1 20 1 https://hemerotecadigital.uanl.mx/files/original/435/20294/Modern_Philology_1921_Vol_19_No_2_Noviembre_nuevo.pdf c0c115567bb3a36f5e85b287ab801d08 PDF Text Text R.SITY CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, • t¾iivenity Prae, ut1Mt1; "I'lle ~ KJ'I•• hhiú•, &t1tl1ti; ' ' A. • �MODERN· PHILOLOGY A JOURN'AL DEVOTED TO RESEARCH IN MODERN LANOUAGF.s AND LITERATURF.s Editors M. MANLY, General Editm WILLIAY A, NITZE, Managing Editm CHARLES R. BASKERVILL Júru. PlETSCB GEORGE T. NORTHUP T. ATKI~N JENKINS $TARR W. CuTI'ÍNo FRANe1s A. Woo» JAMES R. HULBERT ERNEST H. WII,KINS JEFFEBSON B. F'LETcHER E. PRESTON DARGAN VoLUME GEORGE FREDERIC L. KITTREDGE U.A.N.L Modern Philology Tou PEETE CROSS GEoRGE W. SBERBURN Advisory Board JAMES W. BRIGHT CENTRAL ---- 1 •• JoHN BIBLIOTECA I. CARPENTER FREDERICK XIX November I92I NuMBER :2 t GEORGE HEMPL M. wARREN tDeceaaed. VOL. XIX CONTENTS FOR NOVEMBER 1921 No. 2 The Fundamental Ideas in ~erder's Thought. III . Martin Schütze 113 Imperfect Llnes in Pearl and the Rimed Parts of Sir Gawain and tlw Green Knight Oli~r Farrar Emerson 131 Spenser's Use of the Literature of Travel in the Faerú Queene Ltm Whitney 143 Thomas Comeille's Re-working of Moliere's Don Juan . Aaron Schajfer 163 ~evedo, Guevara, Le Sage, and the Tatler . W. S. Hendm 177 Observaciones sobre la Comeaia Tidea M.Romera-J\?8b4611 187 Does Emilia Love the Prince? . W illiam Diamond 199 The Dat.e of W innere and W astoure . J. M. Steadman, Jr. 211 Le Doulile Mont in French Renaissance Poetry Paul Shmeg 221. 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Bulnea cornapoadence sbould be addreased to The Unlvenñty of Obicago Presa, Chlcago, m. c-DIIIDlcationa for tlle editon and manuacrlpt,a should be addressed to The Managing Editor ot '.MODH• PBILOLOOT, The Untverslty ot Chlcago, Ohlcago, ru. Bntered u aecond-claas matter July 13, 1903, at the Post-offlce at Ohlcago, Illlnoill, under the Act of Man:h 3, 18'79. Acceptance for malllng at apedal rate of postage provlded for in Section 1103, Act ot October 3, 191'7, , authorlzed on July 15, 1918: PJUIIITIID IN TBB U,l,A, THE FUNDAMENTAL IDEAS I N HERDER'S THOUGHT. 111 Chap. 11 EXTENSION OF THE PRINCIPLE OF PERSONALITY The essence of personality is spontaneity, conceived by Herder as an individual force, which is the "true and real source" in the Leibnitzian definition, or the " first cause," of action. His principie of personality is thus a synthetic unity involving the two abstract elements of individuality and spontaneity. In the interpretation and application of this principie it is of the first importance to bear in mind Herder's fundamental axiom, which was seen exemplified in the eleventh chapter of his first W aldchen, 1 and which dominates the entire order of his thought, to wit, that concrete individualities are the primary facts of reality and that generalizations are derivative. He did not limit the principie of personality, as was the custom of eighteenth-century ideology, to an abstract, absolute atomic unit called man, but endeavored to trace it in every important, concrete relation which an unequaled gift of specific discernment revealed to hirn. Ali of which comes to this, that he was the first to realize and fully set forth the fundamental t ruth that the essence • See p. 298 of chap. i of tbis essay, M odern Philolou11, XVIII (October, 1920). [MODEBN PBlLOLOGT, November, 1921) 113 �114 MARTIN SCHÜTZE THE FuNDAMENTAL IDEAS IN HERDER's THOUGHT of personality can be found, not in any abstract conception of individuality, but only in a synthetic unity (which one might liken to the molecular entities of physics) of characteristic traits. The eighteenth-century atomism really destroyed the substance of individuality by eliminating the characteristic part of each concrete form of personality. It was Herder, in transforming Leibnitz' too abstract conception of the monad, who attained to the idea on which rests the fundamental belief of modern humanism, and which is its only fortress against the forces of regimentation which are growing ever stronger in the present age-the belief that every concrete individual is essentially different from every other and can never be replaced. In Herder's view, the synthetic principle of personality as individuated spontaneity is primary but not absolute; it is universal, yet infinitely differentiated; it is an integral part of the general physical, physiological, biological, in short, the entire mechanical, organism of nature and yet embodies a wholly spontaneous, autonomous, and responsible force. The one problem at the roots of all his ideas was, therefore, to trace the empirical forms of personality in all their chief relations and to define the spontaneous part of each of these forms as the characteristic residue which could in no manner, except by overgeneralization and indiscriminate assumption, be reduced to the terms of mechanical science or rationalistic objective abstraction. He has thereby fixed the problem of personality in philosophy as well as in science. Neither philosophers nor biologists have to this day been able to add material clarification to the problem of the primary relations between the principles of spontaneity and physical mechanism. There is no scientific or philosophical proof that spontaneity may or may not be an integral part of the mechanism of nature, and vice versa. The relations which Herder indefatigably pursued throughout his enormous intellectual activity, form three main groups, namely: the relation of collective extension, involving particularly the conceptions of Volk and Humanifiit; the physiological relation of physical growth, organization, and function; and that of ultimate identity or idealization, the metaphysical relation, which culminates in the conception of God. Herder's gift of specific discernment and virile sense of relevance in the interpretation of each concrete detail ,of these varying relations is unsurpassed. His fundamental problems are substantially the problems of present humanism. And with his extraordinary power of imagination and criticism he combined a tireless energy and an indefatigable zeal which have made him both the most philosophic and the most inspiring critic. Many of the details of his information are now obsolete, much of his history is wrong, many of his scientific hypotheses are now merely rudimentary guesses, as all concrete facts of information become either commonplace or false in the course of time, yet his methods of analysis, his standards of relevance and specific bearing, his genius for seizing upon the crucial part of the expressions of personality remain substantially unassailable. He has revealed the principal factors of individual spontaneity in its characteristic activities, and laid down, once for all, the essential forms of combination and the criteria of these entities. Thus he is, to a far higher degree and, above all, to a much more specific·and definitive effect than the present age realizes, the father of modern humanism. The subject of the present chapter is the collective relation of Herder's principle of personality. Discussion of the other two relations will follow next. 1 115 "VOLK" AND "HUMANITAT" Herder's greatest critica! competence and principal imaginative interests lay in the field of literature. Regarding, as he did, language as the chief associative function of the mind, and literature as the "discourse of perfect sensibility, " i.e., the discourse in which the activities of all the senses attained fullest unity, he could not but judge representative literature the truest and most characteristic expression and record of the spirit of man. His first task was, obviously, to discover the criteria of representativeness in literature. He proceeded by analysis and comparison oí those works of literature known to his age which were generally . accepted as the greatest. His aim was thus inductively to ascertain both the principal qualities characteristic of each ethnic, which roughly coincided with each linguistic, group, and those common to all these groups. The �116 MARTIN ScHÜTZE THE former would furoish the character of each ethnic personality, the latter, what might be considered as the essential character of humanity. Herder's conception of spontaneity as the integral expression of all the powers of personality associated him historically with the general romantic naturalism of his age, which culminated in Rousseau's identification of spontaneity with nature, and later degenerated into the extreme Romantic animistic dream of a sensationalemotional monism, in which spontaneity, while verbally raised to infinite power, was actually reduced to a purely passive function of the physiological mechanism of temperament in the guise of an individual gesture of an absolute animistic fate.1 Misled by the superficial resemblance between Herder's and Rousseau's uses of spontaneity and nature, critica! opinion has generally acquiesced in the assumption that Herder was really the founder of German Romanticism, whereas in ref!,lity even when Goethe leaned strongly toward Romanticism and Schiller wavered, at the time of his aesthetic poems, Herder throughout maintained his uncompromising opposition to the arbitrary subjectivity essential to the Romantic mind. By this false generalization, attention is diverted from the most important fact that Herder was the first aesthetic theorist since Aristotle to assert and establish with surpassing acumen and variety of exemplification the dependence of any theory of poetry and art on the creative processes and therewith the necessity of directing aesthetic inquiry inductively toward these processes rather than toward absolute generalizations, whether in the impersonal terms of Rationalism or in the subjective terms of Romanticism. Herder stood apart from both these one-sided movements. He aimed at the fundamental subjectivity, which is the source of all poetry and art, but he pursued his aim by the impersonal methods of induction. Herder1 while he differed with Aristotle in most of his particular conclusions, yet was in essential agreement with the methods of the founder of inductive logic, a circumstance which alone suffi.ces to dispose of the view which groups him with the Romanticists. FUNDAMENTAL IDEAS IN HERDER's TuouoHT 117 He was the first modero critic and poet to collect the best and most representative poetical productions of all the peoples to which he had access. This, the first interoational thesaurus, he translated with great skill and fidelity, and analyzed with the discriminating sympathy and the enthusiasm, both disinterested and purposeful, which distinguishes the great humanist. He hoped thus, by precept and example, to awaken the genius of his own people, and with it that of all the others, to a new springtide of creative idealism. His conception of the natural man is not, as the Romantic conception, an a priori, absolute postulate but a generalization based on a comprehensive and finely discriminating examination of all the evidence available, and, therefore, conditioned by concrete reality. Natural man, according to him, is a generalization derived from comparison of the collective personalities of the existing ethnic groups as embodied in their representative literatures. If, now, folle personality is the primary creator of poetry, then it must, in accordance with his and Aristotle's principles of aesthetic induction, be also the ultimate judge of it. In other words, only that part of a people's poetry is properly representative of it, is properly informed with its essential collective personality, which ha.s been approved and permanently accepted by its collective judgment. In Herder's term, all "folle literature" must be "literature of the people." It must be volksmassig. Herder originated the term Volkslitteratur or V olkspoesie in its modero meaning. He alteroated the terms frequently with Litteratur or Poesie des Volks, emphasizing now the originative, now the appropriative, relation. It is in this test of Volksmiissigkeit, agreement with folk character, that difficulties enter, which, though they complicate sorne of the detailed applications of the term V olk, are yet readily analyzed and interpreted as consistent aspects and functions of collective personality.1 The term V olk, "folk," has at all times been subject to much vagueness and contradictoriness of usage. Most of this confusion 1 Thls questlon is fully discussed by Dr. Georgiana Simpson, one or my students, in her dissertation on Be(der'• Conception of "Das Volk," which is soon to be publlshed. The subject of the present paper, which is the collectlve aspect of Herder's theory of personallty, involves only the essentlal criterla of tolk personality whlch determine hls conclusions. 1 Soo for thls characterlstic Romantlc corruptlon of t he idea of spontaneity my paper. "Studies in the Mind of Romantlclsm," M odern P hiloloq¡¡ (German Sectlon). XVI (February, 1919), 123 ff.. 130, 131; XVII (June, 1919), 32 ff. i �118 MARTIN ScHÜTZE THE FmmAMENTAL IDEAS IN IlERDER'S THOUGHT can be removed by the observation that the difficulty is not so much one of definition as one of valuation. That is, actually Volk is to almost everyone a generalization of the less sophisticated part of an ethnic or political group who work for their living and are distinguished by the qualities of mind and character associated with a more or less simple, wholesome, laborious, responsible, sober, and unstrained mode of life. But as to the valuation of this coliective type, two sharply antagonistic points of view have alternately been dominant throughout history. It was especialiy the age of Pope and Dryden, of Louis XIV and Boileau, and foliowing Boileau's example, that of Opitz and Gottsched in Germany, which regarded the folk and its creative, especialiy its literary, products, with contempt and. derision, as lacking in refinement, learning, mastery of diction, and subtleness and elevation of thought. This aristocratic attitude toward folk literature is characteristic of the Rationalistic movement. The Romantic movement of the eighteenth century, on the other hand, especialiy since its culmination in Rousseau's doctrine of the natural man as the embodiment of perfect spontaneity as proceeding directly from the hand of the Creator, tended to idealize the people as the highest embodiment of man, as the union of t~e true•children of God. In the clash of these two valuations appeared most of the characteristics of the two movements, the Rationalistic and the Romantic. Herder was offended by the one-sidedness of the one as much as of the other. He was bitterly opposed to the aristocratic sterility of Rationalism, but he was no less intolerant of the subjective narrowness of Romanticism. He finished by combining what was best in both, into his profound and rich synthesis, which formed the foundations of what for several generations was, and may again become, the motive of a new era of humanity. Spontaneity was his touchstone. Only those types of character, the spontaneity of which is not corrupted or weakened by false refinements, conventions, or habits, or, on the other hand, by mob brutality, and only those types of mind, the spontaneity of which is not impoverished and crippled by false inteliectualism or the egocentric emotionalism of Romanticism, or deadened by stupidity, ignorance, and mob hypnotism, are to him truly representative of the people. This conclusion was not, like the assumption of Rationalism and Rousseau, arbitrary and a priori, but it was derived and substantiated by his inductive analysis of the body of literature which he accepted as the literature of the people. Now we see the deeper relation bet ween Herder's conceptions of personality and of Volk, of spontaneity and Volksmiissigkeit. They are merely different terms for the same quality as it appears in Volkslitteratur. They are the characteristic aspects of the highest degree of harmony between the personality of the individual author, his subject, and the coliective personality of his native audience or ethnic environment. Herder concludes that ali poetry, no matter under what circumstances or by what agents it is produced, which embodies this inner identity, is the true folk poetry. Folk poetry, therefore, is to him the highest type and the final standard of ali poetry. The test of folk poetry, in Herder's conception, is not that of origin nor of form alone nor of content nor of intense stibjectivity of feeling or objective truth of idea, but of fullest, most complete and spontaneous, and most cherished embodiment of a people's soul in accordance with its own permanent historical judgment. Folk literature is the standard utterance of a people. He says: 119 . . . . It remains eternally true that that part of literature which refers to the people must be 'Dolksmassig, or it is mere classical air bubble. It remains also eternally true that unless we have a Volk, we lack also a public, a nation, a language and a literature that are ours and live and work in us. Unless our whole life is founded on the Volk we write eternally for desk students and tiresome critics, out of whose mouths and stomachs we receive back what we have put into them; we make romances, odes, heroic epics, church and kitchen songs, which no one understands, no one desires, no one feels. Our classical literature is a bird of paradise, so gaily colored, so pretty, ali flight, ali elevation, but never with a foot on the German earth.1 He applies the same test to the folk drama. In Shakespeare he says: "The form [of a 'living drama'] is of secondary importance. A Fastnachtspiel or a marionette play may be true drama if it attains a dramatic end with the people." All works of literature, no matter when, where, by whom, or under what circumstances they have bee'n produced or taken their 1 Üb.,. di• .J.hnli chk•it der mittltren englischen und deutachen Dichtkunat. �120 MARTIN ScHÜTZE THE FUNDAMENTAL IDEAS IN HERDER's TuouGHT final forros, provided they are accepted by the V olk, are to him folle literature. He sharply distinguishes ethnic person¡¡.lity from that of the crowd. True folle creations and judgments have depth and permanence and are above mere vulgar and temporary popularity. "People," he says, "does not mean the rabble of the alley, which never sings and creates, but roars and mutilates."1 In full consistency Herder inchides in the cla"8s of V olkspoesie, the Song of Songs, Genesis, the Book of Job, the Old Testament, generally; Homer, Hesiod, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Sappho, and other classical Greek poets, including those of the Greek Anthology; Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare (" who built on the faith of the people and from it took their materials and creations"),2 Percy's Reliques, songs from the Elizabethan dramatists generally; Parzival, Melusine, Magellone, Artus, The Knights of the Round Table, the Legend aj Roland in their German versions as well as in their Romanic exemplars; the German Heldenbuch; MacPherson's Ossian, which he in cq_mmon with his contemporaries regarded literally as ancient Celtic poetry; the Eddas, the Scaldic poetry, which was at his time considered primitive poetry; Minnesong; Bürger's poetry, Klopstock's at its best; church hymns, also, the "universal legends, fairy tales, and mythologies of the peoples " 3-in short, all dramatic and lyrical poetry and all the various metrical and non-metrical forros of narrative adopted by the usage of a people into the common treasure of its language. Hís principal conclusions, which form a homogeneous whole, are summed up in a highly synthetic arrangement in three essays, entitled: Auszug aus einem Briejwechsel üher die Lleder alter Volker, 1773; Shakespeare, 1773; and Über die Ahnlichkeit der mittleren englischen und deutschen Dichtkunst, 1777, in which latter he assembled the ideas written down since 1773 and originally intended as an introduction to his collection of Volkslieder, published in two parts in the following two years. 4 The subject of the first and third is folle poetry, including both the lyrical and the narrative forros; that of the second, folle drama. For the particular substantiation and further development of these conclusions we have to examine a number of other works, part of which had preceded those cited, and were therefore presumed by him to be known to his readers. Further extensions of his theory of personality in folle poetry appear especially in-Über den Geist der Ebraischen Poesie, in the Ideen, in his essays on the epigram and the fable, and in many of his later collections of papers, especially the Humanitatsbriefe and the Zerstreute Bliitter. The subject, being basic to his view of life, occurs in one aspect or another, but essentially unchanged, in all his serious work. Herder's critical method, simple in principle but infinitely varied and flexible in application, is inherent in his theory of personality. He applies the test of individual integrity, not only to the matter of literary discourse, but to every part of forro, from the general principles of structure and diction to every detail of technique. All forro is secondary to the specific individuality which it invests and to which it holds an integral, organic relation analogous to that of the shape of a tree with respect to its nature. All fixed, external standards and rules of forro are rejected. With this inevitable conclusion, the antagonism between his and the pseudo-classical or rationalistic theory of aesthetic becomes irreconcilable. Sorne characteristic applications of the relativity, which he attributed to all parts of the genuine manifestations of personality, appear in the following conclusions: If an individual spirit, forming and appropriating a true expression, is rugged or savage, the forro must be likewise; if simple and downright, so must be the utterance; if complex, like the "natures" of the personalities of the Shakespearean age, the forro must be analogous; and so forth. Herder thus is the first to carry the principle of individualization to its proper conclusions. He stands in direct opposition to the formal principles of Rationalism, which were the necessary consequences of the rationalistic philosophy; the crucial shortcoming of which is the falsely objective overgeneralization exposed in the first W aldchen. This misplaced objectivity is the product of the absence, or at best of a merely accidental and rudimentary development, of the sense for specific individuality. This lack commits • "Volk helsst nicht der Pobel auf den Gassen. Der singt und dichtet niemals sondern schreit und verstü.mmelt." • Über dit Ahnlichkeit der mittleren t ngliachtn u n d deutacht n Dichtkunat, . . . • "auf dem Glauben des Volkes bauten, daher schulen und daher nahmen." • . . . . die allgemeinen Volkssagen, Ml!.rchen und Mythologieen." • Unfortunately aflllcted by a later ed1tor with its present redundant and sentimental title, Stimmen der V iilktr in Litdtrn. 121 �122 MARTIN SCKÜTzE Rationalism to a commonplace and false absolutism and precludes the organic criteria of spontaneity and integral forro. Herder's literary theory is a theory of organic relativity. It cannot be doubted that such a conception, provided it avoid the false simplicity and purely subjective conception of integrity pertaining to Romanticism, that is, provided it include, as in Herder's investigations it did, all the proper factors, both objective and subjective, is the ideal of a true interpretation of Geistesgeschichte, of the history of the characteristic manifestations of the human mind, wbich is the essence of humanism. For it is, as Herder never tires of asserting, in this creative method, that the production and the interpretation of folle literature in the bighest sense, are identical. Tbis creative and critica! identity of the personalities of author and audience is in Herder's view the specific character of classicity. Tbis classicity Herder identified with "nature." It follows that classic literature is identical with folle literature. Classic literature is, therefore, not produced by imitation of the masterpieces of other ages, nations, classes, and individuals. The doctrines of the pseudo-classicists, like Boileau and Batteux and their followers in France, and Gottsched in Germany, can lead only to sterile perversions of the classics of past times but not to the creations of classics for a living age. Thus it was Herder who formulated the fundamental issues of the modern conflict concerning literary forro. Before proceeding farther, it is well to sum up the characteristic results of Herder's view of folle literature so far presented. His identification of folle literature with the classic or standard, i.e., the representative and best part of the literature of a people, and also with "nature," involves an idealization, i.e., a selection determined by a judgment of value. It also implies that the collective personality embodied in folle literature is the bighest form-of personality. We are here confronted with a very profound and interesting problem. It is impossible to dispose of it by the simple expedient of assuming, as is generally done, that Herder's final basis of judgment is aesthetic. For that term itself is not as simple as it appears to the rationalistic mind. Herder's conclusion of the integral union of all matters of literary and artistic substance and forro with indi- THE Fum>AMENTAL IDEAS IN lIERDER's THouoHT 123 vidual personality has removed aesthetics from its position of independence and isolation and made it an organic part of the entire problem of personality. The idealization involved in Herder's results is therefore not of a purely formal character nor determined by a subjective choice, such as is supposed to be characteristic of a purely "aesthetic" judgment, but it is the verdict of the totality of one's judgment of the bighest values of life itself. Herder's conclusions compel a fundamental synthesis of ultimate etbical with purely formal values, conditioned not by arbitrary subjective preference but by all the concrete facts of reality or the laws of nature. In other words, this idealization is itself the result of the same method and the same comprehensive reach of induction wbich are characteristic of Herder's other inquiries. They too are inherent in bis primary principle of personality. His argument throws an interesting light upon the final break between Herder and Goethe in the early nineties, which was caused by the incompatibility of the purely formal interpretation of aesthetics developed by Schiller, who was then in the ascendent with Goethe, with the deeper and richer view of Herder, shared by Goethe in previous years and now misinterpreted as one-sidedly and odiously moralistic.1 Herder's identification of the individual peoples on the one hand, and of all humanity on the other, with nature, produces an apparent vagueness in the meaning of the latter. Tbis vagueness, for wbich he has been much criticized, exists, however, only ü we, as bis critics do, assume in accordance with technical rationalistic philosophy the primacy of the general term, that is, in tbis case, if we suppose that an assumption of a general "nature" is the standard for all humanity and therefore for each "natural" individual. The matter becomes clear, however, if we bear in mind the essential principle in Herder's order of thought, which is inherent in bis inductive method, to wit, that the more general is secondary to the more concrete conception, and therefore not absolute but relative. Herder attributed authenticity only to the conclusion.s substantiated by concrete reality and within the limits covered by the latter. He followed the scientific 1 This break wlll torm the subject ot the penultlmate chapter ot thls series. I �124 TuE MARTIN ScHÜTZE method of induction wbich was first laid down in Bacon's N ovum Organum aod is now the indisputed pride of modern science, from wbich it gains almost daily confirmation. 1 By applying tbis principie of Herder's thought we reach the conclusion that Herder's conceptions of the particular "natures" of the different peoples are derived from and conditioned by the extent of bis induction from all the available manifestations of their collective personalities. His general conception of the nature of man, bis "natural" man, is no more than a generalization composed of those characters common to all the individual folk personalities known to him. It is no absolute or primary conception but limited by the evidence from wbich it is derived. From bis examination of folk poetry Herder concludes that the discourse of the people in its purity is distinguished by ingenuous sureness of expression, concreteness of vision, immediacy of contact with reality, authenticity of perception, incorrupt originality of thought, disinterestedness, avoidance of intellectual sopbistications, such as symbolical or allegorical "verbal meanings, " faultless and naive discernment of essentials, directness of attention and concentration, unfailing mastery of the substantive term, unpremeditated firmness, and force of expression. These qualities determine both substance and forro of folk discourse, down to every part of structure and diction, and detail of technique. Forro is subordinate to it. Independent principles of forro are alien and false. The personality embodied in tbis poetry, the ideal folk man, is distinguished then by a perfect organic co-ordination of all bis powers. He thinks and acts immediately, without need of deliberation, conscious analysis, abstraction, mental division, and recombination, in short, of all the processes of ratiocination. He has perfect integrity of consciousness, acting totally and instinctively. Whatever he does, he does, in Hamann's phrase, "with bis entire heart and bis entire soul." The antithesis of this ideal of personality is the "modern" man of a later age. The epigone has lost the integrity of bis ancestors. He has eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The 1 See for the flrst assertlon of thls principie, his ftrst W 4ldchen, chap. xi; above, p. 113. FuNDAMENTAL IDEAS IN HERDER's THOUGHT 125 unity and harmony of primitive man has given way to division and dissension within him. He is confused, baffled, self-conscious, irresolute, uncertain amid bis warring native powers. Shackled by the makesbifts of externa! rules, wbich have to take the place of the instinctive motions of bis now disrupted integrity, sopbisticated, entangled in artificialities, severed from bis original source of both creation and unified judgment, sterile and finical, lost in the trivialities of formalism, ridiculous in bis pedantry and scholastic conceit, driven forth from the Eden of complete being into the desert of Rationalism-there he stands amid the husks of bis false learning and the patter of bis shallow and irrelevant disquisitions. It is obvious that tbis ideal of the true man with its rationalistic antithesis took its origin from Rousseau. But it receives a very different development. It is not, as with Rousseau, an absolute postulate, but a real induction from the whole of what Herder conceived as the literature of the people. 1 The following quotations are from the most significant passages of bis interpretations of folk poetry. It has seemed proper to make such substantial selection and rearrangement from the vast mass of Herder's writing, in order to exemplify bis main applications of bis fundamental theory of personality. His method of presentation in these essays differs from the first W aldchen and from sorne others, as, for instance, that on the origin of language, in its extremely synthetic arrangement, wbich without the clue offered by the theory of personality is likely to lead to misunderstanding and to give an impression of confusion. His mind, passionate and creative, gifted with an immense capacity for assimilating knowledge and with a very vivid and energetic power of specific discernment, together with an extraordinary vision embracing a multiplicity of interconnections between details superficially far apart---a vision that, as it were, continually hovered over the whole range of knowledge and legitimate inference; sensitive to every glint of analogy and quick in the pursuit of the specific suggestions borne by the latter; ceaselessly illumined by flashes of insight and surprised and delighted by new avenues of surmise and combination; sparkling with the ever varying play of secondary but interesting 1 A crlt!cal discusslon of thls concept!on 1B deferred to the second part ot this chapter. �126 MARTIN ScHÜTzE detail, multitudinous as the ripples in a sunlit sea; prompted by an untiring and rich poetic imagination-a mind so abundant found a strictly analytic forro of statement, in which each important idea could be expressed only once, too bald and rigid. He desired to assert the whole synthetic mass of his main ideas again and again in each group of its ever augmenting combinations and ever ramifying distinctions. He craved to hold in one inspired, simultaneous image, in one living and continuous focus of unity, the sum of his knowledge. Herder's statements, at their best, are clear and beautiful, rich and pregnant, and convey a fuller and more varied conception of the endless interrelation of the ideas pertaining to the focus of his interpretation than an analytic statement could make. It must be said, however, that at other times they are vexatious, requiring sorne efforts of simplification. A number of misinterpretations of his work have arisen from a complexity of presentation, caused not by the exigencies of the synthetic order, but rather by inadequacy of means of expression and arrangement, an inadequacy which is the inevitable burden of every thinker who leaves the beaten track to find new paths. By far the greater number of misunderstandings are, however, the results of attempts, inherited from the rationalistic and especially the Kantian critics of Herder, to force his interpretations and generalizations into the very forms of thought which it was the primary motive and character of Herder's critica! labor to challenge. The theory of personality is fundamentally incompatible with the objectivé absolutism of Rationalism, and any attempt to subject it to the standards of the latter involves a petitio principii, i.e., an assumption of the principie at issue. Rationalism, before applying its characteristic tests to Herder's principie, is obliged to justify anew its primary assumptions in so far as they are at variance with the crucial tests demanded by Herder's view. 1 The blemishes adhering to Herder's mode of statement do not in themselves justify the common assumption, shared by both philosophical and literary critics of Herder, that his critica! methods are confused. A synthetic, even a congested, forro of statement is 1 The logica.l lssue ralsed by Herder's theory is the subject of the last chapter of this series. THE FUNDAMENTAL IDEAS IN HERDER's ToouGHT 127 not necessarily proof of lack or confusion of analysis in critica! method. Even in his most complex statements, patient scrutiny will reveal the persistence of his leading ideas and a power of discrimination, which rarely commits, and almost never persista in, essential errors. The following passages are indispensable for a comprehensive and adequate grasp both of the substance of Herder's views regarding folk poetry and of his characteristic methods of interpretation and exemplification. He says in Ossian: The spirit which actuates [the old songs] the rude simple, but great, magical, solemn manner, the depth of the impression made by each forceful word, the freedom of the projection [der freie Wurf], by which each impression is produced-all these characteristics of the ancients should not be considered in the light of curiosities or oddities but as Nature. 1 And again: You know from nature-descriptions how forcefully and firmly savages always express themselves. They always visualize concretely, clearly and vividly the things they wish. to express; they are directly and precisely conscious of their purpose in speaking, not distracted by shadows of conceptions, half ideas or symbolical word meanings, nor corrupted by artificialities, slavish expectations, timid and sneaking politics and confusing meditations; blissfully ignorant of all these weaknesses of the mind, they grasp the compl,ete thought and the compl,ete word, simultaneously. They either are silent or speak in the moment of interest with unpremeditated firmness, sureness and beauty, which all educated Europeans h.ave at all times been counseled to admire.2 All this has been lost by our modern "pedants." Who would find among ourselves the remnants of this firmness, must not look for it among the pedants. Unspoiled children, women, people of good natural understanding, formed more through activity than speculation, these are, if I have properly described eloquence, the only and the best orators of our time. . . . . In ancient times, it was the poets, skalds, scholars, who knew best how to join to this firmness and sureness, also dignity, euphony and beauty of expression, but since they thus closely united soul and tongue, instead of confusing, they supported and aided each other, and so produced those works of singers, bards, and minstrels, which are to us almost miracles.3 a Ouion, ch&p. vili. 1 Ibid. �128 MARTIN SCHÜTZE THE FlmnAMENTAL IDEAS IN HEnoER's T nouaHT Modern man has been miseducated till his knowledge has become "falsity, weakness and artificiality 11 ¡ till we ma.ke poems on subjeots on whioh we do not know how to think, still less, how to meditate, and least of ali, how to exeroise our imagination; till we pretend to passions that we do not have and ape faoulties [Seelenkrafte] that we do not possess.1 . ... Homer, the greatest singer of the Greeks, was also their greatest follc poet. The whole of his glorious work is not épopée, but epos, fairy tale, Iegend, living follc tale. He did not sit down, on velvet, to write a heroio poem in twioe twenty-four cantos, aooording to the rules of Aristotle, but sang what he had heard, portrayed what he had seen and vividly grasped. The same is true of the compositions of Hesiod, Orpheus, of the chor uses of Sophocles and Aeschylus, as much as of the "little ditties, table songs, and light airs II of the Greek A.nthology. After sorne laudatory passages on folk poetry, he says in bitter irony: But who would be suoh a barbarían that he should oonoern himself with the rude people, with the dregs of oivilization, represented by fairy tales, prejudioes, songs, rugged language ? Why-he would be like an owl among the pretty, particolored, singing fowl, to defile our olassioai, syllable-counting literature. Take one of the songs which occur in Sha.kespeare or in English oollections of this [i.e., MacPherson's] sort and strip it of its lyrical forros, of euphony, rime, word order, the obscure progress of the melody [des dunklen Ganges der Melodie], so that you leave nothing exoept the meaning, translated in such or such a manner into one or another language-is it not as if you had tumbled the notes of a melody by Pergolese or the type of a print, in disarray over a page ? . . . . How else does the poet reoeive the imprint of the inner emotion exoept through the impression of the externa], the sense forros, in sound, tone, melody, shape, of all the obscure, unnamable things which flow in song as in a stream into our souls . . ..2 the more wild, i.e., the more vivacious, the more spontaneous (je lebendiger, je freiwirkenderJ a people is, the more wild, i.e., the more vivid, free, concrete [sinnlichnerJ, lyrioal, active, must be . . . . its songs. The more remote a people is from artificial, scientific ways of thinking, language and literary manner the less are its songs dead literary verses, made only for paper. The nature, the purpose, the whole wonder-working power by which follc songs beoome the delight, the inspiration, the impulse, the undying hereditary treasure of a people, depend on their lyrioal character, the vivacious and, as it were, danoelike movement of the songs, on the living presence of the images, Übor di• Almlichkeit d, , mitUeren engliah•n und deutach,n Dichtkun,t. • Ouian, chap. iv. 1 129 on the unity and as it were pressing abundanoe [vom Zusammenlw.nge und gleichsam NoldrangeJ of the oontents, the emotions, the symmetry of the words, the syllables, in many even of the letters, on the course of the melody and a hundred other things which come and go with the living word, with gnomic verse, and with national song. These are the arrows of this wild Apollo, with which he pierces hearts, and on which he fixes souls and memories. The longer a song is to endure, the stronger, the more concrete [sinnlicher] must be those soul awakeners, in order that they may defy the forces and the changes of time. He asks in another passage, Is it really true that such vivid breaks, abrupt transitions, and turns,1 are to the soul of the people, which is chiefly concrete oomprehension and imagination,2 so outlandish and inconoeivable as our learned men and connoisseurs are trying to make us believe ? On the contrary, they are characteristic of the peopl~: "the more in t he character of the people, the more vivid, the holder, the more abrupt. 113 We may add, in the spirit of Herder's comparison of folk poetry 11 with that of the "Iearned, the "pedants, 11 "the pretty, particolored singing fowl of our classical syllable-counting literature,"4 that aII vital and living literature is impatient of the minor connecting thoughts in a train of large ideas, and of the minor refinements of form in a great st r ucture of art. There are in Germany also, Herder continues, many virile poems in which speaks the spirit of the people. The young German poets should write in this spirit. He quotes, among many examples, "Haideréislein," adding a fine discussion of formal qualities, elisions, inversions, and other forms of the compactness, vividness, and reality characteristic of folk poetry. 5 "The folksinger," he says farther on, "does not discourse, he paints with words and motions every circumstance and condition, for all are parts of the picture in bis soul. 11 "That cannot be taught¡ 11 it is nature. "A vivid fol.k cannot express in song a general idea, an abstract truth, except in that bold, vivid, and concrete manner. 11 1 Ibid., chap. ix" . . . . lebhafte Sprünge, WUrte, Wendungen." • lbid., " . . . . slnnllcher Verstand und Einblldung." • Ibid., "je volk:srollsslger, je lebendiger; desto kühner, desto wirkender. • P. 28 above. •See Introductlon to my editlon of Go,the'• Po,m, (Boston, Ginn & Co.), and notes to "Ralderllslel.o," pp. :.avUl, 187 fr. �130 MARTIN ScHÜTZE Even the religious hymns that truly express the soul of a folle and so are follcsong, share in this character. The Germana have many such, "but not any more so and more mighty than those composed by Luther." Of all the forms of folle poetry Herder has attempted a definition only of song. He saya: I do not believe that it is a composition as a picture is a composition of pleasant colors ¡ nor that the polish and external finish is its only and main distinction. The latter is characteristic of only one species of songa, which I would rather call cabinet or boudoir pieces, namely, sonnets, madrigals and the like¡ but it cannot be applied to song generally without qualifications and exceptions. The essence of song is singing, not picturing; its perfection lies in the melodic progress of passion or emotion, which one might name by the excellent ancient expression, air [Weise] . . . . A song must be heard, not seen; heard with the ear of the soul, which <loes not count and measure and weigh separa.te syllables but desires the progresa of the tune and floats on with it. MARTIN ScHÜTzE UNIVERSITY OP CmcAoo [To be concluded] IMPERFECT LINES IN PEARL AND THE RIMED PARTS OF SIR GA W AIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT There are sorne thirty lines of Pearl which are internally imperfect in the MS, as compared with the usually regular character of the poet's verse. Most of these, too, may be made to correspond with the poet's normal lines by very simple means, while sorne, if not all, may be attributed to a careless acribe. For example, in line 72 aduhmente may be assumed to be adubbement because of the forro which appears in four similar lines of the refrain (84, 96, 108, 120). Similarly John must be supplied in 997 ~d gret in 1104 from the refrain in the stanzas of their respective groups. In 363 and 977 an I, absolutely necessary to the sense, has been dropped after a final vowel which a careless acribe might have supposed sufficient for the meter. Line 1117 has been assumed to be imperfect, but may be read with the stress on the first syllable of delyt, since the word sometimes so alliterates in other poems. Compare Wars of Alex., 265, 3743; Piers Plow., A, II, 68; deliteable (delitable, dilitable) in the former at 4303, and in the latter at A, I, 32, B, I, 34; also delited in Piers Plow., A, B, I, 29. See also Pearl, 1153 in which delyt may alliterate with drof in an aabb line, of which Northup ("Metrical Structure of Pearl," Pub. Mod. Lang. Assoc., XII, 326) admita twenty-five examples. Osgood emends 1201 by inserting hym between sete and sa3te, but the expression sete sa3te seems to me complete in itself and needs no pronoun of reference. Line 690 is metrically perfect enough, but the sense requires sorne emendation, as that of Gollancz or Bradley. There remain twenty-three lines requiring emendation in order to be as regular metrically as most lines of the poet, less than 2 per cent of those in the poem. They are 17, 51, 68, 122, 225, 286, 381, 486, 564, 586, 635, 678, 683, 709, 825, 990, 995, 999, 1000, 1004, 1036, 1046, 1076. These di.ffer from the lines so far discussed in that they may be made metrically perfect by the addition of a final unstressed e to sorne one monosyllable of each line. Of them Gollancz emended in the manner suggested all but five, that is, 68, [MOD■RN PBILOLOOY, November, 1921) 131 �132 ÜLIVER F ARRAR EMERSON lMPERFECT LINES IN "PEARL" AND 683, 709, 825, 990, 995, but without adequately discussing the reason for the change. Indeed, he says in bis note to hert (17): There are sorne 60 or 70 instances of the sounding of the final e throughout the poem; most of these I have noted, in many cases restoring the metre of the line. A consideration of these instances leads me to the conclusion that, as far as this point is concerned, the dialect of the poem is an artificial one. Northup, in bis excellent and painstaking study of metrical structure mentioned above, briefly suggested adding e finally to a monosyllable in each of the lines above, except 825 and 990, wbile he would also so emend additional lines 497, 616, 771, 776, wbich will be discussed later.1 Osgood, in bis edition of Pearl (Introd., p. xliii), noted eighteen lines in wbich an unstressed syllable is lacking, that is, 17, 51, 72, 122, 134, 188, 225, 286, 381, 486, 564, 586, 678, 709, 825, 990, 999, 1036, but emended only 72, adub[beJmente. He justifies retaining the MS readings by tbis statement: At fust sight this restoration [that is of final e in some words] is justified by Chaucer's practice, who never omits the unstressed syllable in this metre (Ten Brink, Chaucers S'[YT'ache und Verskunst, 2te Aufl., sec. 299), and that of his contemporaries (Schipper, Eng. Metrik, I, 278-79). But the verse of the North is freer, and the irregularity here considered is perfectly natural in a poet whose usual medium is the alliterative long line; furthermore, the omission occurring regularly in fourteen cases at the opening of the fourth foot, and in the four other cases after the caesura, indicates that it was intentional. I have therefore retained the MS re adings. Leaving this somewhat extraordinary view of the poet's language for the present, lines 134, 188 seem to me to need no emendation, since not lacking in an unstressed syllable. They were not emended by Gollancz or noted by Northup as belonging with the others in requiring an additional final e in any word. No word of either line requires an additional final e for infiectional or other linguistic reasons. 1 It would be less necessary to consider these Unes if Northup's study had been more fully a.ccepted, as by Osgood in bis edition of Pearl. The latter, however, has disregarded Northup's recommendations entirely, and thus is at variance wlth Gollancz's emendations also. Osgood also rarely recognlzes the final • as an lnflectional or synta.ctlcal element in monosyllables, as in the dative of nouns, the datlve, weak form, and plural of adjectives, the lnflectional or other endings of verbs. For example, in bis glossary he glves the form a , k tor the verb, when aske is the form in ali cases but 564, and that must be so emended for the meter. The adjectives blake, blayke are plurals in the examples occurring in the poem, blak the singular of the flrst belng found in Clann esse, 1017. Many other examples might be clted to prove the polnt. "Srn GAWAIN" 133 The assumption by Gollancz of an "artificial dialect," because of the syllabic quality of certain final e's, and that of Osgood regarding the influence of the alliterative long line are at variance with what we should naturally expect of any writer. We should first try to explain apparent peculiarities of any writer's language on a natural basis, and resort to other explanations only when the natural one fails. When a writer is clearly imitating a language not bis own, as in late hallad imitations, or in the Spenser imitations of the eighteenth century, the imitation is usually clear enough in itself. I wish to show, therefore, that emendation of all the twenty-three lines mentioned in the third paragraph is merely a regularizing on the basis of what may reasonably be inferred from the language itself, at the time of the poet's writing. The final e wbich is needed to make each line regular may be fully accounted for on the basis of earlier forms of the words, wbich were still sometimes, if not always, preserved. In other words, the writer was using bis native tongue in a natural, rather than exceptional, manner. The language of the fourteenth century, as is well known, was in a state of transition regarding the pronunciation of the final unstressed e. The result was a double pronunciation, especially of many monosyllabic words, as shown by the language of Chaucer, who has been most carefully studied in tbis respect, and of other writers. Monosyllables with final unstressed e historically or analogically in early Middle English had sometimes lost that vowel as a separate syllable, so that the same word might be used in either of two forros at the pleasure of the speaker or writer. Perhaps it would be better to say that, while the shorter form of the word was the more common, the dissyllabic form was still sometimes used in certain idioms. Far from being an unusual condition, the same tbing was true of the language of the sixteenth century. Consider in tbis respect final -ion of nouns, wbich might be either dissyllabic or monosyllabic, final -ed of past tenses and past participles, wbich might be syllabic, less commonly final -es of genitive singulars, as in moones, whales of Shakespeare. Later modern English has its analogies in many double forros like l'll, don't beside I will, do not, many clipped words in slang or colloquial speech, and such occasional doublets as incog, �134 ÜLIVER F ARRAR EMERSON pro tem, for incognito, pro tempore. The main difference between English of today and that of the fourteenth century is that fewer of these double forros are of inflectional character, for the very good reason that we have fewer inflections. Yet the genitive singular of monosyllabic nouns ending in s, as Jones's house, Sims's tailoring, may still be monosyllabic or dissyllabic at pleasure, while the doublets my-mine, your-yours depend for their use on syntactical considerations. As compared with Chaucer, in whose language we have come to recognize such double forros as common, the language of the Pearl poet had fewer such doublets because he belonged to a region in which the final unstressed e had been more commonly lost. But this <loes not mean that no such double forros should be recognized as used by him. Absence from the MS may be easily accounted for because the scribe of the MS belonged to a still later time than that of the poet, while he was notably careless in other particulars. A final unstressed e, not appearing in the MS but needed for the meter of the line, may therefore be reasonably inferred to have belonged to the poet's language, if it represents (1) one historically or analogically belonging to the word in early Middle English; or (2) one belonging to it inflectionally or syntactically, as in the dative of a noun or adjective, the plural or weak forro of an adjective, the inflectional ending of a verb. In such cases, either of two formsori.e with or one without unstressed final e-is possible, if required by the meter. On this basis let us examine the needed emendations in the Pearl Iines mentioned above, as well as those metrically deficient in the rimed lines of Sir Gawain. In six of the lines enumerated as now imperfect the nouns hert (17, 51), tong (225), blys (286), step (683), glas (990), if emended to forms with final e, would make the lines entirely regular. Of these, hert, tong, step had a historical final e in early Middle English, and herte appears and is clearly dissyllabic in 128, 176, tonge in 100, while stepe is the forro of that word in Clannesse, 905, the only other time in which it seems to be found in the poems of this author. Blys is an Old English feminine which in early Middle English had regularly assumed an unstressed final e by analogy, and blysse not only occurs sixteen times (not fourteen times as Osgood enumerates) to blys five lMPERFECT LINES IN "PEARL" AND "SIR GAWAIN" 135 times in Pearl, but is clearly dissyllabic in 397 and 611. Besides, Iike hert (51) it is a dative in 286, the line under discussion, and on this account alone might have retained an earlier syllabic final e. Again, in all other instances of the word within the line it appears before a vowel, weak h, or an unstressed syllable, and would be monosyllabic on those accounts whether written blys or blysse.1 At · the end of lines 372, 384, 396 it may have been a dissyllable. Glas is an Old English neuter which, like other such neuters, sometimes assumed final unstressed e by analogy of obligue cases and plurals. It appears as glasse twice in the poem, once (1025) before an unstressed syllable and therefore monosyllabic, once (1106) at the end of the line and then possibly a dissyllable; see also examples of the dissyllabic forro in Matzner. On all accounts it seems to me better to read glasse in 990 rather than to supply a new word before burnist as <loes Gollancz. To sum up, there is ample reason to emend the nouns hert, tong, blys, step to herte, tonge, blysse, stepe in the lines suggested, and probably glas to glasse. In thirteen lines monosyllabic adjectives without final unstressed e in the MS, if emended for one linguistic reason or another, would render those lines entirely regular. These are the adjectives fyrst (486, 635, 999, 1000), hy~ (678), ilk (995), long (586), rych (68, 1036), self (1046, 1076), Prud (1004), wlonk (122). Of these all but ryche and possibly hy~ are monosyllabic adjectives which may be emended on inflectional or syntactical grounds. Thus wlonk, monosyllabic in the singular in 903 and 1171 and regularly in the poems, is a plural in 122 and should be wlonke for that reason. Four of the remaining monosyllabic adjectives require the weak forro with final syllabic e in eight instances. Fyrst and jJryd are ordinal numerals and regularly weak, so that on that account should be fyrste, jJryde (or prydde) in the lines in which they occur. These are the only examples of the former as an adjective, but jJryde (jJrydde) is dissylabic in 833, and probably in 299. In ali these examples of fyrst and jJryd they are in dative phrases, and this is an added reason for emending with final e. Ilk appears in the weak form ilke and dissyllabic in 704, and there is no reason why it should not be of the same ·forro in 995. 1 Thls implies that bredf-ul is stressecl on the second syllable in 126, but blt1• may there be explained. as a monosyllable before the caesura.l pause. �136 ÜLIVER FARRAR &fERSON hiPERFECT Self is usually an intensive pronoun in the poems, but in three instances is an adjective and in two of them weak (1046, 1076), so that it should be emended to selfe (selve) . Compare the weak selve in Chaucer, Troil., IV, 1240; H.F., 1157; C.T., A, 2584, among other examples. In the remaining example of the word as an adjective (203), it occurs in a dative phrase in which case self or selve may be read, but it is there probably unstressed and doubtless for that reason a monosyllable in the MS. One monosylla.bic adjective, long in the da.tive phrase f or long 3ore (586), should read longe in keeping with its forro in many similar expressions; compare my Mid. Eng. Read., sec. 139, Clannesse, 769, a.nd Chaucer's B. of D., 20, 380. For other monosyllabic adjectives with inflectiona.l syllabic e in dative phrases, see brode (650), same (1099), tenj)e (136), and in Gawain, fyne (1239),j)rinne (1868). Ryche had final e historically and in the examples 68, 1036 is a. plural, so that for both reasons it should become ryche. In all other instances in the poem the word occurs before a. vowel, weak h, or an unstressed syllable, and thus might ha.ve been written either rych or ryche. In Gawain, 586, however, ryche is dissyllabic in a dative phrase. Hy3 (678), originally monosyllabic as was OE heah, also has the dissyllabic form hy3e by analogy of obligue case and plural forms, as in 401 and Chaucer's Troil., 111, 1207.1 The MS hy3, therefore, may stand for a plural of the monosyllable or for the disyllabic form, but in either case should be hy"5e. So its dissyllabic weak form in 395, 1051 may be accounted for in the same way. The weak hy"5e of 596, 1054 may be dissyllabic, but, on the other hand, these exa.mples of hy3e Kyng, hy3e God ma.y be retentions of the Old English compounds heah-cyning, heah-god, with final e not syllabic before the second element of the compound. Compare for similar possible compounds hy"5e masse (Pat., 9), OE heah-nuesse; hy3e tyde (Gaw., 932), OE heah-tid, and with the last hy"5 seysoun of Pearl, 39. In a.U these examples the first element alliterates, while the second element is less fully stressed, as usually in compounds. , Skeat accounts for a dissyllablc h•iuh• In the Troilua pa.ssage (see glossary under h•iuh) as a "def. torm. therefore read the helghe." In thls I thlnk he is mlstaken In talling to note that OE ha11h became both ME h11 (h•iuh, h113) and h11• (h•iuho, h11o•l wlth 11.nal • by analogy. Besldes, the Troilu, hoiuh• uod Is exactly equlvalent to OE hlo.h-uod as used In the OE Psa.lm 66 :2 (Grein-Wlllker, Vol. III, Partil, p. 91) ic cl•o"Piu• to ho11h-god• (d,um 11Uiuimum), and need not be regarded asan example of h•iuh• in a weak form. LmEs IN " PEARL" AND "Srn GAwAIN" 137 In three and perhaps four lines an inflectional final e, if added to verbal forms, would make those lines metrically regular. Two of these verbal forms are carp (391) a.nd ask (564), the first appearing as carpe and dissyllabic at 949, the second as aske and simila.rly a. dissyllable at 316 and 580. In the only other case in which either word could ha.ve syllabic e, carpe of 753, a. past tense form with omitted or absorbed final d, the e is a. separa.te syllable. Aske (910) precedes a vowel and is necessarily monosyllabic. Besides, as Northup points out, three other infinitives within the lines of the poem ha.ve syllabic final e, hyre (507), take (552), sete (101), and I may add from Gawain, holde (1043). The past tense wro3t (825) should be wro;te, a final e being sylla.bic in the pasts 0"5te (341), herde (873), glente (1000). In Gawain the past made is dissylla.bic in 687, and perhaps herde in 690. In all other examples of the past tense wro"5t, it occurs before an unstressed syllable or syllables and would have been monosyllabic whether written wro"5te or wro3t. Line 709 has been regarded as unmetrica.l, though not altered by Gollancz or Osgood. Kolbing, on the other hand, thought it required emendation, and proposed arede for rede, while Holthausen (Arcltiv für neueren Sprachen, CXXIII, 242) suggested inserting so before con. It may be pointed out that con might be assumed to be a subjunctive cone (conne) instead of the usual indicative, and thus be in accord with the subjunctive loke in the next line. The subjunctive cone (conne) would then be dissyllabic and supply an extra unstressed syllable before rede, as the subjunctive dele is dissyllabic in Pearl 606. Compare also stod in Gawain, 1768, which is subjunctive and should be stode in rime with the plural adjective gode of line 1766. The additiona.l lines which Northup proposed to alter by adding an unstressed e to your (496), gret (616), kyn (771), much (776), can be read as they stand, and thus do not require emendation in the sense of the lines already discussed. If emended to youre, grete, muche, these adjectives would take the stress from the comparatively unimportant words in (497, 776) so (616), thus making the lines somewhat smoother in their metrical flow. Yet this alone does not seem to me a reason for the cha.nge. It is more to the point that your and much, if emended, would be explained as not �138 ÜLIVER FARRAR EMERSON impossible datives in dative phrases. We ha.ve no further data in the poem on which to determine the emendations, since in all other ca.ses of the words within the lines, nine for your and eight for much, they are either themselves unstressed, or appear before a vowel, weak h, or an unstressed syllable. They could not be dissyllabic in such situations. Gret, on the other hand, has no final e historically or as a rule if ever for a.nalogical reasons, although grete at the end of line 637 may be a.n insta.nce. In the twenty-three examples of the word in the poem, not counting 1104 in which it must be restored, gret (grete) occurs before a vowel, weak h, or an unstressed syllable, so that we ha.ve in them no data for th~ a.ssumption of grete in this ca.se. At the end of a line grete is a plural in 90 and a dative in 560, but whether the final e is syllabic in these cases dependa upon the question of the syllabic character of final e in other places. In Clannesse the singular is regularly gret. All things considered it seems doubtful whether gret in 616 should be emended. Kyn (771) is an Old English neuter which sometimes becomes ME kinne by a.nalogy of obligue case and plural forms, so that it may be emended here. In the two other examples in which it appears in the singular, 755 and 794, it occurs before a vowel or wea.k h and could therefore not be dissyllabic. In both these insta.nces, however, quat kyn, the same expression as in 771, is stressed on the second element. If such st ress belongs in the line N orthup proposed to emend, as I think it does, the emendation to kynne is inevitable. To Northup's example of kynne in Piers Plow., B, V, 639, may be added B, XI, 290, but that in Orm 1051 does not seem to me a case in point. While considering t he lines which may possibly be emended by addition of a final unstressed e to a monosyllablé for inflectional reasons, we may note that 87 may belong here. In this line, if jlavore'5 is to be stressed on the first syllable, as seems likely from the alliteration, then the plural adjective frech before it must become freche (fresche) , as in Gawain, 122. The line may be read, however, with stress on the second syllable of fiavore'5, in which case frech would rema.in monosyllabic before an unstressed syllable. It is impossible, therefore, to expresa more than one's general choice of !MPERFECT LINES IN "PEARL 11 AND "SIR GAWAIN 11 139 two possibilities. My own would be, beca.use of the probable alliteration of the line, to emend the adjective in accorda.nce with principles la.id down for the plurals of other monosyllabic adjectives in similar instances. To turn to our second poem, in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight there are 404 rimed lines, not counting the 101 tail rimes which close the irregular, unrimed stanzas, and are separately numbered by Morris. A very few of these rimed lines are metrically deficient, as 84, 249, 736, and perhaps 1016, which seem to require an added word. Thus in 84, soth should probably be sothly, no adverbial sothe appearing in the poems, the scribe perhaps mistaking soth for the noun or adjective. Some such addition as word or speche would appear to be needed after cast in line 249, and some such word as ry'5t before wel in 736. Perhaps a Pe should be supplied before trumpe'5 in 1016. But I am now especially interested in lines which are metrically deficient by the probable omission of an inflectional or syntactical final e, as in the lines of Pearl already discussed. Taking these in the order of nouns, adjectives, and verbs involved, the noun M e'5el,.mas in 532 should be M e"5el-masse. The last part of the compound, OE m<llSse, has final e historically, and usually in these poems; compare masse in Cl., 51, and Pat., 9; Kryst-masse in Gawain, 37,734; crysten-masse in Gawain, 502, but crysteTHnas, 985; and even mas in rime (Pearl, 1115), in which masse is possible. The parallel form messe in rime (Pl., 497) is also in point as more likely the Old English variant messe than the OF messe; cf. messe-quyle in Gawain, 1097. In line 35 the adjective lel is plural and should be lele on this account, as well asforthe meter. Similarly, in line 1177 the adjective derk is weak and for this reason should ha.ve the form derke,. thus completing the line metrically. In verbs there are ·no examples within the lines which require change for metrical reasons, but in three instances changes of verbs in final position should probably be made. Thus in 1146 the past plural '5od should probably be '5ode to rime with the plural adjective gode in 1148. As already indicated a.hove the subjunctive stod of 1768 should be stode for inflectional reasons, and the rime word of 1766 is the plural adjective gode as in 1148. In 1975 the infinitivefionk should probably bejJonke, as the �140 ÜLIVER F ARRAR IMPERFECT EMERSON L1NEs IN "PEARL" AND "Srn GAwAIN" 141 twenty-four before the second stress. In any case the reason for more omissions of syllabic final e before the fourth stress than before the second or third is simply that there was more opportunity for a careless scribe to make such omission. Moreover, the proportion of omissions in the two places is essentially the same, as we should expect it to be if it were a matter of careless copying. The argument from intention on the part of the poet falls to the ground completely. Again we may rea.son with confidence that the emendations, justified as they have been from the point of view of infl.ection and syntax, are not barred by any intention on the part of the poet, whether in imitation of another literary form or not. The purpose of this paper is to emphasize the relation of linguistic facts to the metrical irregularities of Middle English poetry, through application to two poems belonging to the same time and district, and generally believed to be by the same author. Such examination would seem to be unnecessary but for the frequent disregard of such essential facts of language in the Middle English period. Many glossaries of Middle English works are prepared with slight regard for them, notwithstanding such care in this particular as Skeat exercised in the glossaries to Piers Plowman and Chaucer. Questions of metrical regularity or irregularity are often discussed with little consideration of their importance, as in the otherwise valuable editions of Pearl by Gollancz and Osgood. It is hoped the paper may also call attention to the importance of further investigation of linguistic problems in this important period. rime word wlonk, a plural of the adjective, should probably be wlonke. For the latter compare the suggested emendation of Pearl, 122. In conclusion let me return to the reasons Osgood suggested for retaining the MS readings in most of the P earl lines he was discussing. His first suggestion, that the poet was perhaps infl.uenced by the long alliterative line, rests, it seems to me, on a wrong assumption. It implies that the poet, when working in the medium of the long alliterative line, would use a language somewhat different from that naturally spoken by him and others in bis age and district. Now I know of no reason to believe that the language of the long alliterative line ever differed essentially from the language of ordinary life. That it was not as regular syllabically as the line of four stresses used in Pearl rests upon its previous bistory and later development, but that does not indicate that the language used in the two forms was different in any important particular. Only if the poet were consciously imitating a form not naturally his own, could this be true, and of tbis no proof has been offered or I think can be presented. Again, Osgood argued that, in the lines he cited, the omission of e in the unstressed syllable "was intentional," because in fourteen of the instances it occurred "at the opening of the fourth foot, and in the four other cases after the caesura." Yet in contravention of bis own point he amended adulrmente (72) to adubbement, because the longer word is shown to be correct by its use in similar position at the end of the four succeeding stanzas. Omission of the e in tbis case, far from being intentional, must have been merely a scribal error. The argument from the frequency of omission before the fourth stress rests on no more certain basis. Osgood failed to note how frequently the final e which might have syllabic value is preserved before the various stresses. An examination of the first 200 lines of the poem shows some thirteen instances in which a final e is still preserved before the fourth stress, as compared with four instances before the second, and at most only one (rourde 112) before the third. If the proportion holds good for the remaining lines of the poem, as. we may reasonably believe it will, then there are at least seventy-eight instances of final e before the fourth stress, compared with some ÜLIVER WESTERN RESERVE U NIVERSITY • F ARRAR EMERSON �SPENSER'S USE OF THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE FAERIE QUEENE I Although this article aims chiefly to describe that curious interwea.ving of the mythical and the real which produced the voyage of Sir Guyon to the Bowre of Blisse in the twelfth canto of the second book of the Faerie Queene, it may be of interest to note by way of preface that there are scattering and fragmentary references throughout the Faerie Queene to the voyages of the sixteenth-century seamen, to the countries new found by them, and to curious and interesting facts about the inhabitants. There is clearly an attempt to utilize bits of the current travel lore for artistic purposes. Among the passages which merely mention such new names as Peru and America, the best known is probably Spenser's famous "defence" of the Faerie Queene in the Prologue to the second book. Some people, Spenser fears, may account "all this famous antique history" as only the "aboundance of an idle braine," but, he goes on to say, other things would have been thought impossible a generation or two ago which are now proved true: Who euer heard of th' Indian Peru t Or who in venturous vessell measured The Amazons huge riuer now found trew? Or fruitfullest Virginia who did euer vew? Yet all these were, when no man did them know.1 Spenser might well defend on this ground the wonders that he tells, for many of them are drawn from the relations of the voyagers themselves. Incidentally these lines fix the date of this Prologue as not earlier than 1584, for that was the date of the first voyage to Virginia by Amadas and Ba.rlowe. • Faeri• Qu,en,, II, Prol. 2, 3. Other rerenmcee are: II, x, 72, arererence to America; II, x:1, 21, stanza on the bows and arrows o! the Indlans; III, ü, 6, "the Atrick Ismael and the Indian Peru"; V, x, 3, "the Americke shore, the utmost margent of the Molucu." [MODHN PHILOLOOT, November, 1921) 143 �144 Lo1s W HITNEY More interesting is Spenser's second reference to the river of the Amazons (IV, xi, 21, 22) : And that huge Riuer, which doth beare his name Of warlike Amazons, which doe possesse the same. loy on those warlike women, which so long Can from all men so rich a kingdome hold; And shame on you, O men, which boast your strong And valiant hearts, in thoughts lesse hard and bold, Y et quaile in conquest of that land of gold. Spenser, then, was familiar with the tales, and there were many of them, of the Amazons in America. The very first voyagers brought back stories of islands "in whyche dwell only women, after the manner of them, called Amazones."1 With the descent of the Amazon River by Orellano in 1540-41, the Amazons were henceforth associated with that region. Thevet, in bis Singularitez de la Franr,e Antarctique, translated from the French and published by Bynneman in 1568, devotes a chapter to telling "How certaine Spanyardes arrived into a country, where they found Amazons," but Spenser must have heard, rather, some such stories as those referred to by Herrera in bis General History of the Western Indies, 1601-15, Decade VI, Book ix: Captain Orellano, by means of a vocabulary which he had made, asked many questions of a l!aptured Indian, from whom he learned that that land was subject to women, who lived in the same way as the Amazona, and were very rich, possessing much gold and silver. They had five houses of the sun plated with gold, their own houses were of stone, and their cities defended by walls; and he related other details, which I can neither believe nor affirm, owing to the diffi.culty of discovering the truth.2 Spenser, however, seems to have made little or no use of these stories for bis Amazon episode in the fifth book. Spenser describes the feather dresses of the lndians in the stanza on Fancy (111, xii, 8): His garment neither was of silke nor say, But painted plumes, in goodly order <light, Like as the sunburnt Indians do aray Their tawney bodies, in their proudest plight. • Richard Eden, A treat11ae o/ the newe India . . . . a/ter the deacription o/ Sebaatian MQnater, London, 1553, in Edward Arber, The Firat Three Engliah Book, on Americe> (Edinburgb, 1885), p. 30. Otber references to tbe Amazons are to be found in tbe same work, p. 24, and in tbe Decadea o/ the newe worlde o/ We,t India, pp, 69, 70, 177, 189. • E:z:pedition, into the VaUe11 o/ the Amazon,, trans. and ed. by C. R. Markbam (Hakluyt Society edition), p. 36. THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE" 145 There are a number of descriptions of the feather dresses in the travel books. Perhaps the following one from Eden's Deoodes suggests the "proudest plight" as well as any: "Whereuppon they which were sente to lande . . . . makynge a great shoute for ioye of their • victory, sette them selues in order of battayle, and so keping their array, returned to the shippes laden with spoyle of those prouinces, and shynynge in souldiers clokes of fethers, with faire plumes and crestes of variable colour."1 It is barely possible of course that there had remained associated in Spenser's mind three facts from the Discouerie of Morum Bega, which was included in Hakluyt's Divers V oyages, 1582. There is in this account a description of a number of tribes. Of one we are told that they were "clad with the fethers of foules of diuers colours"; of the next that "they <lid not desire cloth of silke or of golde, much lesse of any other sorte"; and of the next that "the people differ much from the other. . . . . They cloth themselves with Beares skinnes, and Leopardes, and sealles, and other beastes skinnes."2 Note now in connection with Spenser's description of the feather dress the first line of the stanza quoted above, "His garment neither was of silk nor say," and the description of Daunger, three stanzas below: With him went Daunger, cloth'd in ragged week, Made of Beares skin, that him more dreadfull made. The coincidence is interesting, but not entirely conclusive. Spenser has a number of descriptions of savages. There is the savage man with a gentle disposition in VI, iv, and there is the nation of cannibals in VI, viii, both of which have so many counterparts in the travel books that it is needless to point out specific parallels. More interesting, however, is the "wilde and saluage man" (IV, vii, 5-7), the various aspects of whom represent an ensemble from diverse sources. He may be in part a reminiscence of the folk character of the wild man, or "wode man," who figured in Elizabethan pageants.3 This wild man was usually hairy (cf. IV, vii, 5), carried a 1 Arber, op. cit., p . 160. Otber descriptlons are to be found In Tbevet, op. cit., p. 39, and Girolamo Benzoni, Hi&tor11 o/ the New World, shewing hi• Trn•els in America, from A.D. 1641 to 1668 (Hakluyt Society edition), p. 178. • Di..ra Vo11ao••• ed. by J. W. Jones (London, 1850), pp. 63, 65, 70. a Robert Witbington, Engliah Paoee>ntr11 (Cambridge, 1918), p. 72 ff. Frederick S. Boas, Uni•erait11 Drama in the Tudor Aoe (Oxford, 1914), p. 161, gives a quotation from a. diary !or January 8, 1582, wbicb mentlons such a "savage." �146 Lo1s WmTNEY THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE" wooden club (cf. IV, vii, 7), and was "with a wreathe of yuie greene Engirt about" (cf. IV, vii, 7). He was not, however, large-lipped and long-eared as is Spenser's wild man. 1 Hairy men are of course frequently met with also in the travel books, but large lips and long ears are of rarer occurrence. Spenser writes: The pilote which owre men brought owt of the llandes of Molucca toulde them that not farre from thense, was an Iland named Arucetto in the which are men and women not past a cubite in height, hauynge eares of such byggenesse that they lye uppon one and couer them with the other.1 His neather lip was not like man nor beast, But like a wide deepe poke, downe hanging low, In which he wont the relickes of his feast, And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow. Marco Polo, describing the inhabitants of Zanzibar, writes, "They have large mouths, their noses tlrrn up toward their forehead, their ears are long, and their eyes so large and frightful, that they have the aspect of demons."2 This description taken in connection with the rest of Spenser's picture, is fairly close, but there is a closer parallel in Mandeville: " And in another isle be folk of foul fashion and shape that have the lip above the mouth so great, that when they sleep in the sun they cover all the face with that lip."1 This, to be sure, is the upper lip, but the transfer was a simple matter. Spenser, it is true, may be following a Celtic tradition here. In the story of Kilhwch and Olwen, Gwevyl, the son of Gwestad had lips so large that he could drop one below his waist and cover his head with the other.• As for the ears, Spenser's lines are: And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow, And raught downe to his waste, when up he stook, More great then th' ea.res of Elephants by Indus flood. In Mandeville, a few lines below the description quoted above, is found: "And in another isle be folk that have great ears and long, that hang down to their knees." Eden has two references to long ears. In his translation of Sebastian Münster the Spaniards are told that there are men not onely with hanging eares, but also with eares of such breadth and length, that with one of them they myghte couer theyr hole head. But the Spanyardes, who soughte for gold and spyces, and not for monsters, sayled directly to the llandes of Mollucca. • Withington, op. cit., p. 54, mentlons the fact that tbe pagea.nt figure of the glant sometlmes had '"large ears" and " big mouths." but he cites no examples. • Th• Tr4•el• o/ M4rco Polo, the Veneti4n, ed. by Thomas Wrigbt (London, 1854), p. 432. Cf. Eden, op. cit., p . 23. • The Tr4v.Z• o/ Sir John M4nd ..ille, ed. by A. W. Pollard (London, 1900), p. 196. • Th• Afobinoqion, ed. by Alfred Nutt (London, 1904), pp. 112-13. 147 And in his Decades: Spenser seems to have made use of either Marco Polo or Mandeville also for an ítem in his description of Maleger. Maleger, we are told (II, xi, 26), fled on a tiger: And in his flight the villein turn'd bis face, (As wonts the Tartar by the Caspian lake, When as the Russian him in fight does chace) Unto his tygres taile, and shot at him apace. Mandeville writes: And ye shall understand that it is great dread for to pursue the Tartars ü they flee in battle. For in fleeing they shoot behind them and slay both men and horses.2 And Marco Polo: When these Tartars come to engage in battle, they never mix with the enemy, but keep hovering about him discharging their arrows first from one side and then from the other occasionally pretending to fly, and during there flight shooting arrows backwards at their pursuers, killing men and horses, as ü they were combating face to face.3 This characteristic is less frequently mentioned in sixteenth-century treatises. It is scarcely possible that Spenser could have seen a reference to the custom in a manuscript copy of Giles Fletcher's Of the Russe Common W eaUh, a book which was the fruit of a diplomatic mission to Russia in 1588, but which was not however published until 1591. To mention a final example, the picture of Disdain (VI, vii, 43) goes back in part either directly or indirectly to travel books of a different class : He wore no armour, ne for none did care, As no whit dreading any liuing wight; But in a Iacket quilted richly rare Upon checklaton he was straungely dight, And on bis head a roll oí linnen plight, Like to the Mores of Malaber he wore; With which bis locks, as blacke as pitchy night, Were bound about, and voyded from before. • Op. cit., pp. 34-36, 260. • Op. cit., p. 165. • Op. cit., p. 136. �148 Lo1s WmTNEY THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE" The keynote phrase in this passage is the "Mores of Malaber." There are many descriptions of Malabar in the travel books, but in few of them are the inhabitants referred to as Moors. Even Marco Polo is too discriminating to give them that name. The phrase is probably to be traced back to sorne Portuguese travel book, for the Portuguese writers had the habit of referring to all Mohammedans indiscriminately as Moors. Especially is the Book of Duarte Barbosa full of the phrase, "the Moores of Malabar." This travel book was probably completed about 1518 and was translated into Italian by Ramusio and included in his collection of voyages. Spenser may possibly have gleaned his description of the dress of Disdain from Barbosa. Following is Barbosa's description of the costume of the kings of Malabar: "Sometimes they clothe themselves with short jackets open in front, reaching halfway down the thigh, made of very fine cotton cloth, fine scarlet silk, or of silk and brocade. They wear their hair tied upon the top of their heads, and sometimes long hoods like Galician casques." 1 Elsewhere he speaks of the use of cloth of gold (Spenser's "checklaton "): "They go very well attired in rich cloth of gold, silk, cotton and camlets. They all wear turbans on their heads, these turbans are long like Moorish shirts."2 Fragmentary as these passages are, they indicate clearly one of the more remote and curious ramifications of Spenser's interests. Whether Spenser actually read the Book of Duarte Barbosa or Thevet's Singularitez, or Eden's Deoodes, or got his material from them by sorne indirect means, is a relatively unimportant question. The interest in the strange and exotic forros of life and manner of living so picturesquely set forth by them remains.3 In the following section we shall see how he blends material from the travel books with various legenda and fictions and creates from the combination a faery voyage peopled with "shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses." 1 A deocription o/ the Coaat& o/ Eaat A/rica and Malabar in the Beginning o/ the 18 c. b11 Duart• Barbo•a, trans. by the Hon. H. E. Stanley (Hakluyt Sociéty edition), p. 104. • Haklu11t Societ11 edition, Ser. II, Vol. XLIV, p. 120. • It is interesting to note in this connection that Gabriel Harvey, Spenser's close friend and gulde in matters intellectual, had apparently a very considerable acquaintance with the travel books. In Pierce' • Supererogation we read: "But read t he report of the worthY Westeme discoueries, by the said Sir Humlry Gilbert; the report of the braue West-Indian voyage by the conduction of Sir Fralncis Drake; the report of the horrible Septentrionall discoueryes by the trauail o! Sir Martin Forbisher; the report of the pol!tlque discouery of Virginia by the Colony of Sir Walter Raleigh; the report of sundry other famous discoueryes and aduentures, publlshed by M. Rychard Hackluit in one volume, a worke of importance," etc. See Gregory Smith, Elizabethan Critica! Easa11• (Oxford, 1904), II, 261-62. The possible lnfluence of Sir Walter Ralegh on Spenser need only be mentloned. 149 11 It is perhaps generally recognized that the voyage of Sir Guyon under the guidance of the Palmer and with the help of the "heedfull Boateman" to the Bowre of Blisse in the twelfth canto of Book II of the Faerie Queerw resembles in certain respects the medieval Legend of St. Brandan, but the points of similarity between the two have not, I believe, been pointed out in detail, nor have there been discussed certain other possible sources, which I should like to offer, for various passages in this canto. Let us consider first the Legend of St. Brandan and its possible relation to the voyage of Sir Guyon. The legend was easily accessible to Spenser. It seems to have been very popular in the Middle Ages, for it survives in many versions. There is a Latin version which has been edited by Jubinal from "les manuscrits de la Bibliotheque du roi," together with a twelfth-century French prose translation and a French metrical version from the thirteenth-century Image du Monde of Gautier de Metz. 1 This Latin version is somewhat longer than the Latin version of Capgrave in the Nova Legenda Angliae. Capgrave's version was published in English by Wynkyn de Worde in 1516. There is also an English prose version of the legend in the Golden Legend. The text from which I quote is from Wynkyn de Worde's 1527 edition of the Golden Legend. Besides the English prose version in the Golden Legend, there is a Middle English metrical version in the Southern Legend CoUection of the late thirteenth century or early fourteenth century. 2 There are various other Latin, French, and Anglo-French versions, 3 but I 1 A. Jubinal, La Ugt nde latine de S. Brandaint&, a•ec une traduction inldite en prose et en P°'•i• Romanea (Paris, 1836). There is another Latln MS, edited by Schrllder, 1871, which I have not been able to see. For references to critica! papers on the subJect see Best, Bibliograph11 o/ Irish Philolog¡¡ and o/ Printed Iriah Literature (Dublln, 1913), p. 115; and Wells, Manual o/ the Writinga in Middle EnuZiah, p. 806. • Both the Engllsh version of the Golden Legend and of the Southern Leuendary have been edited by Thomas Wr!ght in t he "Publlcatlons of the Percy Society," Vol. XIV. The metrical version 1s from M S Harl. 2277, fol. 41, v°. • Schirmer, Zur Brandanua-Legende (Leipzig, 1888). �150 Lo1s WmTNEY shall only mention further the Celtic "Life of Brenainn" in the Book of Li,smore. 1 Of these various versions the one most readily accessible to Spenser was the English prose version in the Golden Legend, and that seems also to be as near to the passage in the Faerie Queene as any, although the English prose and metrical versions are so like that it is diffi.cult to decide between them.2 I find nothing in the longer Latín version, edited by Jubinal, parallel to the voyage of Sir Guyon which is not also in the English of the Golden Legend. The Celtic version deals more largely with the early life of St. Brandan, or Brenainn, and less with the N avigatio, and is perhaps the least like the passage in the Faerie Queene. What, then, are the parallels between St. Brandp,n and Book II, canto xii, of the Faerie Queene? In the former we have the story of a voyage in quest of the Land of Promise, a long voyage beset with many dangers from tempest, fowl, and sea monster, a voyage past many marvelous islands, "the which were a very great wonder," as the sixteenth-century seamen were fond of saying. In the latter, likewise, we pass with Sir Guyon and the Palmer a series of marvelous islands and escape a succession of similar dangers. In the former voyage, St. Brandan is the controling Christian spirit who holds his roen in check, warns them of the fl.oating island, and prays for help when they are attacked by whale and "grype." So in the latter, the Palmer guides the boat safely past the Rock of Vile Reproch, past the singing mermaids, past the "seemely Maiden, sitting by the shore," and scatters the multitude of fi.sh with his "vertuous staffe." Both voyages end in a kind of happy otherworld, the former in the Londe of Byheest that "Adam and Eve dwelte in fyrst," and the latter in the Bowre of Blisse, which partakes largely of the nature of the Londe of Byheest but is modifi.ed in accordance with Spenser's moral airo into a bewitchingly lovely bower of temptation. Examining the correspondence between certain of the episodes more closely, it is perhaps sufficient merely to mention in passing the episode of the fl.oating islands, for the parallel in this case is not 1 Whitley Stokes, Lioea o/ Sainta from the Book of Liamore (0:dord, 1890), text, pp. 99-116; translation, pp. 247-61. • It is entirely possible that Spenser knew both the English prose and the Middle English metrical versions, for, while the canto seems on the whole nearer to the prose version, tbere is at Ieast one passage, wbich I shali note later, that more nearly resembles the metrical version. THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE" 151 close. In the legend the monks, ali but the wary St. Brandan, go upon an island to prepare their dinner. When the fi.re becomes very hot the island begins to move. The monks, fl.eeing back to the ship, "mervayled sore of the moving. And saynt Brandon comforted them, and sayd that it was a grete fisshe named Jasconye, which laboureth nyght and <laye to put his tayle in his mouth, but for gretnes he may not." 1 The fl.oating islands which Sir Guyon and the Palmer pass are real islands which lure the voyagers by the pleasantness of their woods and dales. Spenser may possibly·have taken his original conception from the legend, but if so he modifi.ed the type of island considerably. We shall have more to say later on the subject of fl.oating islands. The next analogous episode is that of the fi.sh. There are two fi.sh episodes in the legend, (1) the attack by the whale, and (2) the threatened danger from the multitude of fi.sh and their dispersa! by St. Brandan. There is a single episode in the Faerie Queene, but that one episode partakes of the nature of the two in the legend, fi.rst in the description of the waterspout caused by the fish, and second in the surging of the multitude of fi.sh about the vessel and their dispersa! in this case by the Palmer: And soone after carne to them an Suddeine they see from midst of a.U the Maine, horryble fysshe, which followed the shyppe long tyme, castynge The surging waters like a mounta.in rise, so moche water out of his mouth into the shyppe that they sup- And the grea.t sea puft up with proud disdaine, posed to have ben drowned. . To swell aboue the measure of his [Op. cit., pp. 46-47.) guise, As threatning to deuoure ali, that his powre despise. [Sta.nza 21.] And then anone ali the fysshes Ali these, a.nd thousand thousands manymore, awoke and carne aboute the shippe so thicke, that unneth they myght And more deformed Monsters thousand fold, se the water for the fysshes. With dreadfull noise, and hollow rombling rore, Carne rushing in the fomy wa.ues enrold. [Sta.nza. 25.] 'St. Brandan, ed. by T. Wright, "Publications of the Percy Society," XIV, 39. �152 Lo1s WmTNEY And whan the masse was done, all the fysshes departed so that they were seen no more. [Op. cit., pp. 47-48.) Tho lifting up his vertuous staffe on hye, He smote the sea, wbich calmed was with speed, And all that dreadfull Armie fast gan fl.ye. [Stanza 26.)1 Again, both parties of voyagers pass through a dark cloud before they come to their destination: And after this they tooke theyr shyppe and sayled eest xl. dayes, and at the xl. <layes ende it began to hayle ryght fast, and therewith carne a derke myst, wbich !asted longe after, wbiche fered saynt Brandon and bis monkes, and prayed to our Lord to kepe and helpe them. When suddeinly a grosse fog ouer spred With bis dull vapour all that desert has, And heauens chearefull face enueloped, That all things one, and one as nothing was, And this great Uniuerse seemd one confused mas. Therat they greatly were dismayd, ne wist How to direct their way in darkenesse wide But feard to wander in that wastful mist. And soone after that myst passed awaye, and anone they sawe the fayrest countree eestwarde that ony man myght se. Till that at Jast the weather gan to clear, And the faire Iand it selfe did plainly show. And than anone carne theyr procuratour, and badde them to be of good chere, for they were come into the Londe of Byheest. [Op. cit., pp. 54-55.)2 Said then the Palmer, Lo where does appeare The sacred soile, where all our perils grow. [Stanzas 34, 35, 37.) • Compare with this the metrical version which seems sllghtly closer: l. Berninge fom out of his mouth he caste, The water was he,ere than here schip bifore hem at eche blaste. 2 . The flsch sturte upe with here so~. as hi awoke of slepe And flote al aboute the schip, as hit were at one hepe; So thikke hi flote about bi eche half, that now other water me ne se3 And bisette this schip al aboute, ac hi ne come ther se.;. So thikke hi were aboute the schip, and suede hi evere so, The while this holi man his masse song, forte he hadde i-do; And tho the masse was i-do, eche wende in his ende. (Op. cit., pp. 19, 21.) There are, however, other parallels to this passage, to be noted later, which Spenser may ha.veknown. • I have transferred the order of the last two quotations. There is another descriptlon o! this cloud at the beginning of the legend, p. 36. THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE" 153 In the passage in the Faerie Queene the voyagers are attacked while the darkness is upon them by an "innumerable flight of harmefuil fowles. . . . . Even ali the nation of unfortunate And fatall birds." This does not occur in any of the versions of St. Brandan that I have seen, but at another point in the voyage St. Brandan and his monks are attacked by a "grete grype, which assayled them and was lyke to have destroyed them."1 It is possible that Spenser put the two episodes together. Finally, certain features of the Londe of Byheest are similar to those of the Bowre of Blisse. Both luxuriate in flowers and fruits and pleasant meadows, and "there was alwaye daye and never nyght, and the londe attemperate ne to hote ne to colde."2 Such are the similarities between the medieval saint's legend and Book II, canto xii: correspondence in the general scheme of the voyage past marvelous islands; in the róles played by St. Brandan and the Palmer; and in certain details of the development. But this by no means accounts for the whole of the canto. Even taking into consideration the obvious classical borrowings-the Charybdis, the song of the Sirens, the Circean animals-all of which have been sufficiently pointed out in the annotated editions, and the borrowing from Tasso's Garden of Armida which have also been pointed out,ª there is much that is unaccounted for. What of the magnetic rocks? of the ship stranded on the sand ? of the lure of the "seemely mayden" ? of the ivory gates and the golden fruit, the bed of roses? Was Spenser using any other sources ? • Op. cit., p. 47. The appearance of supernatura.l beings in the form of birds is a oommon oonvention in Celtic legends. Cf. the list of references in T. P. Cross, "The Celtlc Origin of the Lay of Yonec," R evue celtique, XXXI, 437-38, n. For the convention of the mist surrounding the Celtic otherworld, cf. A. C. L. Brown, "The Knight of the Lion," PMLA, XX (1905), 677-78, n. • St. Brandan, p. 55. These features are characteristlc of otherworld descriptions. • There are references to the borrowing in Schramm, Sp•n••n Naturachilderunu•n (Leipzig, 1908), p. 22 ff.; in Koeppel, "Die englischen Tassoübersetzungen . . . . , 11 B: Spensers Verhllltnis zu Tasso," Anulia, XI, 341-62; in the annotated editions, especially those of Todd and Kitchln, and in R. E. Neil Dodge, "Spenser's Imitatlons from Ariosto," P M LA, XII, 151. Dodge here says that "theBowerof Bliss (Book II, canto XII) is taken bodily from the Geruoalemme liberata (c. XV, XVI)," a statement more sweeping than accurate. While lt is true that Spenser probably borrowed more from Geruoalemme liberata than from any other single source, the fact remains tha.t he and Tasso are working on the basis of different conceptions of the fairy otherworld. Tasso is uslng the convention of the mountain, possibly oriental in origin, a.nd Spenser the more typical Celtic oonvention of the island. Cf. H. R. Patch, "Medieval Descriptions ot the Otherworld," PMLA, XXVI (1918), 606-19. �154 101s WmTNEY There are severa! other possible sources. In the first place St. Brandan, or Imram Brendain, to use its Celtic title, is one of a series of imrama, or tales of sea voyages which follow much the same lines as St. Brandan.1 There are strange and remarkable islands in all, supernatural events, and often wondrously beautiful women who lure the voyagers into the land of the unreal (especially in Imram Brain mac Febail, and Imram Curaig Mael,duin). It is possible and not in the least improbable that Spenser, with his interest in fable and legend of every sort, may have picked up sorne of these tales during his long residence in Ireland.2 It is possible also that he became acquainted with the happy otherworld as it appeared in numerous other Celtic legends. Perhaps he had heard the story of how the fairy maiden lured away Condla the Fair to be "an everlasting king, without wail or woe" in the Land of the Living where it is ever summer and the flowers ever bloom.ª Possibly also he knew of the voyage of Teigue, son of Cian, in which Teigue touches on a fairy otherworld almost as beautiful as Spenser's own and in many respects similar to it.4 There are "delicate woods with empurpled tree-tops fringing the delightful streams" (cf. Spenser, st. 58); there is a marvelous "minstrelsy" of birds; a wonderful fragrance (Spenser: "That still it breathed forth sweet spirit and wholesome smell," st. 51); there are luscious grapes (sts. 54-55), superlatively lovely women, and rich workmanship in gold and silver and precious jewels.6 Before one draws any hasty conclusions, however, it should be remembered that many of these features, 1 For a Ust of the imrama see Best. op. cit .• or Thrall. "Vergil's A eneid and the lrish Imrama: Zim.mer's Theory," Modern Philoloqy, XV, 450. • There is no evidence that Spenser read Irish. He would ha.v e to get these tales second hand. • The "Adventure of Condla the Fa.ir," trans. by J. O'Beirne Crowe, J ournal o/ th• Ro¡¡al Societ¡¡ o/ Antiquaries o/ Ireland , XIII, 129 ff. • S. H. O'Gra.dy , SiZ.a Gadelica: The A d• enture, o/ T eique, Son o/ Cí an (I,ondon and Edinburgh, 1892), 11, 385--401. • For a summary of the fea.tures of the Celtic otherworld which was to be found across the sea, see Alfred Nutt, "The Happy Otherworld in the Mythico-Romantic Literature of the Irlsh," in The Vo¡¡aqe o/ Bran, Son o/ Febal, to the Land o/ the Lioinq, ed. by K. Meyer (London, 1895-97), 1, 229-30; Zim.mer, "Keltische Beltrti.ge, 11," Z./.D.A., XXXIII, 280-81; and A. C. L. Brown, "lwaln," Haroard Studie, and Notes, VIII, 82-94. Westropp has polnted out ("Brasil and the Legendary Islands of the North Atlantic," Proceedinua o/ the Ro¡¡al Irish A cadem¡¡, XXX, 255) that this happy otherworld, called variously Magh Mell, the Isle of the Living, the Isle of Truth, the Isle of Joy, etc., was associated wlth the legendary island of O Brazil which was sought by early marlners, and actually placed on the charts from 1320 down to 1865. THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE .~ 155 especially the fragrance, the music, the equable temperature, and the beautiful landscape, are conventions which are common not only to Celtic but to non-Celtic descriptions of the happy otherworld.1 In the Vision of Saturnus, for example, mention is made of the "unspeakable sweet odor"; in the Visio Pauli, of the wonderful fruits and vines and of the "land more brilliant than gold and silver"; in the History of Barlaam and Josophat, of the clear music of the trees and the delicate fragrance. 2 And the Old English poem, The Phoenix, has an elaborate and beautiful description of an otherworld scene in which the temperateness of the climate and the beauty of the country are as elaborately set forth as by Spenser and very nearly as ably. Even the grotesque Land of Cockayne has most of the common conventions.3 It is hard to conceive that as wide a reader as Spenser coúld have been unacquainted with at least sorne of these accounts, but their very multiplicity makes it utterly useless to attempt to set up any one of them as a direct source. The situation seems to be slightly different, however, in the case of a possible Greek source, the True History of Lucian, the tale of a voyage across the ocean and through space to many wonderful islands and countries, among them the Isle of the Blest. While there is no single parallel between Spenser's account and the True History significant enough in itself to establish a definite relationship between them, there are enough similarities in details to make out a fairly good case. The True History was easily accessible to Spenser. There were a number of Latín translations of the W orks, two Latín translations of the True History, one published in 1475 and one in 1493, and there was a French translation of the Works, published in 1583. There was, however, another source of material which Spenser had at hand besides the Celtic and non-Celtic mythical voyages to the happy otherworld, and that was the sixteenth-century travel 1 Cf. A. C. L. Brown, op. cit., pp. 133-47, for a discussion of the happy otherworld in romances and lays. • There are quotations !rom these three works in Nutt, op. cit., pp. 248-49. • Nutt has discussed certaln classica.l treatments o! the happy otherworld idea, op. cit., I, 258 ff. See also a work not mentioned by Nutt, the Oceanica ot Iambulus, retold by Diodorus, ii. 4, and by Purchas in Purcha• his P ilqrim••• Bk. I, chap. viii. Iambulus sails across the ocea.n to a marvelous island which has a temperate cllmate, wonderful fruits and flowers, etc. �156 Lo1s WmTNEY lore with which, as we have already seen, Spenser undoubtedly had some acquaintance. Let us turn back to the beginning and consider some of the episodes in the light of these other possible sources. Stanzas 4, 7, 8: "The Rodee of vil,e Reproch. "-This rock, composed "of mightie Magnes stone," that draws passing boats toward it, is to be met with in the tales of the travelers. André Thevet, in bis Singu1,aritez, writes: "Likewise in this same sea are found Ilands named Manioles . . . . nere to the which there are great rocks that draw the ships unto them, be'cause of the yron wherwith they are nailed." 1 There seems to be a closer parallel in Mandeville, however, if one takes into consideration the continuation of the description m stanza 7: On th' other side, they saw that perilous Rocke, Threatning it selfe on them to ruinate, On whose sharpe clifts the ribs of vessels broke, And shiuered ships, which had bene wrecked late, Yet stuck. In Mandeville, chapter xxx, we find: For in many pleces of the sea be great rocks of stones of the adamant, that of his proper nature draweth iron to him. . . . . I myself have seen afar in that se~, as though it had been a great isle full of trees and buscaylle, full of thorns and briars great plenty. And the shipmen told us, that all that was of ships that were drawn thither by the adamants, for the iron that was in them. And of the rotten-ness, and other thing that was within the ships, grew such buscaylle . . . . and of the masts and sail-yards.2 Stanzas 10-13: The wandring iswnds.-Spenser's reference in this passage to the island of Delos suggests a classical source for the idea,ª but it is worth noting that there was still a widespread belief in the sixteenth century in the existence of floating islands. They were usually referred to as St. Brandan's Isle, or sometimes the Isles of St. Brandan, and often appeared on the early maps in various parta of the Atlantic.4 So firm was the belief in such an island as t Op. cit., p. 90. • Op. cit., pp. 178--79; see also pp. 109-10. • Besides the lsland of Delos here referred to, there are classical allusions to the Cyanean Islands, or Symplegades, Herodotus !v. 85; Plndar P11th. Odu iv. 371, etc. See, further, the classical references in the passage from F. Colon to follow. • Westropp, op. cit., pp. 241-45. THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QuEENE" 157 St. Brandan's that various expeditions were sent out to find it, and it was said by the Portuguese, Louis Perdigon, that the king of Portugal had ceded the island to bis father "if he could discover it. " 1 Perhaps the best exposition of the sixteenth-century ideas on the subject occurs in Ferdinand Colon's History of the üfe and Actions of Admiral Christopher Colon, first published in Italian in 1571. The question of whether or not this is a forged document need not concern us here. Columbus is reported by the author to have doubted the discovery of certain islands, thinking that perhaps they were some of those floating islands that are carried about by the water, called by the sailors Aguadas, whereof Pliny makes mention in the first book, chap. 97, of his natural histocy; where he says, that in the northern parts the sea discovered sorne spots of land, on which there are trees of deep roots, which parcela of land are carried about like fl.oats or islands upon the water. Seneca undertaking to give a natural reason why there are such sorts of islands says in his third book, that it is the nature of certain spongy and light rocks, so that the islands made of them in India, swinl upon the water. So that were it never so true, that the said Anthony Leme had seen sorne island, the admiral was of opinion, it could be no other than one of them, such as those called of St. Brandam are supposed to be, where many wonders are reported to have been seen. . . . . Juventius Fortunatus relates, that there is an account of two islands towards the west, and more southward than those of Cabo Verde, which swim along upon the water.2 Further, John Sparke in his narrative of The Voyage made by Master John Hawkins . . . . in 1564 mentions "certain flitting islands," in the neighborhood of the Fortunate Islands. Finally, there are floating islands in the True History of Lucían: We had proceeded something less than fifty miles when we saw a great forest, thick with pines and cypresses. This we took for the main land; but it was in fact deep sea, set with trees; they had no roots, but yet remained in their places, fl.oating upright as it were.3 Stanzas 18- 19: "The Quicksand of Unthriftyhed" and the goodly ship stranded thereon.-If Spenser had in mind some particular ship in this account- and considering his general tendency toward specific allegory, it is likely that he did have--it may very well have been 1 Jubinal, op. cit., p. xvil. • Pin.kerton, Gen eral Collection o/ Vo11aou and Tra•el• (London, 1812), XII, 14--15. See also the reference to the Isle of St. Brandon in Caxton, M irrour o/ the World, Part II, chap. xill. • Op. cit., p. 170. �Lo1s WmTNEY THE LITERATURE oF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QuEENE" Sir Humphrey Gilbert's vessel, the "Delight," which was stranded on the sands and there wrecked by the waves in 1583. It will be remembered that Ralegh was particularly interested in this expedition to plant colonies in the new world and had shared in the undertaking to the extent of sending along a ship of his own, which, however, was forced to abandon the voyage. Spenser, if he had not seen or heard an account of this disaster elsewhere, could have got it from Ralegh himself. Edward Rayes, in his account of the voyage writes, "Betimes in the morning we were altogether run and folded in amongst flats and sands." The breaking of the waves upon the sands made Master Cox think that he had seen land. (Compare with Spenser's "That quicksand nigh with water couered; But by the checked wave they did descry It plaine," st. 18, vss. 6-8.) After the "Delight" grounded, "boyling and roaring through the multitude of all kind of fish" ;1 and in Thevet's Singularitez we find: 158 ali that day, and part of the next, we beat up and down as near unto the wreck as was possible for us, looking out if by good hap we might espy any of them. This was a heayy and grievous event, to lose at one blow our chief ship freighted with great provision, gathered together with much travail, care, long time, and difficulty. etc.1 (Compare with Spenser, st. 19.) There is no other stranded vessel quite so well known as this or quite so similar to Spenser's "goodly Ship." In The Famous Voyage of Sir Francis Drake . . . . begun in the year of our Lord 1577, there is a description of a stranded ship, it is true, but this ship was stranded on the rocks and it was saved by the mariners. Stanzas 21- 26: The episode of the sea monsters.- Although this episode is generally parallel with two episodes in St. Brandan, it will be remembered that there was nothing either in the prose or metrical version of the legend quite comparable to the description of the "dreadful noise, and hollow rombling rore" as the fish "Carne rushing in the foamy waves enrold" (st. 25; see also st. 22). There are, however, descriptions parallel to this in the travel books. In the "True and Last Discouerie of Florida" printed by Hakluyt in the Divers V oyages, 1582, there is a description of water which was 1 Th• Principal Na, igationa (Glasgow, 1904), VIII, 65-67. Spenser proba.bly did not see this particular a.ccount of the wreck, for it wa.s flrst publlshed by Ha.kluyt 1n 1589. I give the quota.tlons to illustra.te the simila.rity in the situa.tion. 159 About this lyne [Equinoctiall] is founde such abundance of fishes of sundry and divers kindes, that it is a marvelous and wonderful thing to see them above water, and I have heard them make such a noyse about the ships side, that we could not hear one another speke.2 Stanzas 43- 45: The wall and the ivory gates.-Spenser tells us concerning the Bowre of Blisse that "Goodly it was enclosed round about," and that there was a gate which "framed was of precious yuory, That seemed a work of admirable wit." One of the commonest devices of the Celtic imrama and legends is that of the walled island. Gold and silver ramparts abound in the otherworld descriptions. In the Imram Curaig Maelduin there is an island with four walls, composed respectively of gold, silver, brass, and crystal,8 and in the country visited by Teigue, son of Cian, there is a palisade of gold about inis Patmos, the abode of the saints and holy men, anda silver rampart about the abode which was prepared for the righteous kings of Ireland.4 It is unnecessary to multiply examples. Spenser may or may not have had these descriptions in mind. The ivory gates are to be fo_u nd in the True History. The passage is this: "At last we reached it [the Isle of Dreams] and sailed into Slumber, the port, close to the ivory gates where stands the temple of the Cock." 5 The suggestion for the picture on the gates Spenser probably got from the elaborate silver doors in Gerusalemme liberata, XVI, 2-8. Stanzas 54-57: The intoxicating fruit.-In the Bowre of Blisse is an arbor of grapes, some "empurpled as the Hyacint," sorne ruby, sorne emerald, and sorne like burnished gold, and there is a "comely dame" who takes this fruit, "scruzes" it into a cup of gold, and offers the wine to passers-by. St. Brandan and his monks stop at a "lytell ylonde, wherein were many vynes full of grapes,"6 but these grapes are not spoken of as intoxicating. Intoxicating fruit, however, is frequently met in other Celtic voyages to the otherworld. • Op. cit., p. 29. Op. c_it., p. 98. • R..,ue celti que, IX, 487; see also X, 51. • Siha Gadelica, 11, 391, 893. • Lucia.n, op. cit., p. 166. The idea. doubtless goes ba.ck to Homer Od11•••11 xix, 562 ft. 1 Op. cit., p. 47. 1 �160 Lois The following illustration from the Imram Curaig Maelduin is typical. Maelduin squeezed sorne of the berries into a vessel and drank [the juice] and it cast him into a deep sleep frorn that hour to the sarne hour on the rn~rrow. And t?ey knew not whether he was alive or dead with the red foarn round his lips, till on the rnorrow he awoke. [Then] he said to thern: "Gather ye this fruit, for great is its excellence."1 There are also intoxicating grapes in Lucian's True History. The voyagers come upon a vine, half-human in quality, the very kiss of whose grapes on the lips of the roen is intoxicating.2 I find no descriptions of golden fruit, but golden and silver foliage is found in a number of descriptions of the Celtic otherworld.3 Stanzas 63-fJ9: The e¡Jisode of the bathers.-Although this passage is undoubtedly an imitation of Gerusalemme liberata, XV, 58-66, it is interesting to note that there is an episode in which a somewhat similar device is used in Imram Curaig Maelduin (Sec. xxviii), and there is a kind of grotesque analogy in the Land of Cockayne: The 3ung nunnes takith a bote And doth hern forth in that riuer Bothe with orís and with stere. When hi beth fur frorn the abbei, Hi rnakith harn nakid for to plei, And lepith dune in-to the brimme, And doth harn sleilich for to swimme.4 Stanzas 70-76: The music.-This passage, again, seems to be drawn chiefl.y from Gerusalemme liberata, XVI, 12 ff., but there are certain details not to be found in this source. Spenser describes the "most melodious sound" as being compounded of the music of "Birdes, voyces, instruments, windes, waters," which idea he develops charmingly in stanza 71. In the following stanza he mentions a choir of "Many faire Ladies, and lasciuious boyes." Tasso blends rnerely the song of the birds and the winds: The wind that in the leaves and waters played With rnurrnur sweet, now sung, and whistled now; Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer rnade, And while they sung, it rumbled soft and low. 1 THE LITERATURE OF TRAVEL IN THE "FAERIE QUEENE 11 WmTNEY Reoue celtique, X, 71. • Op. cit., p. 139. • ESpecially in "The Adventure of St. Columba's O!erics," R e•u• celtique, XXVI, 139; The Voyage o/ Bran, I, 20. • Matzner, Alten¡¡lische Sprachproben, I, 147-52, 11. 152 fl. 161 Even the solo in his version is sung by a bird. But in .Lucian there are the following descriptions: Sweet zephyrs just stirred the woods with their breath, and brought whispering rnelody, delicious, incessant, frorn the swaying branches; it was like Pan-pipes heard in a desert place. And with it ali there rningled a volume of human sound, a sound not of turnult, but rather of revels where sorne flute, and sorne praise the fluting, and sorne clap their hands commending flute or harp; and, During the rneal there is music and song. . . . . The choirs are of boys and girls. . . . . When these have finished, a second choir succeeds, of swans and swallows and nightingales; and when their turn is done, all the trees begin to pipe, conducted by the winds.1 Stanza 77: Acrasie represented as reclining on a bed of roses.This detail does not occur in Gerusalemme liberata which Spenser is following rather closely in this passage, but in the True History, again, the guests in the banqueting place "recline on cushions of fl.owers." There would, of course, be no significance whatever in the resernblance in this minor detail if it were not for the nurnerous other corresponding details. I should be sorry to seem to imply that Book II, canto xii, is nothing more than a laborious cornpilation from a number of specific sources, and that Spenser himself was incapable of inventing even minor elaborations on the general scherne. It has been my only purpose to attempt to illumine somewhat a very small portion of the vast background of tale and legend which must have contributed at sorne time or other to the storehouse of Spenser's mind before he wrote the Faerie Queene. About the common theme of the voyage and the fairy otherworld there becarne associated in his mind such facts and fancies as lingered there from rnany and varied sources, ideas which carne into play when he started to write his own voyage to the Bowre of Blisse. Fairly certainly one of these contributing tales was sorne version of the St. Brandan legend. Possibly certain other Celtic rnyths and legends contributed. Without doubt some of the very prolific tales of the travelers helped to rnake up the background whether or not Spenser got his material directly frorn the specific sources noted. Possibly there remained associated • Op. cit., 156, 15!Hl0. �162 Lo1s WHITNEY together in his mind a group of details from the True Historythe ivory gates, the blended music, the couch of flowers, the floating islands. Finally one of the sources which he knew the most intimately, or possibly had read the most recently, was the description of the Garden of Armida from the Gerusalemme liberata. Lo1s WmTNEY UNIVERSITY OJ' MINNESOTA. THOMAS CORNEILLE'S RE-WORKING OF MOLI~RE'S DON JUAN In his very thoroughgoing work, La Légende de Don Juan-son évolution dans la littérature des origines au romantisme, 1 Georges Gendarme de Bévotte devotes considerable space to Moliere's Don Juan ou le Festin de Pierre, and to the Don Juan playa which preceded and followed it. Of those which followed Moliere, the first play to be mentioned is the Festin de Pierre of Thomas Corneille. In some three or four rather sketchy pages, Gendarme de Bévotte points out the principal alterátions introduced by Corneille into the Moliere version, and the difference in tone which pervades the two plays. It would seem, however, that he might well have elaborated on sorne of these points and that he might have attempted to drive them home by the quotation of parallels from the two works; and perhaps it may not be amiss to try to fill in this gap, especially since there are a few matters of technique and detail which Gendarme de Bévotte does not consider at all in his study; The object of this present paper will be to bring the Don Juan of Moliere and the Festin de Pierre of Thomas Corneille into closer juxtaposition than has hitherto been done. On February 15, 1665, Moliere's Don Juan ou le Festin de Pierre was presented, for the first time, at the Théiitre du Palais-Royal; the play was in five acts and in prose, and was called by its author a comedy, despite the fact that it concludes with the death of the central figure. The presentation of Don. Juan aroused a storm of protest, as had that of Tartuffe before it, the author being accused of rank impiety. The comedy was attacked with especial bitterness in the Observations sur une comédie de Moliere intitulée le "Festin de Pierre" (1665), the author of which concealed his identity in the various editions either under the initials B.A.S.D.R. or under the • Pa.ris, Ha.chette, 1906. Thls work wa.s crowned by the French Aca.demy, and has slnce been reprlnted in abrldged torm. with an additlona.l second volume in which the study Is carrled down to our own da.y (Pa.ris, 1911). [MODERN PHILOLOOY, November, 1921] 163 �164 AARoN ScHAFFER THOMAS CoRNEILLE's MoLIERE's "DoN JuAN" pseudonym of B. A. sieur de Rochemont. This writer1 says, among other things: The Emperor Augustus put to death a buffoon who had made sport of Jupiter, and he forbade women to attend plays that were far more modest t~ those of M?li~re. Moreover, Theodosian condemned to death by wild beasts comedians who derided sacred ceremonies in plays which did not even remotely approach the Festín de Pierre in violence.2 of criticism to which Don Juan had given rise. He followed the original very closely, he tells us (and as we shall soon have occasion to see for ourselves), save that he took a few liberties with the third and fifth acts. These alterations, which we shall consider here, are of three kinds: first, those which were forced upon Corneille by the mere fact that he was converting a prose comedy into a drama in alexandrines¡ second, those which he expressly introduced for the purpose of moderating the tone of the original¡ and third, those which were effected for reasons of style or technique. 1 Let us first, however, casta glance at the dramatis personae. We at once observe that Corneille retains almost intact the cast of Moliere. The only changes to be noted are these: Corneille suppresses the pauper (Francisque), one of the three valets of Don Juan (Ragotin), and the veiled specter of Act V¡ on the other hand, he introduces three female characters who do not appear in Moliere, and who are responsible for the alterations in the third and fifth acts-a country damsel (Léonor), her aunt (Thérese), and her "nourrice" (Pascale). When we arrive at a consideration of the text of the two plays, we soon perceive that Corneille's verse sounds exceedingly stilted and "mouthy" when compared with Moliere's vigorous prose, and that the best passages in the former are those which correspond almost word for word with the latter. This is particularly true of the speeches which issue from the mouth of Sganarelle, Don Juan's unwillingly faithful squire. Compare these two passages from the very first scene: SganareUe: J'ai peur qu'elle ne soit mal payée de son amour, que son voyage en cette ville ne produise peu de fruit, et que vous n'eussiez autant gagné a ne bouger de la [Don Juan]. He cannot refrain, continues the writer, from expressing his astonishment that the king and queen should prove so indifferent in the whole matter. Nevertheless, Moliere had his defenders, who maintained that Don Juan had been thus warmly attacked sµnply because it was the work of the author of Tartujfe, that plays on the same subject were produced in Spain and in Italy, with the knowledge and consent of the Inquisition, and that the Italian players and even the "théatre fran9ais" had done as much in París. The king was sensible to the claims of these latter and to the genius of Moliere, to whom he gave the title of "comédien du roí." However, Don Juan was not to the taste of seventeenth-century French audiences; it was produced only fifteen times, and was then removed from the stage, for the time being, in the form in which it had left the pen of Moliere.3 In 1673, the year of the death of Moliere, Don Juan was recast by Thomas Corneille into a five-act comedy in alexandrines, the main title of Moliere's play being suppressed and replaced by its sub-title, Le Festin de Pierre; the drama was successfully staged, four years later, at the theatre of the rue Guénégaud. Aimé-Martin tells us that Corneille made this remodelling at the request of Moliere's widow and that the alexandrine version of the play was produced thirteen times. In his "Avis" to the Festin de Pierre, Corneille says simply that it was at the solicitation of friends that he undertook the revision, and that he had done so in order to allay the outburst For the authorship of this pampblet, cf. Gendarme d e B6votte, op. cit., pp. 144--46, and R. Allier, La Cabale de, déoota (Paris: Armand Colin, 1902), p. 402. The former, startlng from the generally accepted conclusion of M. Cb.-L. Livet (" Problilmes molieresques," Moniteur Uni,erael, March 14, 1878) tbat the autbor was the well-known .Jansenist, Barbler d 'Aucour, formulates the opinion that the Obaer•ations were the work of another .Jansenist, Pierre Roull6; Allier, on the other band, is convlnced that the author is not a .Jansenlst at ali, but either a .Jesuit or a frlend of the "Compagnie de .J6sus." • The translatlon is the present writer's own, made from the text reprlnted by L. Alm6-Martin In his Molillre edltion, París, 1824. • Tbe play was " revived" on the stage of the Thélttre Natlonal de l'Od6on on November 17, 1841. 165 SganareUe: .... mais tout voyage coüte; Et j'ai peur, s'il te faut expliquer mon souci, Qu'on l'indemnise mal des frais de celui-ci 1 [Festín de Pierre] . This last verse, with its clumsy circumlocution, is undoubtedly much weaker than the blunt asseveration of Moliere's Sganarelle. 1 In the followlng discussion, Molillre's play wlll regularly be referred to as Don Juan, and that of Cornellle as Featin de Pierre. �166 AARON SCHAFFER A little farther in the same scene, we encounter a passage which undergoes similar weakening in the hands of Corneille. W e read: Sganarelle: Tu vois en Don Juan, mon mattre, le plus grand scélérat que la terre ait jamais porté, un enragé, un chien, un diable, un hérétique qui ne croit ni saint, ni Dieu, ni loup-garou, qui passe cette vie en véritable bete brute, un pourceau d'Epicure, un vrai Sardanapale . . . . [Don Juan]. Sganarelle: Que c'est un endurci, dans la fange plongé, Un chien, un hérétique, un turc, un enragé, Qu'il n'a ni foi, ni loi; . . . . Il est ce qu'on appelle un pourceau d'Epicure [Festin de Pierre]. Finally, we can gain a good insight into Corneille's method by examining the concluding line of Act IV, scene 15, of the Festin de Pierre, which reads: Ah, pauvre Sganarelle, ou te cacheras-tu? If we look at Don Juan (Act IV, scene 11), we shall see that the line occurs here in the very same forro. In other words, what happens is that Moliere, in reality always the poet, cannot help writing a sort of rhythmic prose, which occasionally, as here, falls into the mold of the alexandrine, and that Corneille is quick to take advantage of this fact by preserving such lines in their integrity. Let us now consider a few of the alterations effected by Corneille for the purpose of moderating the tone of the original. In the third scene of Act I, we find the following passage: Done Eluire: mais sache que ton crime ne demeurera pas impuni, et que le meme ciel dont tu te joues me saura venger de ta perfidie. Don Juan: Sganarelle, le ciell Sganarelle: Vraiment, oui. N ous nous moquons bien de cela, nous autres [Don Juan]. This was far too strong for Corneille, who omits the last thunderbolt. Done Elvire: Et que ce meme ciel, dont tu t'oses railler, A me venger de toi voudra bien travailler. TooMAs CoRNEILLE's MoLIERE's "DoN JuAN" 167 Sganarelle (bas): Se peut-il qu'il résiste, et que rien ne l'étonne? Monsieur. . . . . Don Juan: De fausseté je vois qu'on me soup<;onne [Festin de Pierre]. Two slight changes, in the direction of refinement, may be noted here. That they are improvements is more than questionable. In scene 2 of Act II, Don Juan says to Charlotte: "Que je voie un peu vos dents, je vous prie. Ah! qu'elles sont amoureuses, et ces levres appétissantes." Of this Corneille makes the following: .•.. Et vos dents? 11 n'est rien si parfait. Ces levres ont surtout un vermeil que j'admire. Again, in Act IV, scene 1, Moliere makes Don Juan say to Sganare_lle: "Ecoute. Si tu m'importunes davantage de tes sottes moralités . . . . ," whereas Corneille puts into bis mouth the weakened expression: Ecoute. S'il t'échappe un seul mot davantage Sur tes moralités. . . . . Of all the many modifications of a ~imilar nature that Corneille introduced into bis version of Moliere's play, three stand out with particular proininence, and it is to these that ~e may _now turn _our attention. The first scene of Act III, in which Moliere puts mto Don Juan's mouth the celebrated diatribe against physicians and which Corneille takes over virtually intact, contains the well-known cross-exainination of Don Juan by Sganarelle which confirmed the opinion that the "comédien du roi" was an atheist and which particularly aroused the spleen of the sieur de Rochemont, to whose Observations we have already had occasion to refer. The passage ,in question reads: Sganarelle: Je vewc savoir un peu vos pensées. _Est-il possible que vou~ ne croyez point du tout au ciel ?-Don Juan: Laissons cela.-Sganarelle. C'est-a-dire que non. Et a l'enfer?-Don Juan: Eh!--:-Sg~narelle: Tout de meme. Et au diable, s'il vous platt ?-Don Juan: Ülll, Olll.-Sganarelle: Aussi peu. Ne croyez-vous point a l'autre vie ?-Don J1:°'n: Ah! Ahl_ Ah!Sganarelle: Voila un homme que j'aurai bien de la peme a convertrr. Et dites-moi un peu, le maine bourru, qu'en croyez-v:ous, _eh ?-Don Juan: La peste soit du fat!-Sganarelle: Mais encore faut-il crorre quelque chose �168 AARoN SCHAFFER THOMAS da.ns le monde. Qu'est-ce done que vous croyez ?-Dm Juan: Ce que je erois ?-Sganarelle: Oui.-Dm Juan: Je crois que deUJC et deux sont quatre, Sganarelle, et que quatre et quatre sont huit.-Sganarelle: La belle eroyance et les beaUJC articles de foi que voila! Votre religion, a ce que je vois, est done l'arithmétique? It would seem bighly likely that Don Juan is here the mouthpieee of Moliere himself; the mere fact, as has frequently been pointed out, that Sganarelle, the valet, is the champion of tradition would indicate that it is not the latter who is voicing Moliere's views. Be that as it may, Don Juan's reduetion of religion to the elements of mathematies would certainly not be calculated to please the ears of hearers accustomed to the sermons of a Bossuet and a Bourdaloue. W e can well imagine with what amazement and anger the foregoing dialogue must have been received, and it is not at all surprising that many Moliere editions print only an abbreviated variant scene in which Don Juan nips in the bud, by the threat of a blow of the fist, all of Sganarelle's questionings. And the reason is clear for the abbreviated version that Corneille offered the courtiers of the Grand Monarque-a version that might pass almost unnoticed. Sganarelle: Que eroyez-vous? DmJuan: Je crois ce qu'll faut que je eroie. Sganarelle: Bon. Parlons doueement et sans nous échau.ffer. Le ciel. . . . . DmJuan: Laissons cela. Sganarelle: C'est fort bien dit. L'enfer. . . . . Don Juan: Laissons cela, te dis-je. Sganarelle: II n'est pas nécessaire De vous expliquer mieUJC: votre réponse est ela.ire [Festin de Pierre]. Of course, one can infer almost anything one pleases from tbis "réponse claire" of Don Juan; indeed, one might almost credit him with pure ultramontanism as a result of bis statement that he CoRNEILLE's MoLIERE's "DoN JuAN" 169 believes "what it is necessary for bim to believe." In any event, Corneille here succeeds in bis purpose of rendering Don Juan more palatable to the stage public of the day, though scarcely to the advantage of Moliere's original. The second scene of Act III of Don Juan likewise offended the ears and the consciences of Moliere's audiences. In this scene, Don Juan and Sganarelle encounter the pauper, Francisque, who begs an alms. The following dialogue ensues between Don Juan and Francisque: Dm Juan: Que! est ton occupa.tion ?-Le Pauvre: De prier le ciel tout le jour pour la prospérité des gens qui me donnent quelque ehose.-Don Juan: Il ne se peut done pas que tu ne sois bien a ton aise ?-Le Pauvre: Hela.s! Monsieur, je suis dans la plus grande nécessité du monde.-Dm Juan: Tu te moques; un homme qui prie le ciel tout le jour ne peut pas manquer d'étre bien de ses affaires. After vainly attempting to bribe the pious pauper into uttering an oath, Don Juan gives him a louis d'or, "pour l'amour de l'humanité," and rushes off to the assistance of someone who is being beset by three ruffians. Tbis scene of mocking raillery was too harsh for the age. Here, again, it appears probable that it is Moliere himself who speaks from the mouth of Don Juan, whom he makes the trumpet of bis own philosophy of epicurean Pyrrhonism. Corneille avoids the diffieulties presented by the scene just cited by simply ignoring it completely and by substituting for it three scenes of his own invention (Act 111, scenes 2, 3, and 4); in the first, Don Juan cajoles Léonor, an innocent country miss of fourteen, into promising to become his wife; in the second, Sganarelle, in the disguise of a physician, prescribes a remedy for the asthma of Thérese, the aunt of Léonor, thus distracting her attention while Don Juan fixes a rendezvous with his latest conquest; and in the last, Sganarelle again avails himself of the opportunity of taking Don Juan to task for his polygamous proclivities and for bis duplicity toward the sex, but, as usual, bis words pass unheeded. And only at tbis point in Corneille's play <loes Don Juan become aware of the m~lée in the course of wbich Don Carlos is being hard pressed by three scoundrels; he rushes off to the assistance of the sorely beset Don, leaving Sganarelle determined to protect �170 A.ARON SCHAFFER THOMAS CoRNEILLE's MoLIERE's "DoN JuAN" his skin as best he may. This altered version of Corneille's, though it adds another unedifying episode to a play that was already sufficiently unpalatable, would naturally not prove so offensive to the taste of the audience, inasmuch as it adheres strictly to the Don Juan tradition and only makes him commit another act that is of a piece with his entire character. In a word, seduction, which belongs to the traditional Don Juan role, was, at the court of the "roi soleil," a far less heinous crime than blasphemy. Before examining the last important revision of the kind we have thus far been considering, we may cite two passages in which Corneille's effort to tack the moral to the Don Juan fable is very apparent. In scene 11 of Don Juan we read: to invite Don Juan to dine with him, Corneille puts into his mouth two platitudes. W e read: Don Juan (se metta.nt a table): Sganarelle, il faut songer a s'amender, pourtant.-Sganarelle: Oui-da.-Don Juan: Oui, ma, foi, il faut s'amender. Encore vingt ou trente ans de cette vie-ci, et puis nous songerons a nous.Sganarelle: Oh!-Don Juan: Qu'en dis-tu ?-Sganarelle: Rien. Voila le souper. Corneille was not satisfied with this easy acquiescence on the part of the valet, whom, as ever, he makes the "advocatus Dei." The version in the Festín de Pierre runs as follows: Don Juan: Va, va, je vais bientót songer a m'amender. Sganarelle: Ma foi! n'en riez point; ríen n'est si nécessaire Que de se convertir. Don Juan: C'est ce que je vewc faire. Encor vingt ou trente ans des plaisirs les plus dowc, Toujours en joie, et puis nous penserons a nous. Sganarelle: Voila des libertins l'ordinaire language; Mais la mort. Don Juan: Hem? Sganarelle: Qu'on serve. Ah! bon! monsieur, courage! Grande ch&e, tandis que nous nous portons bien. The final scene of Act IV is padded a bit by Corneille, for the same purpose. Thus, whereas Moliere makes the statue speak only once, 171 La Statue du Commandeur: C'en est assez, je suis content de ton repas. Le temps fuit, la mort vient, et tu n'y penses pas. D<m Juan: · Ces avertissements me sont peu nécessaires. Chantons; une autre fois nous parlerons d'affaires. La Statue: Peut-étre une autre fois tu le voudras trop tard. We have now arrived at the last and crucial act of the play. Corneille takes considerable liberty with this act. In the first scene, he introduces two additions: (1) he makes Don Juan pretend to be preparing to enter a monastery in expiation of the sins of his youth; and (2) he makes Don Luis express his gratitude for his son's repentance by offering to pay all his debts. Scene 2 is essentially the same in both, save that allusions to the two additions just mentioned occur in Corneille, and that the latter considerably shortens Sganarelle's endless Baralipton syllogism that brings the scene to a close. Don Juan's violent exposé of the hypocrisy that reigns at court and the use of the cloth as a cloak for secret acts of wantonness (one thinks, perforce, of the digression in Milton's úycidas, written some thirty years before Don Juan) is retained almost in its integrity by Corneille. But, "en revanche," Corneille changes the final scenes of the play practically at will. The encounter of Don Carlos and Don Juan, in which the latter practices, for the first time, the hypocrisy he has determined henceforth to employ is, apparently, too much for Corneille, with its frequent invocations of Heaven; in its place, Corneille substitutes the meeting of Don Juan with Léonor, who comes accompanied by her nurse, Pascale, and who is on the point of yielding to the ravisher's solicitations when the statue of the Commander intervenes. Moliere's veiled female specter, which warns Don Juan to depart before it is too late and then metamorphoses itself into a representation of Father Time, is omitted by Corneille. And finally, Corneille lengthens somewhat the "Thou art the man" speech of the statue with which the play is �172 AARoN ScHAFFER THOMAS CoRNEILLE's MoLIERE's "DoN JuAN" virtually brought to its close. In Moliere, the statue of the Commander utters the following words: "Don Juan, l'endurcissement au péché trame une mort funeste, et les graces du ciel que l'on renvoie ouvrent un chemin a la foudre." Whereupon Don Juan pays the price for all his violations of the moral law: "Un feu invisible me brüle," he exclaims, "je n'en puis plus, et tout mon corps devient un brasier ardent." In the Festin de Pierre, the statue utters these words: Corneille was not slow to grasp the evasiveness of this conclusion, and, consequently, he closes with a moral: Je t'ai <lit, des tantot, que tu ne songeais pas Que la mort chaque jour s'avan<;ait a grands pas. Au lieu d'y réflécbir, tu retournes au crime, Et t'ouvres a toute heure abtme sur abtme. Apres avoir en vain si longtemps attendu, Le ciel se lasse: prends, voila. ce qu'il t'est dft. And Don Juan is swallowed up into the earth, without having been a ble to repent; for this is clearly the significance of his final words in the Festin de Pierre: Je brfile, et c'est trop tard que mon Ame interdite .... Ciel! It is plain that Moliere, in making Don Juan the victim of his own crimes, is really pandering to the tastes of his public, which his play had already more than outraged. Proof positive of this fact is furnished by the words of Sgnarelle which bring the drama to its termination :1 Voila, par sa mort, un chacun satisfait. Ciel offensé, lois voilées, filles séduites, familles déshonoreés, parents outragés, femmes mises a mal, maris poussés a bout, tout le monde est content. II n'y a que moi de malheureux, qui, apres tant d'années de service, n'ai point d'autre récompense que de voir a mes yeux l'impiété de mon maitre punie par le plus épouvantable chatiment du monde. 1 In the editions of 1683 and 1694, this speech of Sganarelle begins with the exclamation: "Ah I mes gages, mes gages," and ends with the words "Mes gages" uttered three times after the word "malheureux:· at wbich point the speech in the varlant form termlnates. It Is these words that Edmond Rostand uses in the prologue to his last completed play. LIJ Dern~re Nuit de Don J uan, published for the llrst time in its ful! form in the Illu,tr1Jtion (Paris) for February 5. 1921; the prologue had been printed, by special permlssion, in ComoedilJ (Parls) of the preceding day. 173 Sganarelle: .... II est englouti! J~ cours me rendre hermite. L'exemple est étonnant pour tous les scélérats, Malheur a qui le voit et n'en profite pas! Before bringing our study to a close, we may consider a few of the remaining differences noticeable in the two versions, differences introduced by Corneille for purposes other than those which have already been discussed. The stylistic changes are frequent, and very rarely to Corneille's advantage. In the first scene of Act II, for instance, Corneille retains more than faithfully the patois spoken by Pierrot and Charlotte, often giving a slight turn to the dialectical expressions used by Moliere. Thus, Moliere's "stapandant" (for "cependant ") becomes, in the Festin de Pierre, "stanpandant." In Don Juan, we find Pierrot saying: "Je te dis toujou la méme chose parce que c'est toujou la méme chose; et si ce n'était pas toujou la méme chose, je ne te dirai pas toujou la méme chose." This excellent bit of rustic simplicity of phraseology is changed, to its detriment, in the Festin de P .erre, where we read: Pierrot: Si j'te la dis toujou, c'est toi qu'en es la cause; Et si tu me faisais queuque fouas autrement, J'te <liras autre chose. The third act of Don Juan is freely rearranged by Corneille. The third scene, in which the debtor, M. Dimanche, appears to dun Don Juan, is placed, in the Festin de Pierre, after, and not before, the appearance of Don Luis, the father of Don Juan. Corneille is forced to improvise sorne lines of his own (scene 11) between the departure of M. Dimanche and the arrival of Done Elvire, who comes on unannounced. Moliere, on the other hand, announces (scene 8) the arrival of a veiled lady (Done Elvire). Finally, Corneille makes more apparent the connection between the scene in which Don Luis hurls his objurgations at Don Juan and that which follows. In Don Juan, we read: "Mais sache, fils indigne, que la tendresse paternelle est poussée a bout par tes actions¡ que je �174 A.ARON SCHAFFER Tu011us CoRNEILLE's MoLIERE's "DoN JuA.N" saurai prévenir sur toi le courroux du ciel, et laver par ta punition la honte de t'avoir fait naitre. (Scene 7-Don Juan, Sganarelle.) Don Juan (adressant encore la parole a son pere, quoiqu'il soit sorti): Eh! mourez le plus tót que vous pourrez, c'est le mieux que vous puissiez faire." In the Festin de Pierre, the version reads: Don úuis: According to Gendarme de Bévotte, Corneille's emasculated version of Moliere's play "fit fortune"; nevertheless, it did not long retain its popularity, and today the "administration" of the ComédieFran~aise deems it wise to leave Don Juan unproduced rather than to offer the public a milk-and-watery variant of the play which, perhaps more than any one other of his plays, is the document of Moliere's ironic philosophy.1 AARoN ScHAFFER C'est tropl Si jusqu'ici dans mon coeur, malgré moi, La tendresse de pere a combattu pour toi, Je l'etoujfe; aussi bien, il est temps que •.•• Je prévienne du ciel les justes chAtiments; J'en mourrai, mais je dois mon brasa sa colere [scene 6-Don JUA..n, Sganarelle] . Don Juan: Mourez quarul vous voudrez, il ne m'importe guere. Finally, in the last scene of Act IV, Corneille makes the statue of the Commander invite Don Juan to dine in the tomb of the former the same evening, whereas the Commander, in Moliere, says: "Je vous invite a venir demain souper avec moi." The reason for this change is clear. In Don Juan, Moliere disregards the three unities completely; each act takes place in a different setting, the time that elapses is certainly more than twenty-four hours, and the plot is hardly unified. Corneille, on the other hand, tries as far as possible to make the play conform to the three unities. We have had, by now, more than sufficient opportunity to observe the closeness with which Corneille follows the text of the original. I wish to give one final parallel from the two plays, in order that we may be able to visualize this phenomenon by way of conclusion. In the sixth scene of Act III of Don Juan, we read: Sganarelle: Seigneur Commandeur, mon mattre, Don Juan, vous demande si vous voulez lui faire l'honneur de venir souper avec lui. (La statue baisse la tete.) Ah!-Don Jwn: · Qu'est-ce1 Qu'as-tuf Dis done. Veux-tu parler? In the Festin de Pierre, the same passage runs: Sganarelle: .. . . Monsieur le Commandeur, Don Juan voudrait bien avoir chez lui l'honneur De vous faire un régal. Y viendrez-vous? (La statue baisse la tete, et Sganarelle, tombant sur les genoux, s'écrie: "A l'aide :) Don Juan: Qu'est-ce 1 Qu'as-tu 1 Dis done. 175 UNIVERSITY OP TEXAS 1 Sincerest thanks are due Professor H. Ca.rrington Lancaster, of The Johns Hopldns Universlty, for suggestlons oll'ered durlng the preparation ot this papar. �QUEVEDO, GUEVARA, LESAGE, AND THE TATLER The popularity of Spanish literature in England in the latter part of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth century is well known. But although at least one man1 has recognized that logically Lucian's "imaginary letters" and "detached observer" together with such ~orks as Quevedo's Sueños (1627), and Le Sage's Diable Boiteux (1707), an adaptation and translation oí Guevara's Diablo Cojuelo (1641), should have resulted in such creations as the Tatler, Spectat<rr, and Rarnbler, no one apparently has hitherto made a comparative study of these Spanish and French writers and the aforementioned English periodicals.2 The object of this article is simply to point out certain parallels in thought, but rarely in words, between the Tatler and the Spanish and French writers named. Other Spanish writers and other English periodicals are left for later studies. It should be recalled that Spanish picaresque literature was popular in England before and at the time of the publication of the first Tatler, April 12, 1709. For instance, by that date, L'Estrange's translation of Quevedo's Sueños had gone through at least twelve editions.3 In 1707 LeSage's Diable Boiteux had gone through four editions.4 There was an English translation called The Devil upon Two Sticks in 1708.6 Steele had certainly seen this translation, for in Tatler No. 11 he mentions it, and in a way which indicates that he expected his readers to know it. In his Diable Boiteux Le Sage called attention to the debt he owed Guevara and dedicated it to the • Upham, The Typical Forms of English Literature (New York, 1917), pp, 128-29. • A passing mention is made of Pacolet's relat ion to the diable boiteux of Le Sage in The Cambridge History of English Literature, IX, 39 (Harold Routh). Chandler, Literature of Roguery, II, 330, mentions in one paragraph the Diablo Cojuelo and the Spectator, but he does not connect the two works in the manner in which they are studied here. :r. Fitzmaurice-Kelly, The Relatfons between Spanish and English Literature (1910), p. 26, says: "The translation of Quevedo's Sueflos made by Roger L'Estrange--through the French-ran int o many editions, but left no permanent mark on English literature." • See Chandler, Romances of Roguery, p. 457. See ibid., pp. 399---469 for details on other translations of Spanish picaresque novels into English. • !bid., pp. 464-65. • Chandler, Literature of Roguery, II, 319. [MODERN PBILOLOGY, November, 1921] 177 �178 W. S. HENDRIX 1 Spaniard. The Diablo Cojuelo had not been translated into English at that time, but the dedication of the French work forcibly called attention to the Spanish original, and men of the linguistic attainments of Addison and Steele would have had no difficulty in reading Spanish. That they probably did so, we shall see presently. It should be kept in mind also that the Tatler appeared three times a week, and that in all probability the writers of the paper read whatever was popular, not only for the ideas they might obtain, but also to keep informed about the subjects which pleased the public. Our attention will be directed, first, to the idea of the power of the astrologer, the conjurer, etc., which is closely connected with Pacolet, who seems to be derived from the Diablo Cojuelo and the Diable Boiteux; secondly, to the similarity of certain visions in the Tatler and Spectator to sorne of the Sueños of Quevedo, and to certain passages in the Diablo Cojuelo and the Diable Boiteux; thirdly, to the "courts" of the Tatler and the premáticas and similar satirical scenes in the Discursos festivos of Quevedo; and fi.nally, to the parallelism between the Diablo Cojuelo, the Diable Boiteux, and No. 243 of the Tatler, in which the devil is replaced by the "magical ring." One is struck, on reading the earlier numbers of the Tatler, by the frequent references to necromantic power, to astrology, or to a familiar (see Nos. 1, 3, 12, 13, 14, 15, 20, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27, 28, 40, 47, 48, 61, 64, 71, etc). While the sources of the passages referred to may not be Spanish, they strongly suggest the atmosphere of Quevedo's Sueños, Guevara's Diablo Cojuelo, and Le Sage's Diable Boiteux. Especially is this true of the episodes dealing with Pacolet, who, for a time at least, is Bickerstaff's guardian angel. Pacolet first appears in No. 13, where he tells Bickerstaff of his experiences with three former masters. (Recall that in No. 11 Steele mentions The Devil upon Two Sticks.) This conversation with Bickerstaff is merely a device to satirize these masters, and reminds one of Lazarillo de Tormes, and other Spanish picaresque characters, whose biographies are satires on the masters they have served. In No. 15 Pacolet describes the treatment he received as an infant, which caused his death when he was only a month old. These experiences recall one of Quevedo's Sueños; El entremetido, y la dueña y el soplón (B.A.E., • Edition Garnier Fr~res, Paris, n.d., pp. 386-87. QUEVEDO, GUEVARA, LE SAGE, AND THE "TATLER" 179 XXIII, 363), where a demonio describes the experiences he will have if he is born again. The description of the demonio begins before birth and continues until death. He mentions being whipped at school and the sufferings of being in Iove along with other disagreeable experiences of life. Pacolet says that by being drowned he "escaped being lashed into a linguist until sixteen, running after wenches until twenty-five, and being married toan ill-natured wife until sixty." His nose, he afterward learned, belonged to another family; the demonio suggests the possibility that he may not be legitimate, his nose is also characterized as an alambique, a still. In both cases the child hears a lullaby, has a wet nurse, and resents the treatment to which he is subjected. Also in both cases the speaker is a demon. 1 Pacolet throws a powder around Bickerstaff and himself so that they may be invisible (No. 15; see Diable Boiteux, pp. 312-13); serves as a messenger to carry and obtain information (Nos. 22, 23, 26, 28, 40, 64, 70; Diablo Cojuelo [edit. Madrid, 1910] pp. 46-47); acts as a guide in visions (Nos. 81, 119, 167, 171) just as do the Spanish and French devils. Steele and Addison, possibly at the initial suggestion of Swift's Bickerstaff, began the necromantic elements in the astrologer Bickerstaff, but soon added (No. 13) Pacolet, who may have been borrowed from the Diablo Cojuelo or the Diable Boiteux, or both. Having read the English translation, The Devil upon Two Sticks, the essayists possibly read the Diable Boiteux, saw the dedication to Guevara, and then read the Diablo Cojuelo. This first venture into Spanish in the original was perhaps ·followed by reading Quevedo, who at the time was very popular in England. In addition to the translation of his Sueños, the translation of his Comical Works appeared in 1707, another edition in 1709,2 and the translation. of his Marco Bruto, as a document in behalf of Dr. Sacheverel, was printed during the latter's trial in 1710.3 1 For a vague trea.tment of the sa.me theme see Torres Naharro's introito of the "Comedia Jacinta," in Propaladia, II, 76-77; for a better trea.tment, see "La vida del hombre" ot Breton de los Herreros, Obras, V, 323--46, especially 323-28. 'British Museum Catalog, Vol. XXIX. • The Controi,erav about Reaiatance and Non-reaistance discuaa'd, in moral and political reftections on Marcu.a Bru.tus, who slew Juliua Caesar . . . . written in Spanish bu D[on] F[ranciscoJ d• Q[ue••do] V[illegasJ, tran,lated into Bnglish and publiahed in defens• of Dr. Henry Sach ..erel, b11 order of a noble Lord who •oted in his behalf (London, 1710), Briliah Museum Catalog, Vol. XXIX. �180 W. S. liENDRIX Other points of contact between Quevedo and the Tatler may be noted. No. 12 has a caustic comment on the use of slang. Quevedo frequently attacks incorrect or questionable use of words and phrases (B.A.E., XXIII, 367, 371, 430-31). The description of a gentleman (No. 21), of a pretty fellow (No. 24), of the rake (No. 27), and of fops (No. 108) may have been suggested by the English "character," but it is paralleled in Quevedo's Discurso festivos; for instance, figuras artificiales, figuras lindas, etc. (B.A.E., XXIII, 460 ff.) True, Quevedo's types are of the lower classes, while the Tatler' s are of the better classes, but this is in keeping with the tone of the respective works. Visions as a literary device to present certain ideas, especially satire, occur frequently in the Tatler and Spedator. 1 As is well known, and as Quevedo points out in one of his Sueños (B.A.E., XXIII, 298a), visions were used by the classic authors and by Dante. The authors of the essays in the Tatler and Spedator were familiar with these examples of the use of visions, of course. But it can hardly be said without reflection on Addison and Steele that they were unacquainted with Quevedo's Sueños, the translation of which had been so popular before 1709. Certain parallels between Quevedo's Sueños and the visions of the Tatler and Spedator would seem to indicate that Addison at least did know t he Sueños of Quevedo. Curiously enough, the parts of Quevedo's Sueños paralleled by Addison in the Tatler and Spedator are omitted in the L'Estrange translation. (The copy I am using is of the edition of 1702.) It is probable that the editors of the Tatler and Spedator knew of these omissions from the L'Estrange translation, for Captain John Stevens, in his Preface to The Comical Works of Quevedo, published in London in 1707, says: I will not say much of his [Quevedo's] Prose, his visiona have already gain'd him a reputation: Tho with respect to the Memory of that great Man, whose name is prefixt to the Translation [L'Estrange had died in 1704], I must Declare, they are far short of the Original. For not to descend to other Particulars, there are in severa! places whole Pages entirely omitted, and in others, the Sense either mistaken or willfully alter'd to no Advantage, but rather for the worse. • The visions o! the Spectator are included in this study. QUEVEDO, GuEVARA, LE SAGE, AND THE " TATLER " 181 Captain Stevens' book was sold by John Morphew, who, as is well known, was the agent of the Tatler. See, for instance, Nos. 11, 56, 103. In the Tatler No. 237 Addison reads Milton's Paradise Lost, where Ithuriel with his spear touches the toad which is trying to deceive Eve, and causes it to return to its proper shape, that of the devil. He then goes to sleep and dreams that he has the spear. This vision and the types satirized in it may be compared to Quevedo's Sueños: El mundo por de dentro (B.A.E., XXIII, 330b-31), in which a cuerda casts a shadow which reveals what the person really is when in the shadow, and La hora de todos y la fortuna con seso (B.A.E., XXIII, 384 ff.), where at a certain hour each becomes what he deserved to be. For purposes of comparison the English and the corresponding Spanish passages are given below. Tatler No. 237 The first person that passed by me was a lady that had a particular shyness in the cast of her eye, and had more than ordinary reservedness in ali parts of her behaviour. She seemed to look upon man as an obscene creature, with a certain scorn and fear of him. In the height of her airs I touched her lightly with my wand, when to my unspeakable surprise, she fell into such a manner as made me blush in my sleep. El mundo por de dentro The first person to pass under the cuerda was Aquella mujer alli fuera estaba más compuesta que copla, más serena que la de la mar, con una honestad en los huesos, anublada de manto; entrando aquí ha desatado las coyunturas (mira de par en par); y por los ojos está disparando las entrañas a aquellos mancebos, y no deja descansar la lengua en ceceos, los ojos en guiñaduras, las manos en tecleados de moño [B.A.E., XXIII, 330b-31a]. T aller No. 237 . . . . My eyes were diverted from her by a man and his wife, who walked near me hand in hand after a very loving manner. I gave each of them a gentle tap, and in the next instant saw the woman in breeches, and the man with a fan in his hand. El mundo por de dentro ¿ Viste allá fuera aquel maridillo dar voces que hundia el barrio: "cierren esa puerta, qué cosa es ventanas, no quiero coche, en mi casa me como, calle y pase, que así hago yo," y todo el séquito de la negra honra? Pues �w. s. 182 HENDRIX mírale por debajo de la cuerda encarecer con sus desabrimientos los encierros de su mujer [B.A.E., XXIII, 331]. Tatler No. 237 It would be tedious to describe the long series of metamorphoses that I entertained myself with during my night's adventures. La hora de todos, etc. This Sueño has forty metamorphoses, and if Addison had it in mind when writing the essay in the Tatler he would probably recall many other changes that he had read in the Spanish. Other parallels with the two sueños of Quevedo follow: Tatler No. 100 In the "Vision of Justice" A voice is heard from the clouds, declaring the intention of this visit, which was to return and appropriate to every one living what was his due. La hora de todos Quoting from Jupiter: . . . . está. decretado irrevocablemente que en el mundo . . . . se hallen de repente todos los hombres con lo que cada uno merece [B.A.E., XXIII, 385b]. Tatler No. 100 The next command was for . . . . ali children "to repair to their true and natural fathers." . . . . It was a very melancholy spectacle to see fathers of very large íamilies become childless, and bachelors undone by a charge of sons and daughters. . . . . . This change of parentage would have caused great lamentation, but that the calamity was pretty common, and that generally that those who lost their children, had the satisfaction of seeing them put into the hands of their dearest friends. El mundo por de dentro ¿ Ves aquel bellaconazo que allí está vendiéndose por amigo de aquel hombre casado y arremetiéndose a hermano, que acude a sus enfermedades y a sus pleitos, y que le prestaba y le acompñaba? Pues mírale por debajo de la cuerda añadiéndole hijos y embarazos en la cabeza y trompicones en el pelo [B.A.E., XXIII, 331b]. Turning to the Spedator, the "Vision of Mirza" (No. 159) pictured a genius who, like the diablo cojuelo and the diable boiteux, carries the spectator to the highest point and shows him scenes and QUEVEDO, GUEVARA, LESAGE, AND THE "TATLER 11 183 people.1 The spectator is carried "to the highest pinnacle of the rock," while the observer in the Spanish and French works is taken to the top of the tower of San Salvador. The "Vision of the Sea,. sons" (Spedator No. 426) has a genius who explains the whole situe.tion to the observer. Another device common to Quevedo and the Tatler is the use oí mock courts and edicts, in which the frailties and foibles of human nature are satirized. Quevedo calls certain people incapaces de raz6n (B.A.E., XXIII, 442b). In the Taller they are "dead in rea.son" (No. 110). The Tatler has "courts of honor" (Nos. 250, 253, 256, 259,262, 265) . These "courts" may be compared to the premáticas of Quevedo in their use of legal verbiage, mock seriousness, and frequent satire of the same type of thing. The following quotations will serve to illustrate the latter characteristic. Taller No. 110 The next class of criminals were authors in prose and verse. Those of them who had produced any still boro work were immediately dismissed to their burial, and were followed by others, who, notwithstanding some sprightly issue in their life-time, had given proofs of their death by some posthumous children that bore no resemblance to their elder brethren. As for those of a mixed progeny, provided they could always prove the last to be a live child, they escaped with life, but not without the loss of limbs: for, in this case, I was satisfied with the amputation of the parts which were mortified. Premátiro of Tiempo Ítem, habiendo visto la multitud de poetas con varias sectas, que Dios ha permitido por el castigo de nuestros pecados, mandamos que se gasten los que hay, y que no haya más de aquí adelante, dando de término dos afios para ello, so pena que procederá contra ellos como contra la langosta, conjurándolos, pues no basta otro remedio humano [B.A.E., XXIII, 439a]. Tatler No. 110 These were followed by . . . . defunct statesmen; all of whom I ordered to be decimated indifferently. . . . . Premátiro Item, declaramos y desengañamos a todos los reyes y señores deste mundo, que no piensen ser ellos los mayores de todos, porque solo lo es el 'Di ablo Cojuelo. p . 14; Diable Boiteu:i:, p. 14. 4:5, 8 . Of. temptatlon of Ohrist. Matt. �184 calor, . . 439b]. W. S. HENDRIX . delante de los reyes se cubren los grandes [B.A.E., XXIII, Tatler No. 243 has a series of experiences wbich may be paralleled by scenes from the Diablo Cojuelo and the Diabl,e Boiteux. Gyges' ring in the Tatl,er seems to play the role of the diablo cojuelo and the diable boiteux in their respective works. The quotations follow: Tatl,er ~bou~ a week ~o, not being able to sleep, I got up, and put on my magical nng; and, with a thought, transported myself into a chamber where I saw a light. Diablo Cojuelo and Diabl,e Boiteux At the beginning of the Diablo Cojuelo (pp. 9-10) and at the beginning of the Diabl,e Boiteux (2), the hero, to escape from a trap set for him by a courtesan, runs along the roofs of the houses until he sees a light, and enters the room where the light is. Tatl,er I found it inhabited by a celebrated beauty, though she is of that species of women we call a slattern. Her headdress and one of her shoes lay upan a chair, her petticoat in one corner of the room, and her girdle, that had a copy of verses made upan it but the day befare, with her thread stockings i_n the middle of the floor. ' The author, shocked by what she says in her sleep, leaves the room. Diablo Cojuelo Pero, ¿ quién es aquel la Habada con camisa de muger que . . . . haze roncando mas ruido que la Bermuda . . . . [p. 17]. Diable Boiteux J'aperc;ois dans la maison voisine deux tableaux assez plaisants: l'un est une coquette surannée qui se couche, apres avoir laissé ses cheveux, ses sourcils et ses dents sur sa toilette: l'autre un galant sexagénaire qui revient de faire l'amour. I1 a déja óté son oeil et sa moustache postiches, avec sa perruque, qui cachait une tete chauve (p. 17). The second scene referred to in the French apparently suggested the next scene in the Tatler I left the apartment of this female rake, and went into her neighbor's, where there lay a male coquette. He had a bottle of salts hanging over his head, and upan the table by his bedside Suckling's poems, with a little QUEVEDO, GUEVARA, LESAGE, AND THE "TATLER" 185 heap of black patches on it. His snuffbox was within reach on a chair· but, while I was admiring the disposition he made of the several parts of his dress, his slumber seemed interrupted by a pang that was accompanied by a sudden oath, as he turned himself over hastily in bed. I did not care for seeing him in his nocturnal pains, and left the room. Diablo Cojuelo Tbis same "male coquette" is to be found in the Spanish work: Mira aquel preciado de lindo, o aquel lindo de los mas preciados, como duerme con vigotera, torcidas de papel en las guedejas y el copete, sebillo en las manos y guantes desacabeyados, y tanta paM en el rostro, que pueden hazer colacionen él toda la quaresma que viene (16). Tatl,er I was no sooner got into another bed-chamber, but I heard very harsh words uttered in a smooth, uniform tone. I was amazed to hear so great a volubility in reproach, and thought it too coherent to be spoken by one asleep; but, upon looking nearer, I saw the headdress of the person who spoke, which showed her to be a female, with a man lying by her side broad awake, and as quiet as a lamb. I could not but admire his exemplary patience, and discovered by his whole behaviour, that he was lying under the discipline of a curtain lecture. Diable Boiteux . .. je découvre, dans un petit corps de logis, un original de mari qui s'endort tranquillement aux reproches que sa femme lui fait d'avoir passé la journée entiere hors de chez lui (128). Again referring to the same man: il s'est ... mis au lit sans dire un mot [p. 135]. In the next paragraph the author says he was entertained in many other places by this kind of nocturnal eloquence, and mentions sorne of the things he sees people doing. If he had read these French and Spanish works, which contain other nocturnal scenes, he would be likely to recall similar scenes wbich he does not describe. The next picture in the Tatler is that of a very sick man, whose wife has the undertaker waiting for him to die that he may take bim away. In the Diable Boiteux there is a description of an old man dying, surrounded by relatives who are impatiently waiting for bis death that they may secure bis property (pp. 204-5). �186 W. S. HENDRIX Taller ~s I w~ going home, I saw a light in a garret, and entering into it, heard a vo1~ crymg, and,. hand, stand, band, f anned, tanned. I concluded him ~y this, and the fi_irmt~e of his room, to be a lunatic; but upon listening a little longer, perce1ved 1t was a poet, writing a heroic upon the ensuing peace. Diablo Cojuelo and Diable Boiteux . ~ the Diablo Cojuelo a poet arouses the guests of an inn by recitmg his verses (pp. 37-39). The French version has the following passage: , ... j~ ferais l'inventaire des meubles qui sont dans ce galetas. II n Y a q~ un grab~t, un placet et une table, et les murs me parraissent tout barbouillés de nou:, Le pers~nn~e qui loge si haut est un poete, reprit Asm~dée; e~ ce qw vous para1t n01r, _ce sont des vers tragiques de sa fa.Qon, dont il a tapISSé sa chambre, étant obligé, faute de papier, d'écrire ses poemes sur le mur (p. 21). Tatler . It was no~ toward morning, an hour when spirits, witches, and conJ~rs are obliged to return to their apartments, and, feeling the influence of _1t, I ;"as hastening_ home,_ when I saw a man had got half way into a ne1ghbor s. house. I immediately called to him, and turning my ring, appeared m my proper person. There is something magisterial in the aspect of the Bickerstaffs, which made him run away in confusion. Diablo Cojuelo and Diable Boiteux The Spanish work has a scene in which two thieves are entering a rich foreigner's house, but run away, greatly frightened, when they see him (p.17). "Voleurs de nuit" are seenin the French work (p. 23). The fact that every scene described in the English essay has a more or less exact parallel in the Diablo Cojuelo or its French version, the Diable Boiteux, and that the observers in every case were invisible, could go wherever they pleased, and went at night, would seem to rule out of court the theory of coincidence.1 Omo STATE UNIVERSITY W. S. fuNDRIX 1 I wish to thank my formar colleagues, Protessor R. A. Law and Professor R. H. Griffl.th, of the Uni':'ersity of Texas, for reading this article in manuscript and for making helpful suggestions. OBSERVACIONES SOBRE LA COMEDIA TIDEA La Comedia Tidea de Francisco de las Natas, publicada en 1550 y reimpresa por Cronan,1 ofrece considerable interés por combinarse en ella el influjo de la Celestina, de las églogas de Juan del Encina y de las comedias de Torres Naharro. Las noticias bibliográficas de esta comedia son bien escasas. Nicolás Antonio no menciona a Natas. Ninguna referencia a éste, o su comedia, hallamos hasta llegar a Moratín.2 El último da la comedia por publicada en 1535, la titula Fidea llama a su autor Francisco de las Navas; cuyos tres errores recoje y copia el conde de Schack.8 La Barrera4 declara respecto del autor, sin el menor fundamento: "Su apellido parece burlesco, así como el título que se da en la pieza de "beneficiado en la iglesia perrochial (sic) de la villa Cuebas rubias, y en la iglesia de Sancta Cruz del lugar de Rebilla cabriada." 5 Añade, por única noticia, que fué prohibida en los Indices expurgatorios de 1539 y 1583. La primera fecha es indudablemente errata de imprenta por 1559, pues el primer catálogo de este género, conteniendo libros heréticos impresos en Alemania, con algunas adiciones, no aparece hasta 1551, y Comedia Tidea se incluye en el lndex et Catalogus l.Ábrorum prohibitorum, primero peninsular, publicado por el inquisidor general D. Fernando de Valdés el afí.o 1559 en Valladolid, así como en el lndex de 1583. Gallardo6 cita una traducción de la Eneida hecha por Francisco de las Natas: "Siguese el segundo libro de las Eneidas de Virgilio, t robado en metro-mayor de nuestro romance castellano por Francisco de las Natas, c}erigo presbitero beneficiado en la iglesia parroquial de Santo Tomé de la villa de Cuevas-rubias, y en la iglesia de Sancta-cruz del lugar de Revilla-Cabriada, de la diocesis de Burgos. (Al fin.) Fue impreso Teatro espal\ol del aiulo XVI (Madrid, 1913), pl\gs. 1--80. • Origen• • del teatr o eapal\ol, en Bibl. A ut. Esp. (Madrid, 1846), t . II, pl\g. 193. 1 Historia, etc. (ed. de Mier, Madrid, 1885), t. I, pll,g. 345. • Catálogo del teatro antiguo espal\ol (Madrid, 1860). pl\g. 283. • Claro es¼ que porrochial no es burlesco, ni mucho menos requiere el sic, sino voz antigua que trae el Diccionario de Autoridades en la forma substantiva de perrochia, as! como Covarrubias en su Tesoro con la variante ortogr!l.flca perroqoia, y que se encuentra a menudo en las obras del siglo XVI. • Enaauo de una biblioteca e,pal\ola (Madrid, 1888), t. III. columnas 951-52. 1 [MODERN PHII,OLOOY, November, 1921) 187 �188 M. ROMERA-NAVARRO OBSERVACIONES SOBRE LA "COMEDIA TIDEA" en Burgos por Juan de Junta, impresor de libro~, a 3 de agosto de 1528 años." 1 Menéndez y Pelayo2 y Creizenach3 le dedican media docena de líneas a Comedia Tidea, que parecen demostrar, aun siendo pocas, que ninguno de ellos tuvo ocasión de leerla. Ni por razón del pensamiento o de la forma, es grande la poesía de esta comedia. La sintaxis aparece dislocada en unos pocos pasajes, pero en general la forma es correcta, y apropiada y natural la expresión de los afectos. El estilo es mediocra: ni resalta por el color y brío ni fatiga por frío y desmayado. Natas, fácil versificador, no es verdadero poeta, pero sí hombre de teatro, diestro en el manejo de los recursos dramáticos. La mayoría de sus contemporáneos fueron, por el contrario, buenos poetas y pésimos dramaturgos. La ejecución es tan acertada en la Tidea que bien merece figurar esta comedia, por su traza armónica, por su desarrollo regular, por su diálogo rápido Y vivo, por su arte escénico, entre las más felices de nuestro primitivo teatro. La observación aguda, el modo impersonal del autor, su seguridad en los trazos, la sobriedad en el epíteto y la ausencia de toda nota excéntrica que rompa la naturalidad de los caracteres o la armonía del conjunto,4 revelan una mentalidad lúcida ·y grave, rica en experiencia. 5 1 Gallardo reproduce a continuación parte de la dedicatoria y varias estrofas. • Orfgenea de fo nooela (Madrid, 1910), t. III, plig. cxlix. 1 Geachichte de• neueren Drama, (Halle, 1903), t. III, plíg. 158. • Es digno de nota, en este punto, la absoluta ausencia de pedanterias humanísticas de r~ferencias his~ricas y mito(ógicas, de q1;1e tan recargadas se hallan todas las pro'. du001ones dramlíticas de aquel s1glo-y del Siguiente--eon la sola excepci6n acaso de las de Torres Naharro, cuyo buen gusto nuestro autor sigue también en esto. En lo que se aparta de él, y en lo que estriba la capital diferencia en cuanto a la forma entre su comedia Y la Celestina-nuestro más rico tesoro de refranes, sin excluir el Quijote--es en no traer Comedia Tidea ni siquiera un solo refrlin. • Si hemos de juzgar por la dedicatoria de su traducción de la Eneida, por las coplas en que el traductor se despide del lector, y por el absoluto silencio que acerca de él guardan sus coetlineos, no era Francisco de las Natas un profesional de las letras, sino aficionado que en ellas ocupaba su pluma en los ratos de ocio. En la dedicatoria, al abad de Berlanga Y de Cuevas Rubias, consigna: " ... Yo, señor, como los dias p asados estuviese vaco de algun ejercicio, acorde ocupar mi rudo ingenio en algun acto virtuoso ... y fue en esta obra ... " Y en las coplas de despedida expresa: "Si silaba falta segun que verdad Aquesto repugna por limite llano Allende si sobra por mas de lo sano, Ad •ensum y verso suplic'os mirad. Tambien si les falta la sonoridad Porque esta se pide por orden directo, Cualquiera mas sciente segun que discreto Aquesto corrija con gran igualdad. " Que en esto mi fuerza se halla tan baja Que mas no penetra por sumos labores, Ñi menos se empinan mis sensus actores Por vellos tan broznos segun que la saxa. Y aquesto si hice, sentid sin baraja Que no fue por fama ni gloria tomar, Son ver mi sentido que pueda domar, Que al ni.llo muy rudo le cedo ventaja. ... " 189 El sistema dramático de Francisco de las Natas es el mismo de Torres N aharro, al que sigue en todo con el mayor celo. Natas da por título a su comedia el nombre del protagonista, ~deo, llamán~ola Comedia Tidea, como de los protagonistas-de sus piezas dramáticas había sacado Torres Naharro los títulos de Comedia Aquilana, Comedia Himenea, etc. Torres Naharro había dicho en el prohemio de la Propaladia:1 "La division della [la comedia] en cinco actos, no solamente me paresce buena, pero mucho necesaria; aunque yo les llame jornadas, porque más me parescen descansaderos que otra cosa." Y Natas le sigue igualmente en la división y nombre de los actos. Había declarado el maestro: "El número de las personas que se han de introducir, es mi voto que no deben ser tan pocas que parezca la fiesta sorda, ni tantas que engendren confusion ... el . h ast a d oce personas." 2 honesto número me paresce que sea de seis Y once es el número de los interlucotores que figuran en la Comedia Tidea. Esta empiez~, como todas las de Torres N aharro, con un introito, aunque considerablemente más breve, puesto en l~~ios de un rústico y desvergonzado pastor que manifiesta sus habilidades, saca a colación sus nada ejemplares amoríos y, tras las acostumbradas chocarrerías, expone el argumento de la comedia y termina solicitando el silencio y compostura de la audiencia. Aparece luego Tideo, el galán lamentándose del amor en unos versos, cuya naturalidad y trasparencia, excepto en dos o tres líneas, aumenta el metro-coplas de pie quebrado, que es el de toda la comedia, y el mismo de Torres N aharro-, y los cuales principian así: Circundederunt me, dowres de amor y fe; ay! circundederunt me. Cercaronme de tal arte las passiones del amor que la vida se me parte muy agena de fauor. O amor! O que profundo dolor! O que furia tan crescida, que imprime tu valor al que sigue tu guarida! , Edición de Cañete y Men6ndez y Pelayo (Madrid, 1880-1900) , t. I, plíg. 9. • Ibid,, plíg. 10. �190 M. ROMERA-NAVARRO Léese en el Invitatorium de la Egloga de Plácida y Vitoriano, de 1 Juan del Encina los mismos tres primeros versos, recitados por Vitoriano: Circumdederunt me Dolores de amor y fe; iAy! circumdederunt me ... Y sigue una lamentación de amor cuyo modo de expresión no guarda ninguna analogía verbal con la de Tideo, aunque los sentimientos, por ser universales, habían de corresponder. Por lo demás no señalo aquellos tres versos como un plagio de Francisco de las Natas, sino como muestra de su conocimiento de la labor de Encina y del influjo más o menos manifiesto del último. Encantáronle a Natas, como a todos nos encantan, aquellas hermosas coplas del Invitatorium que rematan siempre con el estribillo iAy! circumdederunt me como eco funeral del corazón angustiado, y lo tomó para encabezar su queja amorosa, a modo del que glosa, pero cuidando poner los tres versos en letra bastardilla, como hace cualquier autor que cita la frase de otro. Tideo, como el Calisto de la Celestina, confiesa su dulce dolencia al criado, y éste, cual Sempronio a Calisto, le propone valerse de una "vieja barbuda" que en ambas obras vive en la vecindad. La tal vieja, Beroe, ejerce los mismos famosos oficios de la Celestina: labrandera, perfumera, falsificadora de la virtud femenina por excelencia, hechicera y alcahueta; beata, codiciosa y bebedora también lo es, Y en ella al igual que en su prototipo han clavado las garras los siete pecados capitales. Y así puede Tideo repetir justamente el mismo concepto que ya había expresado Melibea, en la Celestina: "No me maravillo, que vn solo maestro de vicios dizen que basta para corromper vn gran pueblo."2 Y Tideo dirá que vna tal hazer puede tanto mal, so color de piedad y ser causa muy final destruyr vna ciudad.3 1 T eatro completo de J uan del Encina (Madrid, 1893) , pj¡g, 326. • La Celestina (ed. de Cejador, Madrid, 1913), t. I, pj¡g, 184. Jornada 1, p!Lg. 26 de la ed. d e Cronan. OBSERVACIONES SOBRE LA "COMEDIA TIDEA" 191 Grande es la semejanza entre ambas obras desde el momento en que Beroe se presenta en escena, cuando Prudente interrumpe la conversación con su señor exclamando tan expresivamente que nos parece ver como entra la vieja en escena: hela, hela, do assoma su rosario muy colgado ... La entrada de la vieja celestinesca, hablando consigo misma, lo que dice y el modo de decirlo, su mezcla de preces y diablescos conceptos, lo bien caracterizada, en fin, que queda desde el primer instante, constituyen acaso el mayor acierto de la comedia; y en ~do caso el más fino análisis de un carácter. No puede ser este tipo de éeiestina más justamente concebido ni más sobria y apropiadamente presentado que en el siguiente monólogo: Aue Maria, gracia plena; Dominus teco, señora; no mirays que buena est.rena para lunes en buen hora; benedicta tu, hora veys que tu por tu me trataua la bouilla, pues ventris tui J esu, tu vernas, doña loquilla; sancta Maria, tu, madre ·de Dios, me guia aqueste mi buen viaje, que aunque alcagueteria, passos son de romeraje. Quiero ver que me encargaron ayer los que tengo por sumario; ya me acuerdo que he de her sin mirar mi calendario. Vn galan en la calle de san.t Juan, ya me acuerdo donde dixo, este me dio vn balandran, mas dara delo que trixo; y tambien aquestotro, ya se quien, que hable a Mariñilla, y Perucho de setien aquellotra Isabelilla. �192 M. ROMERA-NAVARRO OBSERVACIONES SOBRE LA "COMEDIA TIDEA" El sacristan, el cura y el capitan, me rogaron ayer tarde que me acuerde de como estan muy pobres de nueua carne· ' que andada! estos no me dieron nada. mas dexame hora her ' ' no porne yo mi jornada sino pagan mi texer; pero andar, algo quiero procurar porque buelua descansada porque quando mi yantar ' algo quede reposada. Por agora yre por Nuestra Sefiora ala fuente (h)a me sentar que alli vienen a tal hora' las loquillas a parlar; quando no, tornare muy prest.o do sera bueno mi camino. Digo que tornare yo do me harte de buen vino. que alegra Y abiua los pies y quiebra t-0da mala voluntad toda la passion arri:dra es liquor de gran bondad ' yan xarabe, quel medico bien sabe apazible con mis dias vn ~umbre que dessabe estas secas de enzinas.1 1 Las tres primeras coplas de tal 61 fuese incluida esta comedia en los .,:~~:~eron lasLque motivaron, sin duda, que comedia contiene (versos 524 Y 582) eran lugare: orios. as dos puyas clericales que la que a nadie asustaban n1 ponfa.n de malhumor comunes en aq_u?l siglo_ del era.mismo, como las rocinadas carnales del pastor del intr que la Inquisición de¡aba pasar, asi de parecerle a aqulllla la nada reverente mezcf~ d. l p~~sa de mayor gravedad debla humano, en dichas coplas. e O o con lo mM abyecto de Jo Ind1:1c~:• Acércase Tideo a ella y, como Calisto a la Celestina, háblale con extremado elogio y reverencia : Tideo: Madre mía, o que ayre y que alegria! o que disposicion y tez 1 En verdad que yo diría que nunca viste la vejez. Ca/,isto: ... 10 vejez virtuosa! 10 virtud enuejecida! 10 gloriosa esperan-;:a de mi desseado fin! ...1 Con notable efecto cómico, en Comedia Tidea, al igual que en la Celestina, el enamorado galán cae de rodillas ante la barbuda tercerona, implorando su ayuda y buena voluntad. Naturalmente quedan ambas concedidas. Es de tener en cuenta que Beroe, cual Celestina, había residido en otro tiempo en el mismo barrio de la dama que desean seducir. Y por ello, al presentarse la primera en casa de Faustina, la heroína, y la segunda en casa de Melibea, son acogidas con idéntica pregunta: Faustina: ... qual Dios te traxo aca por estos barrios estrafios ?2 Lucrecia: ... ¿ Quál Dios te traxo por estos barrios no acostumbrados.3 A tal pregunta, Beroe responde: Hija mia, necessida que me acresce con los años; vn hilado traygo y vendo muy delgado Y la Celestina: ... E tambien, como a las viejas nunca nos fallecen necessidades ... ando a vender vn poco hilado. .i I 193 1 Ed. citada, t. I, p6.g. 91. • Jornada III. • Ed. citada, t. I, p6.g. 159. �194 M. ROMERA-NAVARRO Entrambas viejas prorrumpen en encendidas alabanzas: Beroe: O mi rosa, O mi perla muy preciosa! O ymagen singular 1 En mi fe vengo ganosa por quererte abrayarl Celestina: 10 angélica ymagenl 10 perla preciosa, e como te lo dizesl Gozo me toma en verte fablar. Después de quedar solas, Celestina con Melibea, Beroe con Faustina, decláranles que el objeto de su visita no es precisamente el hilado, mas antes de manifestarles el verdadero, tratan de captarse las simpatías de las doncellas con alabanzas, y atenuar así la posible tormenta de su indignación: Beroe: Con aquesso que te oy, mi señora, escucha: gentil dama, tu gran linage y fama, tus virtudes y prudencia. el sentido me derrama, que no vse su potencia. del hablar ... Celestina: iDonzella graciosa e de alto linaje!, tu suaue fabla. e alegre gesto, junto con el aparejo de liberalidad, que muestras con esta pobre vieja, me dan osa.dia a. te lo dezir.1 Los tfrminos vagos, deliberadamente ambiguos, que las dos trotaconventos emplean antes de exponer resueltamente su embajada causan confusión, aunque no recelo, en el ánimo de las damas: Faustina: Tu razon me pone tal confusion, que me tiene muy turba.da; di, madre, tu peticion; tenla ya por otorga.da.. Melibea: Vieja. honrra.da.1 no te entiendo, si más no declaras tu demanda.. Por vna parte me alteras e provocas a enojo; por otra me mueues a compasion.... Assí que no cesses tu petición por empacho ni temor. • Ed. citada, t. 1, pllg. 174. OBSERVACIONES SOBRE LA "COMEDIA TIDEA" 195 No bien han acabado de declarar ambas Celestinas su pensamiento, cuando las doncellas les replican con la más profunda y agresiva indignación, amenazfuldolas coléricas, calificfuldolas allí y aquí de alcahuetas, hechizeras, enemigas de honestidad, maluadas, etc., así como de locos y nescios a los galanes que las envían, si penso este dia. que me vio labrando a. mi venta.na, quel campo por el quedo con su platica liuiana, dice Faustina, como ya había. dicho Melibea: si pensó que ya. era todo suyo e quedaba por él el campo.1 A sus amenazas de muerte, mientras dura la tormenta, las astutas maestras del vicio no replican sino entre dientes. Faustina: ... habla claro, halda.rrona; di, que parlas entre dientes? Melibea: lAvn hablas entre dientes, delante de mi? ...' Beroe, como Celestina, se disculpa en ser sólo mensajera: Beroe: ... que la pena no obliga al correo o mensajero, como a mi que manda.da. vine aqui Celestina: ... E si el otro yerro ha fecho, no redunde en mi dafio, pues no tengo otra culpa, sino ser mensajera del culpa.do.ª Las doncellas, como sangre joven y ardorosa encendida por la ofensa, prosiguen hablando rápidas, centelleantes. Las Celestinas ni se amilanan por ello ni pierden su confianza en la victoria final. Beroe (Aparte): Como esta. hecha Boecio la loquilla! como pugna! no soys hija del gran Decio; que lo fueras no repugna, que otras mas han seguido tal compas, hijas de grandes señores. Celestina (Aparte): IMas fuerte esta.ua Troya e avn otras mas bravas he yo amansa.do 1 ..• • /bid., pllg. 180. • !bid., plig. 178. • /bid., plig. 182, �196 M. ROMERA- NAVARRO Las oportunas y sapientísimas alcahuetas hacen, en ocasión propicia, la alabanza del amor y el elogio de los galanes, pintándoles llenos de gracia, valor, hermosura, gentil,eza, etc. Finalmente, en la primera entrevista Beroe, y Celestina en la segunda, logran de las damas una cita, para aquéllos, a las doce de la noche. En la jornada segunda vemos también claramente el influjo de Encina. Dos pastores, Menalcas y Damon, al servicio de Rifeo, padre de la protagonista, refieren las burlas y tundas de que acaban de ser objeto a manos de los mozos del pueblo; en particular Damon ha sido fieramente repelado, mantea.do y soplado con un fuelle en salva sea. la parte por los escolares, en la plaza del mercado. Los rasgos de los personajes, su lenguaje y la situación recuerdan vivamente el Auto del Repelón de Juan del Encina. Esta escena de los pastores la usa el autor para dar la nota. ligera y festiva. Falto de verdadero y fecundo ingenio humorístico, Natas recurre a la estereotipadas chocarrerías de los pastores, cuyo solo lenguaje y actitud hacia la gente de la ciudad bastaba para causar seguro efecto cómico en una audiencia. Lo jocoso no era el fuerte de nuestro autor. Ni un solo rasgo de jovialidad y gracia tiene la comedia, aparte las bufonadas de los pastores. Y esto, a pesar de que el coloquio entre Prudente y Fileno, criados de Tideo, y en otros pasajes, la fina ironía propia de un ingenio perspicaz y analítico, como Torres N aharro por ejemplo, hubiera tenido apropiada ocasión de ejercitarse. El humorismo de Francisco de las Natas es el mismo de Encina, bien distinto del humorismo de Torres Naharro. En las obras de aquéllos hay exageración; en las de éste, interpretación. Allí campea el rudo humor de los pastores; aquí, la fina crítica de los criados. Los primeros se proponen hacernos reir; el último, aun por boca de los pastores del introito en ocasiones, hacernos pensar, acaso enmendarnos. Es un humorismo de superior categoría porque es más honda la observación, y más universal; detrás de los chistes y sátiras del autor de la Propaladia hay una filosofía moral, un sentido ético, una personalidad. En el humorismo de Encina y Natas no hay ningún propósito hondo, y por eso pueden arrancarnos la carcajada, pero sin rozarnos el alma ni prendernos en ella la simpatía: es el genio de las cosquillas. i Cuán superior en esto, y en todo, le es a ÜBSERVACIONES SOBRE LA " COMEDIA TIDEA" 197 ellos y le es a todos sus contemporáneos e inmediatos sucesores, incluso Lope de Rueda, el insigne Torres N aharro ! Por lo demás, la escena de los pastores encaja bien en la comedia, y no cabe considerarla a modo de paso, porque, a parte su brevedad, está enlazada con el desarrollo del asunto principal: la soberana tunda que los pastores han recibido es lo que les hace esconderse, temerosos, al ver aparecer a los criados de Tideo, y así presencian las idas y venidas de unos y otros, escuchan los planes para la fuga de Faustina con Tideo, y pueden avisar al padre de aquélla, contribuyendo al desenlace de la comedia. El debate sobre el amor que, a continuación de dicha escena, mantienen Fileno y Prudente, criados de Tideo, recuerda en sus conceptos lo que sobre el poder del travieso y fulminante diosecillo dicen Mingo, en la Egloga de Encina que empieza " i Ha Mingo! ¿ quedaste atrás ?," 1 y el personaje alegórico Amor, en la Representaci6n en honor del Principe D. Juan .2 Mas no insist imos en ello; este terreno de las imitaciones es resbaladizo, y tan a menudo han dado por él de cabeza los críticos de nuestra litera.tura., tomando las más leves y naturales coincidencias de dos autores por imitación o por plagio, que de no ser clara y palmaria la imitación, es criterio de sensatez y justicia suponer sólo una coincidencia de inspiración. Además, en tema tan universal como el amor, cuya gama de sentimientos, siéndonos a todos conocida, ha de inspirar conceptos parecidos, cabría probar que los escritores no han hecho sino repetir con variantes lo que escribió el primero que sobre el amor escribiera; cabe probar que Natas ha dicho lo mismo que Encina, y éste lo mismo que los poetas de los Cancioneros, que a su vez repitieron lo dicho por el Arcipreste de Hita, como éste lo dicho por Ovidio, y retroceder en la cadena y concluir falsamente que ab uno disce omnes. En Comedia Tidea, como en Comedia Aquilana de Torres Naharro, el enamorado galán resulta ser, si no príncipe, un gran señor, que oculta su verdadera calidad. Y cuando sorprendidos los amantes en el momento de la fuga, puesto él en prisión, restituida ella al hogar paterno, uno de los criados de Tideo se ve obligado a declarar la condición de su amo, la escena es muy semejante a la correspondiente de Teatro, etc., plg. 119. • I bid., plgs. 161--62. 1 �198 M. RoMEru.-NAvARRo Comedia Aquilana El desenla . . de los amantes · ce, con el matrimoruo y a gusto de todos, es el mismo en una y otra comedia, ajustada 1~ de Natas en esto, como en todo lo demás, al patrón que Torres . a a~ro había dado en su proemio de que la comedia es "artificio mgeruoso de notables y finalmente alegres acontecimientos." :r: UNIVERSITY OP PENNBYLVANU M. ROMERA-NAVARRO DOES EMILIA LOVE THE PRINCE? In 1841, seventy years after Emilia Galotti appeared, Riemer published his Mitteilungen iiher Goethe. This work contains a random remark of Goethe's on Lessing's tragedy, which is as follows: The fundamental mistaka of this piece is that it is nowhere expressed that Emilia loves the Prince, but that it is merely hinted at. If that were the case (that is, if Lessing had clearly indicated that Emilia loved the Prince), we should then know why the father kills her. Her love is indeed suggested, first in the way in which she listens to the Prince and then by the way in which she afterwards rushes into the room; for if she did not love him, she would have repulsed him; finally it is also expressed, but clumsily, by her fear of the Chancellor's house. For either she is a goose to be afraid, or a loose woman. But if she loves him, she must prefer to ask for death itself, in order to escape that house.1 Goethe was tbe first to suggest that Emilia !oves the Prince, althougb the drama had been a bone of contention for the critics ever since its appearance. But no sooner did Goethe point the way than a bost of critics took up the hint and wrote elaborate articles and commentaries to prove Emilia's love for the Prince. Does it not seem strange, however, that this universally known tragedy of the great master of dramatic art should have had to wait nearly three-quarters of a century for its right interpretation! And yet, Lessing was not one of those authors who believe in hiding anything from the reader. He says in the Forty-eighth Paper of his "Hamburgische Dramaturgie" : I by no means agree with most of the writers on dramatic art that the development of a play should be hidden from the spectator. I rather think that it would not be an overrating of my powers if I set myself to write a. play whose development reveals itself in the very first scenes and whose most sustained interest arises from this very circumstance. For the spectator everything must be clear. Lessing wrote this while he was working on Emilia Galotti, and therefore it seems highly probable that, had he intended to portray • Riemer's Mitteilun gen <lber Goethe, II, 663. Translation by Professor Max Winklerin his Introduction to Emilia GaloUi , Heath & Co., p. xx. [MODERN PHILOLOOY, November, 1921) 199 �200 WILLIAM DIAMOND Emilia as being in love with the Prince, he would ha.ve done it in such a. wa.y tha.t there would ha.ve been no room for misunderstanding, and the drama. would not ha.ve ha.d to wa.it for seventy years for its true meaning to be discovered. Wha.tever faults Lessing may ha.ve had, he wa.s never obscure or a.mbiguous. Everything he wrote was a.lways clear and to the point. Over and over again he repeats: "For the spectator everything must be clear." Emilia Galotti especially is his maturest drama.tic production, the work of his strongest critical and creative faculties, and it is consequently one of the most carefully constructed plays in the whole range of modern literature. Lessing worked upon it, off and on, for fifteen yea.rs and considered and reconsidered every minutest detail. "Never," one critic writes, "was such a piece of drama.tic algebra put on the boarda as is Emilia Galotti. Every line, almost every word, betrays calculation on the 111 part of the author. Lessing wrote it with the direct intention of giving a model drama to the German people and of exemplifying the high standards which he had established in his critical writings, especially in his Hamhurgische Dramaturgie. Accordingly, when Goethe complains that the fundamental mistake of the piece is tha.t it is nowhere expressed that Emilia loves the Prince, it must be said that I;,essing could hardly be blamed for not expressing what was not felt. In a letter to his brother, Leasing himself indirectly characterized Emilia. "The maidenly heroines and philosophers," he said, "are not at all to my taste. . . . . I know of no higher virtues in an unmarried girl than piety and obedience."2 It is these virtues of piety and obedience that are the most essential traits of her cha.racter. They are fully manifest in her first appearance upon the stage. She shows herself as possessing a childlike pious hea.rt, being intensely religious, and loving her parents with the deepest affection. Emilia is the daughter of higher middle-class parents. "By na.ture she takes after her father rather than her mother, and it is he who had the greatest influence upon the development of her moral cha.racter. It was he who inculca.ted into her those severe lessons of virtue, that distrust of things worldly and tha.t proud disdain for 1 O. von Klenze, Modern Lonouao• Notu, IX (1894), 427. • uuin11'• Work,, Hempel od., xxl, 482-83. DoEs EMILIA LoVE THE PBmcE? 201 life itself when honor is at sta.ke, which determine her a.ction in the most tragic moments of her life." 1 Of her almost divine beauty we get ample evidence in the scene between the Prince and the painter, Conti. Up to her early womanhood she lives in the simplicity and retirement of country life. To further her educa.tion she goes with her mother to the capital town. Her father, however, has an instinctive dislike for the city life and the court, where servility, fiattery, and licentiousness prevail. In the capital Emilia meets óount Appiani, a man of sterling character, and they become engaged. One evening a.t a gathering a.t the house of Chancellor Grimaldi she also meets the reigning Prince, a thoroughly unscrupulous and depraved tyrant, a splendid example of those scourges with which many of the smaller states of Germany were afllicted in the eighteenth century. He falla in love with her, and from the opening scenes we leam that he soon forgets his former mistress, and tha.t he is thinking only of how to obtain Emilia. And so on her wedding day, while pra.ying at church, she hears someone confessing love to her. Turning round she finds tha.t it is the Prince himself. "Mute, trembling, a.nd abashed, she stood before me," the Prince tells Ma.rinelli, "like a criminal who hears the judge's fatal sentence. Her terror wa.s infectious. I trembled also and concluded by imploring her forgiveness." 2 Frightened and indignant she flees from church as if pursued by furies. She rushes into her mother's arms exclaiming: "Rea.ven be pra.isedl I am now in safety." Her mother too is frightened looking at her. "What has happened to you, m~ da.~ghter? And you look so wildly round, and tremble in every limb." With difficulty Emilia tells her mother of her experience a.t church. And then, As I turned, as I beheld himClaudia: Whom, my child? Emilia: Guess, mother, guessl I thought I should sink into the earth. lt was he himself. Claudia: Who, himself? Emilia: The Prince.1 l Ma.x Wlnkler. lntroductlon to Bmilia Galolli, He&th & Co., p. • Btnilia GGlotti, III, ill. • Ibid., II, vi. ll. �202 WILLIAM DIAMOND DoEs EMILIA LovE THE PRINCE ? And it is this fear and confusion of Emilia that is interpreted into !ove for the Prince! It is especially this "he himself" that the critics take as proof that she has the Prince constantly in mind because she !oves him. But why not take a simple thing simply? Is it not more natural that her fear and confusion are due to her extreme youth and inexperience, to the suddenness of it all, to the religious and moral shock that she, the a.ffianced of another, should on her wedding day be obliged to listen to a sinful confession of licentious love from the lips of no less a person than the Prince himself, the despotic ruler of the land, the hated and despised enemy of both her father and her lover? Why not take the Prince's own words of her attitude toward his love professions ? "With all my flattery, with all my entreaties I could not extract one word from her. Mute, trembling, and abashed, she stood before me like a criminal who hears the judge's fatal sentence." By "he himself" she does not mean the Prince as her lover, but the Prince she met at the gay and frivolous house of the Chancellor, the depraved, autocratic tyrant who does what he pleases. Such a man could not inspire anything but contempt in a woman like Emilia. She must have realized the Prince's intention to make her but another of bis mistresses. 1 Emilia is determined to tell Appiani everything that happened in the church. "The Count must know everything. To him I must tell all." But her mother advises her not to, nay, pleads with her. And Emilia is not "almost glad to follow her mother's advice," as Professor Max Winkler and others would have us believe, but only very reluctantly she obeys her mother because it is her mother's wish. "You know, dear mother, how willingly I ever submit to your superior judgment. . . . . And yet I would rather not conceal anything from him." ''Weakness! Fond weakness!" her mother exclaims. "No, on no account, my daughter! Tell him nothing. 1 C!. Marlnelll's remarks regardlng the approacbing marrtage o! Emilla and Count Appianl. "A girl witbout fortune or rank has managed to catch bim In her snares. . . . . He will retire with bis spouse to bis native valleys o! Piedmont and lndulge himselt In hunting chamols or tralnlng marmots upon the Alps. What can he do better 7 Here bis prospects are blighted by the connection he has formed. The ftrst circles are closed agalnst bim." I, vi. Countess Orsina tells Emilla.'s !ather: "I am Orslna, the deluded, forsalcen Ors!na--perhaps forsaken only tor your daughter. But how Js sbe to blame? Soon sbe aJso will be !orsaken; then another, another, and another." IV, v:IU. At the very time the Prlnce Is lntatuated wlth EmiUa, arrangements are belng made !or bis approacbing marrlage with the Prlncess of Massa. 203 Let him observe nothing." And finally Emilia consents. "Well, then, I submit. I have no will, dear mother, opposed to yours." 1 Thus it is against the voice of her own heart that she agrees not to tell Appiani of her experience at the church. Her mother tells her furthermore that she has taken the whole matter altogether too seriously, that the Prince's so-called !ove protestations are nothing but mere gallantries. "The Prince i~ a gallant," she tells her, "and you are too little used to the unmeamng Ianguage of gallantry. And thus in your mind a civility becomes an emotion-a compliment, a declaration-an idea, a wish-a wish, a design. A mere nothing, in this language, sounds like everything, while everything sounds like nothing." To which Emilia joyfully exclaims: "Oh, dear mother, I must have been completely ridiculous with my terror! N ow my good Appiani shall know nothing of it. He might, perhaps, think me more vain than virtuous."2 N ow, if Emilia had the slightest !ove for the Prince, she would not have been made so happy by her mother's assurances that the Prince was not serious, that bis utterances to her were mere gallantries signifying nothing. On the contrary, according to all Iaws of human nature, such assurances would have disappointed her painfully. It is hard to believe that Lessing could be guilty of overlooking such an essential trait of human nature. This alone should be complete and convincing proof that Emilia does not love the Prince and that any such supposition is entirely contrary to the autho;'s conception of the play and the character of Emilia. After the attack by the bandits Emilia is taken to the Prince's summer place. As soon as she learns where she is, the whole ~itter truth dawns upon her. "That the Count is dead! And why 1s he dead! Why!"ª Her father tells her that he is not perm.itted to take her with him, and that she will be taken by the Prince to the house of the Chancellor Grimaldi. But to that house she will not go. She is no longer the weak child listening to her mother's advice against her own inclinations. She will no longer compromise. The day's experience has changed the inexperienced, timid_ young girl .in~ a strong and determined woman. She will rather die than rema1D With the Prince or go to Chancellor Grimaldi's house. Thus her mother 1 Emilio Galotli, II. v:I. • Ibid., V, vll. �204 Wrr,LI.AM DIA.MOND aptly says of her: "She is the most tiro.id, yet the most resolute of her sex¡ incapable of mastering her first impressions, but upon the least reflection she is calm and prepared for everything." 1 This determination to die rather than to go to the Chancellor's house convinces her father that she is absolutely innocent. It will be remembered that his confidence was somewhat shaken by Countess Orsina. He is now again convinced that her innocence is safe and above all force. "But not above all seduction," she replies. Force! Force! What is force? Who may not defy force? What you ca.ll force is nothing. Seduction is the only real force. I have blood, my father, as youthful a.nd as warm as any other girl. My senses too are senses. I will answer for nothing. I will guarantee nothing. I know the house of Grimaldi. lt is a house of revelry. One hour spent in that house under the protection of my mother, and there arose in my soul a tumult which all the rigid discipline of religion could not easily quell in whole weeks. Religionl and what religion? To avoid no worse snares thousa.nds ha.ve leapt into the waves and now are sa.ints. Give me the dagger, then, my father, give it to me. 2 It is Emilia's fear of the Chancellor's house that is also cited by the critics from Goethe down to the present as supreme proof that she loves the Prince. First the critics take for granted her love for the Prince to explain this passage; then they use the passage to prove her love for the Prince. Such arguing in a circle has no value.8 Emilia is afraid of the Chancellor's house not because she loves the Prince, but because "it is the house of revelry." It was in that house that she first carne into contact with the gay and frivolous world which conflicted so strongly with her moral and religious principies, and it cost her a severe effort to overcome its seductive influence. After what has happened this day, to go back to that house seems to her nothing less than the loss of her salvation. It is this fear that animates her soul, and not any love for the Prince. "To avoid no worse snares thousands have leapt into the waves, and now 1 Bmilia Galolli, IV, vill. • Ibid., V, vü. • Ot. Kuno Flscher, Leuino al, Re/ormator der deut,chen Lileratur (Stuttgart, 1881), p. 210. Flscher, Düntzer, and Stahr do not belleve that Emilla loves the Prlnce. DoEs EMILIA LoVE THE PRINCE ? 205 are saints." In her voluntary death, alone, she sees the possibility of escaping from eternal damnation, and hence it becomes for her a religious duty. Another argument used by the critics to prove Emilia's love for the Prince is Lessing's conception of tragic characters. In his Hamburgische Dramaturgie, Lessing accords with Aristotle's dramatic theory that the tragedy must rouse in us pity and fear, and for that reason.the hero or heroine must be neither a faultless character nor a thorough villain. In the Eighty-second Paper of the Dramaturgie, he writes: "The wholly unmerited misfortune of a virtuous man, according to Aristotle, is not fit material for a tragedy, because it is terrible." And again, "A man may be v~ry good and yet have more than one weak point, commit more than one mistake through which he throws himself into immeasurable misfortune which excites our pity and sorrow, but which is not in the least horrible, beca.use it is the natural result of his mistake." And emphatically he repeats the statement, "We must not let any perfect man suffer in a tragedy without any fault on his part, for this is too terrible." This required weakness or fault the critics point out to be in Emilia's case her love for the Prince. Of course, Emilia has her weakness or fault as required by Lessing's theory of tragic characters. But it is not her love for the Prince. It is the fact that she allowed herself, against her own feelings, to be influenced by her mother not to tell Appiani of the meeting with the Prince in the church. If she had told everything to Appiani, as she wished to do, Marinelli's plan would have failed in the beginning. The scene between her and Appiani follows right after the church scene and immediately precedes the one in which the intriguing Marinelli delivers to Appiani the Prince's proposal to go at once as an ambassador to the court of Massa and make final arrangements for the marriage of the Prince with the Princess of Massa. This arrangement of scenes was not the result of mere chance; it is more likely that it was carefully calculated to serve a definite purpose in the play. It was Emilia's only opportunity of telling Appiani of her meeting the Prince in the church. Count Appiani would have answered the Prince's proposal differently, had he known of the �206 WILLIAM DIAMOND latter's designa on Emilia. By listening to her mother rather than to the dictates of her own heart, Emilia missed the opportunity of telling Appiani what he should have known. As a result, the unsuspecting Count is assassinated, and Emilia is in the hands of the Prince and Marinelli. lt is this failure of Emilia to tell Appiani of her experience at the church that fulfils Lessing's theory of tragic guilt. Emilia's love for the Prince would be more than a weakness or fault. lt would make her an accomplice of the Prince, and she would deserve the suspicion of Countess Orsina that she was not violently abducted and that the attack was prearranged with Emilia's knowledge. Accepting Goethe's dictum that Emilia loves the Prince, the critics must, to be consistent, proceed to misinterpret the other characters of the play. Instead of admitting that the Prince is an unscrupulous and thoroughly depraved tyrant, surrounded by fl.attering parasites, knowing no desire but to give himself to sensual passion and enjoyment, they tell us that he is an accomplished and handsome young man and of a very attractive personality, just the kind that Emilia would fall in love with. However, this is not the Prince as Leasing portrayed him. Count Appiani, on the other hand, is characterized by the critics as a brooding and sentimental individual, just the kind that Emilia would not fall in love with. Accordingly, Professor Max Winkler tells us: "The relation between Appiani and Emilia is not based upon deep passion. They are merely good friends." And again: "What a contrast there is between the brilliant personality of the Prince and that of Appiani! From the latter she probably never heard any such words of passion as the Prince utters in the church and in Dosalo, for even on his marriage day Appiani approaches his bride with a strange melancholy and aforeboding of evil."1 But <loes not Professor Winkler ignore the real character of Appiani? Even the Prince, Appiani's mortal foe, must say of him that he is "a very worthy young man, a . handsome man, a rich man, and an honorable man."2 Emilia's father, himself a man of immaculate honor, considers the approaching Professor Max Wlnkler, Introduction to Bmilia Galotti, Heath & Oo., p. nxiil. • I, vi. 1 DoEs EMILIA LovE THE PRINCE ? 207 marriage of his daughter with Appiani as the height of happiness. "I can hardly await the time," he says, "when I shall call this worthy young man my son. Everything about him delights me." 1 Emilia herself calls him "my good Appiani" and in the only scene between her and the Count she shows how deeply she <loes love him. It is true that Appiani "approaches his bride on the marriage day with a strange melancholy and foreboding of evil." But that is the only time. Professor Winkler's even implies the opposite, which is not true. Appiani himself wonders why he feels so downcast on this of all the days of his life. He cannot explain the reason. Then, too, Emilia's dreams about the pearls, which she says signify tears, intensify his melancholy mood and strange premonition of evil. But Appiani's forebodings and Emilia's dreams were designed by the author to prepare us for the tragedy that soon overtakes them both, and not to characterize Appiani as a melancholy and gloomy person. With just as much justice one might speak of Shakespeare's Desdemona as a "melancholy person with a strange foreboding of evil" because she feels like singing the sad Willow Song on the fateful evening before she is strangled.2 The critics misinterpret Appiani's character. They paint him in the darkest colors and the Prince in the brightest-and all to make it plausible that Emilia loves the Prince. But to return to Emilia. Against her own will she allowed herself to be persuaded not to tell Appiani of her meeting the Prince in the church. That is her weakness or fault. 8 When she finds herself in the Prince's summer place, she realizes her fault. Hence the tragic words: "That the Count is dead! And why is he deadl Whyl" II.1v. • Dreams a.nd premonitions are commoniy used by dramatists to foreshadow events and to create the proper atmosphere in the play. Other examples from Shakespeare are Antonio's unusual sadness In the opening of Th• Morchant o/ V•nico, Clarence' and Stanley's dreams in Richard III, Juliet's words In Romoo and Juliot: "I have no Joy of this contract to-night; It Is too ra.sh. too unadvls•d. too sudden, Too llke the Jlghtning, which doth cea.se to be Ere one ca.n say lt llghtens."-II, 11, 117-20, and many others. • A somewhat similar fault or weakness constitutes the tragic gullt of Shakespea.re's Desdemona. I mean when she fails to tell Othello that she lost the handkerchief. 1 �208 WILLIA.M DIA.MOND DoEs EMn.1A LoVE THE PRINCE? Accordingly, the whole question centers around this one point: Was Emilia's silence due to her weakness in obeying her mother's wish rather than the dictates of her own heart, or was it due to a secret, sinful passion for the Prince? It has been pointed out above how reluctantly she obeyed her mother's advice, and that her silence, therefore, was not due to any love for the Prince. Furthermore, Emilia would not have been made happy by her mother's assurances that the Prince was not serious, and that his so-called love professions were but mere gallantries, if she had loved the Prince. It is also noteworthy that out of the forty-three scenes in the play Emilia appears in only four and not in a single monologue. There is nothing hidden in her nature that needs to be revealed in a monologue, and least of all a secret, sinful passion for the Prince. Goethe's random remark should not have been taken, in this case, as unimpeachable wisdom and expanded into a commentary on the tragedy. Goethe's great reputation by no means rests upon his critica! remarks. N ot a single one of his literary criticisms stands out pre-eminently. Most of them have merely an extrinsic value due to the fact that Goethe wrote them. Friedrich Schlegel, in his review of Goethe's Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre, says of Goethe as a literary critic: "He revela too much in the enjoyment of his own perfectly beautiful soul to be able to explain with the faithful impartiality of an unassuming investigator the works of another poet." But merely because Goethe, in his old age, made that remark concerning Emilia's cha.racter, it was taken up by the critica as a divine oracle and accepted as final. Nearly all the subsequent interpretations of the play are amplifications of one sort or another of Goethe's random and misleading remark. As already mentioned, Leasing himself said in regard to Emilia: "I know of no higher virtues in a young unmarried girl than piety and obedience." It is these virtues that predominate in her and are the cause of both her weakness and her strength. If she had been a little less obedient, she would not have listened to her mother's advice. Again, the child who at first has no will but her mother's is at last able to make the stronger will of her father submit to hers. She will not go to the Chancellor's house. One hour spent there 209 m.ade her feel its seductive influence, and it required the severest religious discipline to overcome that influence. If she had been a little less pious, she would not have been so scrupulous. But then she would not have been Emilia as Lessing portrayed her in the play. WILLIA.M D IAM:OND UNIVEBSITY OI' CmCAoo I �THE DATE OF WINNERE AND WASTOURE In a review1 of Professor Israel Gollancz' edition of "A Good Short Debate. between Winner and Waster"2 I stated that, in my opinion, Professor Gollancz had "established at least a very 'Strong probability for the date 1352-3." This opinion was based partly upon the evidence presented by the editor and partly upon an independent study made before the appearance of his edition. Since this study, made from a different point of view, arrived at the same date, the additional evidence it affords constitutes a corroboration of Professor Gollancz' date. Since some of the evidence cited by Professor Gollancz is open to objection and since it is presented somewhat briefl.y and casually, I wish to rearrange his evidence before taking up my own argument. The question of the date of W innere has such important bearings on the study of the whole group of alliterative poems that I think it will be desirable to establish its date even more conclusively than Gollancz has done. The arguments presented3 may best be surveyed in three groups. I. One group of references merely shows that the poem was written sometime between 1351 and 1366:4 l. The Order of the Garter, referred to in lines 59--68, was founded in 1344, but was not instituted until 1349. 2. Reference is made, line 103, to the knighting of the Black Prince, which occurred in 1346. 3. Edward's "bery-brown berde," line 91, is a reference to a man "in early middle age, that is about forty." Mod. Lan¡¡. Not.,, February, 1921, pp. 103-10. • Select Earl11 En¡¡liah Poema, III. (Oxford University Press, 1920.) • See Gollancz' edition, Preface, pp. 2-6, and notes to 11. 130, 141, 189-90, 286, 292, 461-65. • Professor Hulbert, Mod. Phil., May, 1920, pp. 34-37, set these limits before the appearance of Professor Gollancz' edltion, basing his arguments upon Gollancz' two editlons of The Parlement of the Thre A11••· But much of Professor Hulbert's article applles equally as well to the llrst group of references I sball cite from tbe edition of ,, innere. In a letter of April 6. 1921, however, Professor Hulbert wrttes: "You may. if you careto, also say that detailed comparlson of 'Wlnnere and Wa.stoure' with 'Piers Plowman • convinces me now tbat the latter need not have preceded the former, and that I'm incllned to agree with your date." [MODERN PBILOLOOT, November, 1921] 211 1 �212 J. M. STEADMAN, Ja. 4. "The reference at the end of the poem to sorne period when the truce with France was broken, after the taking of Guines in 1352. . . . . The poem well fits into the months from September 1352 to March 1353."1 This group of references, then, points to the general period from 1351 to 1366. II. Another group of references fixes the date of the poem at some time after 1351-52: l. The Statute of Treasons, 1352, is mentioned, lines 124-33, evidently as a recent enactment. 2. The allusion to "Ynglysse besantes," line 61, refers to the new issue of gold coinage in 1351. 3. "Questions of labor, wages, prices, dress, food, which called forth the Statute of Labourers, 1351, and various sumptuary and economic enactments of about this time."2 4. Lines 143-48, 460-70, allude to the growing hatred of the greedy friars and to the policy of the Pope. This hatred found expression in the Statute of Provisors, 1351. III. The last group of references constitutes the most important evidence for date: l. The Pope referred to "was evidently Clement VI, who died December 6, 1352," for his successor, Innocent VI (1352-62), opposed the methods in vogue for raising money. This reference would put the action of the poem before December, 1352. And since the poem is primarily a pamphlet of the hour, it must have been composed also before December 6, 1352, or soon after that date. 2. Edward III is said, line 206, to have fostered and fed the disputants "this fyve and twenty wyntere." Though this may be regarded as a round number, we must presume, until there is 1 But it seems clear, as Professor Hulbert 1><>ints out, op. cit.• p. 37, that the pa.ssage lndicates a period when there was no active tlghting. Moreover, Gollancz does not Btate why tho referonce must be to a perlod alter the taking ot Guines in 1352. Tho paasage could reter to any ono o! the numerous truces during the war between Eng)and and France. or indeed to the period alter the Treaty ot Bn!tlgny in 1360. See Hulbert and Longman (Hi1tor11 o/ Bd1.0ard III, I, 313, 321, 352 ff.J for dates of these truces. Longman points out that in spite of the nominal truces Edward was conBtantly prepar1 ng tor further invaslons and that in 1353 he secured from Parllament a subsidy ot wool for three years, which was later ext.ended to six years. • See ll. 230-34, 273, 288, 407; 270-76, 392 ff., 410 ff., 425; 290-93, 368 ff. THE DATE OF "WINNERE AND WASTOURE" 213 definite proof to the contrary, that the author meant what he wrote, the twenty-fifth year of Edward's reign, l351. 3. Heraldic allusions, lines 69-80, to the combined arms of England and France point to a period after Edward IIl's great victories and before July, 1353, when Edward offered to give up his claim to the crown of France. Since Mr. Hulbert has shown, op. ci.t., page 37, that nothing can be made of this point, I shall not refer to it again. 4. Repeated allusions are made to questions resulting from the Black Death of 1349 and to the weather, lines 252, 312 (idle lands, ll. 234; 288; dress, ll. 270-71, 392ff., 410 ff., 425). This point will be fully discussed below. 5. The mention of profiteering in wheat and the prophecy, lines 368-74, of a fall in prices refer specifically to the year preceding Michaelmas 1353-Michaelmas 1354, a period when the price of wheat was very low and when prices were still falling. 6. Direct reference is made by name, line 317, to William Shareshull, who was head of the Court of the King's Bench from 1350 to 1357. While this allusion may point to any date between these years, I hope to show that it would have most point in the years 1352-53. This last set of references, then, is the most significant in the poem. The references to Pope Clement VI, to profiteering in wheat, to the twenty-fifth year of Edward III are specific and refer only to the period 1351-52. The description of the quartered arms of the king furnishes no conclusive evidence as to date. 1 Whatever objections may be raised to the ambiguous references listed above in the first group, the essential evidence for date remains untouched. For it is important to remember (1) that there are other references which refer only to a definitely limited period, and (2) that the date established by this evidence does not contradict a single other time reference in the poem. Moreover, the significance of all these references becomes much more important when we remember that Winnere and W astoure is primarily a poem on contemporary social and economic problems. u , But Gollancz is right in his reasoning on this polnt, this alluslon would date the poem betore July, 1353. �214 J. M. STEADMAN, JR. The effect of the poem, therefore, depends largely upon the timeliness of its allusions.1 I hope to show what is implied but not clearly pm:ed by Gollancz, namely, that these allusions to contemporary affarrs not only fit the winter of 1352-53, but that they fit this date and no other. The most important of these allusions are those to the twenty-fifth year of Edward's reign, to the Statutes of Labourers Treasons Provisors, to the weather, the dearness of food, the Iow pri~e of whea{ .and the pro~hecy of still lower prices, the new gold coinage, Shareshull, and disturbances of the peace. · Since this is a topical poem1 these references have little point unless they refer to current questions to problems of the hour. ' References to these problems are to be found not only in the poem but also in the chronicles of the period and in the acts of Parliament. A study of these latter sources, then, ought to throw considerable light on the econornic and social unrest leading to the petitions of the Com.mons and motivating the action of the poem. In _looking for such a clue I used Longman's History of the Lije ,an_d Times of Edward III; J. Barnes, History of Edward III (Cambridge, 1688), which is very valuable for the use it makes of the -chronicles and the rolls of Parliament; the Chronicon Angliae· and the c~onicles of Capgrave, Knighton, Robert Avesbury, and Thomas W alsrngham. I of course paid most attention to such matters of <lomestic legislation and econornic unrest as may be referred to in Winnere. Since the Com.mons and those who elected them knew best what grievances were most oppressive and what conditions needed remedying, their petitions are important evidences of popular unrest and protest. Of füe parliaments froi:n 1351 to 1366, that of 1352 is by far the most 1mportant as regards social legislation. And the acts of this .Parliament, and those of no other of the period, as will be shown fit the allusions in the poem. According to Rotuli Parliamentarur:i (II, 236-37) and Barnes (pp. 455-58), the chief causes for the summoning of this Parliament, as stated by Lord Chief Justice William 1 Gollancz, Pretace, p. 6, says: "His poem is in fact a topical pamphlet in alliterati verse on the social and economic problems ol the hour, as vivid as present day dlscussl ve on Uke problems." ons THE DATE OF "WINNERE AND WASTOURE" 215 Shareshull, were: (1) the desire to complete the unfinished business of the Parliament of 1349, which had been brought to an abrupt close by the Plague; (2) a consideration of the war with France; and (3) the pressing matters of domestic legislation. One of the most important acts of this Parliament was the release by the king of half of the provisions appointed to be collected by his purveyors. This release, a most unusual act for Edward III, was due, no doubt, to the great dearth. The powers of purveyors were lirnited by act of this Parliament and also again in 1363. Edward's desire to keep money within the realm led to the act perrnitting only merchants to export money. The Commons petitioned that the subsidy on wool cease and that merchants be relieved from the payment of export duties. Strict laws against forestallers and regraters, who were greatly despised because they were thought to cause the scarceness of provisions and the increase in prices, were passed. A "Statute of Provisors" and a "Statute of Treasons " 1 were also enacted at this time. Of the important allusions made in the poem the following are paralleled in the acts and petitions of the Parliament of 1352; the weather (the drouth), the Statute of Provisors, the Statute of Treasons, high prices, scarceness of food, the coinage, the twentyfifth year of Edward III, labor conditions, Shareshull, and disturbances of the peace. It is apparent that in the year 1352-53 Winnere would be a most timely poem of the hour. But let us see whether or not it may not be as timely for sorne other year. The Parliament of 1353 met to consider the removal of the wool staple to England. This Parliament granted to Edward III a subsidy on wool for three years. The Parliament of the next year is mentioned by neither Barnes nor Longman. 1 Further statutes were passed in later parliaments to limit t he power of the Pope, for this quarrel became increasingly prominent as the century advanced. But this Statute of Treasons still continues in force. Longman (1, 345-46) explains this statute as follows: "In order to defraud the nobility and gentry of the escheats of lands, forfeited to them . . . . by their vassals, in certain cases of felony and misdemeanor, and to vest the same in the Crown, the judges had mult!plied the crimes which they called treason to a most expressive extent." There are numerous allus!ons in the poem to disturbances of the peace. And in U. 317-18 Shareshull, who was Lord Chief Justice and part of whose ofllclal duty it was to state to Parliament the reasons why that body had been summoned, is mentioned directly by name in connection with such a charge of disturbing the peace. �216 J. M. STEADMAN, JR. The chief questions in 1355 were the wool staple and the conduct of the war. Since both of these questions were discussed repeatedly throughout the second half of the century, they furnish no evidence for date. As was seen above, the wool trade is not mentioned in the poem, and the end of the poem may refer to any one of the severa! truces. 1 The causes for the summoning of Parliament in 1362 were: matters of the church, the discussion of French relations, the Iow price of wool, and Scotch affairs.2 I can find in the poem no reference to the quarrel between Edward and the Pope, to Scotch affairs, orto the low price of wool.3 The Parliament of 1363 dealt with the price of wool and with cornering the food market (regraters and forestallers). The Iatter reference is one significant parallel between the acts of Parliament and the economic allusions in the poem. But this is the sole bit of evidence the acts of Parliament present for the date 1363. Against this sole bit of evidencé we have the numerous parallels between the poem and the acts of the Parliament of 1352. The sessions of 1365 and 1366 were concerned almost entirely with the quarrel between Edward 111 and the Pope and with the dispute between the universities and the friars, matters which are not once alluded to in the poem. This survey of the parliaments from 1351 through 1366 shows clearly that if we are to look in the records of Parliament for a 1 One reason for the su.mrnoning of Parllament was Edward's desire to obtaln money for the conduct of the war. A subsidy on wool was a common forro of grant. • The wool staple wa.s removed to Cala.is and the exportation of wool wa.s permitted in the hope that the price would be enhanced and that Edward would thereby recelve more money. During thls Parliament the exportation of money was &galn forbidden and the value of clothing was strictly limited. The Commons proteSted so vigorously that the la.tter law wa.s repea.led In 1364. Attacks upon extrav&gant dress, such as are made In the poem, are so common as to furnish no conclusive evidence for date. See, for example, Rich. R edele38, III, 138 Jf.; Castell o/ Peraeoerance, E.E.T.S., 151, 2489--90; Regement o/ Princ.. , sts. 61, 67, 77. Gollancz In his note to l. 411 cites three parallels. The polnt of the references In W innere is that they are made In regard to the extravagance of the friars and the new-rich cla.ss, not In regard to the infringement of personal liberty. • Bradley, Athenaeum, 1903, 1,498, points out that the speech of Wa.ster, U. 294318, impreca.tes both churchmen and judges, and that the banners of the judgea and the friars are both in the same army. As he shows, the circumstances whieh la.ter made the judges &dversaries of the church and which led to the excommunication of Shareshull and the other judges and to the bitter quarrel between Edward and the Pope had not yet &risen. Neilson's argument, Athenaeum, 1901, 2,157, 560-61, that the reference is to this quarrel of 1356--58, therefore, becomes absurd, especi&lly so wben one remembers that the Pope and the judges are on the same side. THE DATE OF "WINNERE AND WASTOURE" 217 discussion of the social and economic evils attacked in Winnere, the Parliament of 1352, and only that of 1352, has any considerable significance in relation to the allusions in the poem to current topics of discussion. This Parliament, moreover, is mentioned more frequently in the contempora~ chronicles than is that of any other year. The chronicles also mention other topics alluded to in the poem. Again, as in the records of Parliament, the significant parallels not only are found in the entries for 1352-53, but are also confined to this period. The results of this survey may easily be seen from the following table of the entries year by year: 1351: increased prices (Chronicon). 1352: a serious drought, followed by famine and high prices (Capgrave, 1 Knighton, Walsingham, Chronicon); a long and cold winter (Knighton, under 1353); the Statute of Labourers (Walsingham, Chronicon, under 1353); a popular uprising in _Chester growing out of just such economic conditions as are mentioned in the chronicles; in the acts of Parliament, and in the poem (Knighton, under 1352, where Shareshull is mentioned by name in connection with this uprising). 1353: a storm.2 1356 : storm.2 1362: a storm.2 1363: a great frost; increased prices; regulation of dress. Taken alone, these parallels suggest 1351, 1352, and 1363 as the only possible dates for the poem. It is essential to note, however, that the poem distinctly refers to low prices, whereas the chronicles, under 1351 and 1363, mention increased prices. The regulation of dress has been discussed above.3 The simple process of elimination, then, leads to the conclusion that, if the similarities between the poem and the chronicles show anything, the parallels cited point conclusively to the year 1352-53. Both the evidence of the acts of Parliament and the evidence of the chronicles establish 1352-53 as a , "In the XXVII yere was there swech a droute In the lond that from the month of March on to .July fel not a drope of reyn on the grounde; for that cause the gres and the corn was evene dreid up. So Ynglond . . . . was feyn to be fed with otber londis." Gollancz, p. 5, quotes Knlghton' s account under the year 1352. • Slnce the poem cont&ins no reference to a storm, thls polnt demands no dlscussion. • See p. 216, n. 2. �218 J. M. STEADMAN, Jn. TBE DATE OF "WINNERE AND WASTOURE the dat.e of the poem. And there is no reference in the poem which contradicts this date. Still another bit oí evidence may be cited in confirmation of this date. We have seen that the great dearth of food, the high prices, and labor unrest were discussed in the Parliament of 1352, and that Edward, presumably because of the unusually severe economic conditions, released the Commons of half of the provisions to be collected from them. Such conditions in England led to uprisings and protests, as we have seen, from the Commons and those classes most affected, especially the agricultura! classes, which play an important róle in Winnere. Knighton's account of such an uprising, referred to above, is given under the year 1353. Dunn-Pattison1 describes the uprising as follows: In Cheshire they rose in open revolt and attacked the servants oí the Prince, who were entrusted with supervising his interests. . . . . Accordingly, in addition to sending Sir Richard Willoughby and Sir William Sharshull, the itinerant justices, to sit in Eyre, at Chester, the King was obliged to despatch the Prince, the Duke oí Lancaster, and the Earls of Stafford and Warwick, with a strong force, to restore order and support the judges. Against such an imposing array the men of Cheshire could do nothing, and were glad to compound with the Prince their lord for five thousand marks. • R. P. Dunn-Pattison, The Black Prince (New York, 1910), pp. 127-28. 219 in the poem and that it occurred in 1352, the date which all available evidence fixes as the date of the poem. In conclusion, while sorne of the references in the poem may refer to any year between 1351 and 1366, I feel that the specific statements concerning the twenty-fifth year of Edward's reign and the you~h of the Black Prince, the unmistakable mention of Shareshull 1:11 connection with an uprising against precisely such bitter economic conditions as existed in their most extreme forro in the winter of 1352-53, and, most important of all, the repeated references in the poem, in the chronicles, and in the acts of Parliame~t to _the w~ther and to the social and economic conditions descnbed m Winnere, furnish definite and conclusive proof of the date of the poem as the · ter of 1352-53 the only year of the period 1351-66 which har::Uzes with the ~otivating dispute and the economic significance of the poem. If we assume any other date, the purpose, t~e a~legory, the definite references to topics of the day, in short, the tuneliness of the poem and its significance as a pamphlet of the hour are at once considerably weakened, if not rendered quite meaningless. J. M. EMoRY UNIVERSITY Winnere and Wastoure was written by a man who speaks of himself (11. 8 and 32) as a western man, and it is entirely possible (though Ido not assert that it is probable) that, living in the West of England, where this uprising occurred, he had heard of Shareshull's connection with this disturbance of the peace and that he knew something of the ca.uses of this disturbance. It is significant, I think, that Shareshull and the other judges, the Prince, King Edward, and the yeoman play important parts both in this uprising and in the poem, and that the cause of the uprising and the central theme of the poem is fundamentally the same economic one. Whether or not the author had this particular uprising in mind is a matter of no great consequence for the dating of the poem. Nor does Shareshull's connection with it prove more than that he was Lord Chief Justice at the time it occurred. The importance of the account consista in the fact that this uprising was dueto just such economic conditions as are outlined ,, STEADMAN, Jn. �LE DOUBLE MONT IN FRENCH RENAISSANCE POETRY Joachim du Bellay complimenting Héroet in the Recium de Poésie writes: Ta. muse des Graces amie, La. mienne a te louer semond Qui sur le haut du double mont As erigé l'académie. Le Franc in his useful article on "Le Platonisme et la Littérature en France 1500-1540" (Revue d'Hist<rire Litt. de la France, 1896) conjectures here a reference to a hypothetical literary academy on the hill of Lyons. He says "Sceve Dolet, Rabelais, Macrin, SainteMarthe Fontaine . . . se rencontrerent a bien des reprises sur la colline de Fourvieres." This I think is a misconception of the meaning of the passage and one more illustration of the value of a little acquaintance with the classics to the critic of comparativa literatura. The double hill is Pa.rnassus, the Muses' mount so designated in one of the most familiar of Renaissance Latin quotations, the line of Persius' Prologue: neque in bicipiti somniasse Parnasso. And the meaning of du Bellay's compliment is that Héroet has transferred the academy to Parnassus, i.e., treated Platonic philosophy in poetry. With a somewhat similar conceit La Fontaine speaking of his Psyche says "quatre amis dont la connaissa.nce avoit commencé par le Parnasse lierent une espece de société que j'appellerais académie si, etc." If le d-Ouble mont requires further confirmation we may compare Du Bartas (The Ark II Semaine): si le Laurier se.eré, qui m'ombrageoit le front esueillé se flétrit: et si du double mont ou loin de cest Enfer vostre Vranie habite, Ma. Muse a corps perdu si bas se précipite. which Sylvester, perhaps not understanding double, translates And if now banished from the learned Fount And ca.st down headlong from the lofty mount. (MOHRN PBILOLOOT, November, 1921) 221 �222 PAUL SHOREY A specialist in Renaissance French literature could doubtless cite ~any other examples. I will add one from English. Drayton in bis Elegy of Poets and Poesie has: Methought I straight had mounted Pega.sus And in his full career could make him stop And bound upon Parnassus bi-cliff top. "Bi-cliff" is Pers·ms' bicipi · ·t·i wbich m · turn reproduces the Greek . di~phos applied to the plateau of Parnassus above Delpbi . m Eur1p1des' Bacchae 307. UNIVERSITY OF ÜHICAGO PAUL SHOREY GEORGE HEMPL, 1859-1921 Through the untimely death of George Hempl, Professor of Germanic philology in Leland Stanford Junior University, the causes of linguistic research and of educational leadersbip in America suffer an inestimable loss. He was born in Whitewater, Wisconsin, received the baccalaureate degree in 1879 from the University of Michigan, and in 1889, the doctorate from the University of Jena, after three years of study at various German universit.ies. As principal of the Saginaw (Micbigan) High School, 1879-82, and of the La Porte (Indiana) High School, 1882-84, he gained practica} insight into the vital relation of secondary school education to the work of college and university. Tlús experience was permanently helpful to him in articulating bis subsequent work as a university teacher with that of the preparatory school. Two years as teacher of German in Johns Hopkins University, 1884-86, seventeen years as teacher of English, English philology, and general linguistics in the University of Michigan, 1889- 1906, and fifteen years as professor of Germanic philology in Leland Stanford Junior University, 1906- 21, make, with the secondary school experience just mentioned, a total of forty-two years of most stimulating and fruitful pedagogical leadersbip. There was something peculiarly winsome and inspiring in the personality of the man. No one who knew Professor Hempl failed to be impressed by bis genial bearing, bis generous estímate of the work of other men, bis infectious interest in the problems of language and of teaching, and his undaunted courage that kept him steadily and cheerfully at work in spite of serious accident and failing health. He was a man of heroic mold. His Old English Phonology, 1892, bis Chaucer's Pronunciation, 1893, bis German Orthography and Phonology, 1897, bis Phonetic Text of Wilhelm Tell, 1900, together with bis numerous papers upon problems of Germanic philology, are among the most valuable published expressions of bis own research. As a phonetician of [MODERN PBILOLOOY, November, 1921) 223 �224 STARR w ILLARD SOME PUBLICATIONS IN CUTI'ING recognized ability and as a student of the history of alphabetic writing he became in the year 1908-9 especially interested in attempting to decipher Etruscan, Hittite, and other inscriptions of the Mediterranea.n basin. The record of his work in these fields is still largely in manuscript. The discoveries, however, which he believed he had made, are sufficiently numerous and important to make the world of scholars eager to examine bis evidence and reasoning in detail. His reputation as a keen observer of speech phenomena, as a conservative and fair-minded judge of the facts observed by him, and as a lover of the truth, singularly devoid of pet prepossessions about the truth, encourages those who knew him and his work to expect much of permanent value from these latest lines of bis research. The death of Professor Hempl meaos for Modem Philol,ogy the loss of one of the ablest of its Advisory Board of Editors. STA.RR WILLARD CUTTING MODERN ·pffJLOLOGY j ENGLISH GERMANIC American Poe-. Selected and Edited, with ffluatrative and Explanatory Notes and a Bibliograpby, by \VALTEll c. BRONSON. xviii+67opages, 12mo, cloth; $2.75, postpaid Old Germaa Lon Soap. Translated irom the M ~ of the 12th to the I ~ Centuries. By hANx C. NICBOLSON. 19'ipages, umo,cloth; $1.50,postpaid,$1.65. xi+ $2.95. ED&liah Poema. Selections for Schools and Colleges. Selected and Edited, with Illustrath-e and Explanatory Notes and Bibliographies, by WALTER C. B:aoNS0N. 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Título Uniforme Modern Philology Año de publicación El año cuando se publico 1921 Volumen Volumen de la revista 19 Número Número de la revista 2 Mes de publicación Mes cuando se publicó Noviembre Día Día del mes de la publicación 1 Periodicidad La periodicidad de la publicación (diaria, semanal, mensual, anual) Trimestral Relación OPAC https://www.codice.uanl.mx/RegistroBibliografico/InformacionBibliografica?from=BusquedaBasica&bibId=1752555&biblioteca=0&fb=&fm=&isbn= Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Modern Philology, 1921, Vol 19, No 2, Noviembre Subject The topic of the resource Filología Literatura Lenguas modernas Letras Description An account of the resource Modern Philology, Una revista dedicada a la investigación en lenguas y literaturas modernas, editada por la University of Chicago Press, en Chicago, Illi., publicada trimestralmente. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The University of Chicago Press Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Manly, John M. 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