 67, 68, 73, 90, 
 
 481. 
 Rolle, Richard, 97. 
 Romance of the Rose, The, 58, 63, 93, 105, 
 
 108 129 
 Romeo and Juliet, 189, 235, 240, 241, 255. 
 Romney, 376. 
 Romola, 171, 479, 480, 485. 
 Rosalind, 204, 279. 
 Rossetti, Christina, 516, 624. 
 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 159, 200, 268, 466, 
 
 507-509, 512, 522, 523. 
 Rousseau, 359, 375, 383. 
 Rowe, Nicholas, 332. 
 Rowley, William, 282, 285. 
 Rubens, Peter Paul, 281. 
 Ruskin, John, 147, 148, 275, 493-498, 500, 
 
 501, 504, 508, 524. 
 Rymer, Thomas, 317, 331. 
 
 Sackville, 195, 231. 
 
 Saints' Everlasting Rest, The, 285, 303, 
 
 Saintsbury, 88. 
 
 Samson Agonistes, 296. 
 
 Sanazzaro, 128, 129. 
 
 Sand, George, 450. 
 
 Sartor Resartus, 465, 489, 490, 503, 504. 
 
 Savonarola, 128, 129. 
 
 Scenes of Clerical Life, 479. 
 
 Sohelling, 456. 
 
 Schiller, 377, 427, 456. 
 
 School for Scandal, The, 373, 376. 
 
 Schoolmaster, The, 194, 203. 
 
 Schopenhauer, 457. 
 
 Schubert, 457. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 159, 363, 394, 418, 445- 
 449, 454, 455, 457, 464, 485, 494. 
 
 Scotus, Duns, 93. 
 
 Seasons, The, 387, 388. 
 
 Seneca, 231. 
 
 Sentimental Journey, The, 362. 
 
 Settle, Elkanah, 331, 332. 
 
 Seven Lamps of Architecture, The, 494. 
 
 Shadwell, Thomas, 330, 332. 
 
 Shaftesbury, 352. 
 
 Shakespeare, William, 76, 79, 81, 84, 89, 
 149, 155, 169, 183, 184, 187, 190, 199, 200, 
 204, 206-208, 210-212, 215, 218, 230-262, 
 273, 276, 279, 281, 285, 287, 311, 314, 316, 
 317, 319, 321, 336, 359, 364, 395, 431, 440, 
 443, 448, 452, 476, 509, 514. 
 
 She Stoops to Conquer, 373. 
 
 Shelley, Mary, 433, 457. 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 31, 39, 104, 199, 
 
 219, 224, 228, 263, 352, 391, 418-420, 429, 
 
 431-437, 441, 443, 444, 452, 457, 462, 464, 
 
 505, 510, 513, 518. 
 Shenstone, William, 344, 392. 
 Shepherd's Calendar, The, 186, 188, 190, 
 
 203, 206, 216, 219, 277, 339, 387. 
 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 373, 376, 378. 
 Ship of Fools, The, 164, 173. 
 Shirley, James, 257, 285. 
 Shoemaker's Holiday, A, 261, 264, 281. 
 Shorthouse, John Henry, 269, 524. 
 Sidney, Sir Philip, 187, 197-204, 210-212, 
 
 214^216, 219, 221, 244, 279, 285, 360, 395, 
 
 444. 
 Silas Maimer, 479, 485. 
 Silex Scintillans, 269, 284. 
 Simeon of Durham, 91. 
 Skelton, John, 128, 164. 
 Smith, Adam, 376, 381. 
 Smith, Sidney, 450. 
 
 Smollett, Tobias George, 362, 375, 380, 394. 
 Songs of Experience, 408-410. 
 Songs of Innocence, 408-410. 
 Sonnets, 178, 179, 189, 190, 198, 200, 202, 
 
 209-212, 217, 243-245, 279, 290-292, 509, 
 
 516. 
 Sophocles, 245. 
 Sordello, 93. 
 Soules Ward, The, 93. 
 Southey, Robert, 418, 429, 455, 456. 
 Spectator, The, 350-353, 357, 458. 
 Speculum Meditantis, 125, 133. 
 Spencer, Herbert, 478, 524. 
 Spenser, Edmund, 148, 169, 186-188, 195, 
 
 199, 200, 205, 207, 210-212, 214r-228, 236, 
 
 244, 268, 276, 278, 285, 286, 293, 297, 304, 
 
 308, 316, 317, 319, 334, 339, 359, 387, 392, 
 
 395, 439, 493. 
 Spinoza, 330. 
 
 Stanley, Arthur Peurhyn, 525. 
 Statins, 117. 
 Steel Glass, The, 195. 
 Steele, Richard, 343, 348-353, 395. 
 Stephen, Leslie, 367, 525. 
 Sterne, Laurence, 362-364, 375. 
 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 446, 483, 524. 
 Stones of Venice, 494. 
 Stowe, John, 281. 
 Strauss, 478. 
 Strickland, Agnes, 523. 
 Suckling, Sir John, 269, 270, 284, 285. 
 Surrey, Earl of (Henry Howard) , 182-186, 
 
 194, 195, 209, 215. 
 Swedenborg, Emmanuel, 375. 
 Swift, Jonathan, 313, 338, 340, 342-348, 
 
 350-353, 357, 396. 
 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 39, 466, 507, 
 
 510,511,524. 
 Symonds, John Addington, 525, 
 
INDEX 
 
 535 
 
 Taine, 359. 
 
 Tale of a Tub, The, 344. 
 
 Tale of Two Cities, A, 471, 485. 
 
 Tales from Shake^eare, 452. 
 
 TaUeyrand, 457. 
 
 Tamburlaine, 233, 234, 277. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew, The, 240, 241. 
 
 Task, The, 377, 397, 398, 413, 420, 422. 
 
 Tasso, 194, 207, 225, 228, 277, 278. 
 
 Tate, Nahum, 331. 
 
 Tatler, The, 350, 354. 
 
 Taylor, Jeremy, 272, 273, 284, 319, 344. 
 
 Tempest, The, 249, 251, 252, 316, 336. 
 
 Temple, Sir William, 331, 343. 
 
 Temple, The, 269, 283. 
 
 Tennyson, AUred, Lord, 31, 39, 76, 84, 88, 
 
 108, 132, 169, 205, 213, 220, 295, 388, 397, 
 
 465, 466, 505, 512-517, 522, 523. 
 Thackeray, William Makepeace, 472-478, 
 
 480, 482, 485, 523. 
 Theatre of Voluptuous Worldlings, A, 195. 
 Theocritus, 334. 
 Theologia Germanica, 97. 
 Thistle and the Hose, The, 129, 159. 
 Thomas of Ely, 90. 
 Thomas of Erclldoune, 95, 125. 
 Thomas of Hales, 94. 
 Thomson, James, 228, 344, 387, 388, 390, 399, 
 
 421. 
 Thornton Romances, The, 126. 
 Thorwaldsen, 457. 
 Tillotson, John, 331. 
 Timon of Athens, 245, 249, 254. 
 Tintoretto, 228. 
 Tiptoft, John, 192. 
 Titian, 193, 228. 
 Titus Andronicus, 239, 255. 
 Tolstoi, 148. 
 Tom Jones, 361. 
 
 Tottel's Miscellany, 183, 194, 195, 209. 
 Toumeur, Cyril, 349, 257, 262, 282, 285. 
 Toxophilus, 194, 203. 
 Trelawney, 433. 
 Tristram Shandy, 362. 
 Trivet, Nicholas, 96. 
 Troilus and Cressida, 111, 128, 245, 254. 
 TroUope, Anthony, 482, 523. 
 Troy Cycle, The, 68, 69, 92, 98, 105, 124, 
 
 125, 175. 
 Tuathor-De-Danann (Celtic Cycle), 23. 
 Tupper, Martin Farquhar, 523. 
 Twelfth Night, 240-243. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, 239. 
 Tyndale, WiUiam, 193, 274. 
 Tyndall, J., 525. 
 
 U 
 Udall, Nicholas, 193, 231. 
 
 Uhland, 456. 
 
 Utopia, The, 179-182, 185, 192, 276, 346. 
 
 Vanbrugh, Sir John, 327, 332. 
 Vandyck, 284, 317. 
 
 Vanity Fair, 473, 474. 
 
 Vanity of Human Wishes, The, 368, 379. 
 Vaughan, Henry, 269, 270, 284, 285. 
 Velasquez, 285. 
 
 Venus and Adonis, 239. 
 Veronese, Paul, 198, 277. 
 
 Vicar of Wakefield, The, 373, 374, 449. 
 Villiers, George (Duke of Buckinffham), 
 
 323,330,332. 
 Villon, Fran9ois, 126. 
 Vinci, Leonardo da, 128. 
 Virgil, 42, 101, 129, 157, 171, 184, 206, 225, 
 313, 326, 334, 335. 
 
 Visio Fault, 94. 
 
 Vita Nuova, La, 96, 509. 
 
 Volksbuch, 277. 
 
 Volpone, 259, 280. 
 
 Volsungs, Story of the, 34, 43. 
 Voltaire, 375, 383. 
 Voragine, Jacobus de, 95. 
 
 Vox Clamantis, 125, 133. 
 
 W 
 
 Wace, 70, 71, 85, 92. 
 
 Wagner, 354. 
 
 Waller, Edmund, 284, 285, 319, 320, 392. 
 
 Walpole, Horace, 375, 390, 394. 
 
 Walsh, William, 334. 
 
 Waltheof Saga, The, 91. 
 
 Walton, Izaak, 272, 273, 276, 285. 
 
 Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 524. 
 
 Warton, Thomas, 376. 
 
 Watteau, J. A., 354. 
 
 Watts, G. F., 524. 
 
 Watts, Isaac, 383. 
 
 Waverley Novels, The, 446, 447. 
 
 Webbe, 204. 
 
 Weber, 457. 
 
 Webster, John, 249, 257, 262, 264, 281, 
 
 285. 
 Wesley (the brothers), 344, 395. 
 Westminster Review, The, 450. 
 Whistler, J., 525. 
 William of Lorris, 93. 
 William of Malmesbury, 79, 91. 
 William of Nassington, 125. 
 William of Poitiers, 90. 
 William of Shoreham, 97. 
 William of Waddington, 96. 
 William Wallace, 127. 
 Winter's Tale, A, 249. 
 Wireker, Nigel, 92. 
 
536 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Wither, George, 268, 283, 285. 
 Wogelweide, Walther von der, 91. 
 Wooing of Our Lord, The, 93. 
 Wordsworth, William, 31, 39, 81, 132, 147, 
 
 169, 174, 243, 250, 270, 291, 390, 393, 397, 
 
 413-429, 441, 443-445, 448, 451, 453, 456, 
 
 464 498 512. 
 Wyat't, Sir Thomas, 182-186, 194, 195, 209, 
 
 215. 
 
 Wycherley, William, 327, 331, 332, 334. 
 Wyclif, John, 113, 125, 137, 144-148, 163, 
 174, 186, 274, 493. 
 
 Yonge, Charlotte M., 524. 
 Young, Edward, 344, 379. 
 
INDEX II 
 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES 
 
 Abbott, E. A.: Shakespearean Grammar, 
 
 255. 
 Adams, Maurice: Introduction to Utopia 
 
 {Camelot Edition), 185. 
 Ainger, Alfred : Life of Lamb, 455 ; Tere- 
 
 nyson, 522. 
 Allen, Grant : Anglo-Saxon Britain, 42 ; 
 
 Early Britain, 42. 
 Arber Reprints, The, 185, 202, 212, 213, 329. 
 Arnold, Matthew : Culture and Anarchy, 
 
 308; Essays in Criticism, "m, 399,442, 
 
 443; Literature and Dogma, 308; On 
 
 the Study of Celtic Literature, 26,47; 
 
 Selections from Wordswort/i, 442. 
 Arnold, Thomas: English Works of Wy- 
 
 dif, 147. 
 Ashton, John : Social Life in the Age of 
 
 Queen Anne, 353. 
 
 B 
 
 Bagehot, Walter: Essays, 442, 443, 485, 
 503, 521, 522 ; Literary Studies, 442. 
 
 Bates, Katherine Lee : Ballad Book, 165 ; 
 English Religious Drama, 154, 155. 
 
 Bayne, Peter : Lessons from my Masters, 
 Carlyle, Ruskin, 503. 
 
 Bede, The Venerable : Ecclesiastical His- 
 tory, 41, 43, 50. 
 
 Beers, H. A. : A History of English Ro- 
 manticism in the Eighteenth Century, 
 399 ; Coleridge, Prose Extracts, 442. 
 
 Bellamy, Edward : Looking Backward, 
 185. 
 
 Bennett, John : Master Skylark, 255. 
 
 Berdoe, Edward: Browning Cyclopxdia, 
 522. 
 
 Birrell, Augustine: Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson, 374. 
 
 Black, ■William : Judith Shakespeare, 255 ; 
 Life of Goldsmith, 374. 
 
 Blackie, J. S. : Life of Burns, 410. 
 
 Blades, William : Biography and Typog- 
 raphy of William Caxton, 17(i ; Life and 
 Typography of William Caxton, 176. 
 
 Blind, M. : George Eliot, 485. 
 
 Bosworth and Waring: Translation of 
 the Gospels, 147. 
 
 Boyle, G. D.: The Great Rebellion, 276. 
 
 Brandes, G. : William Shakespeare, A 
 Critical Study, 255. 
 
 Brandl, Alois: iS. T. Coleridge and the 
 English Romantic School, 4S. 
 
 Bright, William: Anglo-Saxon Reader, 
 43 ; Early English Church History, 41, 
 43. 
 
 Brooke, Stopford, 41, 42, 43: English 
 Literature from the Beginning to the 
 Norman Conquest, 41 ; History of Early 
 English Literature, 41; Milton, 296; 
 Selections from Shelley, 442; Tenny- 
 son, His Art and Relation to Modern 
 Life, 522; Theology in the English 
 Poets, 399, 419. 
 
 Browne, G. F. : The Venerable Bede, 50. 
 
 Browning, O. : Life of George Eliot, 485. 
 
 Browning Society Papers, 522. 
 
 Buchanan, Robert, 27. 
 
 Buddensieg, Rudolf : John Wyclif, Patriot 
 and Reformer, 147. 
 
 BuUen, A. H. : Davison's Poetical Rhap- 
 sody, 213; England's Helicon, 213; Lyr- 
 ics from Elizabethan Dramatists, 213 ; 
 Lyrics from Elizabethan Romances, 
 213 ; Lyrics from Elizabethan Song 
 Books, 213. 
 
 Burckhardt, Jacob: Renaissance in Italy , 
 The, 176. 
 
 Caine, Hall: Life of Coleridge, 442 ; Son- 
 nets of Three Centuries, 213. 
 
 Campbell, J. F. : Popular Tales oftheWest 
 Highlands, 27. 
 
 Campbell, J. D. : Life of Coleridge, 442. 
 
 537 
 
638 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 374, 410; Heroes and 
 JSero-Worship, 255 ; Seminiscences, 504 ; 
 Sartor Resartus, 504. 
 
 Carpenter, F. I.: English Lyric Poetry, 
 213. 
 
 Century Dictionary, The, 89. 
 
 Champney, A. C. : History of English, 89. 
 
 Chapman, J. J. : Emerson and Other Es- 
 says, 522. 
 
 Child, F. J. : English and Scottish Popu- 
 lar Ballads, 165, 166. 
 
 Church, Dean R. W. : Introduction to 
 Clarendon Press Edition of Ecclesias- 
 tical Polity, 213; Life of Bacon, 212; 
 Life of Spenser, 2S!J ; Orford Movement, 
 The, 503. 
 
 Coleridge, S. T. : Notes and Lectures on 
 the Plays of Shakespeare, 254. 
 
 Collingwood, W. G. : Life of Buskin, 503. 
 
 Colvin, Sidney : Life of Keats, 443 ; Life 
 ofLandor, 455; Selections from Landor, 
 455. 
 
 Cone, Helen Gray : The Accolade, in Obe- 
 ron and Puck, 76. 
 
 Cook, A. S. : Translation of Judith, 42. 
 
 Cooke, George: George Eliot, a Critical 
 Study, 485. 
 
 Corroyer, E. T. : Gothic Architecture, 63. 
 
 Coraon, Hiram: Introduction to Brown- 
 ing, 522. 
 
 Courthope, W. J. : History of English Po- 
 etry, 191 ; Life of Addison, 353. 
 
 Craik, G. L. : English Prose Selections, 
 276; English of Shakespeare, The, 255. 
 
 Crane, Walter : Shepherd's Calendar (il- 
 lustrated) , 227. 
 
 Creighton, Mandell: Age of Elizabeth, 
 The, 190. 
 
 Cross, J. W. : Life of George Eliot, 485. 
 
 Cross, W. L. : Development of the English 
 Novel, The, 364. 
 
 Crowe, Martha Foote: Minor Sonnet 
 Cycles, 213. 
 
 Cutts, E. L. : Parish Priests and their 
 People in the Middle Ages in England, 
 147; Scenes and Characters of the 
 Middle Ages, 147. 
 
 De Vere, Aubrey, 27 : Essays, Chiefly on 
 Poetry, 227, 442 ; Legends of St. Pat- 
 rick, 28 ; Legends of the Saxon Saints, 43. 
 
 Dennis, John: Age of Pope, The, 341. 
 
 Denton, William: England in the Fif- 
 teenth Century, 165. 
 
 Dictionary of National Biography, 212, 
 234, 264, 443, 503, 522. 
 
 Diderot, 385. 
 
 Dohson, Austin ; Lives of — Fielding, 364, 
 Goldsmith, 374, Steele, 353, Walpole 
 399. 
 
 Dowden, Edward, 443, 485, 522; French 
 Revolution and Literature, The, 419 
 Life of Shelley, 442; Scientific Move- 
 ment and Literature, The, HSI ; Shake- 
 weare, his Mind and Art, 254, 255 
 Shakespeare Primer, 254; Studies in 
 Literature, 419, 442, 467; Transcripts 
 and Studies, 227, 442 ; Victorian Literal- 
 ture, 467. 
 
 Doyle, A. Conan: The White Company, 
 63. 
 
 E 
 
 Early English Text Society Publications, 
 
 63, 76, 89. 
 Eliot, George : Romola, 171. 
 Emerson, P. H. : Welsh Fairy Tales, 27. 
 Emerton, Ephraim : Life of Erasmus, 184. 
 Encyclopsedia Britannica, 47, 176, 213. 
 Evans, Sebastian, 27 : High History of the 
 
 Holy Grail, The, 76. 
 
 Fairholt, F. W. : Costume in England, 
 
 63. 
 Fleay, F. G. : Biographical Chronicle of 
 
 the English Drama, A, 234, 264. 
 Forster, John : Life of Dickens, 485. 
 Foxbourne, H. R. : Sir Philip Sidney, 202. 
 Freeman, E. A. : The Norman Conq'uest, 
 
 41, 47. 
 Froissart, Sir John : Chronicles, 58, 63. 
 Froude, J. A.: History of England, ISO ; 
 
 Lives of — Bunyan, 308, Carlyle, 503, 
 
 Erasmus, 184. 
 Furness, H. H. : Variorum Shakespeare, 
 
 254. 
 
 G 
 
 Gardiner, S. R. : The First Two Stuarts, 
 
 etc., 275. 
 Garnett, J. M. : Translation of Beowulf, 
 
 42; Translation of Judith, 42. 
 Garnett, Richard: Age of Dryden, The, 
 
 329 ; Lives of— Carlyle, 503, Milton, 296, 
 
 Shelley, 442. 
 Gates, Lewis : Essays, 503 ; Introduction to 
 
 Selections from Arnold, 503; Selections 
 
 from, Newman, 503. 
 Geddes, Patrick, 27. 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth : Historia Regum 
 
 Britannia, 76, 89. 
 George, A. J. : Wordsworth's Prelude, 419. 
 Gilchrist, Alexander : Life of Blake, 410. 
 
INDEX 
 
 539 
 
 Giles, J. A: Geoffrey of Monmouth, 89; 
 William of Malmesbury, 89. 
 
 Goadby, Edwin : England of Shakespeare, 
 The, 190. 
 
 Golden Legend, The, 76. 
 
 Gollancz, Israel: Translation of the 
 Christ, 42. 
 
 Gosse, Edmund: Eighteenth Century 
 Literature, 318; From Shakespeare to 
 Pope, 318; Jacobean Poets, The, 264, 
 275; Life of Gray, 399; Modem Eng- 
 lish Literature, iSf ; Prose and Verse of 
 Gray, The, 399. 
 
 Green, John Richard : History of the Eng- 
 lish People (illustrated) , 63 ; Making of 
 England, The, 41 ; Short History of the 
 English People, 41, 147, 184, 190, 275. 
 
 Grein, C. W. M. : Bibliothek der Angel- 
 sdchsischen Poesie, 42. 
 
 Grosart, Alexander : Sidney, 202 ; Spenser, 
 227. 
 
 Guest, Lady Charlotte : Mabinogion, The, 
 27, 76. 
 
 Gummere, F. B. : Ballads, 165, 166; 
 Germanic Origins, 41, 43 ; Poetics, 213. 
 
 Gurteen, S. H. : Epic of the Fall of Man, 
 42. 
 
 H 
 
 Hall, John L. : Translation of Beowulf, 
 42. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillips, J. O. : Outlines of the 
 Life of Shakespeare, 254 ; Syr Perceval, 
 Thornton Romances, 76. 
 
 Hancock, A. E. : French Revolution and 
 the English Poets, The, 419. 
 
 Hannay, David : Later Renaissance, The, 
 190. 
 
 Hanscom, Elizabeth Dering: Argument 
 of the Vision of Piers Plowman, 147. 
 
 Harper, G. V. : Holy Grail, The, 76. 
 
 Harrison, Frederic : Victorian Literature, 
 467. 
 
 Harrison , William ; England (from Holin- 
 shed), 190,191. 
 
 Haweis, Mrs.: Chaucer for Schools, 119. 
 
 Hazlitt, William : Characters of Shake- 
 speare's Plays, 255; Dramatic Litera- 
 ture of the Age of Elizabeth, 264. 
 
 Henley, W. F. : Burns, 410; Tudor Trans- 
 lations, 213. 
 
 Herford, C. H. : Age of Wordsworth, The, 
 442 ; Shepherd's Calendar, The, 227. 
 
 Hill, George Birbeok: Rasselas, 374; Se- 
 lected Essays of Johnson, 374. 
 
 Hill, Georgiana : History of English Dress, 
 A,&S. 
 
 Hobson, J, H. : John Ruskin, Social Re- 
 former, 503. 
 
 Hughes, Thomas : Tom Brown at Rugby, 
 
 Hugo, Victor ■• Notre Dame de Paris, 63. 
 
 Hull, Eleanor : Cuchullin Saga, The, 21, 
 22,27,28. 
 
 Hutton, R. H. : Essays, 442, 443, 521, 522 ; 
 Lives of — Newman, 503, Scott, 455; 
 Modern Guides, 485 ; Studies in Litera- 
 ture, 485. 
 
 Huxley, Thomas : Life of Hume, 384. 
 
 Hyde, Douglas : Beside the Fire, 27 ; Lit- 
 erary History of Ireland, A, 26; Story 
 of Early Gaelic Literature, The, 26. 
 
 Jacobs, Joseph : Book of Wonder Voyages, 
 The, 27; Celtic Fairy Tales, 27; More 
 Celtic Fairy Tales, 27. 
 
 Jespersen, Jens O. H. : Progress in Lan- 
 guage, etc., 89. 
 
 Jessop, Augustus : Coming of the Friars, 
 The, 147. 
 
 Jewett, Sarah Orne : Story of the Nor- 
 mans, The, 47. 
 
 Johnson Club Papers, 374. 
 
 Johnson, Samuel : Lives of the Poets, 297, 
 329, 341. 
 
 Joyce, P. W. : Old Celtic Romances, 27. 
 
 Jusserand, J. J: English Novel in the 
 Time of Shakespeare, The, 191; Eng- 
 lish Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages, 
 63 ; Literary History of the English Peo- 
 ple, A, 26, 41, 81, 82; Piers Plowman, 
 147 ; Romance of a King's Life, The, 165. 
 
 Keble, John : Hooker, 213. 
 
 Kemble, J. M. : Translation of Beowulf, 
 42. 
 
 Ker, W. P. : Epic and Romance, 76. 
 
 Kingsley, Charles: Hereward the Wake, 
 48 ; Westward, Ho ! 190. 
 
 Knight, William : Rossetti, 521 ; Words- 
 worth, 442. 
 
 L 
 
 Lamb, Charles: Essays of Elia, 329; 
 Selections from the Old Dramatists, 264. 
 
 Lang, Andrew : Letters to Dead Authors, 
 485. 
 
 Langland, William : Piers Plowman, 63. 
 
 Lanier, Sidney: Boy's Mabinogion, The, 
 27 ; English Novel and the Principle of 
 its Development, The, 364. 
 
 Lechler, G. T. : John Wycttfaiid His Eng- 
 lish Precursors, 147. 
 
 Lecky, W. E. H. : History of England in 
 
540 
 
 INDEX 
 
 the Eighteenth Century, The, 318, 353; 
 Life of Gibbon, 38i. 
 
 Lee, Sidney : Life of Shakespeare, 254, 255. 
 
 Lookhart, J. G. : Life of Scott, 455. 
 
 Lounsbury, T. R. : History of the English 
 Language, The, 89; Studies in Chaucer, 
 119. 
 
 Lowell, J. R. : Among my Books, 227, 
 329, 442 ; Essays on— Carlyle, 503, Cole- 
 ridge, ii2, Gray, Sm, Keats, ii2, Words- 
 worth, 442; My Study Windows, 119, 
 341 ; Old English Dramatists. 234. 
 
 Lupton, J. H.: Lives of Jehan Vitrierand 
 John Golet, 185; Scholar's Edition of 
 Utopia, 185. 
 
 M 
 
 Mabie, H. W. : Life of Shakespeare, 254. 
 Macaulay, T. B. ; Essays, 213, 297, 308, 329, 
 
 353, 374, 442 ; History of England, 319. 
 Mackail, J. W. : Life of Morris, 521. 
 Macleod, Fiona, 27. 
 Madden, Sir Frederick : Layamon's Brut, 
 
 89. 
 Madge, H. D. : Selections from the Golden 
 
 Legend, 76. 
 Malory, Sir Thomas : Morte d' Arthur, 73, 
 
 74, 76. 
 Mangan, J. C, 27. 
 Manly, J. M. : Specimens of the Pre- 
 
 Shakespearean Drama, 155, 234. 
 Manning, Annie ; Household of Sir Thomas 
 
 Moore, The, 185. 
 Marsh, G. P. : Lectures on the English 
 
 Language, 89. 
 Marzials, F. T. : Life of Dickens, 485. 
 Masson, David : British Novelists and 
 
 their Styles, 485: Life of Milton, 276, 
 
 296 ; Three Devils, 297. 
 Masterman, J. H. B. : Age of Milton, The, 
 
 276, 296. 
 Matthew-Pennington, J. D. : J. Wyclif, 
 
 his Life, Time, and Teaching, 147. 
 McCarthy, Justin: History of Our Own 
 
 Times, A,iS7. 
 Mediseval Scottish Poetry, 165. 
 Meyer, Kuno : Voyage of Bran, The, 27. 
 Meynell, Mrs. : John Ruskin, 503. 
 Mills, Charles : History of Chivalry, ^,76. 
 Minto, William : Characteristics of Eng- 
 lish Poets, 119. 
 Montagn, Lady Mary Wortley: Letters, 
 
 341. 
 Montalembert, Count de: Monks of the 
 
 West, The, 26-28, 41, 43. 
 More, P. E. : Cambridge Byron, The, 442 
 Morison, J. Cotter: Life of Macaulay 
 
 503. 
 
 Morley, Henry : Clement Marot and other 
 
 Essays, 26: English Writers, 26, 41, 
 
 190; Ideal Commonwealths, 185, 276; 
 
 Universal Library, 213^ 308. 
 Morley, John : Burke,3Si, 385 ; Gower, 146. 
 Morris, William, 135; Dream of John 
 
 Ball, A, 63, 147 ; News from Nowhere, 
 
 185 ; Prologue to Earthly Paradise, 135 ; 
 
 Sigurd the Volsung, 43. 
 Morris and Magnusson : Story of the Yol- 
 
 sungs. The, 43. 
 Morris and Skeat: Specimens of Early 
 
 English, 89. 
 Moulton, Richard: Shakespeare as a 
 
 Dramatic Artist, 265. 
 Myers, F. W. : Essay on Tennyson, 522; 
 
 Life of Wordsworth, 442. 
 
 N 
 
 Newell, W. W. : King Arthur and the 
 Table Round, 76. 
 
 Newman, J. H. : Apologia pro Vita Sua, 
 503, 504. 
 
 Nichol,'J. : Lives of — Swron, 442, Carlyle, 
 503. ■ 
 
 Nichols, J. G. : Erasmus, The Praise of 
 Folly, and Pilgrimages, etc., 185. 
 
 Noble, J. A. : Sonnet in England, The, 213. 
 
 Noel, R. B. W. : Life of Byron, 442. 
 
 Norton, C. E. : Cathedrals and Cathedral 
 Builders, 63; Church Building in the 
 Middle Ages, 63 ; Letters and Reminis- 
 cences of Carlyle, 503. 
 
 Nutt, Alfred : Studies in the Origin of the 
 Holy Grail, 76. 
 
 O'Curry, Eugene: Lectures on the Manu- 
 script Materials of Ancient Irish His- 
 tory, 27, 28. 
 
 O'Grady, Standish : Coming of Cuculain, 
 The, 27 ; Fi7in and his Companions, 27 ; 
 History of Ireland, 27 ; Silva Gadeliea, 
 28. 
 
 O'Hagan, Colonel John : Translation of 
 the Song of Roland, 46-48. 
 
 Oliphant, Mrs. : Introduction to Selections 
 in Golden Treasury Series, 399 ; Liter- 
 ary Histories of — England, 419, The 
 Nineteenth Century, 442, The Victorian 
 Age of English Literature, 521. 
 
 Orr, Mrs. Sutherland: Handbook of 
 Browning, 522 ; Life of Browning, 522. 
 
 Page, H. A. : Life and Writings of De 
 Quincey, 455. 
 
INDEX 
 
 541 
 
 Palgrave, F. T.: Landscape in Poetry 
 from Homer to Tennyson, 63. 
 
 Pater, Walter, 442. 
 
 Pattison, Mark : Life of Milton, 297. 
 
 Perceval: Fasrie Queene, Bks. I. and II., 
 227. 
 
 Percy's Reliques, 165, 399. 
 
 Perry, T. S. : Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, 318. 
 
 Phelps, W. : Beginnings of the Romantic 
 Movement, 399. 
 
 Planch^, J. R. : Cyclopaedia of Costume, 
 63. 
 
 Plato : Republic, The, 185. 
 
 Pollard, A. W. : Astrophel and Stella, 202 ; 
 Early Illustrated Books, 176; Eriglish 
 Miracle Plays, Moralities, and Inter- 
 ludes, 155 ; Malory's Morte D' Arthur, 
 76; Primer of Chaucer, 119; Works of 
 Chaucer, 119. 
 
 Poole, Stanley Lane: Selections from 
 Swift, 353. 
 
 Powell and Vlgfusson : Corpus Poeticum 
 Boreale, 41, 43. 
 
 Putnam, 6. H. : Books and their Makers 
 during the Middle Ages, 176. 
 
 R 
 
 Raleigh, W. A. : English Novel, The, 364. 
 
 Rashdall, Hastings: Universities of Eu- 
 rope in the Middle Ages, The, 62. 
 
 Rhys, Ernest, 27 : Literary History of 
 Ireland, 28: Literary Pamphlets, 202; 
 Sidney's Lyrics, 202. 
 
 Rhys, John: Lectures on the Origin, etc., 
 of Religion, as illustrated by Celtic 
 Heathendom,, 28 ; Studies in the Ar- 
 thurian Legend, 28, 76. 
 
 Richardson, Samuel: Novel of Manners, 
 2%e, 364. 
 
 Rigg, J. M. : More's Life of Pico della 
 Mirandola, 185. 
 
 Ritchie, Mrs. : Introductions to Bio- 
 graphical edition of Tliackeray, 485; 
 Records of Tennyson, Raskin, and 
 Browning, 503, 522. 
 
 Ritson, J. : Ancient Songs and Ballads, 
 165. 
 
 Roemer, Jean : Norman in Gaul, The (in 
 Origins of the English People and the 
 English Language), 47. 
 
 Rolfe, W. J. : Shakespeare, 254. 
 
 Roper, "William : Life of More (in Camelot 
 edition of Utopia) , 185. 
 
 Rossetti, D. G. : King's Tragedy, The, 165. 
 
 Rossettl, W. M. : Z>. G. Rossetti as De- 
 signerand Writer, 521 ; Lives of— Keats, 
 443, Shelley, 442; Selections from 
 Blake, 410. 
 
 Rousseau, J. J., 385. 
 
 Royce , Josiah : Spirit of Modern Philoso- 
 phy, The, 385, 419. 
 
 Ruskin, John: Bibliotheca Pastorum, 
 202; Ethics of the Dust, 147; Fors 
 Clavigera, 202, 341, 455 ; Modern Paint- 
 ers, 63; Praeterita, 503, 504; Seven 
 Lamps of Architecture, The,&d ; Stones 
 of Venice, 60, 63. 
 
 Russell, G. W. E. : Letters of Matthew 
 Arnold, 503. 
 
 Rye, W. B.: England as seen by For- 
 eigners in the Days of Elizabeth and 
 James, 190. 
 
 Saintsbury, G. E. B., 88; Elizabethan 
 Literature, 190; Flourishing of Ro- 
 mance, etc., 76; History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, 442, 467 ; Lives of — 
 Arnold, 503, Dry den, 329; Short His- 
 tory of English Literature, 318. 
 
 Saunders, J.: Chaucer's Canterbury 
 Tales, 119. 
 
 Schelling, Felix : Elizabethan Lyrics, 213. 
 
 Scherer, Edmond: Essays on English 
 Literature, 297. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter : Ivanhoe, 63 ; Journal, 
 456 ; Kenilworth, 190. 
 
 Scudder, H. E. : Cambridge Keats, The, 
 443. 
 
 Scudder, V. D. : Introduction to Prome- 
 theus Unbound, 443; Introduction to 
 Writings of John Ruskin, 503, 504 ; Life 
 of the Spirit in the Modern English 
 Poets, 2746,521; Social Ideals in English 
 Letters, 147, 185, 353, 485, 503. 
 
 Seebohm, Frederic: Oxford Reformers, 
 The, 184. 
 
 Shairp, J. C. : Aspects of Poetry, 442 ; 
 Life of Bums, 410 ; Poetic Interpreta- 
 tion of Nature, The, 442. 
 
 Sharp, William, 27; Centenary Edition 
 of Ossian's Poems, 399 ; D. G. Rossetti, 
 521; Introduction to Sonnets (in Can- 
 terbury Poets), 213; Life of Browning, 
 522; Lyra Celtica, 26, 28. 
 
 Shelley, P. B. : Prefaces, 419. 
 
 Shelley Society Publications, 443. 
 
 Sherwood, Margaret P.: Dry den's Dra- 
 matic Theory and Practice, 329. 
 
 Shorthouse, J. H. : Facsimile of The 
 Temple, 276. 
 
 Sigerson, George: Bards of the Gael and 
 Gall, 28. 
 
 Skeat, W. : Complete Works of Chaucer, 
 119; Langland, 147. 
 
 Skene, W. F. : Book of the Dean of Lis- 
 
642 
 
 INDEX 
 
 more, The, 25, 27; Celtic Scotland, 27; 
 
 Four Ancient Books of Wales, The, 21, 
 
 27,28. 
 Smith, Goldwin : Lives of — Jane Austen, 
 
 455, Cowper, 399. 
 Sommer, Oskar : Malory's Morte D' Ar- 
 thur, 76. 
 Sonnets on the Sonnet, 214. 
 Spedding, James : Bacon, 212. 
 Stedman, E. C. : Victorian Poets, 521. 
 Stephen, Leslie, 442, 455, 503; History 
 
 of English Thought in the Eighteenth 
 
 Century, 319, 341, 384, 385 ; Hours in a 
 
 Library, 341, 364; Lives of — Johnson, 
 
 374, Pope, 341, Swift, 353. 
 Stephens, Kate : Johnson's Pope, 341. 
 Stephens, Thomas: Literature of the 
 
 Cymry, The, 27, 28. 
 Stevenson, R. L. : Essay on Bums, 410. 
 Stokes, Whitley: Tripartite Life of St. 
 
 Patrick, 28. 
 Stokes and Windisch : Irisclie Texte, 27, 28. 
 Strunk, William : Dry den's Essays on the 
 
 Drama, 329. 
 Stubbs, William: Constitutional History 
 
 of England, 41. 
 Swinburne, A. C, 442; Monographs, 264, 
 
 410; Study of Shakespeare, A, 255. 
 Sydney, W. C. : England and the English 
 
 in the Eighteenth Century, 318, 353; 
 
 Social Life in England from the Bes- 
 
 toration to the Revolution, 318. 
 Symonds, J. A. : Article on Renaissance (in 
 
 Encyc. Brit.), 176; Lives of — Sidney, 
 
 202, Shelley, 442; Renaissance in Italy, 
 
 The, 176; Shakespeare's Predecessors, 
 
 234. 
 Symons, Arthur: Introduction to Study 
 
 of Browning, 522. 
 
 Taine, H. A. : English Literature, 191, 
 
 318, 364. 
 Ten Brink, Bernhard, 184, 185: English 
 
 Literature to Wyclif, 41. 
 Tennyson, Alfred : Idylls of the King, 76 ; 
 
 Sir Galahad, 76 ; Voyage of Maeldune, 
 
 The, 27. 
 Tennyson, Hallam : Life of Tennyson, 522. 
 Thackeray, W. M. : English Humorists, 
 
 353 ; Henry Esmond, 353. 
 Thornbury, G. W. : Shakespeare's Eng- 
 land, 190. 
 TraiU, H. D. : Life of Coleridge, 442 ; New 
 
 Fiction, The, 364; Social England, 41, 
 
 63, 147, 190, 276, 467. 
 
 Trelawney, E. J. : Essay on Byron, 442. 
 
 Trevelyan, Sir G. O. : Life of Macaulay, 
 503. 
 
 Trollope, Anthony: Life of Thackeray, 
 485. 
 
 TuUoch, J. : English Puritanism and its 
 Leaders, 308. 
 
 Turner, Sharon : History of the Anglo- 
 Saxons, 41. 
 
 Tynan, Katherine, 27. 
 
 Van Dyke, H. J. : Poetry of Tennyson, 
 
 The, 522. 
 Vaughan, C. E. : Introduction to English 
 
 Literary Criticism, 213. 
 Venables, Edmund: Lifeof Bunyan,SO%. 
 Virgil: Mneid, 175. 
 
 W 
 
 Waldstein, Charles : Essays, Ruskin, 503. 
 Walker, Hugh: Age of Tennyson, The, 
 
 Walton, Izaak : Life of Hooker, 213. 
 
 Ward, A. W.: English Poets, 165, 185, 
 264, 275, 308; History of English Dra- 
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